Diamonds and Dreams (10 page)

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have
guessed he’d accept his situation with such good grace,” Winston
murmured.

“He was quite willing, wasn’t he?” Kenneth
remarked.

“Eager, I think, is a better word,” David
amended. “What do you think, Addison?”

Addison continued to watch Goldie and Saber
until they disappeared. The forgotten melody of Saber’s laughter
came to him again. He grinned. “Do any of you believe in
miracles?”

* * *

Dusk was beginning to fall when Saber urged
his ebony stallion into the barn, Goldie and Big right behind him
on Dammit and Smiley Jones. He dismounted and waited for the stable
hands to see to the mounts. “Vincent?” he called when no one
appeared. “Alvin?” Impatient, he demanded their presence again,
this time more loudly.

“What are you carryin’ on about, Saber?”
Goldie asked, jumping off Dammit.

“The stable lads,” he said, peering into the
dim stalls. “They’re supposed to attend to our mounts. I can’t
imagine where they’ve gotten off to.”

“Well, who needs ’em?” Goldie asked. Deftly,
she removed Dammit’s tack. “Don’t you know how to take care of your
own horse?”

Saber stared at her incredulously before he
remembered he’d temporarily given up his title and therefore his
right to servants also. “Of course I can see to Yardley.”

Goldie giggled. “Yardley? Saber, why’d you
give that brute of a horse such a sissy name? Somethin’ like Big
Butch would fit him better. Or Giant Jack. Or Mammoth Max.”

“Or Colossal Clyde,” Big added.

Saber frowned at them, then looked at his
horse. “I don’t think Yardley is sissy at all. It’s a fine
name.”

Goldie smiled and took hold of Dammit’s
forelock. She led him into an empty stall, Smiley Jones
clip-clopping along behind. Itchie Bon came loping in too, happily
settling himself in a soft bed of hay. “And what do you think about
the name Marion for a man? Think that’s a fine name too?”

Saber’s eyes narrowed. “I most certainly do.
A fine name indeed.”

Goldie shook her head. “Yeah? Well, I don’t.
It’s like Yardley. Too sissy. And you know, Saber, that gives us
somethin’ to think on. I figure this Duke Marion might be sorta
girlish, y’know what I mean?”

Saber sucked in a breath of astonishment.
“Are you implying that the duke likes...Goldie—I am
sure
the
duke prefers women to men.”

Goldie giggled again. “All I meant was that
his mannerisms are probably...delicate. I know Duke Marion likes
women. I know it because I found out he was gonna marry Angelica
Sheridan. He loved her with his whole body and soul. She died
though.”

Saber felt sorrow come crashing down upon
him. He gripped Yardley’s reins as if he could crush the leather to
powder.

“That’s a sad, sad story, Saber,” Goldie
continued. “If I think on it too hard, it makes me cry.”

When he heard the quiver in her voice, Saber
looked at her from over Yardley’s back. Her head was bent; she was
staring at the straw on the floor of the stall. Was she crying? If
so, why? The tragedy hadn’t happened to
her
.

“Yeah, a sad story,” she said again. “I’ll
tell it to you sometime.”

“I already know it,” he whispered too
quietly for anyone to hear. He took a moment to get hold of his raw
emotions, then quickly finished with Yardley before walking out of
the barn. When Goldie and Big didn’t follow him, he turned and saw
them climbing into the hayloft. “What are you doing?”

Goldie looked down at him. “Beddin’
down.”

“In the hayloft?”

From his position on the ladder, Big stared
at Saber. He still didn’t trust the man. “Is it any of your damn
business where we sleep?”

“Actually it
is
my business,” Saber
answered. “Leighwood is at our disposal, there are twelve bedrooms
in it, and I assumed you and Goldie would be sleeping in two of
them. However, if you prefer hay and dirt to downy feather
mattresses, fluffy pillows, and clean silk sheets, by all means
indulge yourself. Goldie, where would
you
like to stay?”

“Y’mean we’re invited to stay in the
house?”

The astonishment in her gold eyes and the
long pieces of straw sticking out of her wild, wheat-colored
ringlets made Saber smile. “
You
are, but I’m not sure about
him
,” he said, inclining his head toward Big.

Big scrambled down the ladder and stormed to
where Saber stood. “You just want to get her alone, you—”

“I’ve heard quite enough out of you,” Saber
declared hotly.

“Oh, you have, have you?” Big blustered.
“Just who the hell do you think you are? The King of England?”

