Diamonds and Dreams (55 page)

“Sir?” Bennett asked.

Saber opened his eyes, grabbed his hat,
coat, and gloves from the butler and stormed back outside, thankful
that his coach and driver were still there. He snapped out
instructions to the man, then jumped into the carriage, slamming
the door so forcefully that the conveyance rattled.

The coach jolted forward, the driver urging
the horses into a fast canter. Saber glared at the passing streets,
feeling more frantic by the moment. One question hammered
repeatedly through his mind, filling him with wild, gut-wrenching
apprehension.

Who
, exactly, would Goldie see when
he arrived at the Chittingdons?

Saber West, the common man she trusted?

Or Marion Tremayne, the nobleman who had
deceived her?

* * *

To Goldie’s way of thinking, dinner was
proceeding smoothly. True, an extra place setting had to be
provided for her at the last minute since she had failed to
formally accept the Chittingdons’ invitation. But no one had seemed
to mind too much. Lady Chittingdon, in fact, had gone on and on
about how glad she was that Goldie had been able to attend, echoing
her husband’s sentiment that any friend of Marion Tremayne’s was a
welcome addition to their gatherings.

Slipping the last bit of her fruit compote
into her mouth, Goldie noticed one woman staring at her from across
the table. She smiled at the lady, discomfited when her gesture of
friendliness was returned with an icy, hateful look.

Jillian Somerset decided the American girl
was the most repulsive human being she’d ever had the extreme
misfortune to meet. Why, the ignorant little thing had used her
oyster fork for the entire meal, proclaiming the small utensil was
the first one she’d ever used that fit so perfectly into her mouth!
What Marion saw in the short, ugly, and mannerless chit was beyond
her, but whatever it was, Jillian was determined to see to it that
Marion’s interest quickly waned. She would begin bringing about
those ends tonight. And the fact that Marion wasn’t here would make
it all the easier.

“Miss Mae, I have heard that you were able
to interview our Prime Minister,” Lord Chittingdon said for the
benefit of the twelve other curious guests, many of whom gazed
respectfully at Goldie upon hearing the announcement. “Word of it
filtered my way from Her Majesty’s court, no less! When I heard
that the girl who had spoken to him was a lovely and petite
American, I knew she could be none other than you. Tell me, my
dear, what did our John Russell have to say to you?”

Glad to be able to turn her attention away
from the rude woman across from her, Goldie smiled at her host.
“Well,” she began, patting her mouth with her napkin, “we talked
about all he likes to eat, mostly. I was real interested in that.
Uh, folks in America want to know what kinds of food dukish people
like.”

“Indeed,” Jillian commented in a syrupy
voice. “And what was his reaction to you?”

Goldie stiffened, irritated by the mean way
the woman had asked the question. She raised a brow. “He liked me
so much he told me to call him Johnny.”

Lady Chittingdon laughed at what she
suspected was a bald-faced lie. She couldn’t condemn Goldie,
however, for she had witnessed Jillian Somerset’s animosity during
the meal and knew full well it was jealousy that prompted it. She
found the situation highly amusing. “Actually, Jillian,” Lady
Chittingdon said, “he was quite taken with Goldie. He related the
story many times, and on each occasion, he became so amused that he
laughed uproariously. It’s my opinion that he would welcome another
opportunity to see her again.”

“Humph!” Horatio Alders growled. “He’s
supposed to be looking after the best interests of our country, and
he wastes his time laughing over useless anecdotes!”

Lady Chittingdon gave the sour man a
despairing look. “Ladies,” she said, rising, “shall we retire to
the drawing room and allow the men to enjoy their cigars and port
before we begin dancing?”

All the women, save Goldie, rose, gathering
around Lady Chittingdon. “I’m stayin’ in here with the men,” she
announced, picking up her notepad and pencil from her lap. “I have
a lot of questions to ask ’em. Y’all sit back down,” she told the
men, who had all risen out of their chairs in deference to the
ladies’ departure.

“Oh, they’ll be along shortly, my dear,”
Lady Chittingdon assured her. “Come with us, Miss Mae. I’m sure I’m
not the only one who would like to hear the story of how you and
Marion Tremayne came to meet.”

“Well, all right,” Goldie acquiesced. “But
y’all men come on purty soon,” she told them. She allowed the
butler to pull out her chair for her, smiling graciously at
him.

