A Dream of Desire (20 page)

Once upon a time, Talia would have thought of James after hearing a statement like that. She’d been so convinced that
he
was the right man…until he’d returned to London and shattered all her long-held illusions about him.

“And was Lord Ridley there?” Aunt Sally asked, her voice casual.

“Yes.” Talia looked suspiciously at her aunt. “James seems to have a sudden…antipathy toward him.”

“Does he? Good.”

“What are you up to, Aunt Sally? You haven’t been able to stop talking about Lord Ridley, when you know quite well I don’t want a suitor.”

“I know, dear. But isn’t it interesting that James is so opposed to it? Especially since he knows Ridley is perfectly suitable.”

“Even if I did allow Ridley to court me, he doesn’t inspire all those feelings in me that Uncle Harold did in you.”

“Hmm, well…” Aunt Sally placed her spectacles on her nose and picked up her book again. “Perhaps you need to look for a man who does, then.”

She didn’t have to look far, Talia thought in dismay as she bid her aunt good night and went to her own room. She called for Lucy to help her undress and change into her shift, then fell into a restless sleep in which her dreams ricocheted between images of James and Lord Ridley.

Talia had never imagined herself with any man other than James. For so long, she’d pictured their entwined futures, and even after the Floreston Manor debacle she had turned her attentions to work rather than to another man. So it was decidedly odd to wake up the next morning and feel as if she were somehow betraying James, for heaven’s sake, by even thinking about Lord Ridley.

Especially since James, too, could not offer her love. And Talia could not ignore the secret area of her heart that still longed to both give and receive such a love, one wrapped in the marital bliss Aunt Sally still cherished.

Pushing the ideas out of her mind, Talia dressed and went down for breakfast. Aunt Sally was still asleep, so Talia ate alone and got ready to pay a visit to the Ragged School Union offices. As she descended the stairs, tugging on her gloves, the front bell rang.

Soames strode into the foyer to answer it, his back stiffening as he pulled the door open.

“Who is it, Soames?” Talia called.

“Mr. Edward Colston and his daughter, Miss Alice Colston, my lady.”

Talia paused, faint alarm rising in her. “Let them in, please.”

Her alarm intensified when Mr. Colston stepped inside, his features set into a grim expression. Beside him, Alice looked upset, her eyes puffy and red.

“What happened?” Talia asked, hurrying to meet them. “Is it Peter?”

“He’s been arrested, my lady,” Mr. Colston said, his voice edged with anger.

Talia came to an abrupt halt, shock and dismay filling her throat. She reached for Alice’s arm, feeling the other woman tremble with suppressed sobs.

“A-arrested?” Talia stammered. “What on earth for?”

“Theft from a mariner’s shop on Ratcliffe Highway,” Mr. Colston said. “The constable informed us this morning. He’s keeping Peter at the Wapping gaol until he can be transferred back to Newhall.”

“Have you seen him?”

“We have not and don’t intend to,” Mr. Colston said. “I wished to inform you myself because you’ve tried to help Peter. As I suspected, however, he will likely never change his ways, and I apologize that your efforts on his behalf have been thwarted. And that Peter never appreciated them.”

An unpleasant speculation bit at Talia. “Does Mr. Lawford know?”

“Likely yes, considering he’s good friends with the constable.” Mr. Colston looked at Alice and nodded to the door. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. We’ll be off now. Just wanted you to know that we’ve washed our hands of Peter. Shame though it might be.”

Talia met Alice’s gaze as she followed her father back outside. The door slammed shut behind them. Talia pressed a hand to her chest, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had a difficult time believing Peter had stolen anything, but if he’d been arrested…

Apprehension sank claws into her neck. If there was evidence against him, he’d go back to Newhall.

She grabbed her cloak and went outside to the waiting carriage, then instructed the driver to take her to the Wapping gaol. The police constable agreed to allow her ten minutes with Peter, and a guard led her back to the dank cell where he was being held.

“What happened?” Talia suppressed a surge of anger when she saw Peter hunched on the narrow cot, his eyes nearly obscured by a hank of dark hair.

He shrugged. “They found the compass in my coat pocket. What’d you think happened?”

“You didn’t steal it,” Talia said.

Though it was a statement, not a question, Peter shook his head anyway.

“Doesn’t matter though, does it?” he asked. “Lawford’ll have me back at Newhall no matter what.” He lifted his head to look at her, seeming to gather his courage. “You don’t owe me nothing anymore, Miss. You never did.”

“It’s not only because I felt I owed you, Peter. I want to help you. I…” Shame nipped at her. She’d told James the truth—her motives hadn’t been entirely selfless where Peter was concerned.

