Diamonds and Dreams (56 page)

“Indeed,” Lady Baldwin murmured, eyeing the
delighted look on her husband’s face.

“It’s all the folding, you must understand,”
Horatio mumbled as he continued to fashion the paper toy. “If the
creases aren’t exactly right, the boat will sink.”

Goldie grinned at him, and picked up her
pencil. “All right, y’all. There’s really just a few things I want
to know. For one, what do dukish men talk about? Since I had to
leave the dinin’ room while y’all were in there, I didn’t get to
hear. I’m purty sure y’all talk about different stuff than the men
I know in America.”

“What do they talk about?” Lord Roth
queried.

“Well,” Goldie said, trying to remember as
much as she could, “the young ones usually talk about how great
it’d be to
get
a woman, and the old ones talk about how
great it’d be to get
away
from the ones they got.”

Horatio Alders’ lips twitched.

“Ole Cecil Bean down in Squattin’ Junction,
Kentucky, didn’t ever talk about anything but the rattlesnake bite
that cost him his arm. Yeah, they had to cut his arm off back in
1833. Cecil had everybody carve their names into his wooden arm. He
even had President Andrew Jackson’s name carved on it. He told
everybody he’d met that president, but anybody who’d had a speck of
schoolin’ knew he was lyin’. We knew because the name was spelled
A-N-D-R-O-O J-A-K-S-I-N. Ole Cecil carved that name himself. No one
ever accused him of lyin’ about it though. We all figured that a
man with one arm deserved whatever pride his wooden one could give
him.”

Horatio Alders smiled.

“And ole Vern Odle back in Willy Wally Way,
North Carolina? Now, he was a character if you ever wanted to meet
one. All he ever talked about was how bossy his wife, Mabelle Ann,
was. But he did everything she told him to. Yeah, Mabelle Ann’d say
‘Frog,’ and Vern’d leap. I’ll swannee if she’d have said ‘Cloud,’
he’d have tried to rain. You didn’t ever meet up with ole Vern when
he didn’t tell you about how mean Mabelle Ann was. Y’know, Vern
didn’t even have a job. He stayed home almost all the time because
leavin’ would’ve meant he’d have to kiss Mabelle Ann good-bye.”

Horatio’s shoulders began to quake.

“And I remember a man by the name of Able
Poots, back in Babbitsboro, Alabama. He—Y’know, folks there were
always fightin’ over the name of that town. Some, said it was
Babbitsboro
, and others insisted it was
Rabbitsboro
.
Y’see, the town’s papers weren’t written too clear. You couldn’t
really tell if the first letter of the town’s name was a ‘B’ or an
‘R.’ There was even bloodshed over it. Yeah, Barnaby Babbit shot
Lem Smedley in the foot. Barnaby claimed it was his grandfather,
Fadey Babbit, who established the town. Lem said anybody with an
ounce of brains knew the town was Rabbitsboro because of all the
rabbits that were there.

“Anyway, ole Able Poots? Well, he was the
chitchattin’est man God ever made. He didn’t talk about any one
thing, but any subject could get him off on another one. If you
told him it was gonna rain, it’d make him think of water, y’see. So
then he’d tell you about the time he almost drowned when he was
seven. One time I told him how purty the crepe myrtles in yard his
were? Well, in the space of less than a minute, he went from crepe
myrtles to the story of why his beard only grew on one side of his
face.

“Y’want to know how he did it? Crepe myrtles
reminded him of this girl he knew once. Her name was Myrtle, and
she made the best collard greens Able ever tasted. Collards
reminded him of the time he broke his collarbone when a tree branch
fell on him. The branch reminded him of what he was doin’ by that
tree at the time. He was gonna cut it down to get some wood to fix
the leakin’ church roof. Church reminded him of the time when he
was kneelin’ by his bed, sayin’ his prayers. He was prayin’ so
hard, he didn’t notice how close his lighted candle was to the
curtains. They caught on fire, and Able burned one side of his face
tryin’ to beat out the flames. Never could grow a beard on that
side of his face again.”

Horatio could contain his laughter no
longer. In a great loud burst, it exploded from him. He doubled
over, his body shaking violently. His paper boat floated to the
floor.

His wife, Lady Alders, jumped from her
chair, frantically fanning her husband. “Oh, my! He’s having an
attack!”

“Looks to me like he’s laughin’,” Goldie
commented.

