Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  He winced at the thought of being separated from her. It was becoming harder and harder to think about the day they’d say good-bye. Gathering her into his arms, he stood and carried her from the library. Up the staircase he took her, stopping only when he reached her bedroom. Gently, he laid her upon her princess bed, kissing her cheek before he straightened and smiled down at her.

  He willed her to tell him how she felt. God, how he wanted her to tell him he was as special to her as she was to him. He waited a long moment to hear the words. But she only stared up at him. He felt stabbing disappointment but reminded himself that her years of abuse had left deep scars. Such profound wariness couldn’t be erased in one night. It would take time to make it fade.

  He wondered how much time he had left with her.

  “Good night, Goldie.”

  “Saber?” she called when he turned to leave the room.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think it’s all right to have two best friends?”

  He rubbed his chin while trying to think of an answer. “How can there be two bests? Don’t you think there can only be one?”

  “I think there can be two.”

  “Very well,” he said, thinking her quite lovely lying there on her huge white bed, moonlight pouring down on her.

  “Big’s already my best friend,” she told him. “And now...so are you. You’re my other best friend, Saber.”

  Though he couldn’t understand how that could be, her declaration filled with him contentment. Friendship. It was the beginning of the kind of relationship he wanted to have with her. It was the foundation upon which he could build.

  “‘Night, Saber.”

  “Good night.”

  “Saber?”

  “Yes?”

  “It was like a sneeze, only better.”

  He laughed out loud. “Yes. Like a sneeze, poppet.”

  He left then, but just as he shut the door behind him, he heard her repeat the name he’d called her. He tensed, waiting to hear her cry. But she giggled merrily. He looked at the portrait of his ancestor hanging in the hallway. “I think I did it,” he told the bewigged man. “Yes, I think I got through to her.”

  He smiled when he realized he was talking to a painting. This was the second time he’d done it. He spoke to inanimate objects now. He, the Duke of Ravenhurst. “And all because of Goldie.”

  Still staring at his deceased relative, he dwelled on all the whimsical things he’d said to her tonight. Things he never would have thought of before meeting her. The buckets of freckles. The fat cherubs who painted stars, diamonds, and flowers on faces. The huge gold coins that danced. The curls that hugged his fingers. He’d chosen those descriptions deliberately. “Because of you, Goldie,” he told his mental image of her. “Because they were words I knew you would take to heart.”

  Unable to stop himself, he laughed loud and long. He felt tremendous happiness.

  All because of Goldie.

  Chapter Twelve

  From the coach window, Saber looked at the London sky. Whatever pure light the moon shed on the city was shrouded by thick black flakes of soot and oily smoke. He slid his gaze away from the depressing sight, allowing it to rest upon the slight girl nestled against his shoulder. The coach’s rhythmic rocking had finally put her to sleep. That and the fact that she’d chattered incessantly since they’d left Leighwood at dawn. No doubt she’d worn herself out, he decided, and suspected, too, that she would sleep through the night without waking.

  He smiled when he thought of her reasons for wanting him to come to London. To spy on dukes, she’d said. To do duke research. She’d even suggested they find the real Duke Marion and stare at him. “But when we arrive, poppet,” he whispered down to her, “I think perhaps we will learn that His Grace is in Scotland with no immediate plans to return.”

  Tracing her cheekbone with the tip of his finger, he dwelled on what it was he felt for Goldie. Affection. Yes. But how deep it went, he didn’t know. He knew only that during what little time they had left together, he wanted her to feel it for him too.

  The thought made him sigh. “Goldie, what’s to become of us? You, a free-spirited American, and I...I’ve had the proper mode of aristocratic decorum preached to me since the day I came into this world.”

  He picked up the gold ringlet shimmering up at him from his arm. By its own volition, it twisted around his finger. He stared at the curl, thinking about how much like its owner it was. Goldie, too, had wrapped herself around him so thoroughly that he could not imagine what it would be like not to have her with him.

  He closed his eyes. “The diamond, the dandelion,” he murmured, his heart twisting at the comparison. “Try as I have, I cannot find the common link between the two.”

