“Saber, we learned a lot today. We saw six or seven dukish men.” Goldie said, reviewing her notes. “Dukish folks are conceited,” she read out loud. “They’re God’s gifts to the world, accordin’ to them. They dress up like peacocks. They let their gold watches hang way down, probably to show off around poor people. They wear rings. Some even wear a ring on every finger. They—”
She broke off and looked up at him. “This stuff is all well and good, Saber, but y’know what? We still don’t know what dukes talk about. I wonder what a typical duke conversation is? I mean, normal men talk about the cost of livin’. About the weather. About their friends. They talk about the best fishin’ spot in the creek. But dukes probably don’t talk about that stuff.”
“I don’t talk about the cost of living, the weather, friends, or fishing spots. Are you saying I’m not a normal man?” He sat up straighter, leaning forward while waiting to hear her answer.
She cocked her head. “You’re right. You don’t talk about those kinds of things. Why don’t you?” She frowned, still staring at him. “Come to think about it, Saber, you don’t hardly ever talk about yourself. Isn’t there anything about you that you’d like to tell people?”
“I told you about my dandelion stews,” he reminded her a bit defensively.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not much. What other stuff is there to know about you?”
Determined to prove his normalcy to her, he tried to think of some common things he liked to do. “Well, I had a rock collection when I was little. And I could whistle with two fingers in my mouth.”
“Do you still collect rocks? Can you still whistle like that?”
He sat back again. “No, I don’t collect rocks anymore,” he said softly, wondering if his old collection was still in his tree house. “But I can probably still whistle.” Two fingers in his mouth, he blew hard.
Goldie giggled when no whistle came forth. “Well, I guess that answers that question. You can’t do it anymore.”
“Yes, I can.” Again, he tried, and failed. “Goldie, I swear I used to be able to whistle like—”
“Forget about whistlin’, Saber. What kinds of things do you like to do as a man?”
“Well... Lots of things. Things like...” Blast it all! he fumed. Besides investing his money, he couldn’t think of a single thing he really enjoyed doing. And he couldn’t very well tell Goldie about his investments. “I like to...”
“Sing?” she supplied.
“Sing? I don’t know. I haven’t sung in years.”
“Why?”
“I—Because I don’t know any songs.”
Her smile faded. “Oh, how sad.”
“I’ve never thought of it as sad. Why do you say that?”
“Well I never knew anybody who didn’t know a single song. To me, that’s sad. Want me to teach you one?” Without waiting for his answer, she burst into a stirring rendition of “Yankee Doodle.”
Saber was enchanted. Her singing voice was much like her personality: sweet, happy, and completely lovely. He clapped loudly.
She finished her song and smiled. “You try it now.”
He shifted in his seat. “Goldie, I really don’t think—”
“Oh, all right, so you don’t like to sing. Do you like to peel oranges?”
“I’ve never peeled one.”
“Don’t you like ’em?”
“Yes, I like them.” But the servants always performed the chore of peeling them.
“It’s a real challenge to get the peel off without breakin’ it.” Goldie enlightened him. “I even think the orange tastes better if you don’t break the peel, I know that’s silly, but there’s just somethin’ about holdin’ an unbroken peel while you’re eatin’ the orange.”
A bittersweet emotion seized him. He realized he’d missed out on a great many things in life. Peeling an orange suddenly sounded like the most diverting activity known to man.
“I don’t have legs,” she informed him suddenly, pulling her skirt down.
“What? You have no legs?”
“Nope. And it’s not very gentlemanly of you to say legs in front of me.”
He frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Miss Lucy and Miss Clara said ladies don’t have legs. Chairs, tables, pianos don’t either. Nothin’ has legs, Saber. And look at this.” She lifted her skirt just a bit.
Saber saw lacy underwear covering the appendages she told him she didn’t possess. He felt extreme disappointment at the sight. He’d loved her bare legs.
“And I’m sorry for squealin’ when I saw those dukish men out there. I was supposed to laugh with quiet delight.”
“I like your squeal.”
“Well, it’s not good manners to squeal. Do you like the way I’m sittin’?”
