A Dream of Desire (16 page)

She opened his book again to the correct page. “If you’ve read the first part of it, I can help you with—”

Peter shoved the book to the floor.
Read the first part.
He couldn’t even read the first letter, stupid things constantly twisting in front of his eyes. He bolted to his feet, hating the dismay crossing Miss Hall’s face as she stepped back.

“Peter, don’t—”

He pushed past her and headed for the door, his boots stomping on the worn wooden floor. He sensed the other boys rustling behind him, murmurs and chuckles rising. His shame deepened. No wonder his father was always so embarrassed by him. Peter wasn’t good for much but hefting coils of rope and crates, like a dumb ox.

He hurried out onto the street, sucking in a lungful of smoky air. He started for the docks, where he could lose himself in the chaos. No one paid attention to him there. Not like the school, where he couldn’t escape scrutiny.

Apprehension shot through him again. He glanced over his shoulder and cursed. Forester was coming after him, his face set with determination.

Peter ran, darting around a fruit vendor and nearly crashing into a rubbish wagon. His foot skidded on the muddy paving stones. Surely he knew his way around the streets better than Forester did, so it wouldn’t take much to lose him.

Peter raced around a corner, aware of Forester chasing him. He turned into an alley, then back out to a side street. The bustle of Ratcliffe Highway lay ahead. He raced toward it, knowing he could navigate the tangle of carts and wagons before disappearing into the crowds heading toward the dock gates.

A hand suddenly grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him to a halt so fast he skidded backward with a grunt.

“Bloody fool.” Forester gave him a hard shake, his chest heaving with exertion. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from
there
.” Peter squirmed, trying to pull away. He was bigger than most boys his age, but Forester was bigger and stronger. And he wasn’t about to let Peter go.

“Not good enough for you, is that it?” Forester shook him again.

Peter scowled, his fists clenching. “Let go of me.”

Forester’s grip tightened. Peter braced himself for a lecture about how the reformatory school board, about how Lady Talia, just wanted to
help
him, that he was running from
opportunity
and a
better life
, how…

Forester shoved him away. Peter stumbled in shock. He righted himself and spun to stare at the man, who had a glare that could cut you like glass.

“Where are you going?” Forester demanded.

“The…the docks.”

Forester frowned. “What for?”

“First one picked for work when the gates open.” His fists curled in instinctive defense, his chest heaving as he sucked in a breath. Forester’s eyes narrowed.

“What happened to you?”

“What…?”

“In prison.”

A prickle of fear raced over Peter’s skin.

“I know why you were there,” Forester said. “But is it true that you were flogged and manacled?”

Peter couldn’t respond. His back stung as he almost felt the pain of the lash again.

“If you go now, you won’t come back,” Forester said.

Peter tilted his chin in challenge. “Why d’you think I left in the first place?”

Forester studied him for a long moment, then jerked his head toward the docks. “Go speak to Jim in Warehouse Two. Tell him Castleford said to hire you on board the
Defense
.”

“What…what’s the
Defense
?”

“A ship leaving for Africa in a week. Don’t expect to be on it, but you can help load the cargo. Do a decent job, and I’ll talk to Miss Hall on your behalf.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You’ll owe me.” Forester began striding away.

“Why are you doing this?” Peter called.

“Because you remind me of someone,” Forester replied without turning around.

Peter chewed on his lower lip as he watched the man round the corner and disappear.

A ship heading for Africa. He’d often wondered about the destinations of all the schooners and barges clustered at the London docks. Wondered if he’d ever be aboard one of them, but unable to imagine ever leaving his sister and father.

A hard rush of pain filled him. Didn’t much matter anymore, did it? He could go to the ends of the earth and his father wouldn’t care.

He trudged toward the dock gates. Tried to ignore the very faint twinge of regret over leaving Miss Hall again. For all her humanity-mongering, she’d been decent to him and was a kind enough lady.

But she had no duty to him, owed him nothing. He was alone now and could take care of himself.

The dock gates began to close. Peter ran.