“Send for a doctor!” Lord Chittingdon barked
at a young maid.

“He’s just laughin’,” Goldie said again. “He
must’ve really liked the story about Able Poots.”

Lady Roth shook her head. “Horatio Alders
never even
smiles
, much less
laughs
, Goldie! There is
something definitely wrong with the poor man!”

Goldie cocked her head, watching the guests
fuss over Horatio. Bending at the waist, she looked at his face,
which was almost between his knees. She saw tears clinging to his
whiskered cheeks, and a huge smile on his thick lips.

“Look what you did to Lord Alders with your
ridiculous stories,” Jillian hissed. “You’ve shocked him to such an
extent that he is suffering some sort of terrible seizure!”

Goldie glanced at all the other guests. When
she saw no one but Jillian was looking at her, she stuck her tongue
out at the catty woman, giggling at the horrified expression on
Jillian’s face.

“Horatio!” Lady Alders cried, kneeling and
pushing at his shoulders. “Speak to me, husband! Horatio, tell me
what—”

“Barnaby Babbit,” Horatio sputtered, “shot
Lem Smedley in the foot! All because of the name of the town!” His
face reddened as more laughter rumbled through him. “And Poots!
Able Poots! I’ve—I’ve never heard a funnier name in all my
life!”

Lady Alders stood, still staring down at her
husband. “He’s laughing,” she murmured, her face a mask of pure
disbelief.

All heads turned toward Goldie.

“Lord Marion Tremayne,” the butler announced
from the doorway.

As Saber stepped into the room, his eyes
widened at the sight before him. Horatio Alders was leaning over
his knees, and the other people in the room were staring at Goldie.
His first thought was that she’d said something that so upset Lord
Alders, the man had died.

“Marion!” Jillian exclaimed, rising.
Disregarding the fact that he’d ended his relationship with her,
she smiled and started for him.

He swept right past her, arriving at
Goldie’s chair. His hand on her shoulder, he looked at Horatio
Alders. “What has happened here?” he asked anxiously.

“Able Poots!” Horatio tried to explain.

Lord Chittingdon shook Saber’s hand. “Quite
a girl, Miss Mae is, Marion,” he said, grinning. “It—Well, it was
the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. She actually had Horatio
making a paper boat, and then sent him into a fit of laughter! I
was just saying earlier that Lord John Russell is extremely amused
by her, also. She is a very lovely and entertaining person to have
around, and I’ve no doubt you have thoroughly enjoyed her company
since meeting her.”

“I have indeed.” Saber was relieved to
understand that Horatio Alders was fine, but remained uneasy about
what the evening had taught Goldie. He looked down at her, steeling
himself for whatever she might say to him. “Goldie,” he said
quietly.

She tried to read the look in his eyes. The
softness wasn’t there. But then, neither was anger. Worry was.
Lines of anxiety creased his forehead, too. She realized then that
being in the midst of so many dukish people was making him nervous.
After all, she mused, smiling up at him, this was the real and
final test. Fooling Lord Chittingdon was one thing, but deceiving a
whole
room
full of noble folks was quite another.

She had to give him some encouragement.
Standing, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers
caressing his back. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Marion.”

The sweetness in her voice and the twinkle
in her eyes convinced Saber she hadn’t learned the truth of who he
was. “Have you had a good time, poppet?” he asked, wondering what
the best way would be to get her out of here.

She laughed with quiet delight. “Yes, but
now that you’re here, I’ll have an even better time. We were just
gettin’ ready to start dancin’, y’know.”

“We were at that,” Lady Chittingdon said.
“In fact, I hear the quartet now. I saw no need of an orchestra,
what with only the few of us dancing. Shall we, dear guests?” she
asked, gesturing toward the door.

Before Saber could object, Goldie was
pulling him along. “Saber,” she whispered, “remember that festival
I told you the villagers were plannin’? Well, what if you have to
dance at it? I know you aren’t the world’s greatest dancer, so
listen, pay real good attention to all the dukish dancin’ these
folks are fixin’ to do. Try and remember every move they make.”

Saber’s mind whirled as he tried to think of
a way to dissuade her from staying any longer. But before he’d come
up with a good excuse, they’d arrived at the small ballroom.
“Goldie—”

“Marion,” Jillian purred, sidling up next to
him. “Remember the way we used to dance?”

