Diamonds and Dreams (42 page)

She broke off and looked up at him. “This
stuff is all well and good, Saber, but y’know what? We still don’t
know what dukes talk about. I wonder what a typical duke
conversation is? I mean,
normal
men talk about the cost of
livin’. About the weather. About their friends. They talk about the
best fishin’ spot in the creek. But dukes probably don’t talk about
that stuff.”

“I don’t talk about the cost of living, the
weather, friends, or fishing spots. Are you saying I’m not a normal
man?” He sat up straighter, leaning forward while waiting to hear
her answer.

She cocked her head. “You’re right. You
don’t talk about those kinds of things. Why don’t you?” She
frowned, still staring at him. “Come to think about it, Saber, you
don’t hardly ever talk about yourself. Isn’t there anything about
you that you’d like to tell people?”

“I told you about my dandelion stews,” he
reminded her a bit defensively.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not much. What other
stuff is there to know about you?”

Determined to prove his normalcy to her, he
tried to think of some common things he liked to do. “Well, I had a
rock collection when I was little. And I could whistle with two
fingers in my mouth.”

“Do you still collect rocks? Can you still
whistle like that?”

He sat back again. “No, I don’t collect
rocks anymore,” he said softly, wondering if his old collection was
still in his tree house. “But I can probably still whistle.” Two
fingers in his mouth, he blew hard.

Goldie giggled when no whistle came forth.
“Well, I guess that answers that question. You can’t do it
anymore.”

“Yes, I can.” Again, he tried, and failed.
“Goldie, I swear I used to be able to whistle like—”

“Forget about whistlin’, Saber. What kinds
of things do you like to do as a man?”

“Well... Lots of things. Things like...”
Blast it all! he fumed. Besides investing his money, he couldn’t
think of a single thing he really enjoyed doing. And he couldn’t
very well tell Goldie about his investments. “I like to...”

“Sing?” she supplied.

“Sing? I don’t know. I haven’t sung in
years.”

“Why?”

“I—Because I don’t know any songs.”

Her smile faded. “Oh, how sad.”

“I’ve never thought of it as
sad
. Why
do you say that?”

“Well I never knew anybody who didn’t know a
single song. To me, that’s sad. Want me to teach you one?” Without
waiting for his answer, she burst into a stirring rendition of
“Yankee Doodle.”

Saber was enchanted. Her singing voice was
much like her personality: sweet, happy, and completely lovely. He
clapped loudly.

She finished her song and smiled. “You try
it now.”

He shifted in his seat. “Goldie, I really
don’t think—”

“Oh, all right, so you don’t like to sing.
Do you like to peel oranges?”

“I’ve never peeled one.”

“Don’t you like ’em?”

“Yes, I like them.” But the servants always
performed the chore of peeling them.

“It’s a real challenge to get the peel off
without breakin’ it.” Goldie enlightened him. “I even think the
orange tastes better if you don’t break the peel, I know that’s
silly, but there’s just somethin’ about holdin’ an unbroken peel
while you’re eatin’ the orange.”

A bittersweet emotion seized him. He
realized he’d missed out on a great many things in life. Peeling an
orange suddenly sounded like the most diverting activity known to
man.

“I don’t have legs,” she informed him
suddenly, pulling her skirt down.

“What? You have no legs?”

“Nope. And it’s not very gentlemanly of you
to say
legs
in front of me.”

He frowned. “What on earth are you talking
about?”

“Miss Lucy and Miss Clara said ladies don’t
have legs. Chairs, tables, pianos don’t either. Nothin’ has legs,
Saber. And look at this.” She lifted her skirt just a bit.

Saber saw lacy underwear covering the
appendages she told him she didn’t possess. He felt extreme
disappointment at the sight. He’d loved her bare legs.

“And I’m sorry for squealin’ when I saw
those dukish men out there. I was supposed to laugh with quiet
delight.”

“I like your squeal.”

“Well, it’s not good manners to squeal. Do
you like the way I’m sittin’?”

“You look like you have a board tied against
your back.”

“This is the way a lady sits.”

“How wonderful,
Lady Goldie
, “ he
muttered.

“And I’m not supposed to let you take
liberties with me ever again. Do you know what liberties are,
Saber?”

“I have a vague idea,” he snapped, anger
coming.

“What are they?”

He realized she didn’t know, and grinned
rakishly. If she was unfamiliar with the word, she could look it up
in her dictionary, he decided. But she would never get the
definition from him.