Saber raised his chin, “The last I heard, we
had no king.”

The man’s imperious manner infuriated Big.
“Well, seeing as how you gave your horse such a sissy name, perhaps
you think you’re the
Queen
of England!”

Saber’s hands curled into tight fists. It
wasn’t going to be easy getting along with the cantankerous dwarf.
Big was intent on badgering him.

Goldie descended the ladder and joined the
two men. “Big, what in the world’s gotten into you?”

Big stuffed his hands into his pockets and
saw her cast a glance at Saber. There was a sparkle in her eyes,
and that worried him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he lied. “Nothing.”

“Then shall we?” Saber asked, sweeping his
hand toward the mansion.

As they strolled across the grounds, Goldie
admired the luxurious garden that was profuse with colorful flowers
of every kind. She picked dandelions.

“Saber! Goldie! “ Addison called merrily,
waving from the steps that led to the manor house. “Come in, come
in,” he said as they arrived. “And who might you be, sir?” he asked
the small man beside Goldie.

Big grunted. “I might be Big Mann. I might
be someone else, too. I might be Jeffry Roberts. I might be Sam
Brown. I might be—”

“He’s Big Mann,” Goldie cut him off. “And
he’s not in the greatest mood today. A regular ill-box is what he
is.”

“Ill-box?” Addison echoed.

“She uses that expression for a person who
is crabby,” Big explained gruffly. “I, however, am no ill-box.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Addison replied, and
looked at Saber. “Tell me, Saber. How was the rabbit? Did you sniff
each bite of it?”

Saber assisted Goldie up the steps. “I
did.”

“And he held his pinky finger out while
nibblin’ the meat, too,” Goldie added, presenting Addison with her
bouquet of dandelions. “I’ll swannee, he looked just like a duke,
eatin’ that way.”

Addison stared hard at the bunch of weed
flowers to keep from laughing. “Yes, well, that’s splendid, Goldie.
You’ve gotten off to an excellent start teaching etiquette to my
backward cousin.”

“Amusing, Addison,” Saber muttered as he led
Goldie into the spacious marble hall. “Very amusing.” He stopped as
Goldie let go of his arm. “What are the two of you doing?” he
queried when he saw her and Big on the floor struggling with their
shoes.

Goldie peered up at him. “Same thing you
should be doin’. Take off your boots, Saber. A duke wouldn’t ever
track mud all over a house as beautiful as this one. It just isn’t
proper.” She rose, placing her hands on her hips as she waited for
him to obey her instructions.

He stared down at her. He knew if he got mud
all over the house, the servants would clean it up. The thought
made him look around. Where was Freeborn, the butler? And that
little maid, Abigail, who was forever hovering around the foyer?
“Addison, where are all the—”

“Saber, did you hear what I said?” Goldie
demanded, wiggling her bare toes upon the polished marble floor.
“Take off your boots.”

“Yes, Saber,” Addison agreed. “How dare you
get mud all over the house! My shoes,” he said to Goldie, “are
clean. I changed them the very second I came in.”

She nodded approvingly, patted his arm, and
then glared at Saber. “You gonna take your boots off, Your Royal
Highness Lordship Duke Marion Tremayne?” she asked, emphasizing the
name.

Bending, he snatched them off. Goldie
noticed his irritation. “Saber, you can’t be gettin’ mad every time
you have to do somethin’ mannerly. You’re just about as mulish and
touchy as ole Roscoe Snood down in Sharksville, Tennessee.”

“Sharksville?” Addison repeated. “How very
interesting.”

“Y’know, I never did understand why they
named that town Sharksville,” Goldie told him, glancing at the
tremendous crystal chandelier twinkling from the high ceiling above
her. “There wasn’t a single shark anywhere nearby because the ocean
was about sixty-five million miles away. Anyway, ole
Roscoe—Remember I just told you he lived there? Well, you couldn’t
even
look
at the man without him takin’ your head off for
doin’ it. I looked at him once, and he hollered, ‘What the hell you
lookin’ at, girl?’ Great day Miss Agnes, he near about scared the
spit out of me. Nobody’s ever yelled at me just for lookin’ at ‘em
before.

