A Dream of Desire
Page 11
What the…
James bounded down the steps and followed her. He entered a dark corridor just before the door closed. Young male voices echoed against the stone walls. Talia disappeared through a door halfway down the corridor and half-closed it behind her.
James stopped just outside the door and pushed it open slightly. He glimpsed several tables and chairs, windowpanes clouded with grime, a few lamps emitting dim light. Boys in their teens sat at long, scarred tables. Some of them squinted at papers, others shifted restlessly, and at least one looked to be fast asleep.
Pushing the door open a bit more, James craned his neck to see the rest of the room. Cracks speared through the plastered walls, and pockets of mildew clustered in the corners. A pile of broken furniture sat at the back, and several prints of historic scenes hung along one wall in a vain attempt to cheer the place up.
Surely this wasn’t a ragged school. The Earl of Shaftesbury had drawn a great deal of attention to the cause of the ragged schools, and their facilities had improved over the years. Even with higher enrollment, the union shouldn’t be forced to hold classes in such a hovel. Certainly Talia wouldn’t stand for it.
A rustle rose from the boys. James started to draw back just as one glowered at him.
“Who’re you?” the boy called.
The sharp click of boots sounded on the wooden floor. James shut the door and went back down the corridor.
“James!” Talia’s voice hissed behind him.
With a muttered curse, he turned to face her. Talia stopped in front of him, her eyes flashing and her jaw set. “What are you doing here?”
“I ought to ask you the same question, along with numerous others.” Sudden frustration and anger filled his throat. He spread a hand out to indicate the street. “How often do you come here alone? Why didn’t you take your father’s carriage? What is this place?”
“How dare you follow me?” Talia snapped.
“Answer me.”
“No, you answer me, James. Have things really changed so much between us that you find it necessary to lie to me?”
The sudden note of pain in her voice startled him. “I haven’t—”
“You have done, James. You didn’t even tell me you were coming back, and you’ve been failing miserably in trying to act as though nothing is wrong. Now you’re finding it necessary to follow me.”
She took a breath and seemed to gather her courage. “Let’s just have it out, shall we? I spent the last year regretting my behavior at Floreston Manor. I acted in a reckless, foolhardy manner entirely unsuitable for an earl’s daughter. And you’ll never know how sorry I am for that. Had I known it would ruin our friendship, I’d never have told you the truth.”
James swallowed. “I…the truth can never ruin our friendship, Talia.”
“I’m afraid it already has.”
Pain lanced through him. He stepped toward the door leading to the street, fighting the instinct to escape the stark fact that one of the few steady elements in his life had irrevocably shifted.
The only way he could put it back into place, to fix what had changed between him and Talia, was to give her the one thing that had always formed the foundation of their friendship. The truth.
“Talia, I made a promise to Alexander,” he admitted.
“To look after me, yes, I know.”
“No. More than that. It was a…an agreement.”
Talia frowned. “What sort of agreement?”
James fought a wave of shame. “North had no idea what business you would have at Smithton prison, and he knew Rushton wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“So he asked you to find out.” Talia’s eyes hardened. “Exactly like Alexander, isn’t it? Even from hundreds of miles way, he needs to interfere in my life.”
“He has every right to be concerned, if you’re visiting prisons. Why didn’t you tell him about this when you were in St. Petersburg last fall?”
When she didn’t respond, he nodded. “Because you didn’t want him or your father to know. And we both suspected you wouldn’t tell me the truth, either.”
Talia exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “I know my father and brothers are concerned for my well-being, James. I know they love me. But ever since my mother…it was all so horrible, and they’ve tried to steer my course for me instead of trusting that I can do it myself. They don’t know what it’s like to have one’s virtue questioned, to be the subject of that kind of vicious gossip. I decided long ago that I couldn’t fight it. I no longer want to. But if society cannot view me as respectable, no one can deny that I am at the very least useful.”
“No one has ever denied that, Talia. But then why have you not told your brothers?”
“Because they’d try to stop me, just like you and Alexander are doing,” she replied. “I went to Smithton prison, James, because I’ve been invited to give evidence at a House of Commons committee about juvenile detention and disciplinary measures. For the past eight months, I have been working with Sir Henry and Mr. Fletcher on establishing a reformatory school for boys who have committed crimes.
“This”—Talia gestured to the room behind her—“is the only place we’ve found in this district that will allow us to conduct lessons until we’ve obtained enough funds to build a proper school. That’s one of the issues the committee will address—whether or not the government should fund schools for delinquents rather than send them to prison.”
James shook his head, as if to clear his mind from that barrage of unpleasant information. “You mean to tell me your work with the ragged schools has extended to criminals?”
“They’re boys, James, not criminals. Our proposal is to give them an education and help them learn a trade rather than lock them behind bars.”
