Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  She was so excited about telling him, he felt just as anxious to know. “Tell me.”

  “Well, take bad moods for example. When you’re mad, your anger takes off in a great burst, blows along, and pounds down on other people. It takes root and grows, then those people are in bad moods right along with you, and sometimes they don’t even know why. Now take happy moods. A nice smile, a cheerful hum, a good deed...they spring from you, drift along, and settle on people too. They root, grow, and then those people start feelin’ inclined to smile, hum, or do a good deed. And the best thing about it, is that you can actually watch it all happenin’. Just like with dandelions. Seeds from other flowers aren’t as visible. But blow on a dandelion, and right before your eyes you see it give up its treasures. And...And don’t forget that if you blow ’em all off, you get a wish,” she added softly.

  He heard the wistfulness in her voice. “And do all of your wishes come true, Goldie?” he asked gently.

  She stared down at her bouquet, assaulted by memories so painful, it was a long moment before she could take her mind off them. “And you can’t kill off dandelions either, Saber,” she gushed nervously. “Pull ’em up, smash ’em down, and they come right back. You can’t keep dandelions down for long, and that’s the way people should be too, I think. So when you’re feelin’ low, spring back up. It’s all in the dandelion, Saber. Now what other flower do you know of teaches those kinds of lessons and gives you a wish too?”

  He knew of none. Nor had he ever been told something so meaningful in such a simple way. Her words touched a secret part of him. One he’d been unaware he possessed. He smiled.

  She returned his smile instantly.

  He looked at her grin. It was brilliant with joy. What she was so joyful about, he didn’t know, but he felt it too. It was a tranquil sort of happiness that didn’t stem from anything specific. It was just there.

  It began to loosen the knots he’d tied around his memories. “I played with dandelions when I was little, too,” he told her quietly, hesitantly. “I—There was a big iron pot in our yard. I used to fill it with water, dirt, and dandelions. It was a stew, you see, and I’d stir it with a long stick.” God, he thought. That had been so much fun, making that stew. He almost wished he could turn time back and do it again.

  But he couldn’t. Those days were over. Dandelion stew, his parents, Angelica...everything he’d ever loved was lost to him, and he could never have it back again. Sadness, like smoke from a dying fire, curled through him.

  “You made dandelion stew?” Goldie asked. “Saber, I did that too! But I didn’t have an iron pot. I had a bucket. Just think! We lived a million miles away from each other, but we both liked to make dandelion stew! Isn’t that funny?”

  Her amazement was contagious, and he felt his sadness fading. “That is rather amusing, isn’t it?”

  Her grin widened little by little. “Saber, you want to do it again? I haven’t done it in so long.”

  He looked at her bouquet. As much as he’d enjoyed making dandelion stew as a boy, he wasn’t likely to do it now. He was the thirty-year-old Duke of Ravenhurst, for heaven’s sake! “Goldie, I don’t think—”

  “Aw, come on, Saber!” She hopped off the bench and began pulling at his hand. “Let’s see if it’s as much fun now as it used to be!”

  “Goldie, we are both adults,” he reminded her sternly. “As such—”

  “Can’t adults have fun? What harm can dandelion stew do anybody?”

  “Well, none, but—”

  “Please, Saber? Please?”

  The enthusiasm pouring from her bright eyes was too much for him to resist. He could find no more will to deny her. Standing, he took a quick glance around, satisfied when he saw no one about. He’d never live it down if Addison and the boys saw him occupied with dandelion stew. “All right,” he said quietly, his gaze still darting about, “but I’m only doing this because you want to do it. Myself, I find it utterly outlandish.”

  “But it’ll be outlandishly fun.”

  “Perhaps it will be for you. I will more than likely dislike it completely.” He looked around again, relieved when he still saw no one. “There are feed buckets in the barn. You may use one of those.”

  Goldie nodded and laid her dandelions on the bench. “And you start diggin’ up dirt.”

  Saber watched her scurry to the barn. The wind lifted her skirts, providing him with a quick, but tantalizing view of her dainty legs. She wore no undergarments. The realization made him very warm.

  “Dig the dirt, Saber!” she called, disappearing into the barn.