“Itchie Bon, get down from there!” Goldie
shouted when the dog began pawing and jumping at the door. She
looked out and saw a stray mongrel, realizing Itchie Bon had seen
it too. She reached for his collar the same time Saber did.

But before either of them had a firm grip on
it, Itchie Bon made one last powerful leap at the door. It flew
open, and he sprang out.

“Great day Miss Agnes, Saber, Itchie Bon—”
She broke off and jumped from the slow-moving coach. Falling into
the street, she rolled several times before managing to stagger to
her feet. Once she was standing, she caught sight of Itchie Bon,
who was running after the stray. She raced after him.

“Goldie!” Saber yelled at her. He, too,
leaped from the coach, thankful the vehicle was going so slowly.
Mindless of all the people staring at him, he tore after Goldie,
reaching her quickly. “Stop!” he demanded, holding her arms when
she twisted to get away. “Goldie—”

“But Itchie Bon’s runnin’ away!” she
hollered, tears streaming. “Saber, I might not ever see him
again!”

Saber saw the dog was about a block away.
Reluctant to let Goldie go, he did the only thing he could think of
to do. Two fingers in his mouth, he took a deep breath and blew
hard.

The loud, shrill whistle that followed made
several horses shy. Heads turned, people stopping to stare.

“Here he comes!” Goldie squealed. “Saber,
you did it! You whistled, and here Itchie Bon comes!”

Acute mortification enveloped Saber when he
realized how much attention his whistle had drawn. Desperately, he
looked for the carriage, clenching his jaw when he saw it a great
distance down the road. He knew then that his driver had no idea
that the coach was without its passengers. Saber scanned the street
for a cab, waving wildly when he saw one. “All right, let’s go,
Goldie,” he said when the cab driver waved back.

God, he thought. If any of his acquaintances
saw him, the masquerade would be over immediately. He surveyed his
surrounding apprehensively, feeling tremendous relief when he saw
no one he knew. He took Goldie by the elbow and grabbed Itchie
Bon’s collar, hurrying them both toward the approaching cab. Before
the carriage had even reached a full stop, he was snatching the
door open.

“I say! Marion!” a man’s voice called
loudly. “Marion, wait!”

At the sound of his name, dread pumped
through Saber’s every vein.

“Get in,” he told Goldie, lifting her into
the coach and dragging Itchie Bon in, too.

“Marion, I knew it was you!” the man
exclaimed as he arrived at the carriage. “I’d heard you were on
holiday in Scotland, my boy!”

Saber saw the man was none other than the
elderly Lord Chittingdon, Duke of Blexheath. “I—Good day,” he
stammered. Casting a glance at Goldie, he saw a wild look of
excitement in her eyes, and he felt as if someone had kicked him in
the belly. Panic seized him, but he didn’t try to stop Goldie when
she jumped out of the coach, for he knew full well no power on
earth could stop her.

“My name’s Goldie Mae, sir,” she told the
man. “Are you a duke?”

The man regarded her with a slight scowl. “I
am Winthrop Chittingdon, Duke of Blexheath. Who, may I ask, are
you?”

Saber swallowed. “She is—”

“I’m a writer from America!” Goldie blurted.
“I’m here in England to study dukish people. Folks in America don’t
know much about y’all, so I’m gonna write a book about you.
Sab—
Marion
here is takin’ me all around so’s I can do all my
research. Do you think he and I could come to some of y’all’s
get-togethers soon? It would really help me to be with a whole herd
of dukes all in one room, y’know.”

Lord Chittingdon stared at her.
“Well...”

Saber shuffled his feet. “Goldie, I really
don’t think—”

“Any friend of Marion’s will be a welcome
addition to our assemblies,” Lord Chittingdon decided aloud,
looking up at Saber. “It’s been years since you’ve attended a
social gathering, Marion. I must say it will be splendid to have
you back. My wife, Caroline, and I are hosting an affair on the
twenty-fifth, and I’m sure she will be pleased to have you and Miss
Mae attend. There will be dinner and dancing.”

