Diamonds and Dreams
by
Rebecca Paisley
Published by Amber House Books
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 1991 by Rebecca Paisley All Rights Reserved.
This Edition 2014
Cover design by Control Freak Productions
Cover Photo by Period Images (http://www.periodimages.com)
Cover Background Copyright Galushko Sergey (Used via license Shutterstock.com)
Published by Amber House Books, LLC
http://www.amberhousebooks.com
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Diamonds and Dreams Blurb
Praise for Diamonds and Dreams
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
About the Author
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
Sneak Peek The Barefoot Bride
Diamonds and Dreams by Rebecca Paisley
Can an innocent miss with a preposterous plan win the jaded heart of a duke?
Goldie Mae needs a duke. If she doesn’t produce one, she’ll lose the charming English estate she calls home. When a tall, dark stranger with a sardonic drawl and glittering green eyes drags the golden-haired beauty out of a pond to “save” her from “drowning”, she believes she’s found the man who can make all her dreams come true. She offers to give the bemused fellow “duke lessons”, not realizing she is instructing the very man born to the role.
Saber Tremayne, the Duke of Ravenhurst, is known as the “Diamond Duke” because the untimely death of his fiancé has chilled his heart to ice. Weary of being pursued by fortune-hunting beauties, Saber can’t resist going along with Goldie’s hare-brained masquerade. As Goldie begins to melt his icy heart one kiss at a time, Saber finds himself falling beneath the tender spell of a woman who will always prefer a crown of dandelions to a diamond tiara. But is it too late for the disenchanted duke to learn the most important lesson of all—how to love again?
Praise for Diamonds and Dreams and Rebecca Paisley
“Boldly goes where few writers go and she does it brilliantly!”—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“Charm, imagination and laughter! All you need is Rebecca Paisley!”—Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author
“Rebecca Paisley is the Queen of unique and charming love stories!” Jill Barnett, New York Times bestselling author
“Rebecca Paisley dazzles the heart!” Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author
“Rebecca Paisley makes your heart sing with joy! Her talent shines brighter than any diamond. Historical romance at its best!”—Romantic Times
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
A Basket of Wishes
Heartstrings
Bed of Roses
Moonlight and Magic
A Prince to Call My Own
Happily Forever After
The Barefoot Bride
Diamonds and Dreams
Dedication
I wasn’t just wallowing in the mud when you spotted me. I was the mud. I don’t know how you put up with me this past year or so, how you summoned the patience to explain techie things over and over again, or how you continued to believe in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. You’d say, “Aye” and I’d say “Nay.” I’m so happy your Ayes won. Thank you for wondering where I was. Thank you for looking for me. My fellow author, my personal fairy…Deb Stover, thank you for finding Rebecca Paisley again.
Chapter One
“You’re going to find a plain man and turn him into a duke?” Big repeated incredulously. “Goldie, you’re an American, and you’ve only been here in England for nine days! What do you know about the English nobility? How can you possibly make some commoner into this…this Royal Lordship Duke Tremayne, or whatever the hell it is he’s called! You’ve never even seen the fellow!”
Goldie looked at the tiny man and smiled. Big Mann was her very best friend and a dwarf. And it was in that order that she saw him. His real name was Beauregard Irwin Grover Mann, but ever since she’d noticed his initials spelled “Big,” that’s what she’d called him. She slid her hand across his whisker-studded cheek, then spooned more oat mush into her toothless nag’s mouth. “You like this, don’t you, Dammit?” she asked the old horse, watching him gum the food.
Big stomped his foot. “Did you hear me, Goldie Mae?”
“I heard you, Big. Great day Miss Agnes, folks back in America probably heard you. Y’know, when you scream like that, you remind me of Elvin Moots back in Green As a Gourd, Virginia. Uncle Asa and I lived in Green As a Gourd about two years before we met you. Anyway, Elvin Moots never talked soft, but only yelled. One day he opened his mouth to scream, and no sound came out at all. I’ll swannee, not even as much as a low murmur, Big, and I’m not makin’ that up. Daddy’s honor. He—”
She broke off and cocked her head. “Did I ever tell you why I say ‘Daddy’s honor’? Most folks swear on the Bible, but see, my daddy—God rest his soul—was the most honest man in the world. So when I say ‘Daddy’s honor’ it’s the same as swearin’ what I say to be the Gospel truth. I never lie against Daddy’s honor, Big.”
“Goldie, I’ve been with you for four years. Don’t you think that’s time enough for me to learn why you say ‘Daddy’s honor’? Besides, we’re discussing the duke.”
“No, we’re discussin’ Elvin Moots,” she corrected him, still spooning mush between Dammit’s smacking lips. “Leonie Bradshaw said he’d busted up his throat from so many years of hollerin’. He was the preacher, y’see, and loved the sound of his own voice. Sundays came, and we all brought dinner and supper with us to church. Nobody thought it’d be proper to faint from hunger in the Lord’s house. Reverend Elvin Moots didn’t mind us eatin’ durin’ the sermons, but heaven help the poor soul who went to sleep.