  “Oh, yes,” he mumbled. “The dirt. Quite right.” He set about looking for a place where he could dig, soon finding a good spot in the garden. The flowers grew high, thus hiding him.

  But he had no shovel. He imagined he could find one in the barn, but he had no intention of taking the risk of being spotted with one. Shrugging, he bent to the ground and began clawing at the soil with his fingers. “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” he muttered to the red blossom touching his nose.

  But the loosened earth felt cool and good to him, he realized, scooping up a great handful of it. He squeezed it, grinning when it formed a soft, moist ball in his hands. He sniffed it. The scent filled him with contentment. He’d loved dirt as a boy, and discovered it still held a certain fascination for him. He dug up more, making a pile by his foot.

  “Oh, Saber, that’s good, soft dirt!” Goldie exclaimed, arriving with the tin bucket and dandelions. “There aren’t any clods in it at all.”

  He dried his perspiring brow on his crisp shirtsleeve and noticed the dirt beneath his nails. He hadn’t seen them look like that in twenty-five years. “I worked all the clods out.”

  “I never let any clods get into the stew, did you?”

  He shook his head and wiped his dirty hands on his immaculate trousers. “Rocks either.” Standing, he took the bucket from her. After filling it with water from the garden fountain, he brought it back and placed it on the ground. He handed Goldie a stick he’d found lying among the roses. “For stirring,” he explained.

  She nodded. “Now, you put in the dirt, and I’ll add the dandelions.”

  He looked around again, still sure someone was going to catch him involved with this unseemly activity. “It’s your stew. I dug the dirt, and I’ll do no more. I’ll merely watch.”

  “Watchin’ isn’t any fun.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s all I’ll do.”

  “Y’know what, Saber?” she asked, looking up into his narrowed eyes. “You’re about as much fun as a hangnail.”

  “Indeed.”

  Sighing, Goldie added the dirt and dandelions to the water, then began to stir the mixture with the stick Saber had provided.

  Saber observed her quietly for a moment, deciding she was going about it all wrong. He kept his opinion to himself for as long as he could, but soon couldn’t resist giving her a suggestion. “Goldie, you have to stir harder than that. If you don’t, the dirt on the bottom won’t get mixed in well. Here, let me show you.” He tried to take the stick from her.

  She held it tighter. “What are you? A professional dandelion stew maker? I made enough of these stews when I was little to know that stirring it—”

  “Look, I made them too, and I’m telling you that you’re stirring too—”

  “Then get your own stick and stir the way you want.”

  For a split second that was exactly what he felt inclined to do. But he remembered himself immediately. “I told you I was only going to watch.”

  “Yeah? Well for someone who’s only watchin’, you’re sure interferin’ a lot.”

  He raised his chin defiantly. “I was only offering suggestions. It’s your stew, and if you want all the dirt to stay on the bottom then by all means let it. And I must tell you, Goldie, that I don’t appreciate being compared to a hangnail.”

  Goldie grinned, feeling mischief overtake her. “Maybe you’re right, Saber. Maybe I’m not doin
g this right. Show me how it’s done.” She snatched the stick from the stew and tossed it to him, her eyes widening in feigned horror when dark mud splattered the front of his stark-white shirt.

  He glanced down at himself, unable to determine if he was angry or amused. Nor could he utter a word or decide what to do.

  “Oh, Saber. Look how filthy you are.”

  He heard a naughty lilt in her voice and looked up from his shirt. The dare radiating from her huge amber eyes erased all thought of remaining genteel. “And you’re a tad too clean, you little brat.” With that, he reached into the bucket and got two handfuls of mud.

  “Saber,” Goldie said, backing away, “don’t.”

  Stalking her, he caught her and smeared the mud on her cheeks, adding a blob to the end of her nose for good measure.

  “You’re gonna get it now,” she mumbled, watching the mud slide from her face to the front of her dress. Marching back to the bucket, she got some mud and spun to face him.

  He refused to let the childish game continue. “Goldie, this has gone on far enough. You dirtied me, I dirtied you, and that’s the end of it. Now drop that mud immediately and we’ll go tidy up.”