Once in the elegant drawing room, the
ladies’ inquisition began immediately.

“Where did you meet Marion Tremayne, Miss
Mae?” Lady Ainsworth asked.

“Where?” Goldie repeated. She pulled at a
ringlet.

“Was it in Scotland?” Lady Baldwin
queried.

“Uh... Yeah. It was in Scotland,” Goldie
said, relieved. “I saw him in a little town there. He was doin’ one
of those Scottish jigs. Had on one of those skirts and
everything.”

“Marion was dancing a jig?” Lady Chittingdon
asked. “My! I would like to have seen that. Tell us more, Miss
Mae.”

“I wish y’all’d call me Goldie.
Miss
Mae
sounds so fancy.”

Lady Roth smiled. “But you are
quite...fancy, my dear. Your gown is simply gorgeous.”

Goldie smoothed her satin skirts. “And do I
have it on right? Fern and I had us a real time tryin’ to
understand which was the front side and which was the back. They
both looked the same. ‘Course the back usually has buttons, but
Fern said she’d seen some dresses with buttons in the front. We
finally put it on like this because it didn’t make much difference.
And I have on eight slips, too. I’m not really talkin’ about
underwear, though. I’m just sorta lettin’ y’all know in a real
casual way that I have some on over my you-know-whats.”

Lady Ainsworth frowned. “Your
you-know-whats?
”

Goldie leaned forward in her chair and
whispered. “My
legs
.” Straightening, she sipped the
champagne a maid had offered her, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles
tickled the back of her throat. “Yeah, I like this dress, but I’m
not used to showin’ this much of my other you-know-whats. This gown
shows nearly everything I’ve got. I don’t have much as you can
plainly see, but I usually cover up what little I’ve got. Fern said
it’s all right to show your you-know-whats at night, though.” At
the look of confusion on the women’s faces, she leaned forward
again. “My
ninnies
.”

“Oh, my!” Lady Baldwin exclaimed, whipping
out her fan. “Oh, my goodness gracious!”

Goldie patted the woman’s shoulder. “I
wouldn’t have said the word if y’all had known what I was talkin’
about. It’s a mystery to me how y’all can discuss stuff without
sayin’ what it is you’re discussin’. What do y’do? Point?”

Lady Chittingdon smothered laughter. “Why,
Goldie, it’s very simple. We don’t discuss it at all,” she
explained gently.

Goldie nodded. “Do you talk about chicken
parts? I was wonderin’ about that the other day. Myself, I like the
thighs. ‘Course then there’s chicken legs, too. What do all y’all
dukish folks do when you want a chicken part? Can you ask for a
breast at the supper table?”

Jillian sneered. “Tell us, Goldie. What does
Marion have to say about the way you act?”

“The way I act?” Goldie echoed in a very
tiny voice. “What’s the matter with the way I act?”

Jillian refrained from answering, but merely
gave Goldie a horrible look.

“Goldie, my dear,” Lady Chittingdon said,
realizing a change of subject was most definitely in order, “have
you heard about our newest project? I’m sure you will want to
include it in the book you are writing. We’ve recently begun
adopting street urchins. We bring the waifs into our homes, where
we begin teaching and grooming them. They will stay with us until
we are satisfied that they have become properly educated in all
respects. When that time comes, we will use our influence to find
them honest, well-paying jobs.”

Lady Roth smiled excitedly. “We call the
undertaking our mission of mercy, and we are sponsoring only the
most pitiful and ignorant girls we can find. My girl’s name is
Elsa, and she’s seventeen years old. Not all of our waifs are
necessarily children. Some are young women. After Elsa was cleaned
up and dressed, I discovered her to be quite pretty. She was very
frightened when she first arrived at my home, but my husband and I
have showered her with lovely things, and now she is much more
confident with us. She’s making splendid progress, too.”

Lady Ainsworth smoothed her hair. “My girl’s
name is Faye. She is eighteen. One of my servants found her selling
dog meat! Well, I was absolutely horrified to say the very least. I
took the poor child in immediately.”

“And my little urchin,” Lady Alders began,
“is fifteen. Her name is Netty. She’s only been with my husband,
Horatio, and me for a week and is still quite shy. But yesterday
she succeeded in reciting the entire alphabet! I was so proud of
her that I bought her a gold hand mirror. She’s never had a mirror
of her own and was quite happy to receive it.”

