Still, the girl did not relent.
“Please, Aiobheen, I beg of you to grant me this kindness. I’m to be wed, once we reach America, you see. I’m to leave everything behind. My family will only be there so long as the summer, for I am to be a July bride. And I could not bear to be a July bride, if I wasn’t granted the opportunity to see if I was marrying the right man. Do you see?”
Finally, Aiobheen broke into a smile. “It must be an awful burden for you, travelling all this way, knowing you’ll be leaving everything you know and love behind. I’ll entrust your secrets, but I will not lie if they ask me if I have any direct knowledge of Mr Hamilton, my lady.” Cecilia nodded her ascent, agreeing to the young maid’s terms. “Would you like me to help you style your hair and change into an afternoon dress before you meet with him?”
Cecilia glanced down; usually, her mother would expect her to change into an afternoon dress, but it was nearing four, and she would be expected to bathe and change into her evening wear, ready for the night’s dinner party, which would commence after Georgiana and William boarded from Cherbourg. The Titanic was originally set to depart Cherbourg at six-thirty, but apparently there was a time delay; by the time Georgiana and William boarded, it would be closer to seven; the Titanic was unlikely to leave Cherbourg until eight.
“Just my hair, if you would,” Cecilia instructed, pointing to an image in her La Mode magazine. “I have the heated curling iron, if needed, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Most of the hair appears to be held up by hairpins, and the silk scarf headband helps frame the face, see? It gives the appearance of a fringe. I think I quite like that.”
“It is lovely, miss,” Aiobheen replied, and, after Cecilia sat on her vanity seat facing the mirror, she began immediately styling Cecilia’s hair, her hands working with a quick finesse.
“Tell me more about yourself, Aiobheen.”
“There isn’t much to tell, m’lady,” Aiobheen replied.
“Yes, there is. There can’t be nothing of note about you. You’re on the Titanic, serving first-class passengers! Your mother must be proud; you said yourself that your tips help pay the way of your family. You must dote on them, and them on you. And your mother, bless your heart. You talk of her often.”
“She is the most wonderful woman, m’lady,” Aiobheen replied, her face brightening. “Her and Da live back in Lahardane, though they’ve managed to come to Queenstown more than once to see me, if ever so briefly. And occasionally, I’ll be stationed in Queenstown, not Southampton, so it’s not too sore on me. Though, I must say, this is my first time serving in first. I worked mostly second on the Olympic, and I know this one is new and all, but the Olympic’s a bit special to me. Plus, things are a bit topsy turvy on this one. Even Scotland Yard’s a bit different. Easy to get yourself lost if you take a wrong turn.”
“Topsy turvy?”
“Just a bit different, miss. Nothing grand or extreme, just different rooms in different areas. On such a big ship, it’s easy to get all muddled and lost.”
Cecilia nodded. She was glad she hadn’t yet descended into the bowels of the ship; she’d heard from her father that Scotland Road was so named because it was hideously confusing, and full of Liverpoolians. Neither sounded pleasant.
“Yes, I imagine it is. There’s so many nooks and crannies here. It’s a delightfully large ship – I can barely feel her moving. Sometimes, if it wasn’t for the faint murmur of the ship’s engines, I’d honestly forget I was even on a moving vessel. Is it the same for you?”
“I do, my lady. The sailing is smooth, especially so high above. It’s more noticeable below, I grant you, but not like on other ships. It is rather grand, isn’t it? The accommodations, even for the crew, are impeccable. I’ve been serving on one ship or another since I was fourteen, and there’s been nothing finer than the Olympic or Titanic. Sometimes I feel as though I must pinch myself, for having God’s graces to place me in such an enviable position. There you are, my lady.”
Cecilia glanced up at her reflection; a large part of her raven-coloured hair covered the left side of her forehead, creating the image of a fringe, as it was partly hidden behind a purple scarf headband. The rest of her was piled loosely on top, with a few tendrils hanging loosely. Cecilia wouldn’t have been able to manage the look on her own, and she was struggling to believe that Aiobheen had done such an excellent job so swiftly. She wasn’t sure her mother would approve; she did not care for headscarves, not since they’d become a fashion icon for the silent film stars, and her hair was too loose and lively for a “proper” young lady. Cecilia wished her mother would focus that energy on Eliana; Eliana lived for praise from their parents.
