Yes, I know. The United states of America is a young country, only 248 years young. Hubby and I actually arranged our Canadian Honeymoon to make sure we were back home and able to celebrate the 200th Bicentennial! Fireworks lit the sky. This year will be a scorcher, so take care and drink water.
As the children of a Navy Man and an Air force Lt. Colonel as well as the parents of a former Army Drill Sergeant, we proudly fly the flag EVERYDAY!
THE DUKE’S DIAMOND
A Treasure Tale
by Nancy Lee Badger
North of
London
December 27, 1816
“May I offer you a ride, Your Grace?” The jingle of tackle, the creak
of a carriage’s axles, and the muffled pounding of hooves over a snow-covered
street grew louder. “Here is my coach.”
Payton looked up at the viscount who stood about two inches taller
than his own six-foot height and sported broader shoulders. Did the viscount box
or fence to stay so fit? Or, did the man more likely wear a great coat lined
with thick wool against the winter winds? Thinning brown
hair beneath his beaver top hat contradicted what Payton knew was the lord’s rather
young thirty years. The viscount’s pale gray eyes opened wider, as if expecting
Payton to say yes.
“I appreciate the offer, but I wish to walk,” he said. Payton lifted
his feet, right then left, to keep warm. “Fresh air and new snow are inviting.”
“Then I shall join you.” He motioned for his driver to follow and the
two men began their journey.
Despite the man’s smile, Payton grew wary. As they walked, they left
the smells of the gaming hell behind,
replaced by the fresh scent of newly falling snow and the slight spice of
whatever the viscount had splashed on his face.
Facing away from Manning, he took slow, deep breaths of clean, crisp
air that managed to soothe his sudden nervousness. His companion was not
someone he would like to meet in a dark alley, but he had to remind himself
that Manning was a gentleman.
A poorer one, tonight, but still.
Tiny flakes settled on Payton’s nose and
eyebrows. Lights from closely built town homes lit their way through the
night and reminded him of the late hour. Where his beaver top hat and evening cloak
could not reach, the back of his neck grew chilled.
A hot bath will do me good.
“This is invigorating,” the viscount said.
Payton’s suspicions increased. Did Manning want him relaxed for some
nefarious reason, such as to demand the return of his signet ring and the money
he lost at cards?
I am glad I had the forethought to place them in Archie’s care.
Even though he had recently met Archie Kent, the former soldier came
well-recommended by his good friend, Stone. Archie saved Stone’s life and now
worked as the earl’s valet.
Payton’s rented townhome stood a few blocks farther. He had no idea
where Manning lived. Archie knew the man’s address, as he had spoken with a few
of the servants in the viscount’s employ. That Manning could afford even the
few he housed was another mystery. Why didn’t he stay in rooms meant for
bachelors, where servants were not needed? How could he afford a coach, a
driver, and the four tired beasts pulling the creaking vehicle?
The coach in question pulled up beside them, which is when Payton
realized they had paused. Many questions lingered on the tip of his tongue. As
the coach door swung open, Payton said, “Manning, I should like to know—”
Slam!
Payton’s hat went flying to the curb while he fell backward through
the open coach door. He tried to roll to his side, but the small dark space prevented
it. Someone tossed a sack over his head. While stunned and in shock at such
manhandling of a peer of the realm, he was yanked up onto his knees. Shoved
sideways, he landed in an awkward angle with his head resting on the thinly cushioned
bench. The sack’s rough fabric scratched his cheek and stank of wet horsehair
and whiskey.
As he lay disoriented, his leather gloves were torn from his hands and
his wrists bound behind his back. He assumed Manning or the viscount’s driver
treated him with contempt, yet he sensed someone else’s presence. In an attempt
to turn toward his assailant, something hard and metallic slammed his skull. Beneath
the blackness of the foul-smelling sack, he saw stars.
Trying not to breathe too deeply, he swayed beside the bench. With
escape on his mind, he turned his head toward what he assumed was the nearest
exit. Before he could move an inch, the door slammed shut and the coach took
off at an unsafe speed.
Striving to remain conscious, his other senses came alive. He managed
to turn and sit on the floor of the coach. Luckily, they hadn’t tied his
ankles. He thought to rise, find the door, and somehow jump from the coach, but
the flowery fragrance of a lady’s perfume penetrated the sack. The rustle of
silk was similar to the burn of the rope around his wrists…barely perceptible.
The side of his head throbbed and his back ached from his fall, but he worked
to sit a little straighter. His reward? A soft sigh that filled the dark void.
July 9th
Find all Buy Links HERE
p.s. Happy Birthday America July 4 1776