James stabbed his finger to the door leading to the classroom. “All those boys were in prison?”
Talia’s mouth compressed. “They were convicted of things like theft, pickpocketing, vandalism. Several endured corporal punishment while in prison, which I’m convinced does nothing but beget more anger.”
She looked away from him. “And I know that anger is an emotion that allows for no hope at all.”
“Er, Miss Hall?”
They both turned at the sound of Fletcher’s voice. He was peering at them from the half-open door.
“Mr. Fletcher.” Talia straightened her shoulders. “I apologize for the interruption. I’ll be there in just a moment.”
He nodded, glancing from her to James before ducking back into the room.
“What is he doing here?” James asked.
“Mr. Fletcher volunteered to establish a curriculum for these boys. He is an excellent, dedicated teacher who will be the headmaster of Brick Street as soon as we are officially recognized. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back. We’ve two new students who need a bit of extra help.”
She turned and went back to the classroom. James watched her go, his anger and frustration tempered by a twinge of admiration. Though he had known of Talia’s recent dedication to helping people, in his head and heart she had always been the sweet, innocent girl of his childhood. He hadn’t seen this blunt, determined, courageous side of her before…or if he had, he’d ignored it.
But now, her passion echoed inside him, reflecting his own desire to explore distant horizons and unknown lands. For the first time, James thought that Talia would understand the exhilaration sparked by a storm at sea, trekking terra incognita, climbing to the highest peak of a mountain. And he wished there was some way he could share all of that with her.
He went out the front door to the street. He realized, not without a certain degree of consternation, that Talia was no longer the guileless girl he’d left behind. And he had no idea what to do with the woman who had taken her place.
The light behind the windows was beginning to dim when Talia finally left the classroom with Mr. Fletcher at her side. Her throat hurt from the smoky air, and a headache pressed like a pin right behind her eyes.
“I’m going to ask Sir Henry about allocating space in the Bethnal Green school,” she told Mr. Fletcher as they stepped outside. “Though I don’t expect it would be easy getting the boys all the way to Bethnal Green for lessons.”
“No, better that we find something in this district,” Mr. Fletcher agreed. His gaze skirted past her for an instant. “Er, isn’t that your—”
Talia turned. Her heart did a somersault at the sight of James standing beside a cab, his hands shoved in his pockets and his expression dark. As he approached, Talia saw the irritation hardening his jaw, sensed his leashed anger. Though trepidation rose in her, she supposed she should be glad he hadn’t tried to haul her from the classroom in front of everyone.
“Have you been here all afternoon?” she asked.
“I would not leave without seeing you safely home.” James narrowed his gaze on Mr. Fletcher, who withstood the glower with impassivity.
“Mr. Fletcher always hires a cab to return me to King’s Street,” Talia said, her spine stiffening.
“That will no longer be necessary, Fletcher,” James said.
Talia almost resisted James’s high-handedness, but she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Mr. Fletcher. She nodded a farewell to him and allowed James to guide her to the waiting cab, where the driver pulled open the door. James handed her up and climbed in after her, snapping an order at the driver. Within seconds, the vehicle jolted into motion.
Talia looked at James across the expanse of the seats. Shadows cut across his hard features and his eyes glittered in the waning light. She realized, quite suddenly, that she’d never borne the brunt of his anger before. He’d always treated her with kindness, courtesy, warmth…but he’d never had reason to be angry with her.
“I won’t have it, Talia.” Coldness edged his voice.
Talia suppressed a wave of responding anger and forced her own voice to remain calm. “It isn’t up to you, James.”
He leaned forward, narrowing his gaze on her face. “If you truly believed this was a safe venture, you’d have told Rushton and Northwood when you first started it. But you didn’t because you know those boys are dangerous.”
“That is not why I didn’t tell them,” Talia replied. “I simply knew that both my father and brother would have thwarted my efforts. They only believe these boys should be locked in prison.”
“Like the criminals they are,” James snapped.
Talia clenched her fists. Exactly what her father and Alexander would have said.
“My hope,” she said, staring out the window, “is that my father and brothers will one day recognize the good we are doing.” She paused, her stomach tightening with nerves. “I hope the same will be true of you, James.”
He paced to the carriage and back, his shoulders tense. “I will never believe that you keeping company with criminals will do any good.”
Talia took a breath and mustered her courage. “That is exactly why I would like to invite you to spend an afternoon at the Brick Street reformatory school.”
“What?”
“I am issuing you a personal invitation to spend an afternoon at the school with me tomorrow,” Talia repeated. “You can sit in on Mr. Fletcher’s lessons, review the curriculum, see how the class is structured. You can even speak with the boys, if you wish.”
Though Talia hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed at the idea, she also hadn’t expected this weighty silence to descend. James just looked at her, as if he couldn’t fathom the reason for such a proposal. Talia’s nervousness intensified.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“So that you might, at the very least, understand that these boys are redeemable,” Talia replied.