When Saber’s body suddenly went rigid,
Goldie grew alert. He had no idea who the woman was, much less how
to answer her. “Surely you remember
Jillian
, don’t you,
Marion?” she hinted loudly.

“Well, of course he remembers me!” Jillian
snapped.

Saber felt apprehension curl through him. Of
all the people here, Jillian was the one most likely to reveal his
identity. “Would you please excuse us, Jillian?” he begged off,
taking Goldie’s hand.

Rage made Jillian’s eyes glitter ominously.
“Of course,” she seethed. “But I must insist on a dance with you
before the evening is over.” She turned to Goldie, smiling. “Marion
and I adore dancing together. It doesn’t even make any difference
if there is no music. We always made our own, didn’t we,
Marion?”

Goldie frowned at what Jillian had said. How
strange, she thought. Just this afternoon, Saber had told
her
that they’d make their own music. She looked up at him,
noting the deep distress on his face, and realizing once again how
nervous he was masquerading as the duke.

She had to help him before Jillian sensed
there was something wrong. Somehow, she had to get the woman to
leave him alone! “Jillian, I’m sure Marion remembers every single
thing he’s ever done with you. It’s probably branded in his brain.
But we didn’t come here to talk about memories. Besides that, he’s
not here with
you
tonight. He’s here with
me
.
’Bye.”

“’Bye,” Saber echoed, leading Goldie quickly
away.

“Y’know, Saber,” Goldie whispered. “I think
the real Marion and that Jillian woman used to be lovers. It all
makes sense now. She’s been givin’ me mean looks all night, and she
just said how she and Marion made music together. Dukish men
always
have lovers, y’know. Mildred Fickle told me that.
Anyway, I think it’s been a while since Marion and Jillian have
seen each other, though. If they were still carryin’ on, she’d have
noticed you aren’t him.”

Saber tugged at his collar. “Goldie—”

“Marion, my boy,” Lord Roth said, taking
Saber’s elbow. “It’s been years since we’ve had one of our deep
discussions. Why, the last one I recall having was some seven years
ago! We talked about
The Economist
.”

Saber wondered what to do, answer correctly
for Lord Roth’s sake, or pretend ignorance for Goldie’s. “The
Economist
,” he repeated lamely.

Lord Roth frowned. “Why, you act as though
you don’t even know what it is.”

Saber felt Goldie nudge him in the ribs,
urging him to give an intelligent response. “Of course I know what
The Economist
is, Lord Roth.”

“Yeah, of course he does,” Goldie agreed,
wondering if Saber was going to have to make something up. “He—He
just would rather talk about somethin’ more recent. After all,
y’all had that talk seven years ago. Don’t y’think it’s old news by
now?”

Lord Roth nodded. “It is at that, but we
were terribly excited by the weekly financial paper, weren’t we,
Marion? Why, we even sought out its founder, Sir James Wilson, and
discussed it with him.”

“Yeah, Marion here remembers that just like
it was yesterday,” Goldie went on. “Just the other day, he was
goin’ on and on about how ole Sir Wilson finally found that paper.
How long did you say it’d been lost, Marion?”

Despite his dismay over the situation, Saber
smiled. “Goldie,” he said tenderly, “
founding
something
means to give it origin. Sir James Wilson created
The
Economist
. “

“Tell me, Marion,” Lord Roth continued,
giving Goldie a puzzled look, “what did you think about our
defeating the Sikhs at Chillianwalla and Gujarat last year?”

Saber wished the man would suddenly
disappear. How was he to answer these intellectual questions
without tipping Goldie off? “I—Well, of course, I was...I was very
glad.”

“Yeah, he was real glad,” Goldie said. “He
was just sayin’ that those Shicks got exactly what they deserved
over there in Chilly Walls and Grat, weren’t you, Marion?”

“Shicks?” Lord Roth repeated.

Goldie realized she’d made some sort of
mistake, although she had no idea what it was. “Well, it was real
nice talkin’ to you, Duke Roth, but Marion and I were just headin’
for the dance floor. ‘Bye!”

As they made their way across the room, they
were intercepted once again, this time by Lady Baldwin and Lady
Ainsworth.

“Marion,” Lady Baldwin said, “my
granddaughter, Isabelle, told me to convey her salutations to you.
I spoke to her briefly before coming tonight, and I must say she
was positively delighted to know that you are out and about now.
She recalls very fondly her sixteenth birthday party. You do
remember attending her party, do you not, Marion?”