Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

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?”

  Saber resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I do indeed remember Isabelle’s party, Lady Baldwin, and please give her my warmest regards.”

  “Where are you residing, Marion?” Lady Ainsworth asked. “I called on your aunts several days ago, and—”

  “They wanted to redecorate the house,” Saber blurted, desperate to cut the woman off before she mentioned his aunts’ names. “In order for that to be accomplished, we decided to leave the house. We are renting another now, but will be back in our own very soon. I shall inform my aunts that you would enjoy seeing them again.”

  “Yeah,” Goldie declared, nodding. “They bought all new stuff to go in their house, too. It’s gonna be so purty. Well, we’re go
nna go dance now. ‘Bye!”

  “Goldie,” Saber said as she pulled him along, “let’s leave. We—”

  “Saber,” she broke him off, “how did you know all those folks’ names? I never did get the chance to tell you that was Duke Roth. And I didn’t ever tell you about those ladies, Miz Ainsworth and Miz Baldwin, either.”

  “I—I heard their names being spoken when I arrived,” he stammered. “Goldie, I really must insist that we leave now.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” he pressed, taking her hand and leading her to the corner where Lord and Lady Chittingdon were standing. “Thank you for the invitation,” he told his hosts, and pressed a kiss to Lady Chittingdon’s hand.

  “But surely you aren’t departing!” Lady Chittingdon exclaimed. “It’s early yet, and Goldie hasn’t had the pleasure of even one dance with you, Marion.”

  “Nevertheless, we must leave,” Saber responded, feeling more anxious by the moment. “Isn’t that right, Goldie?”

  She saw the stubborn gleam in his seaweed eyes and knew then he would not stay another minute. For a moment, she felt like arguing, but as she continued looking up at him, she began to imagine the things they would do after they left. The ride home was a long one, and the coach would be dark and very private. And the aunties were out, she remembered. Realizing the intimate possibilities of the night, she blushed, suddenly deciding it didn’t matter whether Saber learned dukish dancing or not.

  “‘Bye, y’all,” she told her hosts a bit breathlessly. “I had a really good time, but Marion and I have to leave now. I enjoyed all the food. ‘Course, I didn’t know what most of it was, but none of it looked like guts so I did the proper thing and ate all of it. Did y’all notice that?”

  Lady Chittingdon laid her hand on Goldie’s cheek. “We did indeed, my dear.”

  “Miss Mae,” Horatio Alders said as he arrived at her side. “My wife and I will be hosting an informal luncheon next week. Would you do us the honor of accepting our invitation? I would dearly love to hear more of your stories about the people you’ve known in America. You may come too, Marion,” he added, his twinkling eyes never leaving Goldie.

  Saber felt pride well within him. Goldie would have little trouble being accepted by the nobility. She was already well-liked by the Chittingdons, Lord John Russell himself had spoken highly of her, and Horatio Alders, the most peevish man in the country, had just extended her an invitation to his home. “We will be in touch, Lord Alders,” he responded, his fingers caressing Goldie’s palm.

  “Caroline and I will escort you and Miss Mae to the door, Marion,” Lord Chittingdon announced.

  In the foyer, Saber helped Goldie with her wrap. After thanking the Chittingdons once again, he began leading her outside, relieved beyond belief that nothing untoward had happened during the course of the evening.

  “Wait!” Goldie exclaimed, turning back to the house. “I left my notes in the parlor!” She hurried to retrieve them.

  Saber started after her, but was detained when Lord Chittingdon began a conversation concerning the German scientist Rudolf Clausius. Saber had no choice but to stay by the door and listen to Lord Chittingdon drone on about Clausius’ study of the law of thermodynamics and the kinetic theory of gases.

  Goldie skipped into the parlor, finding her notes lying on the chair she’d been sitting in. As she picked them up, she heard the parlor door close.

  “I’m glad to have found you alone at last,” Jillian said caustically. “I would like to speak to you.”

  “Well, I’m really sorry about that, Jillian,” Goldie said, sashaying toward the door, “but Marion’s waitin’ on me.”

  “What, exactly, is your relationship with Marion?” Jillian demanded, moving in front of the door and barring Goldie’s way.

  Goldie stopped before the hateful woman. As she did, a familiar scent wafted around her. It smelled like roses, but not fresh ones. She couldn’t remember where she’d smelled the strong fragrance before. “My relationship with Marion isn’t any of your business, Jillian, so get out of my way.”

  Jillian tapped her rouged lips with a long, tapered fingernail. “Has he said nothing at all to you about my relationship with him? Oh, but of course, he wouldn’t have, would he? After all, Marion is the sort of man who enjoys a variety of women. He doesn’t, however, know that I am aware of his trysts. I allow him this for now. But I’ve warned him that as soon as we are wed, it must cease. And since we will be living at Ravenhurst, it will be easier for me to keep my eye on him. He loves me as he did Angelica, you see. He promised her to make Ravenhurst their home, and he has made the same oath to me.”

