A Dream of Desire (7 page)

“Northwood didn’t say anything about Bexley when I saw him,” he said.

“Likely he doesn’t yet know.” Sally made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Though knowing Alexander, he would approve of Bexley the way he did Fulton.”

James was silent for a moment that seemed to Talia like forever. She desperately wanted him to state unequivocally that Bexley would be a horrid match for Talia, and that both Alexander and Rushton would be fools to believe otherwise.

“Northwood only wishes to ensure Talia is cared for,” James finally said. “I promised him I’d look after her a bit while I’m here, as he can’t do so himself.”

Something crumbled inside Talia. She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the sharp edge of disappointment over James’s revelation.

“I believe Alexander intends to visit London this autumn,” James continued.

And when he does, you’ll be free of your responsibility.

Only now did Talia realize how much she’d hoped James had actually wanted to see her again. It was a foolish thought, considering he hadn’t even bothered to write to her, but they had
once
been good friends.

Until she’d made a mess of the whole thing by telling him she loved him. Perhaps this was her penance—longing for nothing to have changed when it was so painfully obvious that everything had.

Mustering her courage, she pasted a bland smile on her face and entered the room with the painted box. “Here we are. My new pet.”

James looked at the box with bewilderment. “You keep it in there?”

“Yes.” Talia exchanged a smile with her aunt as she set the box on the low table in front of the sofa and opened it.

A platform extended from the box, bearing a miniature platform and hoop. A mechanical cat dressed in a harlequin costume crouched to the side, its glass-blue gaze on the hoop. Talia twisted the key at the back of the box. A tinny music began, and the cat coiled back on its haunches before leaping forward in a two-step dance, then vaulting through the hoop.

James laughed, clapping his hands together in appreciation. “What an extraordinary machine. Where did you get it?”

“Sebastian’s wife, Clara, has an uncle who owns the Museum of Automata and workshop,” Talia explained. “She had him make this as a birthday gift for me.”

“It’s a fascinating place, James; you really ought to visit,” Sally remarked. “Talia, you must introduce him to Mr. Blake. He’s a very dear man, if a bit long-winded at times. He made me a clock with little horses spinning around in a carousel. Extraordinary.”

The door opened to admit a maid with a tray of fresh cakes and tea, and Talia moved forward to pour. From the corner of her eye, she watched James turn the key to rewind the automaton. He chuckled as the cat performed its antics. The rumbling sound echoed through Talia’s blood. His laugh had always brought her such pleasure.

She handed a cup of tea to her aunt as James settled into a chair. She added two sugars to another cup before handing it to him. Their fingers brushed as he took the cup, the light touch sending another shiver coursing through her arm.

“So, James, you’re publishing your journals, are you?” Sally asked.

“Yes, I’m in the process of rewriting them all now,” he replied, lifting the cup to take a sip of tea.

Talia gazed at his hands, tanned from the sun and dusted with dark hair. The cuff of his sleeve inched up to display the corded muscles of his forearm. Despite the size of his hands and his calloused fingers, James held the china cup with care, as if it were a bird nestled in his palms.

Talia wondered if he would hold a woman the same way. If he would slide those large, rough hands gently over her bare skin, intent on her pleasure as much as his own…

“Don’t you think, Talia?” Sally asked.

“Er…I beg your pardon?”

“We’re hoping Darius will also return for a visit in the fall,” Sally said. “After the season is over. Sebastian has already invited us to his new home near Brighton.”

“Yes, yes. I hope so.” Talia could hardly remember the last time she and her brothers had all been together.

“My lady, a…visitor to see you?” Soames stepped into the room, giving Talia a nod.

“A visitor? But I’m not expecting anyone.” Talia set down her cup and stood. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, James, Aunt Sally?”

“I told her to go round the back, but she insisted you would see her,” Soames murmured as she passed him in the doorway.

Talia hurried to the foyer, where the door was wide open. Alice Colston stood on the front step, huddled in her coat with a dark blue bonnet framing her pretty face. Talia’s heart bumped against her ribs.