  She paid him no mind. Quickly, she patted her mud into a pie. Drawing back her arm, she aimed carefully.

  “Good God!” Saber yelled when the pie slapped into him. “Goldie!”

  She screamed loud and long when she saw him racing toward her. She knew if she ran, she’d never escape him. Instead, she picked up the bucket, having every intention of sloping its contents all over Saber when he arrived.

  But the bucket was heavy, and she dropped it. Mud sloshed all over the ground. Her eyes widened when Saber flew into the puddle. As he slipped, one foot caught hers, causing her to fall with him. He splashed down on his back; she landed directly on top of him.

  They were nose to nose, chest to chest, almost mouth to mouth. Both were still for a very long moment.

  Saber couldn’t ignore the feeling of her breasts pressed against him. Nor was he impervious to the way the mound of her femininity burned into his belly. A special heat moved through him, and the cold mud in which he lay didn’t seem so chilly anymore. “Goldie.”

  The odd sound in his voice when he said her name gave her a deep sensation of something wonderful. She was well aware of the feel of him beneath her. He was so hard. Ridges and valleys of muscle covered him all over. She could only take half breaths. “I—Saber—Isn’t this fun?” she whispered, wondering where her voice had gone and why she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He read her emotions in her eyes and heard them in her whisper. Smiling, he reached out and pulled a soggy dandelion from one of her mud-caked ringlets. As he played with the curl he struggled with desire, and thought about his situation. The Duke of Ravenhurst was covered with mud. Not only that, he was lying in it as well. He contemplated many things at that moment. The smell of dirt. His black fingernails. The stew. The stirring stick. The mud fight. If not for Goldie and her dandelions, he’d never have remembered how much fun those things had been. There was nothing in his life to cause him to remember them.

  “You know, Goldie,” he said softly, watching that sparkle in her eyes, “you’re right about dandelions. They aren’t weeds at all. They’re very special.”

  Just like you, he told her silently. Just like you.

  Chapter Six

  From the threshold of the library, Saber watched her.

  The little person called Goldie, he mused, liking that description of her. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning over the large book in her lap. Her hair fell around her face, shielding her expression from him, but he knew her eyes were bright with whatever it was she was feeling at that moment. Delight, worry, excitement, anger, sadness...she could hide nothing. He liked that, too.

  Chuckling quietly, he reached up to his head, patting the wig Addison had found in the closet of one of the unused rooms. White powder floated all around him. He slid a fine, pearl-handled cane through his fingers, absently thinking about the insulting commoners of the world. Smiling, he wondered what his teacher would say when she saw him. It occurred to him that he was anxious for the sweet giggle and bright grin she’d probably give him. Hers was a beautiful smile, and it never failed to make him want to smile back at her. “Do I look like a duke?” he asked.

  Her head snapped up, her curls bobbing. “Oh, Saber, look what I found!” She held up the book, scrambled to her feet, and began running toward him.

  Saber watched her coming. A footstool sat directly in her path, and he could tell she didn’t see it. He dropped the cane and bolted out of the doorway, reaching her just as she tripped over the stool.

  She fell into his arms. “Put me down, Saber, and let me show you what I found!” She tried to squirm her way to the floor.

  He grinned when she showed no gratitude for his heroic rescue. She hadn’t noticed his wig either. She was simply too excited over her book. Chuckling, he set her down. “Don’t I deserve some praise for saving your life the way I just did?”

  “Savin’ my life? Great day Miss Agnes, Saber, if I’d fallen, I’d only have gotten the breath knocked out of me. People don’t die from that, y’know.”

  He pretended to be insulted, exaggerating a woebegone expression.

  Goldie relented. “Thanks for catchin’ me.”

  His expression became sadder.

  “Thanks for keepin’ me from gettin’ the breath knocked out of me.”

  Saber hung his head.

  “Oh, all right, I owe you my life.” Goldie knelt and pressed her lips to the toes of each of his boots. “There,” she said, rising. “I’ve kissed your feet. Satisfied now?”

  He laughed loudly. “Goldie—”

  “Saber!” She reached up, giggled, and touched his wig. “Oh, Saber, you look so dukish! And...and so ridiculous! Take that thing off.”

