Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  When Saber had told her he loved her.

  “I’m sure his activities are important ones, Goldie,” Lucille stated, giving her sister a secret, knowing smile.

  Clara caressed her reticule. “Very important,” she agreed, returning Lucille’s mischievous grin.

  Goldie turned away from the window. Absently, she walked around the room, trailing her finger along all the elaborate furnishings she passed. From the moment I met you, Goldie, you have been a part of my life. She stopped in front of a mirrored cabinet, Saber’s whispered words drifting through her mind.

  “Social cards are always engraved in fine copperplate, Goldie,” Lucille informed her. “Printed ones are absolutely forbidden.”

  “They are usually snowy-white,” Clara elaborated, “But cream-colored ones are acceptable. However, if you leave your card with a family who is in mourning, the card must be edged in black. This is a message of sympathy. A lady carries her cards at all times. If you should be invited to a social engagement such as a dinner at someone’s home, you may leave your card in the card holder in the entryway as you leave their house. This is an invitation for your hostess to call on you.”

  I’m lonesome for you when you’re not with me. Goldie closed her eyes, remembering. She wondered if Saber was lonesome for her now, and longed with all her heart to believe he was.

  “And if you should go calling on someone, you arrive at the house during the acceptable calling hours and knock politely,” Lucille continued. “When the butler answers, you ask him for your hostess and hand him your card. Do not fidget or wander around the entryway while he is gone to see if the lady is at home. Stand still and quietly until he returns. If the lady is at home—that is, if she is receiving callers—he will escort you to where she awaits. Do not remove your wrap or gloves, and leave within twenty minutes. Acceptable conversations during a call might include a discussion about a recent gathering you have attended, or you might tell her about something amusing that has happened to you. You might even talk about the weather. Just remember the conversation must be kept light and brief. And do not expect refreshments unless you have called upon your hostess on her official at-home day.”

  You’re like sunshine, Goldie. A profound pang of yearning surged through her. If only it could be true, she wished silently. If only it wouldn’t all go away this time. Did she dare to dream that it wouldn’t? And if it didn’t, what would happen after Saber played the duke? Surely he realized he had to leave after the masquerade was over.

  “You will know if it is the lady’s official at-home day, Goldie, if you have been given one of her own cards,” Clara instructed. “In the lower left-hand corner a day of the week will be engraved. If the card says Wednesday, for instance, you may be assured she will be at home receiving callers.”

  I love you. Saber’s declaration filled Goldie with yet more desperate longing. The words were so sweet. So wonderful, it almost stole her breath to think about them.

  Her heart turned over. She had to leave London soon. She couldn’t put off her departure for much longer. The thought of never seeing Saber again left her feeling emptier than she ever had before. Lord in heaven, what was going to happen between them?

  “But if it is not a Wednesday, and the butler returns to you and says the lady is not at home,” Lucille explained, “you announce your name to him, and leave your card in the card holder he will offer you. If he does not offer you one, look around the entryway for a small table and leave your card upon it before departing.”

  Dear God, I love you. Goldie’s eyes filled with tears as Saber’s words continued echoing through her.

  “Now, is all of that clear to you, my dear?” Clara asked.

  “Goldie,” Lucille said crisply. “Have you heard a word we said?”

  Goldie wiped her eyes and turned to the women. “I...cards. Deep black cards with copper on ’em. I knock on the butler politely. I have to have a card to get into twenty-minute dinners that are held on Wednesdays. But maybe I won’t get dinner if the day isn’t the official dinner day. I stand still, waitin’ on the butler. I can talk about the weather with him when he gives me a card holder. I look for a small table and after I’ve found one, I can leave.”

  Lucille’s face fell; Clara shook her head in her hands.

  Goldie sighed deeply. “Miss Lucy, Miss Clara. I’m sorry if I got it all wrong, but I don’t even have any of those cards y’all are talkin’ about. If I had some, I’d try real hard to hand ’em all out the way I’m supposed to, but—”

  “Goldie, my dear,” Clara said gently, “you must pay attention. We shall review the subject of calling cards again soon. Now we will discuss titles. We will not go into great detail today, as there are many, many nuances to be considered. Now listen well, Goldie. In the matter of titles and the correct form of address it is imperative that you make no mistakes whatsoever.”

