Rainbows and Rapture (52 page)

“I knew it! I knew Asa was somehow connected with this wild idea you’ve come up with! He’s done it again, hasn’t he, Goldie? Done something that has made the villagers hate him, and now these people are taking it out on you! It’s always been that way! He makes the trouble, and you pay for it! He—”

“Big, settle down. I haven’t even explained—”

“You’re taking so long to do it, I’m imagining the rest!”

Slowly, she swirled her finger in the soft dirt by her feet. “All right. Uncle Asa drank too much at the village saloon—I mean pub. Did y’know that’s what these English villagers call their saloon?”

Big laid his forehead on his bent knees and prayed for patience. “Your reasons for needing this Royal Tremayne fellow?”

She realized she’d just have to come out with it. “Well, Uncle Asa got fallin’-down drunk last night, and some of the men threw him out of the pub. Uncle Asa worked himself into a snortin’ rage and told ’em a pack of lies.”

Big raised his head and stiffened. “Such as?”

She fiddled with a gold ringlet before answering. “He told the men that when we first got here to England, we went to London and met Duke Tremayne himself, and that we introduced ourselves as Delia Mae’s family from America. He said that when the duke learned who we were, he entertained us in his town house for a few days and promised us his assistance if we ever need it.”

“Lord,” Big whispered.

Goldie picked up another yellow curl, watching it twist around her finger as if by its own volition. “Then Uncle Asa swore to the men that he was gonna tell the duke about the way he was bein’ treated here in Hallensham. Said it wouldn’t surprise him a bit if the duke came and demanded the villagers treat us with more respect. He even said the duke was sweet on me, and that if anyone could get him to come back, I could. Great day. Miss Agnes, imagine a duke bein’ sweet on
me
!”

“Oh, Lord.”

Goldie nodded and watched her piglet, Runt, come waddling toward her. She scratched his pink hairy ears, smiling when he grunted with contentment. “Uncle Asa’s lies wouldn’t have been so bad if the men hadn’t halfway believed ’em. But they
did
.”

Big closed his eyes, dread skidding down his spine. “And why did they halfway believe him?”

“Well, y’see, Aunt Delia used to be the cook at that Ravenhurst mansion up there.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping up the grassy hill and settling on the awesome manor house. Though she’d stared at it almost continuously since arriving in Hallensham, its grandeur still made her breath catch in her throat.

It was a castle in her eyes, a home fit for royalty. It even had towers, the kind in which princesses in distress waited for rescuing knights on white chargers. She let out a small sigh.

“Goldie?”

She looked blankly at Big. “Uh…Yeah. That mansion up there belongs to Duke Tremayne, and he’s called the Duke of Ravenhurst. I read that in Aunt Delia’s diaries. And accordin’ to Aunt Delia, she used to spoil the puddin’ out of him when he was a little boy. She loved him, and he loved her. I messed up real bad by readin’ that part of her diaries to Uncle Asa. He remembered it, and that’s why he told the villagers what he told ’em. That’s why they gave him the benefit of the doubt, too. Seems folks around here remember how close the duke and Aunt Delia used to be, and since Uncle Asa went on about how hospitable the duke was when he learned we were related to Delia Mae, the lies made some sense to the men.”

“Lord, Lord,” Big repeated, shaking his head in his hands.

Goldie fed a few dandelion leaves to Runt and tossed the rest of the flowers into the breeze. “So now the villagers think Uncle Asa and I know the duke personally, and they want us to get him to come here to Hallensham. And they threatened to run Uncle Asa out of town if they find out he was lyin’. Said they didn’t want any dishonest, drunken troublemakers in their peaceful village. And y’know if Uncle Asa goes, I go too. I—He—I know he’s gruff sometimes, Big, but only when he’s drunk.”

“Which is most of the time,” Big muttered.

Goldie bent her head and struggled to forget hurtful memories. “He paid your way to come over here with us.”

“With money he stole!”

“Big, he’s the only real family I’ve got. I know he’s not a saint, but—He—I love him.”

Big tried to calm himself. “I know you do, and such love is rare, Goldie Mae,” he said, taking her hand. “Now, back to Aunt Delia and Royal Tremayne, if you please. Tell me—”

“Shhh!” she hushed him when she saw a dark-haired, buxom girl approaching, her round hips swaying. “It’s Dora Mashburn.”

“Lord, I hate that girl,” Big whispered, frowning. “She’s been mean to you ever since we got here, and I…”

“G’ mornin’, Goldie,” Dora said, ignoring Big. “Wot are ya still doin’ in Hallensham? The whole village is talkin’ about how yer uncle said yer goin’ ter bring back Lord Tremayne. Why ain’t ya already left ter get him?”