“Well, ole Roscoe, he got it into his head
to build a house on Can’t-Make-Up-My-Mind Hill. Folks tried to tell
him the hill got its name for good reasons, but Roscoe was mulish
just like I already told you. He built that house and strutted
around like he was God’s gift to the world. Well, a big rain came.
The hill washed away and sprang up in another spot. Nobody could
ever figure out how a hill could change places like that, but that
one did. That’s why it was called Can’t-Make-Up-My-Mind Hill. It
couldn’t make up its mind where it wanted to be, y’see. Roscoe’s
house washed away too. Worst thing about it was that Roscoe was in
it when it did. Nobody ever found him. Some folks said he’s buried
inside Can’t-Make-Up-My-Mind Hill. They were gonna wait till the
hill moved again, then look for him. But I don’t know if they ever
did that because Uncle Asa and I moved on. And there you have it,
Saber.”

Saber stared down at her again. Her story
was so outlandish, it was a moment before he realized she was
waiting for him to comment. “Poor Roscoe,” was all he could think
of to say.

Addison laughed until his sides ached. “I do
believe you owe Goldie an apology for being so mulish and touchy,
Roscoe...er,
Saber
. Oh, and I’m quite sure that
dukish
folks
say they’re sorry on bended knee,” he informed
Goldie.

When Saber saw Goldie point to the ground,
his first thought was to refuse. The Duke of Ravenhurst bowed to no
one but royalty, and that was that.

But the mulish and touchy Roscoe Snood came
to mind, and it went against Saber’s grain to be compared to the
man buried in a traveling hill down in Sharksville, Tennessee. Too,
he remembered he was supposed to be enjoying these blasted duke
lessons. He sank to the floor on bended knee. Taking Goldie’s hand,
he pressed a light kiss to it.

Her eyes widened when she felt his lips upon
her hand. His touch flowed up her arm and spread throughout her
entire body. Her breath caught in her throat. Never had she felt
anything so wonderful. So romantic.

Saber looked up and noticed the blush on her
cheeks. He smiled. “I humbly apologize for balking, Goldie. For
showing such blatant obstinacy. For making your job more difficult.
For—”

“Saber!” Winston called as he, Kenneth, and
David descended the staircase. “What are you doing? Proposing?”

Saber rose. “Apologizing.” He watched as
Goldie and Big began examining various pieces of furniture.
“Addison,” he whispered, “where are all the servants? There’s no
one in the barn or the house.”

“Hence, there’s no one to call you ‘milord’
or ‘Your Grace.’”

“We told them we wouldn’t be needing their
services for the time being,” David added.

Saber frowned. “But—”

“Who’s the man with Goldie?” Kenneth
asked.

“He’s her friend, Big Mann,” Addison
answered.

“Big
Mann
?” David repeated, his lips
twitching.

Addison nodded. “And take care not to ruffle
him. He’s an...ill-box.”

“He’s a what?” Winston asked.

“Saber,” Goldie called, motioning for him to
join her in front of a large, gilt-framed portrait. “Come look at
the man in this picture.” Absently, she caressed the hand he’d
kissed.

In his stockinged feet, Saber advanced,
glancing at the portrait of his mother’s Uncle Radcliffe.

“Look at his hair,” Goldie said, studying
the picture carefully. “We need to get you one of those white wigs.
This man is obviously a dukish person, Saber. His flarin’ nostrils
are a sure sign of that. Mildred Fickle said dukish people always
flare their nostrils. Lemme see if you can do it.” She looked up at
him, her eyes focused on his nose. “Go on. Flare away.”

Saber’s lip curled when he heard his friends
laughing. Drawing himself up to his full height, he inhaled through
his nose, making sure his nostrils flared as wide and sharply as
they would. “Was that satisfactory?”

She cocked her head, her ear almost touching
her shoulder. “Could you make a small snortin’ sound while you’re
flarin’? Mildred Fickle didn’t say anything about snortin’, but it
sounds like it sorta goes with flarin’, don’t you think? I mean,
you don’t have to sound like a hog rootin’ around for grub, but a
soft little wheeze and sniff would go real good with the
flare.”

“Wheeze, Saber,” Addison demanded, wiping a
tear of laughter from the corner of his eye. “Wheeze and
snort.”

Saber had to swallow his aggravation.
Flaring his nostrils again, he attempted a wheeze, but all that
came from him was a strangled sound. God, he felt ridiculous.

And yet Goldie was right, he mused. Many
noblemen he knew
did
flare their nostrils and make wheezing
sounds. They sniffed their noses at many things, and they did it to
demonstrate their displeasure or condescension. He’d never paid
much attention to it. But as he thought about it now, he realized
what an arrogant mannerism it truly was.