“You look like you have a board tied against your back.”
“This is the way a lady sits.”
“How wonderful, Lady Goldie, “ he muttered.
“And I’m not supposed to let you take liberties with me ever again. Do you know what liberties are, Saber?”
“I have a vague idea,” he snapped, anger coming.
“What are they?”
He realized she didn’t know, and grinned rakishly. If she was unfamiliar with the word, she could look it up in her dictionary, he decided. But she would never get the definition from him.
“Itchie Bon, get down from there!” Goldie shouted when the dog began pawing and jumping at the door. She looked out and saw a stray mongrel, realizing Itchie Bon had seen it too. She reached for his collar the same time Saber did.
But before either of them had a firm grip on it, Itchie Bon made one last powerful leap at the door. It flew open, and he sprang out.
“Great day Miss Agnes, Saber, Itchie Bon—” She broke off and jumped from the slow-moving coach. Falling into the street, she rolled several times before managing to stagger to her feet. Once she was standing, she caught sight of Itchie Bon, who was running after the stray. She raced after him.
“Goldie!” Saber yelled at her. He, too, leaped from the coach, thankful the vehicle was going so slowly. Mindless of all the people staring at him, he tore after Goldie, reaching her quickly. “Stop!” he demanded, holding her arms when she twisted to get away. “Goldie—”
“But Itchie Bon’s runnin’ away!” she hollered, tears streaming. “Saber, I might not ever see him again!”
Saber saw the dog was about a block away. Reluctant to let Goldie go, he did the only thing he could think of to do. Two fingers in his mouth, he took a deep breath and blew hard.
The loud, shrill whistle that followed made several horses shy. Heads turned, people stopping to stare.
“Here he comes!” Goldie squealed. “Saber, you did it! You whistled, and here Itchie Bon comes!”
Acute mortification enveloped Saber when he realized how much attention his whistle had drawn. Desperately, he looked for the carriage, clenching his jaw when he saw it a great distance down the road. He knew then that his driver had no idea that the coach was without its passengers. Saber scanned the street for a cab, waving wildly when he saw one. “All right, let’s go, Goldie,” he said when the cab driver waved back.
God, he thought. If any of his acquaintances saw him, the masquerade would be over immediately. He surveyed his surrounding apprehensively, feeling tremendous relief when he saw no one he knew. He took Goldie by the elbow and grabbed Itchie Bon’s collar, hurrying them both toward the approaching cab. Before the carriage had even reached a full stop, he was snatching the door open.
“I say! Marion!” a man’s voice called loudly. “Marion, wait!”
At the sound of his name, dread pumped through Saber’s every vein.
Chapter Sixteen
“Get in,” he told Goldie, lifting her into the coach and dragging Itchie Bon in, too.
“Marion, I knew it was you!” the man exclaimed as he arrived at the carriage. “I’d heard you were on holiday in Scotland, my boy!”
Saber saw the man was none other than the elderly Lord Chittingdon, Duke of Blexheath. “I—Good day,” he stammered. Casting a glance at Goldie, he saw a wild look of excitement in her eyes, and he felt as if someone had kicked him in the belly. Panic seized him, but he didn’t try to stop Goldie when she jumped out of the coach, for he knew full well no power on earth could stop her.
“My name’s Goldie Mae, sir,” she told the man. “Are you a duke?”
The man regarded her with a slight scowl. “I am Winthrop Chittingdon, Duke of Blexheath. Who, may I ask, are you?”
Saber swallowed. “She is—”
“I’m a writer from America!” Goldie blurted. “I’m here in England to study dukish people. Folks in America don’t know much about y’all, so I’m gonna write a book about you. Sab—Marion here is takin’ me all around so’s I can do all my research. Do you think he and I could come to some of y’all’s get-togethers soon? It would really help me to be with a whole herd of dukes all in one room, y’know.”
Lord Chittingdon stared at her. “Well...”