“Oh, Aiobheen, it’s simply sublime. I adore it.”
“Thank you, miss,” she replied.
“I’ll return to my room around five, perhaps just after, to undress and bathe. Can I expect to see you then?”
“Of course, miss. It’s already been scheduled.”
“Thank you, Aiobheen.” Cecilia resisted the urge to give the stewardess a hug, instead thrusting a pound into the girl’s tiny hands, before tugging on her white gloves and disappearing toward the Reading Room.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Cecilia
Cecilia crossed to the port side of the ship and walked to the forward grand staircase; something she’d yet to see the forward side of. It was more magnificent and ornate than the aft staircase; she walked up the stairs, intricated with gold, the framing of the railings in black steel, past the clock of Honour and Glory, and headed to the Reading and Writing Room, on A Deck, located through a small wooden door. Cecilia could not help but wonder what Henry’s motivations were for picking the meeting in so openly a public place, but when she arrived, she realised the room was scarce, filled mostly with mothers or nannies tending to small children. Only a few people seemed interested in either reading or writing; Cecilia supposed that anyone wishing to dine would attend one of the cafes for light refreshments, instead of a silent room.
The floor to the Reading Room was a plush carpeted red, so much so that her Mary Janes sank ever-so-slightly as she entered the room. The feeling reminded her of Sunday mornings, where she always walked through the long, wet grass after Church. The large white walls were decorated with ornate stylings and chandelier dome lights, as well as electric candles clasped to the wall in gold awning. The chairs and sofas were a plush velvet green, though a few of the chaises were gold; a sizeable white archway separated the areas into a lounging retreat. As well as the passengers being afforded a room where one could come and write a letter or postcard to a loved one, others could choose to find a chair, lending a book from the freshly-stocked extensive mahogany library, immersing themselves in a different world. Large arched glass windows lined across the ship’s side, which allowed for plenty of natural light to dance across the room, though thick, full curtains were draped and tapered to the side. The fireplace, though similar in style to the one in her suite, was ornate marble, with an electric heater. Several potted ferns and palms adorned the large windows that overlooked the promenade deck; beautiful paintings and a large mirror adorned the fireplace and a small alcove area, respectively.
When she entered the Reading Room, it was easy for her to isolate Henry’s silhouette – partly due to the sparsity of the room at the present moment, and due to the fact that he was one of only five men currently in the room. He sat at a two-seat table, dressed with a white linen tablecloth, and he looked up every few minutes, seemingly scanning the place for her. Cecilia’s breath caught in her chest; her body tingling as if she’d had too many mulled wines at Christmas; he was searching for her.
That meant two things: He was worried she wouldn’t come, and he was fiercely hoping that she would.
The thought made her heart soar, and she felt her palms, sticky with sudden sweat, against her lace gloves. Cecilia tried not to think of Aiobheen’s admonishing face, which was swimming in
her mind, which was nothing that would compare to the shock, horror and disgust that would be painted on her mother’s face if she had learnt that her daughter directly disobeyed them.
To imagine what would appear on her father’s face did not bear thinking about.
Cecilia quickly walked towards the table, deciding it was best to look as if she belonged so that she wouldn’t garner any unsavoury attention or gossip, especially as everyone seemed so preoccupied with their own endeavours; Henry stood so swiftly he accidentally knocked the table on his left knee.
“Lady Cecilia!” he called, pulling out one of the lime-green Georgian-styled armchairs. Cecilia graciously took her seat, before Henry sat beside her, instead from across her. The intimate gesture made Cecilia breathless; she felt light-headed and dizzy, as if she were coming up for air for the first time, or as if she’d fallen to the ground after playing Ring a Rosie with Georgiana when they were little and, after spinning, they’d let go, landing on their backs, with all the wind knocked out of them as they giggled and played once more.
She knew that she should remind him about being so close when they were barely acquainted, and the situation was all too familiar, but she could not bring herself to do so. He had white teeth, like so many of the gentlemen of whom Cecilia was acquainted with, though his breath did not reek of coffee or liquor. At first glance, he was both incredibly handsome and incredibly average. Average, in a sense, that Henry, a blonde-haired blue-eyed man, looked like so many of the men Cecilia was familiar.