Goldie bristled at the gleam of animosity in Dora’s eyes and the patronizing tone of her voice. “Mornin’, Dora,” she said, and didn’t bother to comment on the rest of what the girl had said.

Dora smiled. “Some’s sayin’ they’re sure ya can bring back the duke, and they’re already plannin’ a village festival fer when he arrives. Others only
hope
ye’ll bring him back. The rest o’ us are positive yer Uncle Asa be lyin’. Lord Tremayne’s been gone fer twenty years, an’ he ain’t never comin’ back here, I vow. Asa Mae ain’t nothin’ but a bleedin’ drunk, an’ the two o’ ya should go back ter where ya came from. An’ take
him
with ya,” she added, glaring at Big. “Midgets, drunks, an’ sluts ain’t welcome here in Hallensham, an’ I told Mr. Hutchins that this mornin’, I did. I told him all about how yer uncle says yer goin’ ter bring back His Lordship. Mr. Hutchins bein’ the estate manager an’ all, it’s his business ter know.”

“Pay her no mind, Goldie,” Big said. “She wants you out of Hallensham because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous!” Dora exploded. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Big argued. “You’re jealous that Goldie knows the duke, and you don’t. It infuriates you that Goldie’s going to be Hallensham’s heroine. You can’t sleep at night for thinking about the statue the villagers will probably erect in her honor,” he gushed, too angry to stop himself from elaborating on all the lies. “You’ve had it in for her ever since that Hutchins fellow started watching her, and that’s why you call her a slut. You’re sweet on the man yourself, and when you saw him staring at Goldie, it almost killed you!”

“Big,” Goldie said, “Mr. Hutchins is not sweet on me.”

“He bloody well ain’t!” Dora shrieked.

“Goldie, never you mind this shrew,” Big cooed, and patted Goldie’s hand. “When you bring Mr. Ravenhurst back, she’ll—”

“Why, ya bloody little bugger!” Dora screamed. “I’ll have ya know that the duke is me friend from way back! I used ter play with him! Once he even gave me half his apple, he did!”

Big laughed. “Then give up, Goldie. Dora here ate half the duke’s apple twenty years ago. She has more of a claim on him than you do so let
her
get him back!”

“I almost choked when I heard it said Lord Tremayne’s got eyes fer ya!” Dora glared at Goldie. “Wot would His Grace see in ya? Ya don’t even come up ter me shoulder, an’ wot with yer chest bein’ as flat as it is…ya look like a
child
! There’s nothin’ about ya ter attract a man’s eye, there ain’t. An’ the only reason why Mr. Hutchins stares at ya is because he ain’t never seen an uglier girl!”

Big watched Goldie flinch and bring her knees up to cover her breasts. “Goldie’s perfect in stature!” he roared, more for Goldie’s sake than Dora’s. “She—”

“Well, o’ course ya’d say that,” Dora said. “Yer a
midget
! Ye’ll be gone soon, I vow, Goldie Mae. Yer uncle’s already bein’ watched real careful, he is at that. Aside from bein’ a drunk, the man’s a thief. He stole Miz Crawton’s pie from her window, an’—”

“I made her another!” Goldie reminded her.

“Ten times better than the one Mrs. Crawton made in the first place!” Big added vehemently.

Dora smirked. “An’ nobody’s fergittin’ the way the friggin’ sop staggered inter that freshly plowed field the other day neither! Dancin’ an’ fallin’ all over… He made such a bleedin’ mess o’ things, the men had ter plow all over again! Lost a day’s wages, they did, an’ all because o’ yer stinkin’ uncle! When the duke don’t come, he’ll be tossed out o’ Hallensham on his bloomin’ arse!”

With that, Dora turned and began to walk away.

“Oh, yeah?” Big stood and shook his fist at Dora’s back. “Well, when Goldie brings back His Dukeship, we’ll just see who has the last laugh, you…you—”

“Great day Miss Agnes, Big, calm down. Dora doesn’t bother me,” Goldie lied.

Big looked at her, not missing the glint of hurt in her golden eyes. “I can’t help it, Goldie. It’s the same old story, over and over again. Asa finds trouble; you suffer for it. When is the man going to straighten himself out, for God’s sake? And the way he screams at you all the time! The things he says to you! It makes me furious. He—”

“Big—”

“Look, Goldie. I just told Dora you’d be Hallensham’s heroine. Now I want to know just how the hell that bit of outrageousness will come about. Tell me the whole story about this Duke Ravenhurst.”

