Page 86 of Libby's London Merchant
He smiled over Libby’s good news and chucked her under the chin. “Good for you, minx,” he said. “I don’t know that I ever thought Dr. Cook would be the answer to a maiden’s prayers, but I’m happy for you. Does this mean I get his services free now?”
Libby laughed. “I shall ask him when is in a good mood.”
“And that will be every time he looks at you, puss.” He sighed. “I suppose I will have to give out another wedding gift,” he grumbled, and then winked at her. “Do you love him, dear?”
“I think so,” she said.
“But you don’t know? Time will tell, puss, time will tell.”
The dress was done a week later, a dream of a dress, low across the bosom and gently gathered into a graceful train at the back. Mama carefully packed it in tissue paper and rested it on the seat across from them in Uncle Ames’ carriage. When Mama pronounced herself satisfied, they began the trip to Holyoke.
They arrived at nightfall, to be greeted by Candlow. “Madam, what a pleasure to have you home again,” he said to Mrs. Ames, taking the dress box from her. He inclined his head toward Libby. “And may I be the first in the house to congratulate you? Dr. Cook told me, and I couldn’t be more delighted.”
He ushered them into the sitting room. Mama removed her bonnet and fluffed her hair, then crossed to the table where the mail had accumulated. She set aside her letters and held out a package to Libby.
“For you, dear. ” She looked closer. “Gracious! It has been franked by a lord. I wonder who can have sent that?”
Libby took the package. The handwriting was bold, but unfamiliar to her and she could not read the name. She tore off the wrapping paper and stared down at a box of Copley’s Finest Nut Mix. A note was tucked under the ribbon. With fingers that trembled, she plucked it out and opened it.
“Forgive me if you can. Nez.”
19
Silent, she handed the note to her mother, who read it once, twice, and then sat down. “I knew that the duke would regret his hasty words,” Mama said after a moment’s reflection. She picked up the box, lifted the lid, and selected a nut morsel.
With a sigh of her own, Libby took the note back, crumpled it, and went upstairs to her room. The room was shrouded in darkness and smelled close with the windows shut. She opened the draperies and raised the window sash.
The moon was full and hazy with smoke from the oasts, the great slow-burning kilns where the hops dried. She breathed deep of the musky fragrance, remembering with an ache that it was the first noticeable thing that had greeted them as they returned to Kent, still reeling from the shock of Papa’s death two years ago.
The activity of hops harvest time had taken hold of them and plunged them into Kentish life. Uncle William had needed their extra arms and sound good sense, and they had needed to be too busy during those days of August and September. When they finally had time to draw a good breath after Michaelmas, they belonged to Kent and had begun to heal.
Now this season brings another change in my life, she thought, perching herself in the window. Now, in years to come, I will breathe in this bitter, pungent fragrance, this odor that is making me sleepy, and think about my wedding. Why did the duke have to send that candy now? Couldn’t he have waited two days when I would have been safely leg-shackled? Why are men so perverse?
Perhaps she did not know her own mind yet, if something as harmless as a box of sweets could set her off and spinning. The duke must have heard about her wedding from Lydia and wished to salve a guilty conscience. He had probably instructed his secretary to select a box of Copley’s, just so large and not any larger, and address a note to her. She didn’t even know if the note still crumpled in her fist was in his handwriting.
Libby spread out the note on her lap and looked at the words again. Forgive you, she thought, I should never. You were untoward and out of line and I should hope that you choke on your good intentions now, for the humiliation you have put me through. Forgive you? I suppose I can, but kindly remain at a distance, or else ... or else I might forgive you too much.
She lay awake until very late, her body worn out with the journey from Brighton to Holyoke, but her mind talking to her, whispering, cajoling, and speculating. Long after midnight she heard a gig trundling down the road, away from the Cook estate. Is that you, Anthony? she thought as she tried to find a soft spot on her bed of nails. I wish you would call here. I could bear this better if I could see your comforting bulk and hear your reassurance that I am doing the right thing.
Morning brought the doctor to her doorstep, returning from the call he had made after midnight. Unshaven and heavy-eyed, he gathered her in his arms, kissed her soundly, set her on her feet again, and told her to be a good girl for two more days.
“At least come in to breakfast,” she coaxed, clasping his hands to tug him up the front steps.
He shook his head. “I cannot, dearest. Dame Westerfield is having fits again and prophesying, and I must do what I can to soothe her and assure the relatives that they haven’t much longer of this tyranny. Give me a kiss, love, and send me on my way.”
She did as he said, clinging to him so tight that he raised his eyebrows.
“Would that I could stay longer! Two days more and then you can see me off from our own steps. Elizabeth, I love you. ”
And I don’t know what I do, she thought as she blew him a kiss and waved him out of sight.
As the noonday sky shimmered with heat from the oast ovens, Joseph managed to escape from the hops harvest long enough to drop by Holyoke Green. Mama hugged him and cried, which made him grin and shrug his shoulders at Libby.
He was browner, and hungry, and somehow more assured of himself. The scar was obscured by several days’ growth of beard that made Mama sigh and remark that her dear boy was growing up.
Libby fingered his chin. “You had better make plans to shave that, and soon, brother,” she warned, “if you are to give me away on Friday.”
He nodded. “Dr. Cook said the same thing last night.” He accepted bread and jam from his mother. “We have been rehearsing the march down the aisle, Libby. I take his arm and pretend he is you, and we walk down the room while he hums.”