Handsome in the sense that she’d never before seen someone that made her heart stop, her hands shake, and her mind lose all reason.
She understood, suddenly, why Georgiana was so willing to risk the wrath of her parents, especially for this feeling alone. It was as if she’d taken a few too many wines, or perhaps helped herself to a little too much belladonna or milk of poppy, when everything buzzed pleasantly, and all you could think of was how terribly happy you were, and how much you loved everything and everyone.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he whispered, his blue eyes staring at her through long, blonde lashes.
Cecilia stared into his eyes, and she thought of all the things she wanted to say to him, but could not:
I could not stop thinking of you. How could I not come?
My parents have forbidden me from seeing you. I’m disobeying them just by being here. I know it’s wrong, but nothing in my life has ever felt so right.
I cannot stop imaging what it would be like to kiss you, for you to wrap your arms around me, to embrace me.
The last thought was one Cecilia would never dare to say out loud – it wasn’t ladylike, and one did not kiss a person one wasn’t intending on marrying, though she knew that idea itself was becoming outdated. She knew plenty of the lower classes did kiss handsome young men before courting someone more seriously, and she was aware that both of her sisters had kissed at least one boy before they’d married their respective partners. Eliana had been deeply infatuated with the Spanish stableboy, Lorenzo; there had been a short time, from when she was about fourteen, when she swore black and blue she would marry Lorenzo.
Though, in Eliana’s dreams, father would eventually see things “her way”, and she and Lorenzo would live in a magnificent castle. Lorenzo, who was undoubtedly enamoured with Eliana, had ensured the romance never ventured into anything more. Eliana had been heartbroken, but the pain matured her of any fantastical dreams that women were never destined to achieve.
Georgiana had kissed a friend, Mason Behr, a third son of one of Papa’s friends. Georgiana had felt herself in love with the boy, until she kissed him. After then, Georgiana had found boys to be quite unpleasant – until she met William, that was.
Cecilia hadn’t a friend she’d become close to, the way Georgiana had; nor had her eye been turned by someone local, or a servant boy, the way Eliana’s had. She did not mind thus far, but now she yearned to kiss the stranger sitting before her.
But there were rules, and while Cecilia liked to elude them, she did not wish to cause any undue harm towards her parents, which her misbehaviour surely would do. She was, after all, the youngest, and her mother was already finding the reality of saying goodbye to her youngest daughter a daunting, challenging task – one that Cecilia hoped to make harder. Cecilia was also aware that they had suffered terribly at the thought of losing Georgiana forever when talk came of disinheritance; particularly her mother, who felt her husband’s reaction was egregious. People in polite society did not separate from one another; they had long, extended holidays, numerous homes, and plenty of reasons why their spouse was not present. Everyone knew the real reason, of course – that someone was trapped in a loveless, even abusive, marriage – but no one would dare make an accusation. That was what the elite did – they pretended as though everything was okay, even when it was not, whilst defying anyone offering to correct or help them. It was disturbed, Cecilia thought, that those called genteel would show more compassion to their friends and family, yet everyone believed the excuses of “Marjorie just wanted an extended vacation with her mother, is all”, even though they knew they were fallacies.
Even when they conjured the same lies.
“I’m sorry I was delayed,” Cecilia said, picking a firmly neutral statement in the hopes that her voice and demeanour would not reveal her inner thoughts. She tried to embed the superiority that naturally came to Eliana. “Luncheon was quite extended. My father had a lot to say, particularly about his game of squash against Major Gracie and my dear brother-in-law. He’s already made a fastly-lined acquaintance with the squash master, a Mr Frederick Wright.” Cecilia knew she was rambling, but his presence, combined with the illicitness of their meeting, made her anxious. She didn’t even know the rules of squash, not really; she had no idea why she was discussing them thus. It was not like it was a topic of passion for her.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “Like I said, I wasn’t sure you’d come. I had planned on waiting until five, regardless.” He leaned in, and Cecilia could smell his cologne. It was oaky, and Cecilia tried not to swoon. She cursed herself with reading too many romance novels; she was sure she’d ended up in one, instead of reality. “I trust you saw my note.”