“And how is Horatio taking to the idea of
having Netty in his home?” Lady Chittingdon asked, feeling rather
sorry for the street urchin who had to live under the same roof as
the belligerent Horatio Alders. Why, the man was the stiffest, most
cantankerous man in all of England!

Lady Alders’ face fell. “Not very well, I’m
afraid. I take great care to keep Netty out of his way.”

Goldie sat back in her chair, listening to
other women describe their
waifs
. When the last one had
finished, she smiled. “Y’all are sure compassionate folks. I think
this new project of yours is real nice. Y’know, maybe y’all could
even find noble husbands for those girls. I bet any one of ’em
would be tickled pink to be able to marry a dukish man.”

“Oh, but that would never do,” Jillian said.
She fondled the huge emerald on her necklace. “It would be quite
unseemly for a titled gentleman to marry such a girl. Take Marion
Tremayne for example. As the Duke of Ravenhurst, it would be in
very poor taste for him to actually
wed
a girl so far
beneath him. He may dally with such a girl, but marry her?
Never.”

“Jillian,” Lady Chittingdon began,
struggling with anger, “please—”

“And what are you beautiful ladies
discussing, may I ask?” Lord Chittingdon asked as he entered the
drawing room. “Whatever the conversation, I hope you don’t mind if
the gentleman and I join in. We missed the pleasure of your company
so much, we decided not to linger over our port.”

Goldie grinned at the cluster of men, some
of whom were elderly, and some of whom were as young as Saber.
“Y’all pull up a chair. We’re talkin’ about how it’s not right for
dukish men to marry poor, ignorant girls. Before that we were
talkin’ about chicken parts, and before that we were—”

“We have been discussing many things,” Lady
Chittingdon finished for her. “Do be seated, gentleman.”

As the men accepted Lady Chittingdon’s
invitation, Goldie noticed one of them frowning into empty space.
Great day Miss Agnes, the man looked angry with the whole world.
“What’s your name again?” she asked him. “I forgot.”

Horatio snapped out of his irritable daze.
“I am Horatio Alders, and I do not want to be included in your
book.”

Goldie wondered if the man had ever been
happy in his entire life.
What an ill-box
, she mused with a
tiny grin. “Well, that’s just a shame. You look like just the fella
who could have answered a very important question for me.”

Horatio lifted his chin. “And what question
is that?”

“There’s no use in askin’ it if you aren’t
gonna answer.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to know the
question.”

“Well, all right. What was your favorite
thing to do when you were a little boy?”

Horatio frowned. “What bearing would that
possibly have on anything?”

“I’m not real sure yet. But I’m gonna tie it
in somehow. Maybe I’ll have a chapter called ‘Dukish
Young-uns.’”

Horatio turned away, but Goldie noticed his
scowl had turned into a thoughtful look. She grinned again.

Lord Baldwin cleared his throat. “I’m very
disappointed that Marion was unable to join us tonight, Miss Mae.
The last time I saw him was at Angelica Sheridan’s funeral.
He—”

“You know, now that you ask, Miss Mae,”
Horatio interrupted, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, “I
did
enjoy making paper boats.”

“Can you still make ’em?” she asked.

Horatio saw that all eyes were upon him. “I
have no idea and no wish to find out,” he flared.

Jillian turned her glacial blue gaze to Lord
Baldwin. “What a pity you haven’t seen Marion in so long,” she
said, casting a swift and hateful glance at Goldie. “I have seen
him on countless occasions since the funeral.”

“I don’t imagine one forgets how to make
paper boats,” Horatio commented. “If you will be good enough to
give me a sheet of your paper, Miss Mae, I will endeavor to show
you how.”

She smiled and gave him the paper.

“Horatio,” Lady Alders said to her husband.
“What in the world are you doing?”

Horatio grunted an answer no one could
comprehend, and remained busy folding the paper.

“Goldie, my dear,” Lord Chittingdon said
warmly, “are you enjoying our gathering?”

“Oh, Duke Chittin’don, you just can’t know
what bein’ here means to me. And I’m ready to start takin’ notes on
y’all. I only need stuff about dukish
men
,” she explained to
the women. “I’ve enjoyed y’all’s company and all, but I mostly came
for the men.”