Read Online Carla Kelly by Libby's London Merchant - Free Book Online Page A

Sunday stroll and had nothing more serious than dinner on his mind. “Lord, no, you goose,” he chided in his good-natured way. “What I do think is that I will be spending a good portion of this day picking out the gravel.”
    Libby blinked back her tears. “I’m not very good at this, Dr. Cook,” she said. “He looks dreadful.”
    “And so would you, if you had just graded up the road with your body. Hurry on ahead like a good girl and find a room for this poor purveyor of chocolate.”
    She did as she was bid. Candlow, never one to succumb to nerves, took one look at the doctor coming up the steps with the man cradled in his arms and led the way upstairs. He looked back once and shook his head, but there was just a tinge of satisfaction in his eyes. “This reminds me of any number of scrapes your father found himself in, Miss Ames,” he said fondly. “Ah, but your uncle is devilish dull.”
    “Candlow,” Libby exclaimed. “You have never spoken of my father.”
    The butler managed a slight smile in her direction. “I don’t know that we were allowed to speak of him, miss, at least while your grandfather was alive. Indeed, it became a habit, something I have not thought about until the arrival of this person.”
    “Perhaps that will change now?” Libby asked, her voice soft.
    “It might,” the butler answered, his voice equally quiet. “May you give way now for the doctor, miss.”
    Libby hurried ahead and stripped back the bedspread, smoothing out the pillow and then standing aside as Dr. Cook lowered the man carefully to the sheet. He stood silent then, towering over the man on the bed, just regarding him, his lips pursed, the frown line between his eyes quite pronounced.
    “Doctor?” Libby asked when he appeared not to be attending to the matter at hand.
    He started visibly and then shook his head. “Just wondering where to begin, Libby . . . Miss Ames,” he said, correcting himself. “I don’t suppose your uncle ventured all the way to Brighton without his valet?”
    “Oh, no, Doctor. I couldn’t imagine such a thing.”
    “Nor I,” he agreed, “but I had hopes. Well, let us summon Candlow again. Miss Ames, I suggest that you find other matters to occupy you.” He started to unbutton the unconscious man’s shirt. “In fact, take his bag into the hall and see if there is a nightshirt within.”
    Libby did as she was bid. She opened the bag but could not bring herself to put her hand inside and rifle through the stranger’s belongings. After a moment spent in serious contemplation of the sad fact that she was going to ruin, and Mama scarcely out of sight, Libby plunged in her hand and pulled out a handful of clothes.
    She found a nightshirt straight off, a cheerful blue-and-white affair that reminded her of mattress ticking, and a dressing gown that looked more valuable than the Bayeux Tapestry.
    Libby fingered the rich material. Chocolate must pay beyond my wildest imaginings, she thought. Robe in hand, she spun a story to herself, imagining that Mr. Nesbitt Duke must be no mere salesman, but part owner at least.
    Her speculations were disturbed by steps on the stairs. Joseph was coming slowly up the stairs, hand over hand on the railing like an old man.
    “Joseph, are you all right?” she asked as he sat down beside her and wrung his hands together.
    “Will he die, Libby?” Joseph asked, his voice a monotone, his eyes suspiciously red.
    Libby put her arm around her brother. “Oh, Joseph, I think not!”
    He allowed her to hold him, and he clung to her, even when the door opened and the doctor came into the hall.
    If Dr. Cook was surprised to see the two of them holding on to each other, he did not show it. Without a word, he put a large friendly hand on Joseph’s head and rested it there until Joseph looked up.
    “That’s better, now, Joseph,” the doctor said. “You did a capital job back there on the road. His shoulder is fine. Now if Libby will spare me that