“Anyhow, after he lost his voice, we didn’t go to church anymore because there wasn’t a minister. Duncan Gilmore tried preachin’ for a while, but nobody in town trusted a man who wore a skirt and went around with naked knees. He said he was Scottish and that his skirt was part of his heritage, but folks didn’t believe that for one minute.”
She looked at Big from the corner of her eye. “So you better watch that screamin’, Big, or you’ll turn into another Elvin Moots.”
She picked up the tin bucket, slid the handle into the crook of her elbow, and proceeded down the meandering path that led to her newest home, an ancient stone cottage. “Uncle Asa and I left Green As a Gourd soon after that,” she c
ontinued as Big trailed along behind her. “Myra Carney caught Uncle Asa tryin’ to steal her corset right off the clothesline. See, Uncle Asa had had too much to drink, and when he saw the corset he wondered if it would make him look thinner. He didn’t mean any harm.”
She stopped for a moment to examine a spiderweb floating from a wooden post. A small moth was caught inside it. With a gentle touch, she freed it. “Anyway, we packed up and left that night because the townsfolk said they were gonna string him up for what he did to Myra Carney. It near about did her in to look out her window and see a man wearin’ her corset. Doc Burpy had to stay with her all afternoon. But I’ll tell you the truth, Big—I think Myra Carney and Doc Burpy were more than just doctor and patient, and that the only reason he stayed at her house for so long was because they were lovin’ up on each other.
“Uncle Asa and I went to Tennessee after that. Little town called Pickinsville. I liked it there. Thought maybe we’d finally found somewhere we could send down some roots, y’know, Big? But we didn’t fit in there either. Hadn’t been there even a month when Uncle Asa got drunk and proposed to Hank Cooper’s wife, Nellie. I don’t think Hank would’ve run us out of town if Nellie hadn’t accepted Uncle Asa’s proposal. After Pickinsville…well, you know the story. I’ve been everywhere.”
She arrived at the cracked wooden door of the dilapidated cottage. After setting down her bucket, she picked a handful of bright yellow dandelions, caressed her chin with them, and looked out at the green hills around her. “And now here I am in the royal country of England. I know we’ve only been here for nine days, Big, but I am part English, y’know. On Daddy’s side. I feel bad that Uncle Asa’s runnin’ from just about every lawman in America is what brought us over here, but I’m glad we’re here. And I’m glad you came with us, Big. And I’m glad—”
“Goldie, I’m glad you’re so glad, but about making a duke… You—”
“And just think, Big! This cottage belonged to my great-aunt Delia Mae! I forgot to tell you that a few days ago I found her diaries hidden up in the ceilin’ rafters. I was cleanin’ down spiderwebs, and they were right there in a burlap sack. A lot of ’em have gotten wet from rain seepin’ through the roof, and you can hardly read ’em. But some are all right. Anyway, I read a few of ’em, and Aunt Delia wrote that she was born right here in this cottage. Imagine how nice that would be, stayin’ in one place for your whole life. I bet the roots Aunt Delia sent down here go clear through the earth and out the other side. She must have fit in here real good. I can’t believe she died only a month ago. I…I never even got to meet her. If only we’d gotten here sooner.”
Big watched her eyes mist and waited before continuing. He knew her tears would be gone soon, for she never allowed herself to cry for long. Just as he suspected, she was smiling in the next moment. “Goldie—”
“England.” The word came from Goldie on a long, contented sigh. “Wonder when I’ll get to visit Queen Victoria? Wonder if anyone ever calls her Vicky? I bet you a trillion dollars that’s her nickname. Mildred Fickle back in Sparrow Nest, South Carolina, made it her business to know everything there is to know about royalty, and she said Queen Vicky has a special crown for everything she does. An eatin’ crown, a walkin’ crown, a bath crown…she even has a soft crown to wear to bed. I’ll swannee, I bet the poor woman spends half the day tryin’ to remember which crown she’s supposed to wear.”
Big kicked a rock across the yard and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Goldie, I don’t know a thing about Queen Vicky or England. Neither did Mildred Fickle, and neither do you. This idea of yours about making a duke out of a commoner is the craziest thing I’ve heard in my entire life.”
“But it’s the only solution to the problem.” She sank to the dirt, her gaze directed at the horizon.
Big squatted beside her and noticed she wouldn’t look at him. His suspicions grew. “Well, would you mind telling me what the problem is, and why this plan of yours is the only solution?”
Her gaze moved from the horizon to a nearby shrub. “I wonder what kind of bush that is, Big? We don’t have that kind in America.”
Big’s eyes narrowed. “Goldie, you’re hedging.”
