Diamonds and Dreams (46 page)

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.