A Dream of Desire (5 page)

“Very good to hear.” James studied her for a moment, an assessment so direct that an unexpected tingle went through Talia at the sheer warmth of his gaze. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was scrutinizing her as he would any other appealing woman.

But of course she
did
know better.

“Have you engaged in any other charities?” he asked.

Talia shook her head, deflecting a pang of guilt. James had always supported whatever endeavor the Halls undertook, whether it was Sebastian’s concerts, Alexander’s Royal Society of Arts exhibits, or Talia’s charities. And she had not realized until this moment that she’d never before kept a secret from James—at least, not a secret involving her charity work.

“You’d have known all about my activities if you’d sent me a letter or two and allowed me to respond,” she remarked, disliking the note of hurt in her voice.

Regret flashed in his brown eyes. “I’m sorry, poppet. I wasn’t…it was difficult to post anything much of the time.”

“That never stopped you before.” The moment the words slipped from her mouth, Talia flushed hot. The last thing she wanted to do was remind James of the way things had been
before
, when he’d always found a way to get his letters to her even from as far away as Argentina.

Those letters had told Talia without a doubt that he was thinking of her. But now…

“Talia, I—”

Talia held up a hand before he could stammer another flimsy excuse. Or before she could confess how desperately she’d missed his correspondence. Such a confession would do neither of them any good.

“Never mind, James,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely, and I hope everything goes well for your next trip.”

She turned away, sorrow sharp in her throat. His hand closed around her bare arm. Talia’s breath caught at the sensation of his fingers on her skin, the way he tugged her closer into the warm space beside him. The space few could breach.

“I saw a very strange tree in a crater on Arlington Abundance,” James said. “The trunk bulged out in the middle like a barrel—so wide that the entire tree resembled a huge turnip with the branches and leaves as the greens.”

Talia looked at him. His eyes, crinkled at the corners, gleamed with a light that Talia had once hoped was reserved only for her. She suppressed a twinge of regret and allowed herself—just for this moment—to reminisce.

“False,” she said.

James smiled. “True. I was climbing to the summit when I saw the tree. Had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. I’ve a drawing in my journal that I’ll show you.”

Talia’s heart gave a thump at the implication that they would not only see each other again before he left, but also that they’d sit down together and look through all his notes and drawings. Exactly the way they’d always done.
Before
.

“On the same mountain,” James continued, “I saw a most unusual rock, very bumpy and lined with green streaks. I put it in my rucksack to add to the collection and continued walking. Halfway down the mountain, the rock started to move. I opened the sack and it jumped out and landed on my shoulder, then scurried down my back and ran away.”

Talia narrowed her eyes skeptically. “False?”

“It was an odd kind of lizard that camouflages itself against the rocky terrain.”

“Why didn’t it move when you picked it up then?”

“It was sleeping.”

“No creature would remain asleep when dumped into a rucksack.”

“Excellent point.” James grinned, his teeth flashing white.

“False, then?”

“False,” he conceded. “Your turn.”

“I have a new pet,” Talia said. “A cat called Misty that I dress in a harlequin costume of black satin trimmed with diamonds and a ruffled collar. I’ve taught her how to dance and jump through a hoop.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “False, but it sounds delightful.”

“True.”

“True?”

Now it was Talia’s turn to smile. “When you visit King’s Street, I’ll show you.”

“Well, then.” He looked both puzzled and intrigued. “I look forward to calling upon you very soon.”

“Tomorrow, I do hope!” An elderly woman with bright blue eyes and a halo of thick, graying hair stopped beside them. “You mustn’t keep us waiting, you rogue.”

“Lady Sally.” James turned his smile on Talia’s aunt with genuine affection. “I’d heard you were staying with Lady Talia in her father’s absence. You look lovely, as always.”

A pink blush colored Sally’s already rosy cheeks. “I’m so pleased you’re back in London, James. You must come for dinner one night, and don’t you dare tell me you can’t spare the time.”

“For you, of course I can.”