“You wanted me to testify with you at that meeting,” Peter said.

Talia nodded. “Two of the other boys have agreed, but they weren’t at Newhall for nearly as long as you were. And I’ve never been granted access to Newhall, so you’re the only one who can testify as to the conditions.”

Peter stared down at his grubby hands. Half-circles of dirt were embedded beneath his fingernails. “If I do it, will you help me again? I don’t want to go back there. I can’t go home neither, not even if I went back to your school…”

“How can I be assured you won’t run away again, Peter?”

“You…you can’t,” he admitted. A flush burned his face. “But he…Lawford…he’s been talkin’ about my sister, and if I…if I’m back at Newhall…”

Alice.

Talia’s heart plummeted as she remembered Lawford’s attentions toward her friend. The very idea that Lawford might seduce Alice into doing his bidding…

Talia reached out and gripped Peter’s arm. She had to get him out of here. Now, at least, they had a common goal—to protect Alice from Lawford.

“Since you’re charged with what seems to be a relatively minor theft, I can petition the magistrate for guardianship over you in lieu of a prison sentence,” she said. “I will take personal responsibility for you.”

Peter eyed her warily. “I ain’t done anything to make you trust me.”

“No, you haven’t,” Talia agreed. “But your sister is my friend, and I do not believe Mr. Lawford has honorable intentions where she is concerned. I need your help. So does Alice. I’ll trust you, Peter, if you’ll trust me.”

Silence fell between them. Talia knew that Peter had far more to lose than she did. Finally he nodded. “I will.”

T
his is utterly appalling.” Lady Byron squinted at the small, cramped room of the Brick Street school. “How is anyone to learn in these conditions?”

Not very well, Talia thought. She glanced at James, who stood just behind Lady Byron in the doorway. After last week’s dinner party, he had sent her a note that Lady Byron wished to visit the school and he would escort her that afternoon, if Talia had no objections.

Talia was pleased at any potential support for the cause, but she wondered what James thought would be the result of the visit. He would never patronize the school, and he didn’t want her involved with it any longer, so why would he care about Brick Street’s success or failure?

“My lady, allow me to show you what we’ve accomplished thus far,” Mr. Fletcher said, stepping forward to indicate that Lady Byron should follow him to the front desk. She did, casting a disapproving look toward the boys seated at the narrow tables.

At least they were behaving well, Talia thought, thanks in part to a stern lecture earlier from both her and Mr. Fletcher.

She moved closer to James, trying to deflect the familiar surge of awareness.

“Thank you for bringing her.”

“She has done quite a bit of work to bring about prison reform measures,” he said. “She would be a staunch ally, should she approve of your own efforts.”

Talia glanced at the other woman, who was examining the books and curriculum Mr. Fletcher had prepared. She could think of only one reason James had escorted Lady Byron to Brick Street. If she were to support the school, James would be relieved of his guilt over being unable to do so himself.

He jerked his head toward the corridor. Talia followed him, curling her gloved fingers into her palms as she sensed his sudden anger.

“You will be the death of me,” he said, turning to face her. A pulse beat visibly in his temple. “Your aunt told me that you have petitioned for guardianship of Peter Colston.”

“Yes, and the magistrate will decide by Friday.” Unease filled Talia’s chest at the thought of what James might do with this revelation. “Will you tell Alexander about that, too?”

James stared at her for a moment, then grasped her shoulders, his eyes flaring with both heat and irritation. “I wrote him a telegraph this morning and couldn’t send it. Do you know why?”

Talia managed to shake her head, her heart racing at his closeness, the sensation of his fingers clutching her shoulders.

“Because of you,” James snapped. “Even though I made the promise to him, I feel that if I told him the truth, I’d be betraying you.”

“You…you would be,” Talia admitted, forcing the words through a tight throat.

James let go of her with a mutter of frustration. “And yet I am in your brother’s debt. Where does that leave me?”

Before Talia could respond that he was the one who’d gotten himself into this predicament, a shout broke out from the classroom.

“Bloody bastard!”

James turned and ran back into the room. Talia followed. A desk lay overturned in the middle of the room, and the boys crowded in a circle, yelling and cheering as a tall, skinny boy called Ben wrestled a bigger boy to the floor. Mr. Fletcher was trying unsuccessfully to pull Ben away.

“Stop it!” Talia rushed into the snarl of flailing fists.

James plunged forward to grab her just as Talia entered the fray. She reached for Ben’s arm. The boy threw his fist back for another punch. James grasped Talia’s shoulders and yanked her back out of harm’s way just as the blow caught him on the side of the jaw.