S
he likes mulberry preserves.” James spoke through the tightness of a clenched jaw as he stood next to Ridley in Lady Hamilton’s ballroom. “Reading novels, especially adventure stories.
The Last of the Mohicans
is one of her favorites. She enjoys ice-skating in winter. Going to the theater. The Egyptian displays at the British Museum.”

Ridley listened intently, as if he were preparing for an exam. He glanced past James to where Talia stood with Lady Sally beside a potted plant.

“Ice-skating,” Ridley repeated. “Egyptian displays. What about music?”

“Mozart is her favorite.” James struggled against the urge to lie so that Ridley couldn’t possibly succeed in this venture that Lady Sally had concocted just yesterday.

He stepped back, following the line of sight toward Talia. She looked strikingly lovely in a forest-green gown with a strand of pearls encircling her slender neck. James let his gaze wander to her bodice, the swells of her breasts that he’d imagined bare more times than he wanted to remember—

“Go on, then,” he said gruffly, gesturing Ridley toward Talia. “She doesn’t like inane gossip, so you’d best start with an interesting topic of conversation.”

Ridley gave a nod and straightened the lapels of his coat. He took a breath, as if mustering his courage, and approached Talia. Both she and Lady Sally greeted him with smiles of welcome, though Sally quickly excused herself and headed for a group of women at the hearth. She caught James’s eye and winked.

He clenched his jaw harder. He watched Ridley speaking to Talia and waited for the inevitable flash of wariness to cross her features. Ridley was a good fellow, and James had no reason to disapprove of him courting Talia—just the opposite, in fact—but Talia had an armor about her. She didn’t let anyone get too close. Especially men.

Talia laughed at something Ridley said. James heard the sound from halfway across the room, a gentle laugh like a breeze rustling through trees. That laugh had permeated his dreams this past year.

His hands tightened into fists as he watched another smile light up Talia’s green eyes. He forced himself to turn away from them. Well enough that Ridley had managed to strike up a conversation that Talia seemed to be enjoying. Lady Sally would be pleased.

And maybe James could get the bloody hell out of London before the sight of Talia with another man drove him mad.

He dragged a hand down his face. He suspected he would always wish
he
were the man who was worthy of Talia. He wished he could give her everything she both wanted and deserved.

“Have you managed to convert the world’s heathens, my lord?”

James suppressed his turmoil of emotions before looking at a delicate, older woman dressed in a lavender gown, her hair a puff of snow-white around her head. She smiled, her features creasing with warmth and a sense of youthfulness despite the fact that she was past sixty years of age.

“Lady Byron.” James pressed her gloved hand in greeting. An old friend of his mother’s, Lady Annabella Byron was a welcome respite from the women fluttering about in their silk gowns, hiding whispers behind lacy fans. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“You as well, James. Whenever you’re away, I fear you will fall prey to the devil’s talons.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “You believe I’m so hopeless?”

“I believe you should hold fast to Christian charity,” Lady Byron replied, her eyes twinkling, yet sharp with intelligence. “You’ve an opportunity to do good works in the world, but I’ve yet to see you approach your journeys with benevolence and a sense of spiritual duty.”

“I must leave spiritual duty to ladies like yourself,” James admitted. He felt the same way toward religion that he did toward London society—tolerant, but unwilling to extend himself beyond the most superficial involvement. Both society and religion had failed him and his mother once too often.

Lady Byron tilted her head to study him. “Restless still, aren’t you, James? You’d find peace in extending brotherly love, I assure you. When we view and treat our fellow man as equal, we secure our position in God’s kingdom.”

Though James never intended to dedicate himself to Christian charity the way Lady Byron wished he would, he found a strange comfort in the repetition of her speeches. For all her disapproval of society’s frivolity, the baroness never wavered in her devotion to social causes and action, having been one of the few women to attend a world antislavery conference fifteen years ago. James wondered what it would feel like to be so devoted to something.

Or someone.

He glanced at Talia again. She and Ridley were still in conversation. They looked handsome together. Ridley wasn’t so tall that Talia had to tilt her head to look up at him, and his fair hair and broad, open face were a striking contrast to Talia’s Slavic beauty.