Saber shuffled his feet. “Goldie, I really don’t think—”
“Any friend of Marion’s will be a welcome addition to our assemblies,” Lord Chittingdon decided aloud, looking up at Saber. “It’s been years since you’ve attended a social gathering, Marion. I must say it will be splendid to have you back. My wife, Caroline, and I are hosting an affair on the twenty-fifth, and I’m sure she will be pleased to have you and Miss Mae attend. There will be dinner and dancing.”
“Set us a place,” Goldie said, grinning. “Is it potluck? I went to a potluck supper once, and I took potato salad. Olive Nookin only took stale soda crackers, but she sat down and ate enough food to bust her wide open. After I saw her do that, I swore on my daddy that I’d always bring a lot of food to any potluck suppers I ever got invited to. If you don’t like potato salad, I could bring fried chicken. I don’t really like to fry chicken because I get popped all the time. You know how grease flies all over when you fry chicken. But if you like fried chicken, I’ll put up with bein’ popped. Do you want me to bring fried—”
“Goldie,” Saber cut her off, pulling at his shirt collar, “I doubt seriously that Lord Chittingdon’s dinner will be...uh, potluck.”
“Oh. Well, what time does the party start, Lord? I need to know, y’see, because Miss Lucy and Miss Clara said they don’t agree with bein’ fashionably late. I’ll even get there about a half hour early to help your wife set the table and stuff like that. So what time’s it start?”
Lord Chittingdon stared at her again. “I—I believe Caroline indicated half past six. But she—You—Miss Mae, there will be no need for you to assist with the table.”
Goldie giggled softly. “Did you notice I laughed with quiet delight, Lord? I usually squeal, but Miss Lucy and Miss Clara say squealin’s only for pigs. I have a pig. His name’s Runt.”
Saber rolled his eyes. “It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Lord Chittingdon,” he told the bewildered man. “My fondest regards to Lady Chittingdon. Good day.”
With that, he handed Goldie into the coach, got in behind her, and shut the door. He realized the rudeness of closing the door in Lord Chittingdon’s face, but he knew if he didn’t get Goldie away from the man, she would shock him into a coma. “We are not attending the Chittingdon—”
“Oh, yes, we are! Saber, there was no doubt in that man’s mind that you were Marion Tremayne! I’ve really done my work well, haven’t I? You acted so perfectly dukish that you fooled a real duke! You forgot to throw in a few thee’s and thou’s, though. Anyway, that duke said he hasn’t seen the real Marion in a long time, so it’s obvious he can’t remember what ole Marion really looks like. If he doesn’t remember, it makes sense that other folks won’t either! Oh, this is just so perfect, Saber! Just wait till we get to that party! I’m gonna—”
“We are not going.” He gave her a piercing glare.
“Saber—”
“I will hear no more about the matter.” God, he thought dismally. By tonight everyone would know he was in the city. The only comfort he had was that no one would find him at his house. If they couldn’t find him, they couldn’t very well come calling on him. And no one would think to look for him at Addison’s grandfather’s house; therefore Goldie’s location would remain a secret.
He heard Goldie muttering and assumed she was cursing him up and down. “Goldie—”
“You are so mean!” she yelled at him, tears of fury filling her eyes. “I bet you pulled the wings off butterflies when you were little just like that Raleigh Purvis I told you about!”
“I did no such thing. Goldie, listen to me. I—”
“No.”
He realized the extent of her rage and frustration. “Very well, Goldie, later on we will discuss attending the affair. Discuss it, mind you. That does not mean we will definitely be attending. I will, however, think about it.” He felt guilt nag at him. He had no intention whatsoever of accepting the invitation, but only said he would think about it so Goldie would calm down.
His answer thrilled her. She knew full well she could talk him into going. “Thank you, Saber.”
He felt relief smooth through him. The subject of the dinner party would come up again, he knew, and by then he hoped to have a valid reason why he couldn’t attend.
“Let’s enjoy the rest of the afternoon, shall we?” He banged on the roof of the carriage with his cane, then opened the window slightly. “To the marketplace,” he instructed the driver.
* * *
Goldie didn’t think she’d ever seen so much food in her life. Saber refused to let her get out of the coach, but she had a wonderful view from the window. “So this is the London market,” she said to him while he picked out the finest oranges he could find from the basket a coster-woman held up for him.
