Victorian Dream Read Free

They’re an intrepid lot, to be sure.”
    “You sound as if you admire those traits,” she said, shifting around in the bed.
    “I do. Always have had a penchant for a man with adventure in his heart. According to your father, Captain Garrison once lived with the Red Indians and fought in the territorial wars. Can you imagine that?” Aunt Abigail waived the book she held. “Men are always off having all the fun while we women are expected to sit at home reading and awaiting their return. But we’ll not be sitting around tomorrow. So close your eyes and think pleasant thoughts.” She glanced out the window. “Dawn is nigh, but after your upset you should rest a few more hours. We can’t have you losing weight. Being pale-cheeked is desirable, but a boney symmetry is detrimental in attracting eligible young men.”
    “I’m afraid to go back to sleep.”
    She knew the nightmare still lurked in a dark corner of her mind. Precariously held at bay, it was there, hiding in the shadows, less visible, less threatening, yet waiting to rear its ugly head.
    Aunt Abigail smoothed Trelayne’s tangle of hair back from her brow. “Don’t be afraid, darling. I shall sit sentinel at your side, and forbid Morpheus to allow any troubling elements to enter your sphere again tonight. And,” she added brightly, “tomorrow after the lecture and shopping, we shall stop by Professor Fowler’s. Perhaps he has returned from traveling abroad. An in-depth phrenology session could shed some light on these dreams of yours.”
    Her aunt took to a nearby chair, and began reading Thackeray’s dark portrayal of human nature. Trelayne mentally tiptoed toward sleep, lamenting she did not have nice dreams, or erotic fantasies. Either she suffered some twisted wretched imagining, or no dreams at all.
    Eyes closed, but far from sleepy, she conjured naughty images of Captain Garrison—a most welcome and enjoyable distraction. Would she ever feel the touch of a lover’s hand? With all her heart she wished to be swept away by raw, overpowering, unstoppable passion—emotions like she read about in her purloined novels.
    Lusty fantasies soon flooded her mind, blocking out everything else. Snuggling deeper into the downy mattress, a smile upon her lips, she wondered who danced through Captain Garrison’s dreams.

Chapter Two
    So far, it proved to be a glorious morning, the kind that made a man feel good to be alive.
    Striding dockside, Walker drank in the heady smell of autumn mingled with the brisk sea air. Then misgivings from the night before struck home, worrying his soul and cutting short his innocent interlude.
    Ignoring the disquiet, he moved on, tugging at the stiff collar of his linen dress shirt. He reached to unbutton the restrictive waistcoat then recalled the reason he had chosen such elaborate attire. Hand clenched, he lowered his arm to his side. Homespun fashion was more to his liking, but today he’d foregone comfort and practicality for style. His business partner, Philip, always looked so damnably dapper—it made him feel like a backwoodsman. Not something to be ashamed of, just an observation.
    He slowed to a halt, and the warmth of the morning sun muscled aside his nagging pessimism and penchant for letting the past rule his future. Today, the Alicia Elaine seemed in high enough spirits. Her brilliant white sails snapped smartly in the mild breeze, and her brass gleamed and sparkled like jewels at the neck of a princess.
    Calm reflection eased his concerns until the creaking of wood and hemp caught his attention. Like a bad omen, a shadow passed overhead. He glanced up and sidestepped out of the way. A cargo crate, suspended by one fragile rope, swayed alarmingly above the dock. Where the hell had that come from?
    “Seaman,” he barked to a man onboard ship. “Report dockside and secure that crate. And find out who was fool enough to put it there in the first place.”
    “Aye, Captain,” the man saluted. “I’m on it,