Page 56 of Libby's London Merchant
Eustace and his lady love sat close together, ignoring the books that lined the walls. The earl had removed his elegant coat so that Lydia would not wrinkle it as she nestled in his arms. Eustace stared in surprise at the duke’s peremptory entrance and took immediate exception to it.
“Dear boy, must you burst into a room as though it were a new discovery? Lud, I could easily be frightened out of the rest of my hair.”
‘‘Egad, I am all atwitter,” replied the duke, flopping himself down across from them. He clapped his hands together and leapt to his feet again, leaning against the fireplace mantel in what he hoped was a studied, casual manner, no matter how fast his heart raced.
“Wish me happy, Eustace,” he said simply, and waited for the congratulations to lave over him.
He was met with silence. His friend stared at him, his pop eyes more pronounced than usual. Lydia Ames sat bolt upright, a look of real bewilderment on her face. “Beg pardon?” she asked when Eustace seemed unable to supply the text.
“I am going to Brighton tomorrow to ask your father’s permission to marry Libby,” he told Lydia.
Lydia stared at him and then burst into laughter. As he watched in amazement and growing irritation, she threw back her head and roared, clutching her sides and drumming her feet on the floor.
“So glad you are amused,” he said finally, and looked to Eustace for help.
After a moment, Lydia regained her control over herself. She wiped her streaming eyes and seemed to fight down the laughter that continued to bubble to the surface.
“I had no idea my marrying Libby would bring you such amusement,” the duke said.
Lydia shook her head, waved her arms helplessly, and sailed off again in another gust of glee, while Eustace rose to his feet and carefully straightened his neckcloth, examining the damage in the fireplace mirror.
“Nez, dear boy, have you seriously got something against your mother, sister, and six generations of dukes?” he asked, his voice casual.
“What can you possibly mean?” snapped the duke, his patience gone. “I only want to marry Libby Ames. Surely that won’t cause any heartburn.”
His angry words hung in the air. Eustace turned around slowly to face him.
“Can it be that she has not told you?” he asked.
“Told me what?” said the duke, biting off his words and resisting the urge to grab his friend by the neckcloth he was so carefully adjusting.
“Libby doesn’t possess a single penny, and her mother’s father sold chewing tobacco to sailors in Portsmouth,” Lydia said, her eyes merry. “She will be a duchess that no one in London ever forgets.”
The silence that settled over the library was so heavy with tension that it seemed to suck the air from the room. Lydia sidled toward the door while Eustace ran his finger around his collar. The duke felt the blood drain from his face.
“How can this be?” he asked finally when the quiet in the room threatened to drape around them like Holland cloths. He looked at Lydia, who stopped moving toward the door and stood still as if nailed there. “The Ames fortune is about as well-known as your father’s charming eccentricities.”
Lydia had nothing to say. She stared at him out of frightened eyes as Eustace scurried to her side and took her hand.
“Really, dear boy,” the earl murmured. “One mustn’t shoot the messenger, must one?”
Nez made a futile motion with his hand, and sank into the chair again. When Lydia, watching him carefolly, remained rooted to the spot, he motioned her closer. “Forgive me, Miss Ames, but please tell me what is going on. I am obviously in the dark here.”
Lydia tiptoed to the sofa she had deserted and perched herself gingerly upon it. “Libby’s father met her mother in Portsmouth before he shipped out to Spain for the first time. He eloped with her, and his father disowned him. The title was to have been his. My father is the younger son. Papa only gave them a place to live last year because they were destitute and had nowhere to go. Libby told you none of this?”
The duke made another impotent gesture and then rested his head in his hands. “I never asked. Why should I have done so? I assumed from the first that she was you, and even after I found out differently this afternoon, I assumed that because she was an Ames, there was still the family fortune to spread about, and a good name in the bargain. A tobacco merchant’s granddaughter, eh? Good God.”
“Hmm, yes, dear boy,” Eustace said. “Rather less distinguished than a purveyor of confections, I suppose.”
His feeble joke passed unnoticed by the duke, but the earl did not let that stop him. “When word gets about, as these things do, I doubt anyone will give you the time of day, at least not without a giggle. “ He patted his friend on the knee. “Better give it a miss, my boy.”
Without a word, the duke leaped up and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
He didn’t know how far he walked that night. The country was dark and still unfamiliar to him. He recognized Holyoke when he strolled through after midnight, hands deep in his pockets, head down. The lamps were lit, the few streets deserted. His knee began to pain him, but he walked on, passing the Cook estate. There was a light on, and he nearly turned in, wanting a word with the doctor but not sure what to say.
He walked until his body was exhausted and his mind equally tired. Still he walked, his stride automatic and well-remembered from days of soldiering through Spain, Portugal and Belgium. He walked to a cadence of “You fool, you fool, you fool,” that repeated endlessly through his whole body and made him sob out loud.
There had been no deception on Libby’s part, of this he was sure. Like a dunce he had assumed too much, and now he would have to go to her in the morning, look into her loving face, and take it all back. He would have to find the words to tell her that he had been an idiot and they would not suit and would she please forgive him, et cetera. There wouldn’t be any visit to Brighton, and no trip to London with Libby Ames at his side.
