by Nina Rowan
“And it’s not just the husband who should be satisfied either, though of course Harold always was,” Sally continued in a conversational tone, as if they were discussing the latest fashions from Paris. “When you meet a man you might want to wed, Talia, be certain you find him both physically and intellectually compelling. Ensure that he respects your needs, that you enjoy conversing with him, that he is interesting to you and allows you a degree of freedom. And yes, that he is very attentive to your desires in the bedchamber.”
“I…” Talia swallowed past the tightness in her throat. She fought images of James, fought all the hopes and wishes that had taken root inside her so very long ago. The hopes and wishes that she’d tried hard to bury since that afternoon at Floreston Manor.
“I don’t intend to marry, Aunt Sally,” she managed to say. “I’ve told you that.”
“Yes, well, one is always allowed to change one’s mind.” Sally shrugged and returned her attention to her needlework.
Talia tried to focus on the book again, but the words swam before her eyes. She couldn’t help wondering if that was the reason her mother had left. Had her marriage to Rushton been that desolate? Had her attraction to the young Russian soldier been that powerful? Had he given her all that Aunt Sally described?
Talia shook her head. It didn’t matter, in any case. Even if she did still harbor some fanciful thoughts about marriage to James, she knew they would never come to be.
That knowledge, at least, made it easier to contend with the resurgence of her old feelings. James would never stay in London, never marry, never be the man she wanted him to be. Whatever lingering threads of love and warmth she held for him would forever remain locked inside her heart. And there was a certain comfort in knowing exactly where things stood.
Never mind the hint of sorrow that Talia would never know the type of marriage Aunt Sally described—or, indeed, even the kind of passionate relationship her mother had with the soldier. Talia wondered how many women ever knew that kind of love or pleasure. And the two combined in wedded bliss? Rare as a blue diamond, surely.
Perhaps just as precious, too.
A knock sounded at the half-open door. The footman, Soames, peered in.
“My lady, Lord Castleford has arrived.”
Talia’s heart jumped. “Lord Castleford?”
“I invited him for tea.” Aunt Sally set her needlework frame aside and removed her spectacles. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.” Oh, there it all was again, swirling through her like a whirlwind. Anticipation, pleasure, excitement…all echoed in the rush of her pulse, the beat of her heart.
“I wanted to hear about his latest journey, but without all the noise of the ball,” Sally explained. “He’s bringing his journals along with him. I remember how you always enjoyed those.”
“But I’d intended to go out in a half hour.” Talia looked at the clock, trying to quell her riotous emotions. “I’ve some errands to run.”
“Well, fine, you’ll have time for a cup, won’t you? Do send his lordship in, Soames.”
The footman nodded and left, returning a moment later with James. A thousand shivers tingled down Talia’s spine at the sight of James, his lean muscular body clad in a navy morning coat and gray waistcoat, a cravat knotted at his throat. He carried several leather-bound journals beneath his arm, and he set them on a table along with his gloves before turning to greet Sally.
“Good afternoon, James.” Sally’s blue eyes twinkled. “We’re so pleased you could join us.”
“Thank you for the invitation, my lady.”
James moved to Talia and extended both hands clenched into fists. Talia ignored that now-familiar twinge around her heart and reached out to touch his left hand. Her fingers just brushed his knuckles, but the light contact alone caused a shiver to travel clear up her arm. She didn’t look up into his face, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.
And more afraid of what she would certainly not see.
James turned his hand and opened his fist to reveal an empty palm. Talia tapped his right fist. He opened his hand. Nestled in his large palm was a shimmering, brilliant green stone about the size of a robin’s egg.
A gasp of pleasure caught in Talia’s throat. She picked up the stone, struck by how the light shone on the sharp, jagged surfaces, displaying a kaleidoscope of green hues. A gift from him to her, just like he’d always given her before.
“Oh, James.” Warmth filled her heart. He hadn’t forgotten how much she loved the treasures he brought back from all parts of the world. “It’s beautiful.”
“Quartz, from one of the New South Wales mines,” James said, a responding pleasure appearing in his eyes and curving his mouth. “Not terribly precious, but the green reminded me of you.”
“Thank you so much.” Talia extended the stone for her aunt to see.
She gathered in a breath, struggling against the thoughts that still came so naturally to her—imagined images of James picking the stone out of a pile of dirt and rocks, thinking of how it matched her eyes, picturing her in his own mind, then tucking the stone into his rucksack and keeping it safe for her all those thousands of miles back to London…
“Lovely, James.” Sally squinted at the stone. “But why did the green remind you of Talia?”
“Oh, er, I…”
Both Talia and Sally looked at him. Talia’s mouth twitched at the sight of the flush cresting on his cheekbones. James Forester was not a man who often blushed.
“Well, my lady, Talia has…” James cleared his throat, his gaze on the carpet. “Her eyes are quite green, are they not?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Sally gave a tittering laugh. “Green can also refer to her youth, I suppose.”
Talia threw her aunt a mild glower. Sally had remarked numerous times on Talia’s age rather than her youth, so she knew quite well that James had not been in mind of budding freshness when he found the quartz.
What, exactly, had he been in mind of?
Talia’s heartbeat intensified at the idea that James might have just been thinking of…well, her. The way she looked. The color of her hair and eyes. What she might be wearing, the sound of her voice or—
Or perhaps Talia ought to put a stop to such foolish thoughts once and for all.
“In any case, it is very pretty, and thank you for thinking of me, my lord,” she said, plucking the stone from Sally’s hand.
“And now you promised to show me your new pet,” James reminded her.
“New pet?” Sally repeated.
“Wait just a moment.” Clutching the quartz, Talia hurried from the room. She went upstairs to her bedchamber and tucked the stone beneath her pillow, then took a large wooden box, painted blue with white swirls, from her desk and returned to the drawing room.
As she neared the open door, she caught the sound of her aunt’s voice.
“She’s been quite amenable to attending balls and dinner parties this season,” Sally was saying. “I’ve been pleased to see that, though she still dislikes afternoon teas and hasn’t accompanied me on any calls. I heard a rumor Lord Bexley might approach Rushton upon his return to discuss a marriage arrangement.”
Oh, no. Talia’s heart plummeted. Not another rumor. She tightened her hands on the box, her shoulders tensing as she waited for James to respond to that remark.
“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.”
&nb
sp; 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 le
ft 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.