“James!”

He thrust her aside, grabbed Ben by the back of his shirt, and hauled him off the bigger boy. A crash sounded as another couple of boys knocked over the benches and joined the fray. A chair leg hit James above the eye. He shoved the other boys back and pulled Ben to his feet.

“Out!”

“Lousy bugger tellin’ me what I ought to—” Ben twisted from James’s grip and threw another punch hard enough to knock James’s head back. He shoved Ben toward the door. Blood dripped from the gash on his forehead.

“Get out,” he snapped.

Ben glowered at him, swiped his nose, and headed for the door. Mr. Fletcher was bending to help the other boy to his feet. Blood trailed from the boy’s nose, and his left eye had begun to swell shut.

“Henry!” Fletcher ordered. “Go and fetch Mrs. Wickers. I believe Mr. Chatham here is suffering a broken nose.”

Another boy darted from the room. Talia grabbed James’s arm and tried to turn him toward her.

“Never mind, Talia.”

“Let me see.”

A bruise was beginning to darken his jaw, blood dripping down over his eyebrow. Talia muttered a noise of exasperation and turned to Lady Byron, who was still standing by the front desk. “I’m terribly sorry, my lady. We don’t often have such occurrences, but perhaps another day would be more appropriate for your visit.”

“Perhaps,” Lady Byron acknowledged with a nod.

Talia had the sudden sense it might not matter if she agreed to James’s proposition or not, though Lady Byron was likely familiar with the rough behavior of delinquents and prisoners.

She suggested to Mr. Fletcher that they return the following day, then left him in charge of the boys for the remainder of the afternoon. James and Lady Byron had taken Lady Byron’s carriage to Wapping, and she instructed the driver to leave Talia and James at King’s Street before she returned to her own town house.

“Hot water, please, Soames.” Talia ushered James into the drawing room, peering more closely at the cut on his forehead.

The footman took one look at James and frowned. “Shall I send for the doctor, milady?”

“No. His lordship suffers only from lack of prudence, which I fear no doctor can cure.” Talia rested her hands on her hips as she watched James pace to the other end of the drawing room. “Sit down, James.”

“I don’t need to sit down,” he muttered, shoving a swath of hair from his forehead. “That could have been you, Talia. It’s only a matter of time before it will be. Then what? You’re going to rely on Fletcher, who doesn’t look as if he could lift a teapot, much less protect you from a gang of ruffians.”

“Please do not speak ill of Mr. Fletcher.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I daresay he doesn’t like you either.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Because you won’t,” Talia snapped. “You want me to stop doing something worthwhile and useful just because of a promise you made to Alexander, yet you keep pretending it’s because you’re concerned about me.”

“I am concerned about you!” James thundered, his eyes darkening as he strode back to stand in front of her. “If this were only about North, I’d have telegraphed him a week ago, but I didn’t. Because I don’t want you to hate me any more than you already do.”

Talia stared at him, her throat aching. “I don’t hate you, James.”

“You act as if you do.”

“I’m upset with you.” She paused, then again gave him the truth. “I could never hate you.”

Before James could respond, Soames came into the room with a bowl of water, gauze, and clean cloths. He set the tray down. “Anything else, milady?”

“No, thank you. James, sit down, please.”

This time, he did. Talia rinsed a cloth in hot water and went to stand in front of him. Though her heart pounded at being close to him, she kept her touch impersonal as she brushed his hair back to examine the scratch on his forehead, then his bruised knuckles. She cleaned the minor scrapes, taking his hand in hers and wiping the dried blood off. She glanced up to find him watching her, his brows drawn together and his expression closed.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell Alexander,” she finally said. “Thank you.”

He frowned. “Don’t thank me. I’ve reached the limits of my patience.”

Talia released his hand and dropped the cloth back on the tray. She sank onto the edge of a chair, wondering if there would ever be a time when it was only she and James in the room. When her brothers and father were left on the other side of a closed door where they belonged.

Only once had she and James been entirely alone. Even though the memory of that afternoon at Floreston Manor still made Talia flush with embarrassment, she remembered their kiss as if it were a candle flame encased in glass—burning, glowing, crystal-clear, and utterly private.

“You’ve always been loyal to him,” she said. “Alexander, I mean.”

He nodded, studying his scraped knuckles. “He had what I didn’t.”

“What was that?”

“All of you.”

Silence fell, broken by the crackle of the fire. An ache spread through Talia’s chest. She knew little about James’s childhood, save that he’d been the only child of his parents and that their marriage appeared to have been an unhappy one. When he wasn’t away at school or university, he’d spent a great deal of time with the Hall brothers. As if he didn’t want to be at home.