“And if I don’t?”
“I ask only that you try.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. Suspicion crackled between them. Talia knew James was torn between his loyalty to both her and Alexander. But if she could convince James of the usefulness of her work, perhaps he might persuade Alexander to let her see it through.
Perhaps he might even help her.
It was a frail hope at best, but Talia did know that James possessed an innate sense of fairness. He would, at the very least, allow her to make a case.
“I shall accompany you,” he finally said. “Not because I want to, but because I’ve no intention of letting you go there alone again.”
Talia controlled another simmer of irritation. “I’m not asking you to come as a protector. I’m asking you to come as my friend.”
“I will always be both to you.”
“I don’t need a protector,” Talia said. “But I do still need you to be my friend.”
His jaw tightened. They fell silent on the drive back to King’s Street. The cab halted in front of Rushton’s town house. Neither she nor James moved. She felt his gaze on her, the slow drain of his anger.
“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered.
For a moment, they looked at each other. A crackle of energy, red and blue, shimmered through the air. Talia’s pulse thumped.
“I’m not yours to do anything with, James,” she whispered.
A shutter came down over his expression. He pushed to his feet and shoved open the cab door, gesturing for her to precede him. As Talia rose, her fingers brushed against a folded paper on the seat beside her. The paper dropped to the ground, and she bent to retrieve it.
Just as James moved to take it from her, a stream of light illuminated the front of the paper. The name Lady Talia Hall was scrawled on the front in James’s distinctive penmanship, the letters joined together like string. Talia would know that hand anywhere.
She held the paper away from James as he tried to grab it again. His fingers grazed her wrist, the light touch sparking a shiver all the way up her arm.
“What is this?” she asked curiously.
Even in the dim light, she saw his face burn with a flush.
“It’s just a note, Talia.” He reached for the paper again, and his hand closed around her wrist, the space of bare skin between her glove and her sleeve.
Talia drew in a breath at the clasp of his strong fingers, knowing he could feel the racing of her pulse beneath her skin even through his glove. She tightened her grip on the paper, sensing it contained something momentous. Her heart pounded.
“Did…did you intend to deliver it to me?” she asked.
“I was bringing it this morning when I saw you leave.” He took hold of the paper with his other hand, and then they were so close together that she could feel the heat of his body radiating into the space between them.
Talia looked up at him, struck by the intense way he was looking at her and seeing herself reflected in his brown eyes. They were both holding the paper, and Talia thought that nothing in the world could make her release her grip on it. James flexed his fingers against her wrist, and she swore he was seeking the rhythm of her heart.
“I…won’t you let me read it?” she whispered.
He let out his breath in a warm rush that stirred the fine hairs at Talia’s temple. She wanted almost desperately to lean into him, to press her forehead against his neck where she knew his pulse beat as rapidly as hers. She felt his surrender before he spoke, just as she had that afternoon at Floreston Manor.
“I suppose.” His voice was low and hoarse, rumbling through his chest.
Talia twisted her hand slightly, and then he let go of her. She moved back, her breathing shaky. His chest heaved, his eyes glittering.
“Th-thank you.” She tucked the paper beneath her cloak and descended the cab. “Good night, James.”
She managed to keep her voice cool, her stride sedate,
as she went up the steps to the front door. She felt James watching her as if he were touching her. Only when Soames closed the door behind her did Talia hasten to shed her cloak and hat. She tossed them at the footman and rushed upstairs to her room.
Her hands trembled as she broke the seal on the paper and unfolded it.
My dear Talia…
Talia’s breath caught. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed the paper to her chest, her heart beating swift as a wind-whipped leaf. For ten years, James’s letters to her from the four corners of the earth had all begun the same way.
My dear Talia.
She blinked back unexpected tears and settled in a chair beside the fire. After smoothing out the paper, she read the words sweeping like a crescendo across the page.
Then we took a steamer on an excursion down the Parramatta River, passing the barren, rocky islet of Cockatoo Island where stone is quarried. The other islets off the river abounded with vegetation and orange groves that supply the city markets with enormous fruits a lovely golden color…
Talia drank James’s descriptions as if they were the finest wine, picturing the winding rivers, the architecture of Sydney, the colorful cockatoos and parrots with lemon-colored crests, scarlet tail feathers, and speckled wings.
A lovebird with beautiful plumage of soft, vivid green…
The letter, filled with evocative tales of his travels, was four pages long and ended with his usual signature.
Very truly yours, James.
Very truly mine. Talia let the paper flutter to her lap and gazed at the waning fire.
Her heart would always know the truth, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise. Her love for James was the reason she would never marry. She couldn’t be with one man while still feeling this way about another. It would be unfair to both herself and him.