The Light in the Darkness 1
Page 28
“Why? All I want is you, Henry. All I want is for you –”
“Celia, please,” he begged.
“No,” she hissed. “No, I want you. I feel affection for you that I have never felt before. I feel desire –”
He pressed his mouth to hers, silencing her immediately with his tongue, warm and sticky, darting against hers. She imagined such a thing would be disgusting – who on earth would want another tongue in their mouth? – but her body melted into his, and she suddenly craved more of his body than she had a moment ago.
After a tender moment that left Cecilia wanting more, his chin, while appearing smooth was gravelling, leaving a light rash upon her mouth; he pulled away from her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, but nothing about his body suggested that he was truly sorry; he was still holding her hand. Cecilia lifted her head closer to his, brushing her lips against his.
“Don’t be,” she whispered, and her lips, frantic and desperate, found his again. Cecilia found herself clinging to Henry’s shoulders, his arms wrapped around her. For a moment, it felt as if the entire world had disappeared. She wasn’t on a ship, or at home, or anywhere. Cecilia had been transported to a different time and place, where she and Henry were invisible, where she could be his wife.
Henry parted from Cecilia again, though she rested her small hands on his collarbones. “We shouldn’t,” Henry repeated. “I shouldn’t.”
“You’re half-right. I should leave; the last thing I need is Mama sicking her lady’s maid on me. Call on me tomorrow; we shall hatch a plan.” She paused, staring up into his beautiful eyes. They seemed greener now, darker than they had been earlier. “It is not wrong, Henry, and it isn’t a matter of should or shouldn’t. It is a matter of need. Surely you feel it, between us? It’s different. We are inseparable. We are destined. But do not dare say we are star-crossed.”
Henry rubbed his thumb against Cecilia’s cold cheek; it felt numb, even under his glove. “I’m not sure it matters what I feel, Celia,” he whispered. “If I care about you, truly, I need to point out the obvious: Is this wise?” he insisted, though his pretty blue eyes told her that he wanted her to argue.
“No,” Cecilia replied. “But I don’t care, Henry. Call on me in the morrow. Aiobheen will deliver the message to me, she’s promised. And Georgiana will keep my secrets; she always has; however, she may seem to you.”
Henry nodded, and he kissed her again; this time more furiously, as if he craved her, his hands in her hair, messing up the style Aiobheen had curled. Despite the chill, she felt warm, dizzy, she wanted to melt completely against his skin, sinking into him in a way she had not before. She could feel almost every inch of him, and this time, her hands weren’t wrapped around his neck, but rather, they touched his chest, as if she longed for his shirt and jacket to be removed.
When she finally pulled apart, she was glad to see that there weren’t many passengers on the deck; most were honeymooners, engaged in themselves, with nary a care, especially not who Cecilia was. They were invested in themselves.
Cecilia said goodnight, before the odds were no longer in her favour, slipping through the side deck door, that would take her down the aft grand staircase and to her cabin suite.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thursday, April 11th, 1912
Hazel
“Albert, please, I think you’re being a bit ridiculous.”
“After that dinner? Really?” Albert was shaking his head in disgust; Hazel remained silent as her and Bohee undressed their employers respectively.
“I do not think it matters much that Celia’s made a friend, Albert. It’s not quite so scandalous as you make it seem to be. The young man seems to be friendly with a great many of people. And you know what Celia’s like. She thinks she doesn’t like being the centre of attention, but she does. It’s where she shines most brightly. I can’t see what it hurts, her interest in the boy’s films. I imagine the Vanderbilts will approve of such a thing.”
“Really? Do you think?” Lord Albert sounded hopeful.