Talia turned her attention from Ridley suddenly, as if sensing James’s gaze on her. She met his eyes, and from clear across the damned room, energy crackled through the air and straight into his chest. He swallowed, fighting the rush of awareness.

“Lady Byron, I’m having a dinner party this coming Friday,” he said, surprising himself with the remark. “I’d be honored if you’d attend.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded. Though she continued to disapprove of the excesses of the
ton
, Lady Byron was no fool. She knew well that her continued association with the peerage kept their attention on her causes. And she never gave up hope in her belief that each and every person could be saved.

James excused himself from her ladyship’s presence with a promise to call upon her the following day. He realized now that he had to actually plan a dinner party. He mentally put Talia and Ridley on the list, as well as Lady Sally and a few other friends whom he hadn’t seen since his return. Twelve people, perhaps, enough for a small gathering intended to bring Talia and Ridley together again.

That ought to be enough to keep his promise to Lady Sally.

He sought Talia out again, then frowned as she excused herself from Ridley’s presence and started toward the foyer.

“You’re leaving already?” James fell into step beside her.

“I’ve an appointment at the Bethnal Green school tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d retire early.” Talia stopped in the foyer as the footman went to retrieve her cloak. “And I need to call on Alice again. Find out if Peter has contacted her.”

“You’ll never convince him to do something he doesn’t want to do, Talia.”

“And you’ll never convince me of that, either.” Her eyes flashed with a challenge as she looked at him. “I do appreciate your giving him work on the
Defense
, James, but it won’t be enough to appease his father. Mr. Colston doesn’t want his son working as a dock laborer…not because of the work itself, but because of the company he kept in Wapping. People who would set him on the wrong path.”

“What do you want of the boy, Talia?”

“To be back with his family and have a good future. And the only way to achieve that is for Peter to attend Brick Street and find respectable work.” Dismay crossed her face. “I admit I never imagined it would be so difficult to help him.”

A surge of guilt filled James’s chest.

“He doesn’t want to go, Talia,” he muttered.

“I will not stop trying.”

Of course she wouldn’t. The woman was nothing if not tenacious. James had personal evidence of that fact. He just hadn’t expected to encounter it to such a degree upon his return to London.

He saw Talia into her carriage, then returned to his own town house. He spent the next few hours reviewing his expedition journals and fighting the urge to write Talia another letter filled with details of his adventures.

If he were going to encourage the attentions of another man toward Talia, he would have to maintain as much distance from her as he could…even though that was already proving nearly impossible.

When dawn broke, James procured a cab and ordered the driver to the Wapping docks. He squinted against the glare of the morning sun as he strode past the basin, the ships’ masts casting long, fingerlike shadows over the wharf. Men and boys in stained clothes and hats scurried past him, hefting cargo onto the ships, loading wagons for the warehouses, winching the wheels. Noise swam through the air—shouting, clanking machinery, horses, engines.

All familiar. All reminders that this was his departure point for the world, that here he could leave London and all its bleak memories behind.

And still take the good memories with him.

He shook his head hard to dislodge
those
memories, the ones clinging like cobwebs to his mind. The ones that surfaced only when he was asleep and couldn’t push them away.

“Jim.” He increased his pace as the foreman of Warehouse Two lumbered from the front doors. “Have you seen a boy called Peter about?”

“Lots of boys called Peter about.” Jim Bitner clamped his yellowed teeth around a pipe and inhaled a breath of smoke. “What’re ye wantin’ wit’ him?”

“Peter Colston. Told him to see you about working on board the
Defense
before it sets out. Tall boy, dark-haired. Doesn’t speak much.”

“I remember him. He did some loadin’ yesterday, but this morning Sam down at Three had a barge come in. Got some boys to unload for the warehouse. Told Peter to go there this mornin’.”

James thanked him and went to the third warehouse. He found the foreman, who verified that he had hired Peter as soon as the dock gates opened.

