Page 54 of Libby's London Merchant
“I think I must put it down to the fact that we did something rather extraordinary this afternoon, cousin,” Libby said as she sat down at her dressing table, her back to Lydia.
Lydia groaned and made a face. “I hope that bit of news doesn’t travel from here to Brighton. That you should have anything to do with gypsies makes my knees turn to jelly.” She looked at Libby, suddenly concerned. “You’re sure you brought no lice or fleas into the house? Your mama would cut up stiff.”
“No lice, no fleas, Lydia.”
“Thank God for that!”
Silence followed Lydia’s heartfelt pronouncement. As they sat regarding each other, it felt to Libby like the end of a friendship. Something had happened, but she did not entirely understand what it was. Whether it had to do with Eustace Wiltmore, or with the duke’s deception, Libby did not know. Maybe it had to do with Anthony Cook and the gypsies. Libby could not tell.
As she watched the cousin she loved and confided in and joked with only a few short weeks ago, Libby knew that a page in her book of life had turned. There was a gulf between them now that had not existed before, and once Lydia was in fact Lady Wiltmore, it would only widen.
Libby put on her dressing gown and started to brush her hair, the crackling sound filling the silence. They would always be polite to each other, and likely neither would ever mention the well-mannered estrangement that was taking place even as they sat there in Libby’s cozy room. They would nod and smile at each other at infrequent family gatherings to come and ask how they did and maybe even listen to the answer, but the damage was done. Libby had the wit to notice, but Lydia would probably only wonder why things weren’t the same and then move on quickly to more pleasant topics.
As it was, there was nothing to say. In another moment, Lydia rose, kissed her cousin on top of the head, and left the room.
“Libby?”
Libby sighed and turned around. Joseph stood in the open door. She held out her hands to him and he grasped them.
“I found Dr. Cook like you said,” he reminded her.
“I know. You did splendidly, Joseph. Mama will be so proud when I tell her.”
Joseph grinned in real pleasure. “Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
He let go of her hands and perched himself on the edge of her dressing table. “I went back to the gypsy camp, Libby.”
“Would they talk to you? I am surprised they did not stone you, too. Did you see the little girl?”
There were too many questions for Joseph. He nodded, as if surprised. “Of course they talked to me. I helped them shoe a colt.”
Trust Joseph, she thought. She could see him standing around with the gypsies, minding his own business, saying nothing, and then rushing forward to help. They probably found him useful. She touched his hand, her heart wrung out with love and misery. You would have no place in Lydia’s society, either. Perhaps it’s just as well that things have fallen out this way for us. We have always known they would.
“Good for you, my dear. Did you see that little girl?’’ she asked again.
He shook his head. “No. I think they were a bit suspicious by then.”
“Did they ask you to return?” she teased, amused at his understatement and grateful the child had not been abandoned, or at least left out in the rain.
He regarded her seriously. “Libby, they said I could follow them to the next town, where there is a horse fair.”
She shook her head. “That would never do, Joseph.”
“I thought you would say that,” he replied, and left the room quietly.
When he shut the door, Libby rested her elbows on the dressing table and stared into the mirror. “Elizabeth Ames, you have the perfect knack this day of putting people off. One could say you were a genius at it.”
She thought again of Anthony Cook. As they had stood shoulder to shoulder in the hallway, she had caught the amused glances that passed between Eustace and Lydia and she knew they were intended for the doctor. Deeply aware of their pointed amusement, she had moved closer to the doctor. He had touched her sleeve and then shook his head slightly, bowed, and made his ponderous way from the house, dripping water at every step like a sheepdog. No one had tried to stop him, offer him tea, or even a towel to dry his hair. She certainly had done nothing. The memory burned.
Tears stung her eyelids, but she brushed them away as someone else knocked on the door. She sighed. “Come in.”
Nesbitt Duke entered the room. Libby blinked at him in surprise and pulled her robe tighter about her.
He carried a small tray, which he set on the little table by the window. He glanced at the storm that threatened on her face and began to whistle softly to himself as he arranged the chairs closer to the table. He motioned to one of them.
Mystified, Libby came closer and sat down. Still without saying anything, he poured her some tea. She took a sip. It was scalding and strong and precisely what she needed. She sipped slowly, her eyed on the duke as he sat down beside her and picked up his cup.