“I do,” her Lady Eleonora replied as Hazel unclasped her necklace. “They’re Americans. It is the type of ghastly thing they’re bound to adore. You know how they can be; they love everything new, no matter the quality. It’s all about what’s being developed right now. They’re a country built on quick produce and low quality. Moving films appear to be a by-product of it.” She shook her head; a few curls fell loose from her hair, though Hazel hadn’t begun to unpin it yet. As her Lady Eleonora sat at her desk, Hazel began working quickly to remove the hairpins. Neither Lord Albert or her Lady Eleonora ever seemed to notice – let alone care – about the presence of their Lady’s Maid and Valet. She supposed that that was because, aside from the Butler, they were of the most senior positions in the house, trusted to hold their masters’ secrets with their lives.
If the Gresham family house fell into any ill-repute, the servants would fall alongside them. It was the way it was; servants suffered for their masters’ crimes.
“I don’t want a repeat of Georgiana’s behaviour. I don’t want to lose Celia as well.” To Hazel, Albert sounded weak and frail, though at least he sounded human, a feat he could not always achieve.
“You will if you behave as you did before,” warned Lady Eleonora.
“You say that I was the problem?” Here we are again. He’ll ask, and maybe listen, but he won’t hear.
“Because you were, Bertie. Don’t you think I shared your disappointments? Our most handsome daughter, not securing a valuable alliance? I, too, had dreams of bolstering our family stance, taking back to the roots of which we deserve. But fate had other plans, Albert. And she’s always been right; it’s about whether you’re willing to accept it or not. More women are marrying for love and happiness, even those among our stations. Have you not seen so many happy couple before, Albert? You were fond of Jack, and he’s married for love. He does dote on Madeleine. I’ve never seen a man more in love, not even with the way William looks at Georgiana, and he looks at Georgiana as if she were Helen of Troy.” Hazel had to agree with Lady Eleonora; there were more happy couples than she’d ever seen in her life walking the hallways of the Titanic. She had heard there were several high-profile marriages, but many of the honeymooners – many of the passengers – were Americans, unfamiliar to Hazel.
Of course, if any inclination of marriage passed Hazel’s mind, she would be forced to leave service. Thus, she was grateful she did not care for the company of men.
At times like these, when her impure thoughts would cross her mind, Hazel was frightened that her Ladyship would learn of her attraction; she knew Albert would hiss about her “perversions”, but she loved and respected her Ladyship, as she did her own mother, God rest her soul. If Lady Eleonora were to discover the truth and recoil, Hazel was by and sure a piece of her soul would be carved out, ensuring she would never truly be whole again. People shamed those who suffered from the same depravities Hazel suffered from; she was not sure that her close relationship with Her Lady would ever save her from Her Lady’s wrath and disgust if she were to learn the truth.
“It’s not that he’s a Viscount,” relented Albert. Hazel doubted that was true; Lord Albert valued money and titles above everything, even his family. “It’s that Georgiana disobeyed me so.”
Hazel began brushing her Lady’s long, black hair, before plaiting it, tying it with a ribbon. She wished her Lady would tell Albert he was a fool; children were not toys that could be controlled. They were humans, with real feelings; he was a father who was sore that his daughter had fallen in love with a man her father had not instructed her to.
Lady Eleonora stood, and Hazel removed her silk robe and placing it on the chaise. Eleonora crawled from the foot of the bed, taking the side that was closest to the wall. It was a fine bed; its quilt stood out brightly in the White Star Line’s red.
“I do wish you would stop sulking,” Lady Eleonora replied, pulling the covers to her high waist.
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��I do wish you’d stop allowing our daughters to behave with ill repute. It’s almost as if you’re wanting to be a progressive yourself, like those damned suffragettes.”
Eleonora pursed her lips, remaining silent. Hazel coughed gently, then spoke; “Is there anything else your Ladyship would require before she retires?” she kept her light-brown eyes on the floor. If Albert’s temper flared – with his temperament, it was difficult to know when or where it would – he would likely first strike Hazel before his wife. Desperate to avoid the violent hurling of his abusive words, Hazel had perfected the demure look of humility years ago. While Albert only ever lashed at his servants with his tongue, Hazel knew that he could hurt her Lady. She’d seen marks on her frail arms from where he’d gripped her too hard.