  Opening his eyes, he urged her closer to him, the thought of being without her making him want to hold her while he still had the time to do so. Pulling a thick quilt up over her shoulders, he peered out the window again, absently watching London’s sordid nightlife pass by. His arm tightened around Goldie as he watched a drunken costermonger kick an old woman’s pile of baked potatoes out of his way. The hag screeched a torrent of profanities at the man, then tried in vain to keep the hungry street urchins from stealing the rolling potatoes.

  He saw a public house, illuminated by the greasy light of yellow street lamps. Whores, some old, some too young to even understand what they were doing, loitered around the building. Shouting came from within, and Saber guessed that a brawl was taking place inside. His guess was confirmed when men came shooting through the door and windows like fragments from an explosion, their fight continuing on the filthy sidewalk.

  Saber noticed the elegant carriage was beginning to draw attention. In the past he’d always had his driver fairly fly through this area, but he couldn’t give that order now. Goldie’s mount, Dammit, was tied to the back of the conveyance, and Saber knew the old horse wouldn’t be able to keep up with a quicker pace. “Blast it,” he muttered, withdrawing one of the pistols strapped to his side. He had a thought to close the satin draperies, but decided against it. Yardley followed beside Dammit. Saber felt reasonably certain that not even the most desperate thief in London would resort to stealing Dammit, but Yardley, blooded steed that he was, was worth a king’s ransom.

  “‘Ave a ’eart, guv!” one woman shouted at his window, her hands outstretched in readiness to catch any coin.

  “Potato, milord?” a boy yelled, and Saber knew the lad offered him a potato filched from the woman down the street.

  “Buy me tarts!” a buxom lass begged, holding up the fruit pies for him to see. “Buy me tarts, sir!”

  “Steamin’ elder wine!”

  “Sponges!”

  “Buy me nutmeg, guvner! Best in all o’ London-town!”

  “Chestnuts! ’Ot chestnuts!”

  Most of the vendors were harmless, Saber knew. They followed the coach only because they were desperate to make one last sale before returning home to the slums in which they lived. But one character in particular seemed intent on mischief. He was loping alongside the coach, his gaze darting from Saber to the horses following behind. “Steal my horse, will you?” Saber murmured, raising his pistol.

  At the sight of the gun, the man slowed, but in the next instant, he charged out of Saber’s line of vision. “Damn,” Saber cursed quietly. As gently as he could, he maneuvered himself away from Goldie, settling her beside Itchie Bon. After signaling for the driver to stop, he opened the door. By the time his feet hit the squalid ground, both of his pistols were in his hands.

  The vendors backed away. Saber ignored them and concentrated on the beefy man who had hold of Yardley’s halter. “Are you stealing my horse, or simply admiring his silken coat? Cates, get down here,” he ordered the Leighwood coachman. “Keep your back to the door.”

  Cates bolted down, his own gun ready in hand. “Yes, sir,” he replied, proud that he’d remembered not to use his lord’s title.

  Saber’s eyes never left the
horse-stealing lout in front of him. “Are you deaf as well as stupid?” he asked the ruffian. “Answer my question.”

  The man snatched out his own gun, but never even had the chance to curl his finger around the trigger. Instantly, and quite neatly, Saber’s bullet grazed his knuckles. The shot seemed to quiet all of London. Only the man’s surprised moan of pain broke the heavy silence.

  When the man spun and fled into the dense night mist, Saber was careful not to let his relief show. The only way to leave this area safely was to show no fear. Slowly, he swept the barrel of his pistol toward the crowd. “Would anyone else care to feel my horse’s coat?”

  No one said a word. They simply stared. “Cates, get us out of here.” When the driver moved away from the door, Saber opened it and stepped inside. But just as he began to close it, another man neared. Saber felt rising anger when he saw how intently the pockmarked scoundrel looked at Goldie.

  “She ain’t no bigger’n a bee’s knee, she ain’t. An’ Gorblimey, look at ’er ’air! Canary yellow an’ curlier’n pigs’ tails!”

