Page 68 of Libby's London Merchant
Libby cleared her throat finally. “If you have something to say to me, I wish you would do it. I suppose I deserve a beargarden jaw for being such a gapeseed about Benedict Nesbitt. ”
“Not a bit of it. He’s an engaging man, and I, for one, wish him very well.” He paused. “I was thinking along other lines.” Again the silence.
She poked him. “Really, Anthony, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to work up the courage to propose again.”
She regretted her words the moment she said them. I am so stupid, she thought, dredging that up again.
“That’s it, Libby,” he said, the words surprised out of his mouth as though she had struck him on the back. He took off his spectacles, polished them on his shirt in one nervous movement, and replaced them as she stared at him. “Would you even consider making me the happiest man in the world by marrying me?” he asked. “I know I asked before, and I thought I would not again.” He shook his head and regarded her mildly. “And so I ask you once more.”
“Your father would be so disappointed,” was the first thing she thought of, even before she thought of “no” this time. Her heart began to pound and she felt the blood rush to her face.
“He wouldn’t be marrying you; I would,” the doctor replied, warming to his subject “Go ahead and list all your objections.”
“I can think of many,” she said in exasperation. “I don’t have any money. Not any, Anthony,” she declared.
“Did I say I needed your money? As my wife, you’ll not have the elegancies of life, but with Mrs. Weller as our cook, you’ll never starve. Well?”
She giggled. “You can’t possibly be serious! My papa was disgraced in the family. No one receives us in Holyoke.”
He shrugged. “Your Uncle Ames likes me, except when I bother his gouty foot, and that’s good enough. They’ll receive the doctor’s wife or look elsewhere for services.”
“Well, how about this?” she said. “The man who marries me will have to take Joseph sooner or later. I could never abandon him and Mama will not live forever.”
“I like the lad, and I think we can find plenty for him to do. ” Libby was quiet then, leaning forward and watching the flames as they flickered and then died. The doctor rested his hand on her back. The feeling was pleasurable beyond words and she knew she should sit up. She did, and his hand dropped away.
“There is this, Anthony. You needn’t offer for me because you feel I have been compromised by this situation tonight. There,” she concluded, triumphant.
“Silly nod,” he whispered. “That thought never entered my head. I doubt even Aunt Crabtree would make exception to our arrangement tonight. How on earth could I compromise you in a room filled with eleven Caseys, one brother, a handful of chickens, and through the wall, two cows and four horses? No, I think that is not an issue.”
She laughed out loud and then clapped her hand over her mouth and shook in silence.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Libby,” he said finally.
She stared into the fire again and then turned to face him. “I do not wish to have to say this, Anthony, but I still do not love you. It’s as simple as that. You’re my friend only, I believe.”
He rubbed his chin. “That is an obstacle indeed, now that you mention it.” He thought a moment more. “Do you think you ever could?”
She considered the merits of the question. Only yesterday I had my answer so ready. What is there today that makes this same answer impossible? She looked at him. He was too big, too nearsighted, too busy, and too homely for her. No, she reconsidered, he is not at all homely, setting aside the spectacles that never stay where they belong. That could be remedied. And his face, although fleshy and inclined to redness, was frank, honest, and appealing in a way she was hard put to explain. He was kindness itself. Love him? She did not know.
She said as much as he bent closer to hear her reply. “I don’t know, Anthony. I never really considered it before.”
“I know that well enough. I love you enough for both of us,” he said, and put his arm around her waist, drawing her close. “I think that eventually we would deal very well together. Whether it was early or later in our marriage, I would never force your hand, Elizabeth.”
He had never called her by her given name before. No one did, and she liked the sound of it. Her name had never seemed so pretty as when he spoke it.
“You would marry me without even being sure that I loved you, or would ever love you?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” was his prompt reply. “I am a patient man.”
“Then I will do it,” she said suddenly, astounded at herself even as the words left her lips and could not be retrieved. “My answer is yes.”
He leaned forward to kiss her. I will not like this, she thought as his face came closer, but she did. In fact, she liked it even more than his kiss the day before in the hay wain. Libby closed her eyes as their lips touched. His spectacles plummeted down onto her face, but without missing a moment, he set them on the floor and cupped her face in his hands as he went on kissing her.
She began to be short of breath, but found that she could breathe quite handily through her nose, if she only turned her head a little. His hair was curly under her fingers and still slightly damp from the rain, or perhaps he was sweating. All of a sudden she wanted him to touch her body.
He seemed to read her thoughts, gripping the skin of her waist through the heavy nightgown. And then he stopped, out of breath, his eyes slightly out of focus, and took her hands off his neck.
“You have made me a happy man,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. “You’ll have no regrets, I assure you. Go back to bed now. We can talk tomorrow.”