Sally giggled. Talia shook her head in amusement. She’d never cared for the sleek, self-satisfied gentlemen of the
ton
who tossed compliments about like shiny new pennies, but James was different. James had a way of looking at any woman, young or old, and making her believe he truly meant what he said.

Perhaps because he did.

I’ll never get married, Talia, to you or anyone else.

Talia didn’t know whether to find comfort in that remembered statement or not. Sorrow stung her every time she recalled that James would not marry her…but at least he wouldn’t marry another woman either. There was a small measure of comfort in the knowledge that Talia would be spared the pain of seeing James wed to someone else, though she couldn’t help wishing he wasn’t quite so true to his word. Where
she
was concerned, at any rate.

“You’re returning home, are you?” James asked Sally. “Allow me to escort you to the foyer and ensure your carriage is available at once.”

He extended his arm toward Sally, who slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and beamed at him. Then James turned a questioning eye to Talia.

Resignation swept through her. She couldn’t very well approach Lord Margate with James here. If he learned she was broaching the subject of aid for juvenile delinquents, he would most certainly make inquiries that could lead him to the truth. And if James knew the truth, Talia’s father and brothers would learn of it as well, and then obstruct her efforts at every turn.

She gave James a nod of assent and followed him and Aunt Sally to the foyer. She might have once considered him a trusted friend, but she knew his loyalties lay with Alexander and Rushton before her. And while that would never make him Talia’s enemy, it certainly meant she could no longer confide in him.

Alice Colston set a cup of coffee in front of her father, then filled a plate with eggs, buttered toast, and two kippers. She placed that next to the coffee and took her seat. Papa’s head was bent as he studied his newspaper, the points of his collar a stark white contrast to his black suit.

Alice tried to remember the last time her father had worn any other color except black and white. Certainly it had been before her mother had died more than a decade ago.

She sipped her coffee, suppressing old pain. She’d been seventeen years old when Mrs. Colston had succumbed to a bout of influenza. Peter was not yet six. Alice still wondered how much Peter remembered of their mother. He hadn’t spoken of her in years. And after he’d attempted to run away from home at nine years of age…well, he hadn’t wanted to talk about anything. Least of all what had set him on such a horrible path.

“I thought I might visit the new panorama in Regent’s Park this Saturday,” Alice remarked, trying to distract herself from the inevitable guilt. She’d all but raised Peter after their mother died, and she still felt somehow to blame for his actions. “Mrs. Richards said it was quite fascinating. I’d also like to make a stop at the library to pick up a book by Mr. Hogg that I haven’t yet read.”

Her father made a noncommittal noise and turned a page of the paper.

“And there’s a charity bazaar near Oxford Street tomorrow, if you’d like to attend,” Alice continued.

“No, but you are welcome to. I shall leave you some pin money, should you wish to make a purchase.” Her father set the paper aside and pulled the plate toward him. “I’ll be home late tonight. We’ve some accounts to set up that Mr. Vickers requires done by the end of the week.”

The thump of footsteps came from the stairs. Alice looked up at Peter and smiled. He shoved a chair away from the table with his foot, his expression set and sullen.

“I’ll get your breakfast, Peter.” Alice rose and fixed a plate of eggs and toast. Once upon a time, she’d have offered him cocoa but in the week he’d been back at home, she’d noticed he preferred strong coffee.

She poured a cup and placed it in front of him, suppressing the urge to run her hand over his thick, black hair. The way her mother used to do with her. She tried to ignore the twinge of pain at the memory of what her brother had been like as a young child—happy, reckless, full of energy.

What had gone so wrong?

Alice still didn’t know what had happened to turn Peter into an angry young man who seemed hell-bent on getting himself into trouble. He’d run away from school and started associating with vagrants who roamed the streets picking pockets and vandalizing storefronts. Twice their father had to pick him up from the police station, and then last year Peter’s arrest had led to his being sentenced to Newhall for nine months.

Edward Colston hadn’t attended the court hearing or tried to visit Peter while he was incarcerated. Edward also hadn’t wanted Peter to return home after his release, but Alice had pleaded with him to allow her brother one more chance.