“Alice, what’s wrong?” She hurried to grasp the other woman’s hands, noticing as she drew closer that Alice’s eyes were puffy and shot through with blood. “Is it Peter?”

Alice nodded. “My father told me not to disturb you, but I’m so worried about him.”

“Talia?” Aunt Sally peered at them from the drawing room doorway. “Won’t you invite your guest in?”

“Oh, no, I…” Alice shook her head and stepped back toward the door. “I’m sorry, I…”

Talia tried not to wince when James appeared behind Sally, his gaze going from her to Alice. She did not want James to know anything about Alice or Peter Colston.

“We’ll just be a moment, Aunt Sally.” She took Alice’s arm and went out to the front step, closing the door behind her. “What happened to Peter, Alice?”

“He left again this morning and hasn’t returned yet. I’m afraid he might have gone back to Wapping.”

“Did he say why he left?”

Alice shook her head. “He knows our father wants him to attend Brick Street, but he insisted he’d never return to school. Our father won’t allow him to stay if he doesn’t, and Peter knows that. I think that’s why he’s run away again.”

Dismay speared through Talia at the resignation in Alice’s voice. Despite their dissimilar upbringings, she had felt a kinship toward the other woman since their first meetings at the Colstons’ modest Spitalfields home. Both she and Alice had lost their mothers, and Talia sensed that, like herself, Alice had felt both isolated and trapped in a position she would never have chosen for herself.

“Mr. Lawford said Peter refused all lessons at Newhall as well,” Alice said.

“When did you speak with Mr. Lawford?”

“He came to visit several times when Peter was still in prison,” Alice explained. “To assure my father and me that Peter was faring well, but was often defiant for no apparent reason. And he wouldn’t learn to either read or write, despite Mr. Lawford’s best efforts.”

Talia frowned. She’d not heard of Lawford visiting any family members of Newhall’s inmates. Just the opposite…considering the disciplinary measures reputed to take place behind those brick walls, Lawford sought to limit contact between the boys and their families. Even letters were seldom distributed within the prison.

“Has Peter said anything to you yet about Newhall?” Talia asked.

“No, he won’t talk about anything. I hate to think he’s returned to the docks, but I’ve no idea where else to begin looking for him. Or even if I should.”

“Of course we should.” But Talia wasn’t foolish enough to think she and Alice could venture into the streets of Wapping alone to look for Peter. One mistake had been enough to remind her that bravery and recklessness were two very different characteristics. So who could—

James.

He knew the London docks. He knew the great port where massive barges, fishing boats, schooners, and steamers cluttered the Thames as they hauled cargo and passengers in and out of the city. James knew the warehouses packed with goods from all over the world. He knew the rhythm of the docks, the men who worked and supervised, the riggers, shipwrights, lightermen, wharf laborers. He knew the type of boy who frequented the quays.

He would know where to look for Peter Colston.

And yet Talia knew she could not ask him to find a boy who had just been released from prison. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t ask James for his help.

If James knew about Peter, she’d have to tell him about her attempts to visit Newhall and about Brick Street, the temporary reformatory school they’d set up in Wapping. And if James knew Talia was working with juvenile delinquents, the big fool would run straight to Alexander, and they’d shut the whole project down right as she and Mr. Fletcher were getting started.

Not to mention what he might discover about Peter.

Talia sighed in frustration. The timing should have been perfect. Her father had left London just as she was implementing the plans for the reformatory school and finishing her report.

Rushton would be gone through the summer, which meant Talia could present her evidence to the House of Commons committee, find a patron for the school, and hopefully garner support among the peerage. When Rushton returned to London in August, he’d find the foundation of the work successfully established…and with any luck would then lend his own support to the cause.

Yes, it should all have gone exactly as Talia planned. She just hadn’t counted on James Forester coming back. Much less realizing that he could actually help her, if she still trusted him enough to keep her secret.

She tightened her hand on Alice’s arm. She couldn’t ask James for help, but she could appeal to the director of the Ragged School Union. “Let me talk to Sir Henry and Mr. Fletcher tomorrow. They’ll have an idea of what to do.”