  “The Queen is referred to as Her Majesty the Queen,” Lucille began.

  “A royal duke is His Royal Highness the Duke of...the Duke of Tristan, for example. A non-royal duke is simply His Grace the Duke of Tristan. His wife is a duchess, and when you are referring to them together, they are Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Tristan.”

  Lucille twisted her bracelet. “The eldest son of a duke has the highest family title under his father’s. He is a marquess. His wife is a marchioness.”

  Goldie’s mind spun. “March?”

  “The eldest son of a marquess is an earl,” Clara continued. “His wife is a countess. The eldest son of an earl and his wife is a viscount. The wife of a viscount is viscountess. The son of a viscount is referred to as honorable. Shall we say, the Honorable Philipp Tristan.” Goldie nodded and glanced at the window. “And then there are barons, my dear,” Lucille added. “A baron is never addressed as ‘Baron,’ but as ‘Lord.’ Lord Tristan. The wife of a baron is—”

  “Miss Lucy,” Goldie broke in, “I—I can’t keep all this straight in my mind. Would it be all right if I just called everybody His Royal Mister or Her Royal Ma’am? It’s simple to remember, and sounds respectful to me.”

  “I think Royal Mister and Royal Ma’am are splendid,” Saber announced from the doorway.

  “Saber!” Goldie exclaimed. “Where—”

  “Saber, your presence is not appreciated at this moment,” Clara scolded. “We are trying to teach Goldie proper etiquette.”

  “It appears to me that she has had enough for one day,” Saber answered, noticing the lines around Goldie’s eyes. He gave his aunt a slight nod.

  Clara understood his silent message immediately. “Yes. I do believe you are right, Saber. Goldie has had sufficient lessons for today.”

  Saber walked into the room and stood next to Goldie. “You look sad, poppet. What’s the matter?”

  “I—Nothin’.” She looked up at him. Soft, soft eyes. Such soft eyes he had. Tingles fluttered through her.

  Saber cupped her chin in his hand and looked at his aunts. “If I may ask, why is my study filled from ceiling to floor with boxes?”

  “Boxes?” Lucille asked, feigning ignorance. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

  “There are literally dozens of boxes in my office,” Saber continued. “They are all wrapped, and I didn’t see a single one that did not have ribbons and bows. Since I must use my study, I have asked the servants to bring the packages in here. I have no idea what they are, but I do not care to have them in my workplace.”

  Goldie wrinkled her nose, her curiosity piqued. She watched in amazement as a stream of servants began bringing in a vast array of gaily wrapped boxes.

  Clara stood and examined the small card attached to one of the packages. Pretending bewilderment, she looked at several more cards. “Goldie, my dear, all these gifts are for you.”

  “For me?”

  “For her?” Saber repeated, struggling not to laugh at how wide her eyes were. It seemed to him they would pop out of her head at any moment. “Goldie, who do you know who could have sent you all
these—”

  “Nobody!” Goldie hurried to a nearby mound of boxes, reading their cards. “Oh! Oh, they really are mine!” she squealed. “Miss Clara, Miss Lucy, they’re all—Every single one of ’em is—”

  “What happened to laughing with quiet delight?” Saber teased.

  “I think in this instance, my boy,” Lucille informed him, “squealing is just the thing.”

  Clara smiled. “Quite right.”

  “Who in the world could’ve sent me so many presents?” Goldie exclaimed, shaking a small box next to her ear. “What do you think they all are? Why do you reckon I got ’em’? How—”

  “The giver obviously prefers to remain anonymous,” Lucille pretended to speculate while examining a few of the cards. “There is no name other than yours.”

  She frowned. “But who—”

  “Maybe it was the dream giver,” Saber guessed, trying to sound as though he were teasing.

  Goldie looked up at his crooked smile. “Saber, God doesn’t do stuff like this.”

  He doesn’t, but I do. “Goldie, why don’t you just open them?” he suggested.