She laughed. “Oh, Big, how funny! I saw that shrub, wondered what kind of bush it was, and then you said I was hedgin’. Did you mean to make a joke, or was it just one of those lucky things?”
Big won the battle not to smile. He knew if Goldie saw him grin, she’d feel less pressured to tell him about her outrageous plan. He realized also that whatever that scheme was, he wasn’t going to like it. Otherwise, Goldie would have told it to him from beginning to end. “Goldie,” he said, forcing a note of warning into his voice, “I’m waiting.”
She finally looked at him, blinking several times and wondering how to explain things to him. “I—Well, y’see, Big...last night, Uncle Asa drank too much at the—”
“I knew it! I knew Asa was somehow connected with this wild idea you’ve come up with! He’s done it again, hasn’t he, Goldie? Done something that has made the villagers hate him, and now these people are taking it out on you! It’s always been that way! He makes the trouble, and you pay for it! He—”
“Big, settle down. I haven’t even explained—”
“You’re taking so long to do it, I’m imagining the rest!”
Slowly, she swirled her finger in the soft dirt by her feet. “All right. Uncle Asa drank too much at the village saloon—I mean pub. Did y’know that’s what these English villagers call their saloon?”
Big laid his forehead on his bent knees and prayed for patience. “Your reasons for needing this Royal Tremayne fellow?”
She realized she’d just have to come out with it. “Well, Uncle Asa got fallin’-down drunk last night, and some of the men threw him out of the pub. Uncle Asa worked himself into a snortin’ rage and told ’em a pack of lies.”
Big raised his head and stiffened. “Such as?”
She fiddled with a gold ringlet before answering. “He told the men that when we first got here to England, we went to London and met Duke Tremayne himself, and that we introduced ourselves as Delia Mae’s family from America. He said that when the duke learned who we were, he entertained us in his town house for a few days and promised us his assistance if we ever need it.”
“Lord,” Big whispered.
Goldie picked up another yellow curl, watching it twist around her finger as if by its own volition. “Then Uncle Asa swore to the men that he was gonna tell the duke about the way he was bein’ treated here in Hallensham. Said it wouldn’t surprise him a bit if the duke came and demanded the villagers treat us with more respect. He even said the duke was sweet on me, and that if anyone could get him to come back, I could. Great day. Miss Agnes, imagine a duke bein’ sweet on me!”
“Oh, Lord.”
Goldie nodded and watched her piglet, Runt, come waddling toward her. She scratched his pink hairy ears, smiling when he grunted with contentment. “Uncle Asa’s lies wouldn’t have been so bad if the men hadn’t halfway believed ’em. But they did.”
Big closed his eyes, dread skidding down his spine. “And why did they halfway believe him?”
“Well, y’see, Aunt Delia used to be the cook at that Ravenhurst mansion up there.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping up the grassy hill and settling on the awesome manor house. Though she’d stared at it almost continuously since arriving in Hallensham, its grandeur still made her breath catch in her throat.
It was a castle in her eyes, a home fit for royalty. It even had towers, the kind in which princesses in distress waited for rescuing knights on white chargers. She let out a small sigh.
“Goldie?”
She looked blankly at Big. “Uh...Yeah. That mansion up there belongs to Duke Tremayne, and he’s called the Duke of Ravenhurst. I read that in Aunt Delia’s diaries. And accordin’ to Aunt Delia, she used to spoil the puddin’ out of him when he was a little boy. She loved him, and he loved her. I messed up
real bad by readin’ that part of her diaries to Uncle Asa. He remembered it, and that’s why he told the villagers what he told ’em. That’s why they gave him the benefit of the doubt, too. Seems folks around here remember how close the duke and Aunt Delia used to be, and since Uncle Asa went on about how hospitable the duke was when he learned we were related to Delia Mae, the lies made some sense to the men.”
“Lord, Lord,” Big repeated, shaking his head in his hands.
Goldie fed a few dandelion leaves to Runt and tossed the rest of the flowers into the breeze. “So now the villagers think Uncle Asa and I know the duke personally, and they want us to get him to come here to Hallensham. And they threatened to run Uncle Asa out of town if they find out he was lyin’. Said they didn’t want any dishonest, drunken troublemakers in their peaceful village. And y’know if Uncle Asa goes, I go too. I—He—I know he’s gruff sometimes, Big, but only when he’s drunk.”
“Which is most of the time,” Big muttered.
Goldie bent her head and struggled to forget hurtful memories. “He paid your way to come over here with us.”
“With money he stole!”
“Big, he’s the only real family I’ve got. I know he’s not a saint, but—He—I love him.”
Big tried to calm himself. “I know you do, and such love is rare, Goldie Mae,” he said, taking her hand. “Now, back to Aunt Delia and Royal Tremayne, if you please. Tell me—”
“Shhh!” she hushed him when she saw a dark-haired, buxom girl approaching, her round hips swaying. “It’s Dora Mashburn.”
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