Diamonds and Dreams (27 page)

Goldie ambled to his desk and sat on top of
it. “But even if Aunt Delia believed Duke Ravenhurst forgot her,
she forgave him. ‘Course I haven’t read all those diaries yet, but
so far I haven’t found anything mean about him. She went right on
lovin’ him just like she did when he was little.”

That was true, Saber reflected, but it still
tore at him to know that Delia had believed he’d forgotten about
her. He thought about the many letters he’d written to her in care
of Dane. “I—You know, Goldie, it’s possible Lord Tremayne
did
try and write to your aunt. If that’s so, Dane never
forwarded the letters. That would explain why Delia didn’t
correspond with His Grace. She thought he wasn’t interested.”

“I bet you a zillion dollars that’s what
happened.”

A lump formed in his throat at her
statement. “Is that really what you think, Goldie?” he asked,
wanting desperately to know her feelings. “You don’t really believe
Lord Tremayne turned his back on the villagers?”

“No,” she answered unhesitatingly. “His
Dukeship was a good boy when he was little. His parents were good,
too. I think Dane just took advantage of Duke Marion’s promise to
never come back to Ravenhurst.”

Saber felt like pulling her off the desk and
kissing her breathless. Her faith in the man she didn’t think she’d
ever met warmed him all over. He managed to subdue the urge to take
her into his arms, but couldn’t quite ignore the heat curling
through his loins. It remained, a silent, but powerful reminder of
his attraction to her. “I’m sure the duke would be touched to know
how you feel about him.”

Realizing his emotions were spilling from
his eyes, he skimmed another diary, smiling at the lines he read.
Not only had the books opened his eyes to some of Hutchins’ and
Doyle’s activities, they’d opened the door to his childhood as
well. He’d been taken back to those years. He’d been with Delia
again, reliving all the wonderful things he’d done as a boy that
were recorded in the precious little books.

Marion rescued a baby bird this
morning,
he read.
He climbed the tree and put the bird back
into its nest.
Saber remembered that day clearly. After he’d
returned the bird to its mother, he’d fallen out of the tree and
twisted his ankle. Delia had baked him a cake as reward for his
bravery.

“Saber, I didn’t mean for you to read every
one of the diaries without stoppin’,” Goldie told him.

Little Dora Mashburn stole half of
Marion’s apple this afternoon.
Saber read on.
He came home
and—
The words were water-stained after that, but Saber had no
need to guess at them. He remembered exactly what he’d done after
Dora had stolen his apple. He’d gone home and drawn a picture of
her, complete with horns and a pitchfork.

Goldie pushed herself closer to Saber and
gave his hand a little nudge. “I need to talk to you.” She tried to
suppress the warm feeling his nearness brought to her, but failed
miserably. His fragrant, masculine scent made her tremble, the
sight of his muscles, straining against his snug shirt, sent that
sweet ache seeping through her. She longed to reach out and touch
the disorderly mass of black curls on his head.

“Saber?”

He closed the diary. “I’ve been reading
these at random,” he told her, hopelessly lost in a valley of
memories. “There are so many, I didn’t know which one to read
first. And your aunt’s handwriting is so small, it takes almost an
hour to get through a few pages. I’m reading bits from the ones
that aren’t too badly stained.” He picked up another one and began
reading again.
The harvest was bountiful. It’s the best
Ravenhurst has had in years.
Absently, Saber glanced at the
year recorded in the top left-hand corner of the page.

Last year, he mused. And last year, Dane had
reported an extensive
loss
. Doyle, too, had described a
dismal situation. It was yet more proof.

“Y’see,” Goldie continued, “we’re goin’ to
London, Saber. I meant to tell you about my London plans earlier,
but—Well, you turn into such an ill-box over the duke lessons
sometimes, that I was sorta afraid to tell you that I wanted us to
go to London for duke research. There’s really no reason why we
should stay here at Leighwood any longer. I’ve shown you how to
walk and talk. We’ve practiced eatin’, wheezin’, and snortin’. We
have the wig and the cane. In London we’ll find out more stuff
about dukes. Dukes are
crawlin’
all over London, y’know.
We’ll spy on ’em and pick up a few more things we need to practice.
And we can keep on readin’ the diaries in the city.”