  Saber’s anger grew to pulsing fury. With one firm kick, he knocked the brute away and slammed the door. The coach jolted forward, but not before several curious costers peered into the window, too. Saber blocked their view of Goldie with his own body, and kept his pistol at the window. He maintained his guard until Cates turned onto a quieter street. Only then did Saber relax.

  Here, rows of shops came into view. They were neat, organized, and Saber knew the coach was approaching the more civilized side of London. But the odor of the section they’d just left had permeated the small compartment. The thought of Goldie breathing such a disgusting smell angered Saber anew. He’d promised to protect her, and to his way of thinking, that included shielding her from stench as well. He signaled Cates to stop, and purchased a bunch of wilted violets from a woman trudging her way home. Sliding Goldie into his lap, he tucked the sweet flowers beneath her chin. Thus, he held her until the coach finally came to a stop.

  “Goldie, we’re here, poppet. Can you wake up, or shall I carry you?”

  Her eyes fluttered, but remained closed. “Here,” she mumbled. “Everything all right?”

  He realized she was half-asleep. “Well,” he began, and took a moment to kiss her nose, “we were accosted a while back. Someone tried to steal Yardley, and I had to shoot the brute. I only nicked his knuckles though.”

  “That’s nice,” she answered, still drugged with slumber.

  Saber smiled, wondering what it would take to awaken her. He decided to find out. “And London is on fire. We rode right through the torrid blazes.”

  “Fire,” she murmured into his chest, snuggling closer to him. “Warm.”

  “And after we rode through the fire, a man shot me,” Saber continued merrily. “He put a hole through my heart. I’m a ghost now, Goldie. You’re being held by a phantom.”

  “Ghost,” she repeated softly.

  “And as much as I regret having to tell you this, you were shot also, poppet. We’re both spirits. We’re together in the spirit world for all of eternity.”

  “Together,” she whispered. “Eternity.”

  He was well aware she had no idea what she was saying. “Together,” he repeated wistfully. “You and I.”

  That thought in mind, he alighted from the coach, and carried her up the steps that led to Addison’s house.

  * * *

  Addison watched how tenderly Saber put Goldie to bed, and recalled how long it had taken his friend to decide which bedroom was the best for her. It was as if Saber was seeing to a newborn baby, he mused. And Saber had expressly refused any aid from Mrs. Stubbs, the housekeeper. “Are you certain you want her to stay here?” he whispered as Saber pulled the silk sheets under Goldie’s chin. “It was one thing for her to be alone with us at Leighwood, where there was no one to speculate. But Saber, here—Someone will see her here in the morning. It would be bad form to—”

  “I’ll hear no more of it tonight, Addison.”

  Addison raised his chin. “I’m only thinking of her reputation. Surely you know that.”

  “I do. But she had little sleep last night, and has traveled far today. My mind is made up on the matter.”

  “Then perhaps we could send for your aunties? They could chaperone, and—”

  “I wouldn’t think of disturbing the aunties. They’re most likely abed. That’s why I came here instead of going home. Here Goldie is, Addison, and here she will stay until I say otherwise.”

  Addison took careful note of Saber’s possessiveness. He smiled. “How is it, old boy, that you know how well Goldie slept last night?”

  Saber ignored the question and motioned for Itchie Bon to lie down on the plush throw rug beside the bed. Instead, the dog trotted toward the bed, leaping gracefully upon it. His paws sinking deeply into the soft mattress, he lay down beside Goldie, his head on her pillow, his snout a mere inch from her cheek. He sighed with unashamed delight, rolling his eyes up at Saber. “How Goldie can sleep with this mongrel night after night is beyond me,” Saber said, ruffling the dog’s ear before turning down the lamp.

  Addison’s brow rose. “And do you sleep with Itchie Bon as well?”

  Saber heard the unspoken insinuation. “Don’t give me any of your codswallop tonight, Addison. I daresay it will get you nowhere. Besides, when was the last time you knew of me sleeping with an animal?”