  “You’re marryin’ the Duke of Ravenhurst?” Goldie asked, astonished over this incredible information.

  Jillian held out her hand, upon which glittered the magnificent diamond ring she’d inherited from her mother. “He came to see me last night and presented this to me as a token of his love. He spoils me so!”

  Goldie blinked several times. Confusion such as she’d never known before seized her. “I—Jillian, did you say you’d been with Marion last night?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  Jillian gloated. “Yes,” she said, her chin raised. “And we had a most romantic evening.”

  Goldie felt paralyzed. If Jillian had been with the real Marion last night... How was it possible that the woman who was to marry the duke didn’t recognize Saber as an impostor? Yes, Saber resembled Marion Tremayne, but surely Jillian, who’d been with the duke only last night wouldn’t mistake her own fiancé!

  She groped for words, but her confusion was so thick, she couldn’t speak.

  Jillian saw the bewildered expression on Goldie’s face and took full advantage of it. “Surely you noticed how reluctant he was to speak to me tonight. He wasn’t expecting to see me here. When he did, he knew he’d been caught. But I’ll forgive him, of course.”

  Goldie recalled how terribly anxious Saber had been earlier. He’d wanted to leave as soon as he arrived. Things she didn’t want to believe began darting through her mind, leaving her sick with foreboding.

  “You aren’t the first, you know,” Jillian continued silkily, savoring the look of horror in her adversary’s eyes. “Marion has had a long string of women since Angelica’s death,” she lied. “I realize you believe that he is sponsoring your research here in London, but that is merely a ploy he has dreamed up. He goes to extravagant lengths to entice women into his bed, and then dismisses them as soon as he becomes bored with them. Your time will come. Take my advice, Goldie. Have a care with your pride and leave him before he demands that you do so. Your relationship with him will come to naught, for he is to marry me.”

  Goldie’s breath came in short pants. “But—But he said he loved me,” she whispered, each word a tremendous effort.

  “Love you?” Jillian scoffed. “You’re a commoner! Surely after all your research concerning the nobility, you have learned that a man like Marion Tremayne would never stoop so low as to actually care for a girl of your background. No, Goldie. I can assure you that my darling diamond duke belongs to me, heart and soul.”

  Goldie’s mind continued to spin. “Diamond duke,” she repeated absently, assaulted by a horrible sense of dread.

  Jillian sneered. “My pet name for him. I named him that years ago when I discovered the diamond-shaped birthmark on his left thigh.”

  Goldie’s throat suddenly closed up completely, making breathing impossible. The familiar fragrance she smelled...roses. The same cloying scent she’d noticed on Saber last night when she’d stolen into his room.

  Jillian’s perfume.

  She staggered backward, clutching her neck. Her entire world was shattering right before her eyes.

  Jillian began to laugh. “Don’t take it so hard, my dear. You’ll find someone else. Someone more like you. I suggest you look in the East End. After all, you’re no better than those repugnant street girls the matrons are adopting. Why, there’s an idea for you! Perhaps you
could convince Miss Clara and Miss Lucy to adopt you! Then you could go back to that godforsaken country that hatched you and attempt to teach all those other backward Americans what you learn about the proper mode of decorum! Which brings me to a question. Where did you get that gown you are wearing? And those jewels. They are far too expensive for a girl of your means to be able to afford. Did Marion give them to you?”

  “Gown?” Goldie looked down at her luxurious satin dress. Reaching up, she touched the topaz necklace.

  “Marion gave them to you, didn’t he?” Jillian pressed. “He fairly showers his doxies with expensive gifts before casting them away. And such charm he uses! I imagine he plied you with honeyed words, didn’t he? He told you how incredibly beautiful you are, and made you believe that everything about you is exactly what he wants in a woman. Ah, my dear Marion. He has such a way with words. Why, I’ve no doubt he could seduce the Queen herself if he had a mind to do it!”

  Goldie began to shake so violently that she was forced to grab the back of a chair to keep standing. From the depths of her heart rose the truth. All the many presents she’d received hadn’t been from any secret admirer. They’d been from Marion Tremayne. Payment. Payment for her services.

  And the lessons. All those hours and hours of lessons on manners! It was true...Miss Clara and Miss Lucy had adopted her! She was their pitiful, ignorant waif!

  And their nephew had brought her to them. He’d found her and taken her to them. He’d seen her as a girl who could both warm his bed and satisfy his aunts’ desires to have a needy, uncultivated girl to educate.

  She felt as though she were being sucked into a sea of bottomless grief. “Jillian,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “Who is Addison Gage?”

  “Addison? He’s the Earl of Aurora Hills. He and Marion have been friends since they were lads. Myself, I don’t approve of their relationship at all, and will end it as soon as Marion and I are wed. When those two are together, they are almost always up to no good. They take great delight in childish pranks, which I find highly unseemly.”

  Pranks, Goldie thought, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She’d been the unknowing victim of yet another prank. Saber and Addison...they were just like the boys who’d played such cruel tricks on her. “And Leighwood?” she asked with what breath she could find.