Page 60 of Libby's London Merchant
Lydia pinked up and flashed her dimples at her cousin. “Only some of it, silly! What does Papa know of the haut ton. He spent all his life avoiding it. I shall do this family proud.”
Then it was Eustace’s turn. He bowed over her hand. “Charming, charming,” he murmured. “Do come see us.”
Nez took her by the hand. He looked in her eyes as if searching for something there. For just one moment, she held her breath.
The moment passed quickly as he kissed her band and leaned closer. “If you should change your mind, Libby ...”
She withdrew her hand and stepped back as the coachman gathered the reins and the horses moved. She smiled for Lydia’s benefit, Lydia who was even now edging closer to hear what was passing so quietly between them.
“I promise you, your grace, I will not change my mind. Safe journey to you, sir.”
She stepped back and the duke had no choice but to hand Lydia into the chaise and climb in after her. She blew a kiss to Lydia and waved until the vehicle was out of sight on the road that ran past Holyoke Green. The same road that had brought Nesbitt Duke, the chocolate purveyor, into her life so precipitately carried him out.
When the carriage was gone from view and only the dust cloud remained, she sat down on the front steps and rested her chin in her hands, ignoring the stares of the butler and the footman, who had never seen her do such an unladylike thing. The footman started to say something, but Candlow took him by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him.
Libby sat there until the urge for tears left her. Her heart booming in her chest, she looked up in surprise once to the sound of a carriage. Nez had thought better of his words and was returning to her.
But it was only a farmer’s cart full of produce in kegs that rumbled down the road, bound for the great open air markets of London. The duke was not going to come back. Men like that don’t look back, once they have made such a decision, she decided.
Libby, you are a wonder, she thought, chin in hand. Only think of all the wisdom you are acquiring this summer. Dr. Cook taught you how to set a bone yesterday, and today a peer of the realm showed you handily your place in life. I wonder what else there is to learn today?
She looked up then from her contemplation of her shoe tops and gazed across the road. Where was Joseph? The thought propelled her to her feet and she started around the house. Perhaps he had returned and was helping Tunley in the stables. Her steps quickened until she was almost running, her eyes hopeful that he would be there, mucking out the old straw in that awkward but methodical way of his. Or perhaps be was just sitting there watching Tunley, absorbing each simple task that the groom lavished on the animals they both loved so well.
He was nowhere in sight. Libby sighed and went into the stable, blinking her eyes against the sudden gloom.
If she had thought to find edification from Tunley, her hopes were quickly dashed. He hurried toward her.
“That brother of yours! He must have borrowed Sir Williams’ best hunter. I do not think your uncle will be overly pleased if he learns of it. Where do you think he has got to, miss?”
“I was rather hoping you could tell me, Tunley,” she said.
He shook his head. “Then we are two ignorant people, miss.” She turned to go, but Tunley called her back. “Miss, I almost forgot. Do come and see what wandered into our stable this morning.”
She followed him to one of the loose boxes and tested her arms across the top rail, her eyes dancing with delight, her miseries shoved to one side for a moment. “Oh, Tunley!” A wisp of hay in its mouth, the horse looked up when she spoke. The mare was small and delicate-boned, a deep chestnut that fairly glowed with good health. Libby reached out slowly and let it smell her hand and then she touched its neck. The animal whinnied and moved closer as she patted it.
“Oh, you’re practically a house pet,” Libby praised. “Tunley wherever did you get this little beauty? I don’t remember this one.”
The groom scratched his head and then tipped some more oats in the manger. “She was here when I came down from the loft this morning, just as sweet as you please, in that very box.” He reached in his pockets and fumbled through the nails, bits of wire, scraps of paper and lint until he found a piece of bark. He held it out to her. “This was twisted in her mane.”
“Why, I do believe it is my name,” Libby said as she ran her finger under the crude letters that spelled LIBE. She smudged a letter with her finger, “It must be charcoal from a camp fire. Tunley, do you think it is from the gypsies? And how do they know my name?”
“Witchcraft miss,” he said seriously. “Potions and charms and such like that a Kentsman never mentions.”
Libby stroked the animal, noting the little drips of shining beads that someone had taken great care to lace into the mane. “I am amazed. It must have been the gypsies,” she said, “or perhaps that gypsy mother. I would not have thought it possible. Tunley, what should I do?”
The groom grinned at her. “I don’t suppose you have any choice but to ride her, miss, and a sweet goer she looks.”
“I wouldn’t, Miss Ames, I really wouldn’t. This could be a matter for the law.”
Libby jumped in surprise and moved closer to Tunley. His legs planted wide apart, a riding crop in his hand, Squire Cook stood in the doorway. He tapped the crop in his gloved hand and Libby pressed her lips tight together. It was the same crop he had used on Joseph the other day. And now he has come for me, she thought irrationally, more angry than fearful.
She swallowed her irritation and forced herself to walk toward him with a smile on her face, her hand extended. She marveled how little Anthony Cook resembled his light-haired, blue-eyed father, except in height. Father and son could have been strangers jumbled together on the planet, so little did they resemble each other.
To her amazement, he took her hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle. “Good day, Miss Ames,” he said as he released her hand. “I did not mean to startle you, but I heard voices and thought to investigate, considering that this was my destination.”
“Sir?”
The mare whinnied and the squire peered over her shoulder. He came closer to the loose box, his face without expression except for his lively eyes, which even now were frowning at the horse Libby found so beautiful.