And even though Talia’s parents had lived within a brittle, formal marriage that ultimately cracked apart, she’d always had her brothers to rely upon. The scandal and divorce had separated them—and, of course, Alexander had become even more overbearing in his protectiveness—but never once had Talia doubted her brothers’ dependability and love for her.

She looked at James, allowing her gaze to trace the hard edge of his jaw, the strength of his profile. Firelight glinted in his brown eyes, highlighting the flecks of gold in his irises.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

James raised an eyebrow in question.

“You told me you’d never marry,” Talia reminded him. “That you’re not
meant
for marriage. Why did you say that?”

He stretched his hands out, flexing his fingers. “I’d not be any good at it.”

“Just because your parents were unhappy doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be good at marriage.”

James frowned. “What do you know of my parents?”

“Not a great deal. But you wouldn’t have spent so much time with us or away at school if you’d wanted to be with them.”
If they’d wanted to be with you.

James pushed to his feet, the muscles of his shoulders cording with tension. “I was thirteen the day I walked in on my parents arguing…my father slapped my mother across the face and she fell and hit her head against the corner of a table, and…well, I ran to stop him, and he hit me too. I later realized it was my mother who’d sent me away to school, who told the tutors to keep me away from my father. She knew he’d…”

He shrugged and turned to face Talia. “She died when I was seventeen.”

“I remember. She’d been ill again.”

“No.” James shook his head. “My father
told
everyone she was ill. I was at Eton. I returned the moment I received word. She died the next day.”

“Of what?”

“Overdose of laudanum.” He spoke in a dispassionate tone.

The implication speared through Talia. She stared at him. “Overdose…?”

“She’d committed suicide. She knew I was going away to Oxford the following month. I was bigger than my father by then, and we’d had several brawls when I was home, though my mother begged me not to confront him. She worried about what he’d do, thought he’d find some way to ruin my future. He couldn’t disinherit me, of course, but she…she waited until she knew I could take care of myself before she gave up.”

The air tightened with a dark sense of foreboding. Talia gripped her hands together so hard that her fingers ached.

“Her illnesses were…”

She couldn’t even fathom it, let alone speak the words aloud. James lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I didn’t understand until it was too late.” Old anger and frustration threaded his voice. “I didn’t know the extent of it, Talia, but I should have. I
should have
known. I should have done something. Instead, I—”

“How could you have known?” Talia asked. “They sent you away, James.”

“But I saw him…I mean, I knew he was violent, that he beat her, and still I didn’t…I didn’t realize that she was hiding or…or
recovering
, for the love of God. Why didn’t I figure that out until it was too late?”

“For the same reason I didn’t know my mother was unhappy with my father. We can never know all that goes on between two other people, James. And sometimes I think my mother kept her unhappiness from me too, as a way of protecting me. Just as your mother did.”

James expelled his breath on a hard sigh, dragging his hands over his face. “I’ll never stop thinking I should have done more. That I
could
have, if only I’d paid closer attention. Other people must have known, must have seen what was occurring, but no one did anything to stop it. Myself included.”

Talia stared at her hands. No words existed to ease his guilt, just as none would ever ease the pain of her mother’s betrayal.

“It was my father’s fault, Talia.” James turned to face her, his eyes glittering. “He might as well have killed her himself. He never paid for what he did to her. And now I bear his title and hold his lands…”

“James, they’re not
his
anymore. They’re yours. Don’t give him such power over you.”

He looked at her, something flaring in the depths of his eyes. Talia struggled for a way to make him understand that the past would fade only if he stepped out of its shadow.

“I didn’t want to be poisoned by my parents’ marriage and divorce,” she said. “I refused to be. When I told you I wanted to…to marry you, I believed we could create something completely different. Something good.”

A marriage of the type Aunt Sally described, a joyous combination of love, respect, and a wild, mutual passion that Talia could hardly even imagine.

She looked up at James. She was no longer embarrassed by her confession. She’d had the courage to tell him the truth, to prove to herself that she would not be afraid of loving him.

James watched her with a hooded gaze, his eyes glittering but his face lined with tension.

“You can’t outrun the guilt, James,” Talia whispered.

His mouth tightened. “I’m not trying to.”

“Yes, you are.” Talia rose to approach him, her heart thumping slow and heavy against her chest. “You think that by leaving London, you can escape the horror of what happened, of thinking you failed. If you’re at sea or on a mountain or in a desert…you’re not trapped by your title or your past. You’re not Lord Castleford there. You’re just…James.”