  “I—” She stared at the huge piles of pretty presents. “But there’s so many, Saber,” she said tremulously. “I—”

  “You may as well accept them though,” he told her quickly, knowing full well she was having a difficult time doing that. “After all, you don’t know who sent them, so you can’t very well send them back.”

  Lucille nodded. “He’s right, Goldie. It would be rather silly not to accept and enjoy them.”

  “And you’re not a silly girl, Goldie,” Clara added. “Open them, my dear, and we shall watch.”

  Goldie deliberated. They were right, she realized. She couldn’t send the gifts back. And if she didn’t accept them, what would happen to them? “Are y’all sure you don’t want ’em?”

  “Splendid idea!” Saber exclaimed, still trying not to laugh at her utter astonishment. “There very well could be something in the boxes that we might want. Open them, and we’ll tell you what appeals to us.” He watched her carefully, well aware of the fact that she’d try and give all the gifts away before accepting a single one of them.

  Goldie nodded, her yellow curls hopping all over her head. “All right. Saber, sit down, and I’ll open ’em.”

  When Saber was seated, Goldie pulled at the ribbon on the small box she held. Careful not to tear the beautiful paper, she removed it. Her hands shaking, she lifted the top of the box.

  A topaz necklace shimmered up at her. “Oh, Lord! Oh, Great day Miss Agnes, Saber, look!”

  Joy burst inside him at the delight radiating from her beautiful face. “Why, it’s the same color as your eyes, poppet!”

  She caressed the topaz gems, telling herself repeatedly that they really were the same color as her eyes. Topaz eyes. She loved the way that sounded.

  “I certainly have no use for a topaz necklace,” Saber announced, trying to sound disappointed that the gift wasn’t something he could keep for himself. “Aunties, would either of you like to have it?”

  “I already have a topaz necklace,” Clara said. “I really couldn’t use another.”

  “I don’t have one,” Lucille stated. “But then, I don’t wear topaz. It makes my skin look yellow.”

  “Then I suppose you may keep it, Goldie,” Saber told her, rising to clasp it around her slender neck. “There.” He allowed his hands to linger around her throat, his fingers caressing her.

  His touch made her tremble. She reached up, fondling both the jewels and Saber’s hands. His nearness sent desire coursing through her.

  Her brow raised, Clara watched the scene, and cleared her throat. “My dear, you are dawdling. We are anxious to see the remainder of the gifts. A lady does not keep people waiting. Remember your manners.” She glared at Saber. “And I’ll thank you to remember yours also,” she snapped.

  Saber cast his aunt a look that expressed his displeasure with her interference. But his irritation faded when Goldie began tearing open the next package and started squealing again.

  “Saber! Saber—The dress—Lace and pearls and ivory satin and—Oh, Saber, look how purty!” Holding the gown to her body, she spun in a small circle, the creamy satin rustling and wrapping around her legs.

  “Well, it’s much to small for me,” Clara said. “And it won’t fit you either, Lucille.”

  “I don’t wear gowns, and I’m not about to start,” Saber said, grinning. “I suppose you may keep that gift, too, Goldie. Open the next one, please.”

  To Goldie’s uncontainable delight, the next one was an exquisite crystal flask filled with French perfume. It so thrilled her that she spilled some of it on her brown frock. But the horror she felt at what she’d done disappeared when she opened more packages and found other bottles of scent. At Saber’s urging, she opened gift after gift, each one making her so excited she couldn’t keep still, but instead danced around the room holding the presents out for everyone to see.

  As the afternoon wore on Saber and the aunties used every excuse in the world to explain why they didn’t need or want any of the gifts she opened. Nothing Goldie said could convince them to accept a one of them.

  When at last she’d unwrapped them all, she sat in the middle of the floor, overwhelmed by all the beautiful things around her. “There must be at least fifty gowns here,” she said, eyeing the gorgeous fabrics and colors. “And wraps too! And the stuff to go with the dresses! Shoes, gloves, and purses! Ribbons, fans, muffs, umbrellas! And hats! Lord in heaven, how will I ever wear so many hats?”

