Page 64 of Libby's London Merchant
Anthony merely stood there looking at her, a slight smile on his face. “Here, here, my dear. I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and return to see such dissipation. And see here, you left me no biscuits. I shall have to live off my fat for the duration of this adventure, obviously.”
Libby brushed the wrinkles from her dress and put her bonnet back on, tying it in the reflection of the glass-fronted bookcase. “If I came here too often for Mrs. Weller’s remedy for depression, ennui, and general lethargy, I would have to be lifted out of that chair with a block and tackle.”
The doctor patted his stomach. “I daresay we should let her go. Then I could get down to my fighting weight again.” He rubbed his chin, his eyes merry, the fun in them infectious. “Of course, I never was much of a fighter, and Father, on the other hand, has never added so much as a stone to what he took to Cambridge years ago. Life, Libby, is not fair.”
She could only agree with this sentiment, particularly when they ventured outdoors to a gray day. The blue sky and cotton-puff clouds had metamorphosed into something less congenial.
The doctor lifted her into the gig as though she weighed nothing, and climbed in after her. A quiet word to the horse set them on their way down the long drive from the house. Libby turned around to look behind her.
“Do you know, Anthony, you really should plant a row of flowering crabapple or hawthorn along either side of this lane,” she said. “It would be a delight in the spring and would afford such shade in deep summer. ”
He nodded, his eyes on the road. “I’ll give it some thought. Which way do we go, Libby? I am yours to command.”
“I think we should find the gypsies,” she said, her voice decisive. “Joseph may have decided to throw in his lot with them. You know that he is horse-mad.”
“Very well.” He tugged on one rein and the gig turned away from Holyoke.
They rode in silence for a considerable distance. Libby could feel him glancing at her every now and then. She could sense that he was on the verge of saying something, but some reticence kept him bereft of speech.
One mile passed, and then another, and then he gathered the reins in one hand and turned to her. “Why did be run away, Libby? It seems so unlike Joseph.”
She could not look at him, but replied in a small voice. “We had a misunderstanding. He felt himself at fault. I tried to explain, but he would not listen.”
She twisted her hands together in her lap, longing to spill out the whole story of the duke’s infamous offer and her rejection, but the subject was too delicate. She sat in silence and flogged herself for her lack of courage. Hen-hearted, Libby, that’s what you are, she thought. He’s giving you a perfect opportunity to unburden yourself, and you sit here like Lot’s wife.
Another mile and then they passed beyond the boundaries of the Ames estate. Another mile, and the doctor stopped the gig. The cart creaked as he turned sideways to face her. “I really have to know something, Libby, and I am sorry if it is none of my business, but tell me this: am I to wish you happy?”
She couldn’t even look him in the eye, but merely shook her head and tried to make herself small on her side of the gig. This proved to be no easy task, because the doctor filled most of the space.
Libby wanted to speak, but she could only sit there in miserable silence.
The doctor touched her shoulder. “And here I sit probing away at what seems to be an open wound. I am sorry, my dear, truly I am, but I was certain that the duke would offer for you. ” He sighed. “It seemed inevitable.’’
Libby looked up then and spoke without thinking. “Oh, he made me a generous offer, Anthony. He offered me a house on Half Moon Street, a high-perch phaeton, jewels and furs, a box at the opera, and everything but his name.”
She blanched to see the anger rise so fast in his face. In his rage, he suddenly looked older and very much like the squire. While she watched in alarm as his high color became even more vivid, Libby wondered that she had never noticed the resemblance before.
“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “Please don’t get into a taking about it.”
“I will call him out,” he said in a voice of deadly calm. “How could anyone take such advantage of a young women with really no one to stand up for her? Damn his eyes.”
Anthony’s anger made her forget for a minute her own misery. “You’ll not call him out,” she declared. “He would likely drill you through.”
“He probably would,” the doctor agreed, his anger receding as quickly as it had come. “I would have to be my own surgeon, and I am squeamish about physicking myself.” He looked at her, bewildered. “I do not understand why he would do such a thing.”
“I suppose it is a matter of pride,” she said, grateful that she was not dissolving into tears as she feared she would, and thankful for the doctor’s matter-of-fact air. “Anthony, how would it look? A duke married to a penniless nonentity who knows how to use the right fork and never scratches in public, but whose father was disinherited and whose grandfather sold tobacco to tars?”
“And I suppose he was surprised when you turned down his perfectly reasonable offer.”
“I believe he was,” she replied, considering the matter.
The doctor took up the reins again and the horse moved on. “Tell me now where Joseph fits into this picture, and then I will back out of your affairs, Libby.”
“I think he must have overheard my refusal only, and blamed himself,” she said, the frustration back in her heart. “Anthony, Joseph feels his lack too acutely. I wish it were not so. He thought that I turned down the duke because Nez would have considered him an embarrassment in London. I tried to reason with Joseph, but that is never easy to do. And now he is gone, and he is probably lost.”
She began to sob in good earnest. Without a word, the doctor stopped the gig again and took her in his arms. “Go ahead and cry, my dear,” he said when she tried to push him away. “You’ll feel better soon enough. You need your mama at a time like this, and I am but a poor substitute.”
Libby raised her tearstained face to his and shook her head. “I daren’t breathe a word of this to Mother. She would be so ashamed that it is her background that makes such an alliance so impossible. I would never hurt her that way. And Aunt Crabtree?” Libby rolled her eyes. “She would fall prostrate upon the carpet, and how would I ever explain that to Uncle Ames?”