She took heart over his growing willingness to understand and gave him her most brilliant smile. “All right. Aunt Delia’s diaries say this duke is the landlord here. All that land out there? What you can see and even further than that? Well, he owns all of it. Owns all those farms too. But he hasn’t been back since his parents died when he was ten. His daddy was killed in a huntin’ accident, and his mama just sorta wasted away after that. So his two aunts came and took him to London. But before he left, he sobbed in Aunt Delia’s lap and told her he’d never come back here because the memories would make him too sad. He wanted her to go with him, but she said she just couldn’t leave her home. That was twenty years ago.”

Big felt impatience rise again when she paused for a moment to rub her baby pig’s back. “Runt, go away!” he snapped.

“About five years ago the duke got engaged to some girl named Angelica Sheridan.” Goldie continued to stroke Runt. “Aunt Delia wrote that this Angelica came here one day. Duke Ravenhurst didn’t come with her, but she had one of those lady companions that rich folks always have. Aunt Delia said the lady was old and slept all the time. Angelica told everyone here that she was gonna be the duke’s bride, and that he’d consented to make Ravenhurst their home. Aunt Delia wrote that he must have really loved Angelica to agree to that. Aunt Delia and the villagers were so excited about seein’ their duke again. Anyway, Angelica stayed on here for a while. Things were kinda run-down, just like they are now, so she decided to fix up some stuff. She started plantin’ a huge rose garden. Aunt Delia wrote that the garden was gonna be a surprise weddin’ present for the duke. Since he hadn’t seen this place for so long, Angelica wanted it to look real nice for him.”

Big saw her eyes fill again. “What’s so sad about a surprise rose garden?”

She gathered her piglet in her arms and held him as if he were a human infant. “Well, Big,” she sniffled, “on the very day Angelica finished plantin’ the roses, she fell down the big staircase inside that mansion and died. She broke her neck. That lady friend of hers took her body back to London. I reckon the duke buried her there. That was five years ago, and Aunt Delia wrote that all those roses Angelica planted up there have never bloomed. Not a damn one of ’em. Aunt Delia believed the roses won’t bloom until the duke falls in love again. Oh, Big, isn’t that the saddest story you’ve ever heard? The poor roses. Poor Angelica. The poor, poor duke.”

Big watched her tears spill down her freckled cheeks and onto Runt’s belly. He thought her own plight was a lot sadder than the duke’s. “Goldie, the man’s obviously wallowing in money and most likely leads a glittering, carefree life in London. He probably has other estates and no need whatsoever to come back to Ravenhurst. And he’s probably already replaced Angelica Sheridan with another English beauty. A man like that certainly doesn’t need anyone’s pity.”

“But he loved her, Big. Then he lost her.”

Big tried to find some sympathy for the man, failed, and realized he would have to feign it to obtain more information out of Goldie. “The poor man. The poor, devastated man. Lord have mercy on the poor, poor, sad man and his poor, bloomless rose garden.”

Goldie nodded, set Runt back on the ground, and dried the last of her tears on her apron. “From what I understand, Big, these villagers miss havin’ their duke. Aunt Delia wrote that there’s been a Ravenhurst duke livin’ up there in that duke mansion for some five hundred years. Now the only one up there is that Dane Hutchins. That estate manager fella. He’s not the duke, so—”

“Well, judging by the way he struts around here, you’d think he was the damn Duke Ravenhurst himself,” Big commented. “You should have seen him yelling at some of the farmers the other day, Goldie. He had them scared to death of him, and he thought their terror was funny! And I have to tell you, Goldie, I don’t like the way he watches you.”

She waved away his words. “Oh, Big, he stares at everybody. Maybe that’s what an estate manager is supposed to do. We’ve never seen one, so we really don’t know how they act. But the fact remains that there’s no duke up in that mansion. It kinda breaks up the tradition, I reckon, and Mildred Fickle said that traditions are sorta like the Ten Commandments to the English.”

She stared at the huge, rambling manor house again, remembering snatches of what she’d read in Delia’s diaries. “Everybody doted on the duke when he was little. See that tree house in that tree over yonder? It was his. The village men built it for him. I’m gonna climb into it one of these days. Anyway, Big, I guess havin’ the duke back would mean the world to these folks.”

“But Goldie, you don’t know the man! How can you—”

“I told you I’m gonna find someone who looks like him, and make him into a duke.”

Big tried to subdue his rising vexation and worry. “Goldie,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “this is never going to work.”