Alice swiped at her eyes. “You’ve already done too much, my lady, but I didn’t know where else to go. If Peter gets into trouble again, he’ll be lost forever.”

“No, he won’t. And I wouldn’t have offered to help you if I hadn’t wanted to.” Talia pushed open the front door before Alice could protest. “Come and have a cup of tea.”

“No.” Alice’s eyes skirted past Talia to the marble-floored foyer with its curved staircase and huge, gilt-framed mirror. “I’d best get back. My father will be home soon.”

“Very well.” Deflecting a pang of regret, Talia released Alice’s arm and stepped into the foyer. “I’ll call upon you at ten tomorrow morning, and then I’ll go to the union offices to speak with Sir Henry. We’ll find him, Alice.”

Talia couldn’t bring herself to add,
“I promise.”

William Lawford watched Alice Colston from a distance. Beautiful, she was. Delicate like a bird, but without the artificial trappings of society. So different from the women of the
ton
with their silk and ribbons. Alice wore plain cotton dresses, and the one time he’d been close enough to see her hands—when she had signed the ledger the first time she came to see her brother at Newhall—William had noticed her roughened skin and short-clipped fingernails.

But, God, she was lovely, with her pale gold hair and Madonna-like features. Blue eyes fringed with long, dark lashes. A rosebud mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at as she’d stood in the front office at Newhall and told him she was Peter’s sister.

Not once since that day several months ago had William been able to stop thinking of her. He’d almost petitioned for the boy’s release himself just so that he could see Alice again when she came to fetch her brother. Instead he’d waited the interminable weeks until the day of Peter’s release…only to have his enjoyment over seeing Alice again blackened by the presence of that interfering Lady Talia Hall and her accomplice Fletcher.

Under the guise of giving her a report about Peter’s condition, William had visited Alice twice at her family’s Bell Lane house. Her wretched father had been there both times, making it impossible for William to speak with Alice alone, but at least he’d been able to gaze at her and hear the sound of her voice.

Now that Peter had been freed, William had to find another excuse to be in her company.

When Alice turned the corner of King’s Street, William followed. His heart beat faster as he closed the distance between them.

“Good afternoon, Miss Colston.”

She startled, her head turning. “Oh, Mr. Lawford. What are you doing here?”

“I’d thought to pay a visit on Lady Talia Hall when I saw you leaving.” He kept his tone politely inquisitive. “You had the same idea.”

“Yes. Lady Talia has been very kind to my family, especially after Peter’s arrest.”

“How did she come to know Peter?”

“He helped her in some way, she once said.” Alice reached up to tighten her collar around her neck. “Though she’s been more of a help to us.”

“And how is Peter faring after his release?” William asked.

“He’s begun putting back the weight he’d lost, which is good, but he’s still…upset.”

William clenched his jaw. Peter had been a problem since the moment he was brought to Newhall. Sullen and defiant in a way William hadn’t encountered before. He knew Peter was afraid of him—several floggings and confinement had ensured that—but the boy had a hard shell that William hadn’t been able to crack.

After he’d met Alice, William had tried to make prison life easier for Peter. He’d given Peter extra food, which went uneaten, offered to let him outside in the prison yard longer than the other boys, released him from work duty, allowed him more time in the library.

Peter refused all his efforts, which made William dislike the boy all the more. Not that he would ever let Alice see that.

“Has Peter visited Lady Talia as well?” William asked, tensing as he awaited her response.

“No.” Alice’s mouth twisted. “She has a place waiting for him at the Brick Street school, but Peter isn’t willing to even consider enrolling. I hope it’s because he simply needs some time to adjust. I suppose that’s one of the reasons Lady Talia thinks boys like Peter should not be sent to prison in the first place.”

William smothered a rush of irritation. “Yet incarceration teaches them the ills of wrongdoing and ensures the safety of law-abiding citizens, does it not?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry Peter served time at Newhall,” William said gently. “It’s a very run-down institution, likely should never have been reopened. The Shipton Fields prison that I am seeking to establish will be much more expansive, with a large yard, quarters for the warders and chaplain, storerooms, visitors’ rooms…and quite a grand lodge for the governor.”