“Found out he’s good with engines, so I sent him to work on the steamer.” The foreman jerked his head toward the steamer docked at the end of the quay. “Would hire him again, if he comes back tomorrow. Good worker.”

James strode along the quay, skirting pallets filled with crates and wheelbarrows. Gulls dove through the air on the hunt for bits of food, and the smell of tobacco wafted from one of the warehouses. After finding the ship’s captain and speaking with him, James boarded the steamer and went to the engine room.

His sleeves rolled up to his elbows and covered with grease and coal dust, Peter Colston was cleaning the furnace and checking the engine’s feed pipes. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his movements sharp with assurance. He appeared so intent on his task that he didn’t notice when James approached.

James cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention. Peter straightened, swiping his forehead with his sleeve. He looked at James, a hint of fear coloring his expression.

“I ain’t goin’ back,” he said.

“So you’ll keep hiding?” James sat on a bench and studied the boy. “Miss Hall feels she owes you for helping her.”

“She don’t owe me nothing.” Peter’s mouth thinned as he stabbed a poker at the dead coals.

“She said you saved her life in that alley.”

Peter shook his head. He tossed the poker aside and grabbed a shovel.

“You certainly saved her from getting hurt,” James continued.

“No.” Peter hauled a load of ashes from the furnace and dumped it into a wheelbarrow. “That’s the problem. She thinks I ran to save her, but I didn’t.”

“What did you do, then?”

A dull flush colored Peter’s face. He turned and shoveled up another pile of ashes. Sweat dripped from his brow.

“There was…couple of fellows I knew were wantin’ to pick pockets from the Queen’s Theatre crowd after the play,” he said. “We nabbed a few quid; then someone saw us and called for the police. One of them grabbed my collar, but I got away and ran. Ducked into an alley and crashed right into the bastard who was trying to hurt Lady Talia. He had a knife…I didn’t see it at first, but we started brawling and I got hold of it…didn’t mean to do it, but he got killed. Then the police came, and Lady Talia was sayin’ that I’d saved her…”

Peter pulled the stokehole plates from the furnace and dumped out the remaining ashes before turning back to the engine.

“Didn’t even know what I was doing,” he muttered, peering at the safety valves and boiler gauges. “Was running away, is all. If I’d known anyone was in the alley, I’d have gone the opposite direction. So her ladyship’s been thinkin’ all this time I’m some kind of hero, when the whole thing was a bloody accident.”

James was silent for a minute. Talia had once seen
him
as a kind of hero, or at least a man worthy of her love. And he still hadn’t done anything to prove to either her or himself that he actually deserved her belief in him. In fact, he’d probably crushed it with his rejection and evasion.

“Is that why you’ve not wanted to attend Brick Street?” he asked Peter. “Because you don’t think you’re worthy of her help?”

“I’m not.” Peter grabbed a rag to wipe his greasy hands. “Can’t do it in any case neither.”

“Why not?”

“Too thickheaded.” Peter tapped the side of his head. “Can’t make sense of letters or numbers.”

James watched as Peter began cleaning the rivet screws. “You’re a good worker, from what I hear.”

Peter shrugged.

“I can help you find work your father would approve of,” James suggested. He didn’t know what kind of work yet, but he had enough resources. He could even hire Peter himself, if he were so inclined.

“If I go back to Brick Street, right?” Peter said. “What’s the point of going back when I can’t learn anything?”

“It’s better than running away again.” An uncomfortable pang struck James as he realized he was echoing Talia’s own words about himself. He pushed to his feet and headed for the entry port. “Think on it, Peter. Perhaps it’s time to stop running.”

Peter gave a humorless laugh. “Don’t know how.”

Neither did James.

Talia could not remember a time when James Forester had hosted a dinner party. He attended them often when he was in London, enjoying the good food and drink as much as the next man, but never had he organized one himself.

“Do you need any assistance?” Talia asked him as they left Wapping the day after Lady Hamilton’s ball. Talia was hardly one of society’s renowned hostesses, but she’d organized several parties for her father over the past year and knew all the proper rules of etiquette.