Vaguely, Saber heard her rambling. He tore
his gaze from the diary and looked at her again. “This Hutchins and
Doyle should be punished for what they’ve done.”
And how I will
relish meting out that punishment,
he added silently.

Goldie realized he hadn’t heard a word she’d
said, nor did he even really see her. She gave his hand another
nudge. “I said we’re goin’ to London. We’ll spy on dukes there.
It’ll take about a month or so, I reckon.”

Saber nodded absently and deliberated. He
decided he needed to review the accounting books Hutchins sent to
him. Too, he would review Doyle’s reports. And he would hire Tyler
Escott, the best detective in England, to assist him with the task.
Perhaps Tyler could even figure out a few of the illegible words in
the diaries. And Tyler would probably make a trip to Ravenhurst to
observe the situation for himself. After that, Saber was sure there
would be enough evidence to put Doyle and Hutchins behind bars for
the rest of their lives.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get
to London, Saber?” Goldie asked. “Is it far away from here? And do
you think the owner of this here estate would mind if we borrowed
that fancy carriage he’s got out there in that coach house? I’ve
never ridden in one before, y’know. And I saw the villagers down
yonder takin’ care of some horses in a pasture. Maybe we could
borrow the horses too. We could tie Dammit and Yardley to the back
of the coach. Say yes?”

Saber looked back down at the diary,
remembering that Hutchins’ account books were in London. Every book
from the past twenty years was in the city. So were Doyle’s
reports. For that matter, so was Tyler Escott. “I’m sorry,” he
mumbled. “What did you say, Goldie?”

She watched him pick up another diary. He
opened it and began reading. With a heavy sigh, she did likewise.
“‘Miss Angelica,’” she read. “Oh, I’ve never read this one before,”
she told Saber, her eyes still skimming the page. “Too bad it’s so
stained. Only a few words left that I can read.”

Saber’s head snapped up. “What was that
about Angelica?” he asked, his heart pounding.

She glanced back down at the page. “The only
understandable words are ‘Angelica,’ and somethin’ that looks like
‘ring.’”

“Let me see it.” He took the book from her,
a mixture of frustration and anguish rolling through him when he
saw how impossible the entry was to make out. He turned a few
pages, reading more single words. “‘Angelica,’ “ he read again.
“‘Roses.’”

“Roses?” Goldie echoed. “Angelica planted a
whole garden of roses for Duke Marion, y’know. They don’t bloom
though. Legend has it they won’t flower until the duke finds true
love again. Sad story, that one.”

Saber continued to read. “‘Miss Angelica and
I laughed at—’” He could read the obliterated passage no
further.

“Wonder what they were laughin’ at?” Goldie
mused aloud. “Let’s see. Angelica. Ring. Roses. She and Aunt Delia
laughin’ at somethin’. Maybe Angelica planted the roses in a ring,
and it looked so dumb that she and Aunt Delia laughed at it,” she
suggested.

Saber turned a few pages. “‘Dora,’” he
read.

Goldie cocked her head. “All right. Angelica
planted the roses in a dumb-lookin’ ring. She and Aunt Delia
laughed at it. Dora came along, and she laughed too.”

“But these words occur on separate pages,
Goldie. There are several damaged pages between them. We cannot
connect the words as if they were all a part of the same sentence
or even the same paragraph.”

“Well, that’s what
I’ve
been doin’,”
she argued sassily. “In one really ruined diary, Aunt Delia wrote
the word ‘marquis.’ Two pages later I made out the word ‘gold.’ The
next page was ‘sapphire.’ The last words I could read were ‘lambs’
and ‘shoes.’ Put two and two together, Saber. It’s perfectly
obvious to me that Aunt Delia saw some marquis who wore gold shoes.
And on the gold shoes were lambs made with sapphires.”

Saber heard her chatter, but continued to
stare at the diary. He remembered that Angelica had not been
wearing her ruby engagement ring when her body had been returned to
London. He’d always wondered what had happened to it, and now
suspected that maybe Delia had known. But it wasn’t only the ring,
he realized suddenly. It was Delia and Angelica’s laughter. What
had they found funny? How had they spent their time together, and
what had they discussed? And why had Dora been with them?