  There they were, he mused. That giggle and that smile. They made him feel so content. “I thought you wanted me to wear a wig.”

  “I do, but not until we get to Hallensham. Why, you look an old lady with it on! Oh, Saber, look what I found!” She picked up his hand and laid the book in it.

  He looked down at it. It was Shakespeare’s works. But before he could ask her what was so all-important about the volume, she snatched it out of his hands and flew to the settee.

  “Saber, this man, Shakespeare, really knew duke stuff. I was kinda worried about how dukes talk, but I’m not anymore.”

  “Oh?” Saber asked suspiciously. “And why is that?” He removed the wig, tossed it to a table, and joined her on the love-seat.

  “Because Shakespeare wrote just like dukes talk. I’m sure of it. He uses words like ‘thee,’ ‘thou,’ ‘dost,’ ‘hath’—”

  “But Goldie, Shakespeare lived over two hundred years ago. People don’t talk like that anymore.”

  “Dukes do. Saber, trust me,” she begged, looking up at him. “I know more about this than you do.”

  Saber tried to look serious. With all his might, he succeeded in keeping more laughter at bay. That this little American was so sure she knew more about aristocrats than he did...well, it was quite the most amusing thing he could think of. “Very well, Goldie. You have my trust.”

  He spoke so softly, she thought dreamily. His velvet voice reached out, caressing her. She forgot about her book, and became lost in thought. Ever since they’d played in the mud, Saber had claimed nearly every notion that entered her mind.

  And it was happening again, now. Her eyes fluttered closed. Warmth settled around her, hugging her. Images took shape in her head. Saber was near. He was coming closer to her. He held her tenderly, kissing her, whispering the sweetest things...

  “Goldie?”

  “Saber,” she answered, her eyes still closed.

  “Goldie, are you falling asleep?”

  Her eyes flew open. Hands shaking, she opened the book in her lap, trying to concentrate on the words. But they were nothing
but black blurs spread across the page. She could dwell on nothing but Saber’s nearness, his wonderful scent, the tender way his voice touched her. Bittersweet longing seized her. Never had she been attracted to any man the way she was to Saber. “It’s just never hit me this hard before,” she whispered.

  “What hasn’t?”

  Her gaze widened. Great day Miss Agnes. I talked aloud! “Uh, nothin’. I—Saber, Shakespeare added ‘eth’ and ‘est’ to the end of words. You don’t walk, you walketh. Think, I reckon, is thinketh or thinkest. Kiss is kisseth. Love is—”

  She broke off, horrified at what she’d inadvertently said. Now Saber was going to think she wanted to kiss him. That she was falling in love with him. He’d laugh at her...or maybe, like Fred Wattle, he’d play her along first, then laugh.

  Humiliation and dread smothered her. She didn’t know what to do or say. Her fingers turned white around the black cover of the book.

  Saber saw her distress instantly and was completely bewildered by it. One minute she was about to burst with excitement, and the next she was nervous. Almost afraid. “Goldie—”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure dukes talk like this!” she blurted, pointing to the page. “I’ll leave this with you. Read it, Saber. Learn how to put all those ‘tweres,’ ‘hithers,’ ‘wilts,’ and ‘henceforths’ into your vocabulary.” She stood, pushing the book into his hands. “We’ll practice together tonight after supper.”

  She knew she had to leave the room. She was on the verge of tears and had no wish for Saber to see them. Turning, she crossed to the door, but stopped when she reached the upside-down footstool. As she righted it, she spied a woven circle of dandelions lying nearby, and realized it must have fallen out of her pocket when she tripped. Picking it up, she returned to Saber and placed the wreath around his head. “It’s a crown,” she said. He was so handsome, she thought, a catch in her throat. So handsome, so sweet...so very wonderful. His eyes were full of softness. “I meant to give it to you earlier, but I forgot.”

  Saber watched openmouthed as she spun on her heel and fled from the room. There had been the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes. He felt an overwhelming longing to follow her, take her into his arms, and kiss away her odd melancholy. Kiss her. Deeply. A passionate kiss that would tell her how he felt about her.