She saw stalls filled with fish, poultry, and meats. Fat cabbages were everywhere. Walnuts, apples, plums, onions, rhubarb, and potatoes. Piles of bright carrots, snowy cauliflower, deep-green broccoli, and purple turnips lay piled high upon the steps of a building, their brilliant colors soothing the shred of irritation she still felt toward Saber. There was coffee, tea, flour, sugar, salt, and all sorts of spices, too. Breads and sweets filled the air with a wholesome fragrance. Every kind of food she could think of had a place in the bustling marketplace.
And there were other items for sale also. Matches, shoe blacking, cutlery, razors, glassware, and hatchets. Caged birds squawked. Goldie saw metal trays and tin jewelry. Some stalls contained candlesticks, iron kettles, and music boxes. She’d never seen so many wares.
She looked far down the street, its pavement stained green by the leaves of vegetables that had been smashed into it over the years, and saw a long line of pony carts and donkey barrows. “Great day Miss Agnes, there’s so much to see here!”
Saber added a last orange to the bag, taking care to stay well within the confines of the coach as he paid the woman for the fruit. “Tonight most of London will be eating the food you see now, poppet,” he informed her as he began peeling an orange, its sharp, tangy aroma filling the carriage. “I think every cook in the city is here picking out dinner.” He muttered a curse when his peel broke before he’d gotten it completely off the orange. Shrugging, he picked up another and tried again.
“And these flowers,” Goldie said, fingering a bunch of violets a young girl held out to her. “ Will most of London have fresh flowers in their houses too?”
Saber nodded. “And you will be no exception.” He purchased a thick bunch from the girl. Upon further reflection, he bought the entire basket of violets, handing the sweet-smelling gift to Goldie.
“All of ’em?”
The delight in her eyes warmed him all over. “All of them, poppet.”
“I—Oh, Saber, nobody’s ever given me flowers before.” She buried her face into the fragrant mass of dark purple blossoms.
He digested that bit of information. “Indeed.�
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“You didn’t have to buy all of ’em. You didn’t have to buy any. “
“But you liked them.”
She cocked her head to her shoulder. “Well, yeah, but I—This many flowers—Are you sure—”
“I’m quite sure.” He felt confused. “Goldie, why is it so hard for you to believe I bought you a simple basket of flowers? You acted this same way when I gave you the brush. It’s almost like you don’t think you deserve to have pretty things. Why—”
“It’s time to go home now, Saber. I promised Miss Lucy and Miss Clara that I wouldn’t stay out all day long. It’s not considered proper, y’know.” She stuck her head out the door, yelling. “Let’s go, Sir Carriage Driver!” With that, she slammed the door shut.
As the coach jolted forward, Saber’s confusion grew to bewilderment. “Tell me about the violets, Goldie. Why—”
“They’re very nice.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. You couldn’t believe I bought you a bunch, much less the entire basket. Now, I want to know why you—”
“I’m too tired to talk.”
He felt angry. Dammit, why wouldn’t she open up to him! Why did she continue refusing to share her feelings with him! “Goldie, I’ve been as patient with you as I know how to be. I’ve waited for weeks for you to tell me about the things you carry inside you. I even told you what I’d decided about you in the hopes that you would elaborate! But you didn’t. You say I don’t talk about myself? Neither do you!”
She said nothing. Forgetting she had no legs, she drew them up beneath her, closing herself to him.
“Who told you you aren’t good enough to have flowers? To have anything? What happened to you that makes you think good and pretty things aren’t to be yours? Dammit, crawl out of that shell, Goldie, and right now!”
Her only escape would be to jump out of the coach again. She knew if she did, Saber would follow and catch her. Anxiety twisted through her. “How long did it take you to get used to havin’ all the things Addison gives you, Saber?” she cried, struggling in vain to remain calm. “You were poor before he found you! When he started helpin’ you so much, wasn’t it a little hard for you to believe it was really happenin’? And did you ever lay in bed at night, wonderin’ if when you woke up, it would all be gone? And did it ever cross your mind that maybe your good fortune was all a mistake?”
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