An eerie feeling began to nag at him, and he
felt a profound need to solve these mysteries. But piecing together
the information in the water-stained diaries and making sense of it
was like trying to connect “one” to “one hundred” with no numbers
in between.

Still, he had to know. Had to understand.
His heart, his soul, his memories demanded it, and if it took
years, he’d study each diary carefully. For surely there was more,
he realized. More, much more, but what?

Like a slight, but steady drip of water, the
strange feeling he had continued to bother him. His suspicions and
frustration rose until a sudden thought soothed them. He’d hand
over everything—the books, the reports, and the diaries—to Tyler
Escott. And he’d pay the man a veritable fortune to uncover every
hidden truth.

His decision made, he shoved suspicion from
his mind. It would do him no good to dwell on it now. Dropping the
diaries back into their sack, he realized that if he was going to
take them to the city, Goldie would have to come along too. She
wouldn’t part with her aunt’s treasures. “We’re leaving Leighwood,”
he announced abruptly. “We’re going to London.”

She frowned at him. “But that’s what I’ve
been tryin’ to tell—”

“I realize London wasn’t in your plans, but
I—”

“Saber, I just told you that we—”

“You see, Goldie, it’s not proper for us to
take advantage of our host’s generosity. He offered us his country
home, but surely he didn’t mean we could stay here indefinitely.
It’s time to leave.”

“Saber, I—”

“You’ll like London. We can continue with
the duke lessons in the city as well as we can here. And Big has
rejoined your uncle, so I really see no reason why you would balk
at the idea of going.”

“But—”

“Addison...uh, gave me my allowance before
he left, so you needn’t worry about finances. We have enough money
for the trip. We’ll borrow our host’s coach and horses for the
journey. I have a house in London, and you’ll stay there, of
course. The house...was a present from Addison. So you see? There
is no earthly reason why you should refuse to go. Now what is your
decision?”

Goldie couldn’t for the life of her
understand what had gotten into him, but she decided not to argue
any further. Saber was asking her to go to London, and that’s
exactly what she wanted to do anyway. She’d tell him about spyin’
on dukes as they traveled to the city. The journey would give her
the perfect opportunity to talk him into it should he resist the
idea.

Nodding at him, she looked at the bag he was
holding so tightly. “Did you learn some good duke stuff while
readin’ the diaries?” she asked. “Did you read the part about that
marquis who wore purple satin pants? Do you think we should try and
get you some like that? And did you get to the part about that earl
who smelled like a woman? Aunt Delia wrote that he wore more
perfume than Duke Marion’s mama. I like perfume, but I’ve never had
any. I tried to make some one time though. I boiled some apple peel
and vanilla beans together, then crushed it all up. But the vanilla
turned my neck brown, and Big said I smelled like a pie. I would
have used flowers, but it was almost winter, and there weren’t any
more growin’.

“Harriet Orabel Gordon down in Beetle’s
Elbow, Alabama, had her a bottle of perfume,” she continued. “I
used to think her name was so funny. Her initials spell ‘Hog,’
y’see. But I didn’t ever call her Hog. Anyway, she was so scared to
use all her perfume up that she hardly ever wore it. Then it was
Wendell Snitch’s birthday, and Harriet was sweet on Wendell. So she
put on some of her perfume to go to his birthday party. But the
thing is she’d let that perfume sit for so long without ever usin’
it that it went rancid. I mean to tell you, the girl was
ripe
when she got to that party. Wendell’s mama made her go
home and take a bath. Saber, do beetles really have elbows?”

Saber sat back down, feeling some of his
tension leave him. Goldie’s soft chatter had such a soothing effect
on him. Looking up at her, he was reminded of his promise to Big
that he would take care of her. The thought wasn’t unpleasant in
the least. In truth, he needed her as much as she needed him.
Especially now. God, especially tonight.

“Goldie, I will not wear purple satin
trousers, nor will I drown myself in sweet-smelling perfume,” he
informed her firmly, but couldn’t help a slight grin when she
looked at him with a you-will-if-I-say-you-will expression on her
face.

With a toss of her head, Goldie threw her
curls off her shoulders, then examined her nails. “Did you happen
to notice that Aunt Delia didn’t write in the
uncial
way?”
she queried offhandedly.

At the impish ascent of her brow, Saber’s
grin widened. “Well, now that you mention it, yes, I did notice
that.”