  “Change every hour,” Saber suggested, resisting the temptation to pull her from the floor and enfold her in his arms. “And those are not umbrellas, poppet. They’re parasols.”

  “And the jewelry!” she squealed, staring at the dozens of velvet cases. “I don’t even know what half of it is!”

  “Why, there are rubies, opals, and pearls,” Clara informed her. “Amethysts—”

  “And sapphires,” Lucille cut in. “And coral, emeralds, cameos, and—”

  “Necklaces, bracelets, combs, and tiaras,” Clara added. “All set in gold.”

  Gold, Saber mused. Just like your eyes. He watched her pick up another bottle of perfume. “Goldie, I realize you’re fascinated with scent, but if you put on one more dab, I’m afraid we won’t be able to stand you. You’re already wearing at least ten different kinds.”

  Clara laughed softly. “Well, Saber, it’s obvious to me that Goldie has a secret admirer. Some young and very wealthy swain has seen her and sent her all these tokens of his affection.”

  “What do you mean?” Saber asked, pretending astonishment.

  “Saber, surely you realize these gifts are from some gentleman who has taken a fancy to Goldie,” Lucille said. “Who else would have sent her such beautiful and expensive things? They are certainly not gifts a lady sends to another lady. I’m not even sure they are the kind of gifts a gentleman sends either,” she added, eyeing the many gowns that would reveal half of Goldie’s bosom.

  “Well...” Saber hedged, silently applauding his aunts on their magnificent performances. “Goldie, who have you been seeing behind my back?”

  Her mouth dropped open; she stared at him. “Saber, I haven’t seen—”

  “You know very well how I feel about you,” Saber cut her off. “And what do you do? You flirt with another man! You’ve gone out and made another man fall in love with you, and now the blackguard has sent you all these—”

  “Saber, I swear I’ve haven’t done that! I hardly ever leave the house! Daddy’s honor! I don’t see how any man could have seen me and decided to love me! I—”

  “You are always hanging out of your bedroom window,” Clara scolded lightly. “I have caught you doing it more times than I can count. It could be that the gentleman who sent you these gifts has caught you doing it also.”

  “And you have raced out of the house many times,” Lucille pointed out. “Every time Itchie Bon escapes,
you go tearing after him. We have all asked you repeatedly not to resort to such behavior, but you do not listen. At any rate, it’s possible your admirer has seen you racing down the street! And it is obvious he has a good eye, too. All the things he sent will fit you perfectly. Yes, it is apparent to me he has studied you very carefully.”

  “You’re a very beautiful girl,” Clara said. “The gentleman who bestowed these lovely things upon you clearly believes that a beautiful girl deserves pretty things.”

  Goldie worried her bottom lip. “But how could he have known my name?”

  Clara laughed. “My dear, a name is very easy to learn! I’ve no doubt your gentleman found out through the servants. Domestics are not as discreet as they should be, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s not uncommon for a gentleman to send a lovely young girl a present, Goldie,” Lucille explained. “And he doesn’t always let her know he sent it. I remember receiving a lovely book of poetry. I never discovered who sent it. Someone sent me a lace shawl once, too. It was so beautiful.” She closed her eyes, pretending to remember things that had never happened.

  “And I have received flowers from a secret admirer,” Clara announced, her hand over her heart. “It was most romantic.”

  “Well, I don’t see anything romantic about this at all,” Saber growled, frowning outside and smiling inside. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever—”

  “Hush, Saber,” Clara commanded. “The gifts are for Goldie, and you have no right to become belligerent over them. I must admit it is rather unusual and not a little shocking that the gentleman in question sent things as intimate as clothing, but I suppose we can bend the rules just a bit in this matter, don’t you, Lucille?”

  Lucille pushed her spectacles back onto her nose. “I do indeed. If we knew who sent them, Goldie could return them. But since we do not know, I see no reason why she should not keep and enjoy them.”

  In a gesture of feigned irritation, Saber slammed his fist into his other palm. “Rapscallion. Scullion! Uh... What was the other insulting Shakespearean name you taught me?”