Page 85 of Libby's London Merchant
She looked at him, wide-eyed. “You’re not going to cry off?”
“Good God, no,” he said, his arm around her. “I could never do that.” He looked out to sea. “No, no, what I have to say is something of a delicate nature that I tried to put into a letter, but thought better of it each time I tried.”
“I waited for a letter,” she said.
He smiled. ‘‘You’d have gotten plenty of them, if thoughts were pen and paper, Elizabeth. I’m sorry.”
He stood up then, waited until a strolling couple passed, and walked to the boardwalk railing, resting his elbows and looking at her. His face grew red. “My dear, when I wore my father down and he consented to frank me in medical school, he sent me off on the mail coach with a valuable bit of advice.”
“Yes?” she encouraged when he paused as another couple passed.
“Oh, dash it all,” he exclaimed, and took her by the hand, hurrying her along the boardwalk until they came to the end of it and there were no other couples. She sat down and dangled her legs off the walk as he sat down beside her.
“What was this valuable piece of advice?”
He took a deep breath. “Simply this: I was to avoid the prostitutes and devote myself to my studies.”
“Oh,” she said, her face warm.
“It was grand counsel, Elizabeth,” he said. “Although I must admit that the ‘Edinbura hoors’ were scarcely tempting. All that wet wool and smelling of oatmeal. Oh, Lord, and when we got them in the infirmary and them so diseased!” He made a face. “I applied myself to my studies and finished at the top of my class.”
He took his glasses off, cleaned them, and put them on again, the high color evident in his face. “Well, my dear, what with one thing and another, years have passed and all my knowledge of women remains theoretical and clinical.”
He peered at her and she looked at him. “Anthony, are you trying to tell me that…” She couldn’t quite think of how to say it.
“That I am totally without experience with women,” he finished in one fast sentence. “I am remarkably well-versed in female anatomy and physiology, but, my dear, I remain the veriest amateur.”
He spread his hands out, palms up. “There you have it. I fear that would frighten off any woman. I know such behavior is not the norm in our promiscuous society. From what I hear in the clubs, anyway, women seem to prefer experience in their men. At least that is the excuse that men give. How do I know? I hope you are not too disappointed. I wanted you to know. ” He laughed softly to himself. “You’d have figured it out, in any event. Say something, Elizabeth.”
The laughter welled up inside her, but she forced it down. If I go into whoops, he will not understand, she thought. He will think I am making fun of him, something I would not do for the world. I wonder how much sleep he lost over this? Oh, Anthony.
She got up and dusted the bits of sand off her dress. She held out her hand to the doctor and pulled him to his feet. When he was standing up, she threw her arms around him and began to giggle. In another moment he was laughing, too. It was the most wonderful sound she had ever heard.
She raised her face to his. “Kiss me, Dr. Cook,” she demanded.
He obliged her, kissing her slowly, over and over, completely absorbed in the matter at hand, even though couples strolled by, tittered, and hurried on. His glasses fell in the sand, but other than to push them away with his foot to make sure that he did not tread on them, the doctor let them go.
When he stopped finally and retrieved his spectacles, Libby could only regard him with new respect. She took his arm and started him back toward the Marine Parade. “I would say, sir, that your theories are sound, indeed.”
“You don’t mind that I am so inexperienced?”
“Sir, I am flattered,” Libby said simply. “You have paid me such a compliment.” She blushed. “I come to you the same way.”
“I had no doubt,” he said quietly.
By the time they reached the house, they had agreed upon a wedding date in two weeks’ time at St. John’s in Holyoke.
“It is not grand enough for your cousin, but I think it adequate,” said the doctor. “Such short notice requires a special license, I suppose. Can you have a dress by then?” he asked, and kissed her on the ear. “Not that it signifies. The one you are wearing is lovely.”
Her eyes danced. “Yes, and only one shilling, remember? I will be a wonderful economy in your household.’’
“Thank the Lord for that,” he declared fervently, with just a trace of unsteadiness in his voice. “That means I can spend more money on books. Elizabeth, I love you.” He put his arm around her waist. “And the wonderful thing is, I always will.”
He left in the morning with Joseph, both of them well-kissed and cried over.
As soon as Libby’s eyes were dry, Mama marched her to High Street and selected yards and yards of white taffeta. “You will rustle in the most gorgeous fashion as you walk down the aisle,” she said simply. “It’s a sound I most want to hear.” She sighed. “I only wish your father were here, too.”
Uncle Ames returned that afternoon from London, grumpy over the division of his spoils with the Wiltmores. “Damnedest family ever,” he said, “pockets to let and expenses to choke an elephant. Don’t know why I ever agreed to such silliness so many years ago. I must have been polluted.” He growled himself into his favorite chair and stifled an oath as Mama pushed a pillow under his gouty foot.