“No, that’s everything. Thank you, Wilson,” she said, her voice and smile tired, her dark blue eyes kind and grateful.
Wilson turned and exited, heading toward the servants’ quarters so that she could bath.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Friday, 12th April, 1912
Claire
Claire woke late, the clock hitting almost eight; she would need to readier herself if she wished to eat breakfast. Adene had taken Isla and Nora to an early breakfast, as promised last night. Claire was delighted about how eager Adene was to share the responsibility of the two children; it gave Claire a much-needed rest. She doubted she had ever slept so soundly, and the hum of the ship’s engines had been soothing. Last night she had danced until late in the common room, on the white dance platform, with Cillian by her side. Her legs ached slightly from dancing so much, and her feet were sore and blistered.
Claire hadn’t slept so well; she had tossed and turned a little, thinking of Cillian. Claire couldn’t help but be grateful that Nora and Isla had taken a bottom bunk – she was currently above them – and were sleeping together, Abigail between them. She had been a restless party last night, wondering if he thought of her at all, and if so, if he longed to kiss her. She wondered if he spent the night tossing and turning like she had, unable to sleep, imagining her in front of him, professing her love to him, the way she’d been imagining he would do for her. Claire knew he was no stranger to dating a few girls, and he’d broken a few hearts back when he was naught but sixteen. Claire had been much younger than him then, and had watched in awe and devastation; she had been attracted to her brother’s friend, and watched with misery as he dated Kathleens and Kellys and Eileens, and never Claire.
Claire, hopping up, and donning the same grey dress as yesterday, pinning her up as neatly as could be – readied herself for breakfast. She washed her face in the basin, and took a sip of water, fresh from the tap. She marvelled at the system; she wondered how the ship could hold so much clean water, and produce it so quickly, when her own home could not.
She wondered if the Hackers had running water in their house. She supposed so; it was likely they’d need it, running a large farm.
Selfishly, she hoped so; it had been scarce twenty-four hours, and it was already a luxury she did not wish to live without.
She exited, heading toward the galley; she looked forward to a mighty breakfast, and the hopes of seeing Cillian placed a smile on her gaunt face. She fastened her Ma’s white hat to her head, and fixed her grey woollen gloves – her only pair, so the ones she wore with everything, regardless of whether they matched – as she headed to Cillian.
Chapter Forty
Friday, April 12th, 1912
Cecilia
Cecilia poured herself a warm bath – she had noticed that her already curly hair bounced more due to the saltwater; her vanity couldn’t help but marvel at the miracles of seawater. It not only cured aches and pains – and the warmth felt friendly around her stomach, after it had been pulled and tightened by a corset day and night, and the water made her glow once she was finished, ready to be rinsed with warmed freshwater, poured over her by Aiobheen. She closed her eyes, resting her head on the marble bathtub, imaging Henry’s lips on hers.
His kiss has been passionate; not that she had ever been kissed before. When she closed her eyes, her lips tingled, as if he was right in front of her, kissing her again. Cecilia found she needed her white powder to cover the marks he’d left upon her face; a sign that she’d been kissing. Until now, Cecilia did not realise that kissing someone could leave a small rash, making her face feel slightly tender to the touch. She longed to be with him; her body ached in a way that she did not quite understand. To her, it felt as if she had met her other half, but in a literal way; as if she’d been walking along and suddenly had discovered that part of herself had been missing all this time without her realising it.
Cecilia had not spoken to her parents nor her sisters since she had retired to her suite. When her parents had returned from their dinner, she had heard her father’s wrath bouncing off the walls, and she could tell her parents were arguing whether Eliana’s disorderly behaviour would produce scandal. She’d heard her father curse his daughter, saying he’d disown her if she foiled Cecilia’s arrangement with the Vanderbilts. Cecilia could not help but feel at least a little sorry for her sister’s predicament; her father’s wrath was unconscionable at times.