“Set us a place,” Goldie said, grinning. “Is
it potluck? I went to a potluck supper once, and I took potato
salad. Olive Nookin only took stale soda crackers, but she sat down
and ate enough food to bust her wide open. After I saw her do that,
I swore on my daddy that I’d
always
bring a lot of food to
any potluck suppers I ever got invited to. If you don’t like potato
salad, I could bring fried chicken. I don’t really like to fry
chicken because I get popped all the time. You know how grease
flies all over when you fry chicken. But if you like fried chicken,
I’ll put up with bein’ popped. Do you want me to bring fried—”

“Goldie,” Saber cut her off, pulling at his
shirt collar, “I doubt seriously that Lord Chittingdon’s dinner
will be...uh,
potluck
.”

“Oh. Well, what time does the party start,
Lord? I need to know, y’see, because Miss Lucy and Miss Clara said
they don’t agree with bein’ fashionably late. I’ll even get there
about a half hour early to help your wife set the table and stuff
like that. So what time’s it start?”

Lord Chittingdon stared at her again. “I—I
believe Caroline indicated half past six. But she—You—Miss Mae,
there will be no need for you to assist with the table.”

Goldie giggled softly. “Did you notice I
laughed with quiet delight, Lord? I usually squeal, but Miss Lucy
and Miss Clara say squealin’s only for pigs. I have a pig. His
name’s Runt.”

Saber rolled his eyes. “It has been a
pleasure seeing you again, Lord Chittingdon,” he told the
bewildered man. “My fondest regards to Lady Chittingdon. Good
day.”

With that, he handed Goldie into the coach,
got in behind her, and shut the door. He realized the rudeness of
closing the door in Lord Chittingdon’s face, but he knew if he
didn’t get Goldie away from the man, she would shock him into a
coma. “We are
not
attending the Chittingdon—”

“Oh, yes, we are! Saber, there was no doubt
in that man’s mind that you were Marion Tremayne! I’ve really done
my work well, haven’t I? You acted so perfectly dukish that you
fooled a
real duke!
You forgot to throw in a few thee’s and
thou’s, though. Anyway, that duke said he hasn’t seen the real
Marion in a long time, so it’s obvious he can’t remember what ole
Marion really looks like. If
he
doesn’t remember, it makes
sense that other folks won’t either! Oh, this is just so perfect,
Saber! Just
wait
till we get to that party! I’m gonna—”

“We are not going.” He gave her a piercing
glare.

“Saber—”

“I will hear no more about the matter.” God,
he thought dismally. By tonight everyone would know he was in the
city. The only comfort he had was that no one would find him at his
house. If they couldn’t find him, they couldn’t very well come
calling on him. And no one would think to look for him at Addison’s
grandfather’s house; therefore Goldie’s location would remain a
secret.

He heard Goldie muttering and assumed she
was cursing him up and down. “Goldie—”

“You are so
mean!
” she yelled at him,
tears of fury filling her eyes. “I bet you pulled the wings off
butterflies when you were little just like that Raleigh Purvis I
told you about!”

“I did no such thing. Goldie, listen to me.
I—”

“No.”

He realized the extent of her rage and
frustration. “Very well, Goldie, later on we will discuss attending
the affair.
Discuss
it, mind you. That does not mean we will
definitely be attending. I will, however, think about it.” He felt
guilt nag at him. He had no intention whatsoever of accepting the
invitation, but only said he would think about it so Goldie would
calm down.

His answer thrilled her. She knew full well
she could talk him into going. “Thank you, Saber.”

He felt relief smooth through him. The
subject of the dinner party would come up again, he knew, and by
then he hoped to have a valid reason why he couldn’t attend.

“Let’s enjoy the rest of the afternoon,
shall we?” He banged on the roof of the carriage with his cane,
then opened the window slightly. “To the marketplace,” he
instructed the driver.

* * *

Goldie didn’t think she’d ever seen so much
food in her life. Saber refused to let her get out of the coach,
but she had a wonderful view from the window. “So this is the
London market,” she said to him while he picked out the finest
oranges he could find from the basket a coster-woman held up for
him.

She saw stalls filled with fish, poultry,
and meats. Fat cabbages were everywhere. Walnuts, apples, plums,
onions, rhubarb, and potatoes. Piles of bright carrots, snowy
cauliflower, deep-green broccoli, and purple turnips lay piled high
upon the steps of a building, their brilliant colors soothing the
shred of irritation she still felt toward Saber. There was coffee,
tea, flour, sugar, salt, and all sorts of spices, too. Breads and
sweets filled the air with a wholesome fragrance. Every kind of
food she could think of had a place in the bustling
marketplace.