So many questions swirled in Cecilia’s mind, but one burst out of her without her intention: “Why?”
“Why?” he arched his right eyebrow. “Why what?”
“Why …” Cecilia paused, contemplating. She’d asked ‘why’ before she’d even known what she meant to ask herself. “Why would you wait for so long? For me?”
“Why do you think?”
Cecilia flushed again, the crimson heat radiating across her body and face, despite the brisk air that filled the room. She wished she’d thought to bring a shawl; however, in her eagerness to meet with Henry, she hadn’t even considered that the Reading Room might not be as warm as her heated suite. Perhaps if they were closer to the fire, she would be less cold, and the persistent chill would no longer run down her spine, though she did not dare risk moving. They were secluded, and the fireplace was in the middle of the room. While mothers and nannies might pay her no mind at the moment, they would if she drew attention to herself. The passengers would have seen Cecilia listed as ‘Lady’, and her parents as Earl and Countess; many would wish to make their acquaintance.
“I don’t know,” Cecilia replied, though what she meant was: Please, tell me something romantic. Say something like Mr Darcy would to Elizabeth Bennett; tell me I’m yours.
“Lady Cecilia, if I’ve not yet made myself clear, I’d like to make your acquaintance for the voyage. If I have your permission, I would like to meet with your father, Lord Gresham, and I would like to call on you. If it is not too bold to suggest, I would like to maybe even ask if you would accompany me to dinner one night. I’m not quite sure I have the funds for The Ritz, but I promise you, the Dining Saloon will astound you with its elegance. Last night, I dined on oysters and lamb. I would like to have the opportunit
y to get to know you, before we dock in America.”
Cecilia blinked slowly, her mind racing, frantically trying to ingest the words that Henry had unleashed upon her.
Was it very wrong of her to be both ardently delighted and absolutely terrified?
Her parents had requested that she did not meet with Henry again; they would not likely wish to meet him, unless their hand was forced, which would prove to be its own challenge. They weren’t acquainted with a Henry Hamilton, and she knew they had no wish to be. Her mother would support her ending her engagement to Thomas Vanderbilt, if it meant having her daughter back in England with her, but she was unlikely to support her marriage to a common man. Happiness was what she wanted desperately for her daughters; however, for all her mother’s virtues, she did not seem to believe common men had the same genteel personality as those with noble blood.
Cecilia, who’d had her dance card filled more times than she could count, had found a scoundrel was a scoundrel, no matter how he dressed nor title he wore.
“I would like that very much,” she said softly, her voice breathless. “But it would need to be done with some secrecy.”
Henry frowned, and a panicked Cecilia continued. “My parents … My Papa, he wishes that I would not see you again. It’s not that he believes you or I have done anything untoward; nothing of the sort. You see, I haven’t been entirely honest with you about something.”
“Oh?” he asked, raising the same right eyebrow again. She would be lying to say that it didn’t irk her; he both looked and sounded patronising.
“We’re travelling to New York because … because, after my American debut into high society, my parents are planning to announce my betrothal to Thomas Cornelius Vanderbilt’s son. It’s been arranged for months, you understand.”
“Ah.” He smiled knowingly, as if this news wasn’t a surprise to him, though Cecilia couldn’t possibly understand how he would be familiar with such news. It wasn’t like it would appear on the front paper of any sensible newspaper; at most, gossip tabloids might have picked it up, but she couldn’t imagine that an arrangement, not yet publicly announced, would serve as any kind of news. It wasn’t a scandal, and until the agreement was announced, the public was unlikely to be invested in their relationship, especially not until they had actually met in person – all of which would most certainly be well covered in the American newspapers. Cecilia knew of the treatment Jack Astor had received upon his divorce from his wife, Ava, who he had divorced two years prior. At first, the papers had been sympathetic of Astor’s plight; it was America’s worst-kept secret that Ava was unfaithful, and unhappy marriages were a dime a dozen among the elite. Lady Duff Gordon, the woman who had designed so many of Cecilia’s clothes, wasn’t even sharing a room with her husband; and more than one millionaire had a mistress on board.
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