Edward had finally relented, but only on the condition that Peter attend the Brick Street school and find worthwhile work. Even now, Alice knew her father hoped that Peter would somehow prove to be the son he had always wanted. That Peter would straighten up, succeed in school, become a solicitor or a doctor…that he would one day become more successful than Edward was.

What father didn’t have such hopes for his only son?

Alice stared at her plate, wondering what hopes, if any, her father had ever had for her. She was well into spinsterhood now, so marriage wasn’t likely…not that she’d ever been in a position to accept an offer. She’d spent the past ten years taking care of her father’s household and contending with her brother’s rebelliousness. Even if she’d wanted to, she could never leave and start her own family.

“Intend to enroll at the school today, do you?” Edward asked Peter. “You ought to be able to work as well.”

The boy shrugged.

“I’ve heard the tailor on Buxton Street might be seeking help,” Alice suggested.

Peter held up one of his big, knobby-fingered hands. “You think these were meant for sewing?”

“The printer, then, whom Papa—”

“Bloody hell, Alice,” Peter snapped. “You need to be able to
read
to be a printer.”

Anger flashed through Edward. He pushed his chair back so fast, the legs scraped against the floor. Peter cringed. Edward lifted a hand. Though Alice had never in her life seen her father strike Peter, she froze in fear.

Taut silence stretched between the three of them. Peter didn’t raise his head. The clock ticked. Edward stared at his son, then slowly lowered his hand.

Alice’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears. Edward picked up his cup and took another swallow of coffee, seeming to regain control of himself.

“You will not curse in my house,” he told his son, his voice cold. He straightened his lapels, then folded the paper and tucked it beneath his arm. “I suggest you pay a visit to the union offices and enroll at Brick Street first thing this morning. Good day to you, Alice.”

He gave Alice a stiff nod and strode to the door. A minute later the front door closed. Peter shifted and grabbed a fork. Alice opened her mouth to defend their father, then bit the words back for fear of further rancor. Peter stuffed the eggs into his mouth and washed them down with two cups of coffee.

“Did they feed you well at Newhall?” Alice asked.

Peter lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Even confined in prison, he’d grown a good two inches over the past nine months, but he was far thinner than she remembered. He used to be big and muscular. Now he was a tall, awkward boy who didn’t look as if he fit into his lanky frame.

“Would you like to come with me to Oxford Street?” she asked. “We can stop at the union offices en route.”

Peter shook his head.

“What do you plan to do today, then?” She tensed as she awaited his response.

“Not look for work at a tailor’s or print shop,” he muttered.

“Peter, it’s very important that you find suitable work,” Alice said carefully, “and attend school at Brick Street.”

“I ain’t going back to school.”

Irritation crawled down her spine. “Peter, Papa agreed to let you come back home if you either—”

“I didn’t ask to come home, did I?” Peter shoved his plate away so hard it bumped against his cup and spilled the coffee.

Alice jumped up to grab a napkin. “Where else would you have gone?”

“Wherever I bloody well please,” he retorted.

“Peter…”

“I didn’t strike any bargain with him,” Peter snapped. “Bastard’s always been ashamed of me, right?”

Shocked, Alice stared at him. “Peter, do not speak of our father that way!”

“It’s the truth, ain’t it?” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll never be as good as him, and everyone knows it.”

“That is not true.”

“It is true. The only reason he’s letting me stay now is because of you, right? He wouldn’t set foot in Newhall the whole time I was there.”

“Can you blame him?” Alice asked, anger filling her throat. “Papa has always tried to give you everything you could possibly want, especially after Mother died. You repaid him by becoming a vagrant, picking pockets, and thieving. You got arrested, sentenced to prison, and now you won’t consider your future. What is Papa supposed to think?”

“What he’s always thought,” Peter retorted. “That he should have disowned me years ago.”

“Why, Peter?” Alice hurried after him as he stomped to the foyer. “Why are you doing this? If you don’t want to go to Brick Street, perhaps we can talk to Papa about going to stay with Uncle Benjamin in Surrey. He’s got a farm, you know, and…”