Cecilia also learnt that her father was getting more than a pretty pound for his daughter; she had felt sickened by the amount he had boasted about through the mahogany-joined door. To her father, her happiness was a means that another man could purchase; she wondered if he truly loved her at all, to do something so heartless. In a way, it helped with Cecilia’s determination: It was money what drove her father’s heart. Why couldn’t love be what drove Cecilia’s? Why should she be bound to the fate of her family, just because it was more convenient for them? Why should she have to relinquish everything to satisfy a wish she didn’t want, with a life she didn’t want to inherit, just to be a pleasing, dutiful daughter? Eliana had sacrificed everything to be the good daughter, and it hadn’t earned her any more respect than Georgiana was offered. What would Cecilia be losing, truly, by choosing her own happiness, and not her father’s desires? Her mother would want to talk to her, and would likely find a way; and even if she did not, she knew Georgiana would never abandon her.
It wasn’t that she was naïve; Cecilia certainly understood her position, and she knew many women were sold and bought among the elite, having little say in who they chose to give their hearts to. But, as she’d seen last night on the Boat Deck, it appeared more and more women, even among the wealthy, chased dreams of love and happiness than whatever their parents had had in store for them. It seemed the days of marrying for service were passing, even for those among her kind.
After all, Jack and Madeleine were an excellent example of a pair who only cared for each other. They turned their backs on all the negative press, of which there was many, and all the gawks and stares attributed to the less-refined passengers. She’d watched as two of America’s wealthiest couples were shunned by so many of the other first-class passengers, who were not only offended that Jack Astor was a divorced man, but that Madeleine could be so young. The entire situation confounded Cecilia; it seemed as though society wanted to punish those who sought happiness and had the nerve to reach it.
Cecilia deserved happiness, and she would fight for it, if need be. She reached up and pressed the call button, waiting in her ivory nightgown for Aiobheen to appear, so that she could dress herself and take a walk on the boat deck.
Chapter Forty-One
Friday, April 12th, 1912
Cecilia
After Cecilia had bathed, she entered her sister’s suite without knocking.
“Golly, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Georgiana cried, swivelling around. “I could have been in a compromising position!”
Cecilia shrugged. “I didn’t want to miss you,” she pouted.
Georgiana instantly softened. “I’m sorry about last night, Celia,” Georgiana whispered. “It was terribly cruel of Eliana to say what she said. But Mama and Papa –”
Georgiana’s dark blue eyes laid softly on her sister. Her eyes were searching Cecilia’s face; though what for, Cecilia could not be sure. “Oh, my dear baby sister,” she finally replied, in a voice Cecilia had seldom heard before. “I do believe you are right. You do not speak as a lady who has caught a casual affair; you speak of one who knows what’s in her heart.” She rose, kissing her sister on the cheek. Cecilia was soft and pure the ways others were not. Everything to her was rosy and sweet; Georgiana only wished it could forevermore remain so. “Come and join us; we’re going to take a walk with Jack and Madeleine on deck. Jack mentioned he liked to walk his dog, Kitty, in the mornings after he’s supped breakfast, before we take for luncheon. She’s a wonderful dog, extraordinarily loyal; Jack just dotes on her. Very clever; she can even shake hands, if you can imagine! It makes us miss ours desperately.” Georgiana paused, as if wanting to say more, but decided she shouldn’t. “We’ll be dining in the Café again, if you wish to accompany us? If we bump into Mr Henry, I do not think it would be terribly unseemly if we invite him. Mama and Papa won’t dare cause a fuss while we’re with the Astors, and if they ask, we’ll just say Jack, too, was engaged in that dastard contraption. Even Papa had some interest, and Jack’s American. Madeleine and Jack have seen a few moving films. One was eleven minutes long; can you imagine? Madeleine told me all about it, though I can’t imagine anyone would watch anything eleven minutes long. Would they not rather be doing something?”