But the doctor was speaking as he fumbled with his watch. “And now, Miss Ames, I had better take my courage in hand and see if Father has changed the locks on the house. Good night, Nez. Joseph.” He sighed and stretched, coming dangerously close to the glass figurines on the whatnot shelf.
The duke noted with some amusement that Libby had set aside the pants and was poised to spring to the rescue of the glass ornaments, even as she smiled and held out her hand to the doctor.
He held it longer than the duke thought necessary, but Libby didn’t appear to mind. “With any luck, my dear, my patients will be two-legged tomorrow.”
Joseph followed him to the door and Libby took her brother by the arm. “My dear, did I leave my paints and easel in the orchard? Would you be a love and fetch them?”
“Of course,” he said promptly, and darted out the door ahead of the doctor.
She saw Dr. Cook to the door and just stood there, watching him walk into the night, her shoulders shaking as he tripped over the flower bed bordering the driveway and uttered a mild oath obviously learned at his father’s knee. In another moment, she closed the door and dissolved into silent laughter before straightening up, and catching the duke’s eyes, and collapsing into laughter again.
“Oh, dear,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“If you were ever to kiss him, I expect he would fall into a fit from which he would never recover,” the duke said.
“We will never know, will we?” she said, her eyes merry. She went past him into the sitting room for her father’s trousers and returned to the duke in the hallway. “Here are you, sir,” she said, and fixed him with a stern look that didn’t fool the duke for a minute. “When you have run through these, it will be time to return to London.”
She hesitated then, and the duke knew she had something else on her mind. “Nez, I have been meaning to tell you…” Her face turned red. “I really don’t go around kissing people in orchards.”
He looked at her face, rosy with embarrassment, and thought to himself, You should, Libby dear. At least, as long as it is I. Instead, he shook his head. “No apologies, Libby. Let us just say I was overcome with the idea of being outside again.”
She sighed with relief. “Thank the Lord. I don’t want you to think I’m not what I should be. And besides . . .” She hesitated again.
Besides what, he did not know. He thought for a minute she was going to tell him about the long-standing promise between her uncle and Eustace Wiltmore’s father, but she did not.
He said good night and started upstairs. A thought struck him, and he looked back at Libby where she stood in the hallway, watching him.
“My dear, do you know, I have just realized that I have not wanted a drink all day?”
She raised laughing eyes to his. “I do not know that we can promise so much excitement every day, Nez, to distract you, but we will try.”
He nodded, climbed another step or two, and realized that he was in love with Libby Ames. He started down the steps to say something to her—what, he really didn’t know—when the door opened and Joseph came in with the paint and easel tucked under his arm. His eyes were alive with excitement. “Lib, only imagine what I saw.”
“I cannot, Joseph,” she replied.
“The gypsies have returned!”
10
The Gypsies had returned to Holyoke Green. Benedict noticed the pinpoints of light from the flickering camp fires as he paced about his room, unable to sleep.
Long after the house was quiet, he had walked back and forth from the door to the window, glanced out, and returned to the door to begin again. From the door to the window, he thought of Libby Ames and saw her in his mind. At the window, he paused and thought about the gypsies. From the window to the door, he wondered what Libby would think when she learned he was a duke instead of a purveyor of confections. It could only further his cause in an amazing way, he decided, if she didn’t cut up too stiff when he confessed all and told her that he had been sent originally to spy upon her.
The more he paced and the more he thought about it, the more muddled he became in his mind. There would be trouble with Eustace, of course, particularly if his friend ever got a glimpse of Libby Ames. He would never call me out, thought the duke, but he will be a trifle miffed. That the promise between the fathers could be circumvented he had no doubt. These were modern times, not the Dark Ages.
A place would have to be found for Joseph eventually, too. He didn’t know Libby Ames well, but he knew her well enough to know that Joseph’s welfare would always be a prime consideration when she contemplated marriage. London would never do, he thought as he took another turn toward the window. Suppose the duke’s friends saw him? No, Joseph would have to content himself elsewhere.
The duke stopped at the window finally and leaned his hands on the sill, looking out at the June-scented darkness. He would write to Eustace first thing in the morning and tell him that the affair held no promise for him and that he might as well remain in Brighton. It was not the truth, but Benedict Nesbitt did not think he could deal with Eustace right now. He would smooth his own path with Libby and make all things right before he took her to London to meet Eustace Wiltmore and the other lions that awaited.
Soon even the gypsy camp fires flickered out. With a sigh, the duke went to bed and surprised himself by dropping into a sound sleep.
“The gypsies have returned,” Candlow said in the morning, when he came to open the draperies and bring a can of hot water.
Nez lay with his hands behind his neck, deriving some amusement from the evident fact that Candlow did not seem to bear his news with the enthusiasm obvious in Joseph last night.
“Joseph was quite pleased with those tidings last night,” the duke said.
Candlow sniffed. “That’s what comes from living in foreign parts for so many years, I don’t doubt. We as are Kentsmen born and raised know better than to get exercised by the notion of smelly gypsies.” Candlow looked out the widow and frowned, as if he expected to see them camped on the front yard and washing their persons in the fountain. “They are early this year.”