  Addison thought of Jillian Somerset, but refrained from commenting. He followed Saber out of the room, noticing how long his friend watched Goldie before finally shutting the door. “An evasive answer, Saber, I must say.”

  “Nevertheless, the only one you’re getting.” Saber descended the staircase, heading straight for the bottle of brandy Addison kept in the office. There, he poured himself a generous amount, swallowing it in one gulp.

  Addison accepted the snifter of brandy Saber handed him. “So you’re indulging tonight,” he said, watching Saber pour a second brandy. “That can only mean one thing. What’s got your wind up? And you do owe me an explanation, Saber. You are, after all, in my house, enjoying my brandy, and will no doubt sleep in one of my beds.”

  “You forgot that I am also suffering your infernal curiosity.”

  “That too. Now why have you brought Goldie to London? And where is that little ill-box?”

  Saber set his glass down and lowered himself into a damask-covered chair. “Where Goldie goes, the diaries go. Addison, I’ve begun reading them. Although many of them are illegible, I’ve learned a great deal about Hutchins’ and Doyle’s activities. But there’s probably more. I’m going to hire Tyler Escott to investigate. I’ll have him read all the diaries, and I’ll show him Hutchins’ books and Doyle’s reports, too. I want those two punished for everything they’ve done, not just part.”

  “Escott’s the best detective in London. Some say in all of Europe.”

  Saber nodded. “It’s not only Hutchins and Doyle I want him to investigate. It’s more. I—Delia—She also wrote about Angelica. There’s something about a ring, and I suspect it’s her engagement ring. I always wondered what happened to it. There are other passages too. Fragments that leave me with a vague, uncomfortable feeling. I’m hoping Escott will comprehend more than I could. I want to know everything Delia wrote about Angelica. It might amount to naught, but—I—For my own peace of mind, I must know.”

  Addison stared at Saber, waiting for his friend’s familiar display of grief. It didn’t come. Saber simply sat there, waiting for Addison to comment. A full minute passed before Addison could form a reply. “Saber, please forgive me, but you don’t—That is, you aren’t acting like you usually do when Angelica is the subject of the conversation.”

  “It still hurts,” Saber murmured. “But she’s been gone for five whole years, Addison. Besides, it doesn’t do any good to stay smashed down forever.”

  “Smashed down? What—”

  “Dandelions,” Saber explained, running his fingers through his tu
mbled black curls. “You know. Smash them down, and they come right back. Grief, anger—They won’t bring Angelica to life again. I loved her. I’ll never forget her. But she’s lost to me, and...and I have to go on without her.”

  “Dandelions? Uh, yes. Yes, of course.” Addison took a seat across from Saber, studying his friend carefully. “It’s Goldie, isn’t it?” he guessed. “Somehow, she’s made you realize that you do have a life to live. It’s got to be her. She’s the only new thing in your life. She’s—”

  “I can’t love her.”

  Saber’s abruptness gave Addison pause. “Why are you so defensive? I don’t recall having mentioned love. I merely commented upon—”

  “I care about Goldie, Addison, but I’m reasonably certain that I don’t love—I can’t love her. But she’s different, you see. She—Addison, if your office was stuffy and hot, what would you do about it?”

  “What? I—Uh, well, I suppose I would open a window.”

  “Yes.”

  “But what does a window have to do with—”

  “It’s the breeze. It would blow through the window.”

  Addison deliberated. “Goldie,” he began, sipping at his brandy. “She’s the breeze. And you...stuffy and hot. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  Saber let his head drop back and stared at the ceiling. “I tried to ignore it. How she made me feel. But her stories made me laugh time after time.”

  “I see.”

  “I knew you would do this, Addison. I knew full well that you would start interrogating me the second I—”

  “But I’ve asked you little! You’ve not given me the chance! You’re sitting there volunteering all the information!”

  Saber raised his head, glaring at Addison. “There’s no way around it, I suppose. I either tell you everything you want to know, or you will become a perishing nuisance, won’t you, Addison?”