by Jina Bacarr
No one gets away with treating the sinking of the ship like it’s merely a bee in her bonnet.
Not even a society woman like her.
‘What about the poor souls lost in the cold, freezing sea, madam?’ she spewed. ‘Don’t they deserve to be remembered?’
She’d heard from Buck the press had ignored the steerage passengers with nary a name listed on any survivor list.
As if they never existed.
She fretted. By the holy saints, Mary Dolores must have heard she’d sailed on the Titanic. She wouldn’t know if she was dead or alive. She’d write to her, but what was she going to tell her?
She was now the Countess of Marbury?
Not yet, girl. Look at Mrs Benn-Brady. Her curious eye moving over you like you’re a pig in a poke.
She’s a feisty one and not easily fooled. Keep your opinions to yourself or you’ll be dragging your heels back to Ireland.
‘I find your sentiments rather… interesting, Countess,’ said the matron evasively. ‘Have you spoken to any reporters yet?’
Trey came to her rescue and smoothed over his mother’s ruffled feathers. ‘The countess took her place in the same lifeboat as Mrs Astor and other first cabin ladies, Mother.’ He mentioned the names of ladies well connected in high places. ‘They were honored to have the Countess of Marbury take up an oar and help row their boat to the rescue ship.’
‘Why didn’t she say so?’ said Mrs Benn-Brady, pleased Ava had made a good impression on the society ladies. She patted the girl’s hand and the clusters of diamonds circling her wrists sparkled. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, my dear Countess, I will deal with the reporters. After you’ve recovered from your ordeal, we’ll have a nice, friendly chat over tea. I want to hear all about Mrs Astor and the other ladies.’
Ava shivered. She knew she just wanted to hear the gossip about how the first cabin ladies sat on a hard, wooden bench with icy seawater swirling around their feet, their toes freezing in their pearl-beaded satin slippers.
‘If you’d be so kind, madam, I need washing up to get the smell of the sea off my clothes,’ Ava said, buttoning up the countess’s long, black coat to hide her homespun clothes underneath.
Mrs Benn-Brady let out a deep sigh. ‘In due time. I’m more concerned we understand each other.’
‘Madam?’
‘It’s a matter of titles and diamond tiaras,’ she said smugly. ‘You have the title, I have the diamond tiara.’
‘Is that all you want from me?’ Ava asked. ‘A title?’
‘My dear Countess, I may be rich and well connected, but my money can’t buy entrée into the closed circle of New York heiresses married to English lords. Since I had the misfortune to have a son and not a daughter—’ she sneered at Trey who, by the bored look on his face, was used to his mother’s ranting ‘—you’re my last hope to enter that circle.’
Ava sighed, then managed a weak smile. ‘But I’m not English.’
‘I also find your manner of speaking not quite what I expected,’ Mrs Benn-Brady said with a critical eye.
‘My governess was Irish.’ Ava blurted out the first thing that came into her head and spun a tale about how she had no mother growing up and rarely saw her father, and the spunky Irish woman raised her.
‘You’ll have to do.’ She waved her hands about as if she were hiring a housekeeper. ‘Even if you are from Scotland. Cold, dastardly place from what I’ve heard.’
Mercy, she was beyond anything Ava had ever seen, even in the grand houses in Ireland.
No wonder Mr Brady – no, Trey, she must call him that – had no manners. Neither did his mother. She was bold, arrogant and if Ava was right, born with her foot in her mouth instead of a silver spoon. She understood the woman’s need to better herself, but not at her expense.
She walked around Ava in a circle as if inspecting a prize filly.
‘I hadn’t anticipated you’d be so pretty. I expected a serious-minded young woman who wore thick lenses and read books.’ She breathed into her face and Ava caught the whiff of a fine brandy. No doubt to warm up her cold heart, though she doubted that was possible.
‘The countess is beautiful, Mother, and you damn well know it.’ Trey put his arm around Ava’s waist and squeezed it. She winced.
‘You’ve outdone yourself, Trey.’ She turned to Ava. ‘However, before we finalize the financial arrangements of our contract, we have much to do. You don’t look like a countess.’
What she means is you don’t sound like a countess or walk like one. Careful, girl, or she’ll see right through you.
‘I lost everything when the ship went down,’ Ava said, explaining. She’d not back down, not admit anything.
‘You shall have a new wardrobe with morning and afternoon dresses, tea gowns, hats and gloves, jewels and fans, furs and ostrich plumes to dazzle the society crowd.’ She smirked, then indicated with a wave of her hand the interview had ended.
‘Is that all, Mother?’ Trey asked, waiting to be dismissed.
Ava stared at him, puzzled. Was he always so reticent around his mother? No wonder he bounded about Europe like a schoolboy on holiday.
‘Yes. Garrett will drive you home, then he’ll return for me,’ Mrs Benn-Brady said, as if Ava wasn’t there. ‘I have an engagement. I’m assisting with the Women’s Relief Committee for the steerage passengers.’
‘How generous of you, Mrs Benn-Brady,’ Ava said, her cheeks coloring. Perhaps she’d misjudged the woman. She was kind, like the schoolgirls everyone was talking about who gave up candy and going to matinees to raise money for the survivors.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Countess,’ Mrs Benn-Brady answered quickly. ‘Charity work gets my name in the newspapers.’
Ava tensed. It entered her mind the woman didn’t have a charitable bone in her body. She’d get no sympathy from her if she was found out.
Without another word, Mrs Benn-Brady insisted Trey escort Ava to the waiting limousine, a shiny, black monstrosity with a running board, while she dealt with the press.
Though rain beat down hard on the umbrella the servant held over her head, Ava hesitated to get into the fancy motorcar, fearing she’d be swallowed up in its dark opulence. Surprisingly enough, when the chauffeur opened the door and she sat on the black velvet cushion, Ava sighed with relief.
You passed the first test, girl. But remember, each step is like a bead on your rosary. Only through prayer and persistence can you come full circle.
Sitting still in the motorcar, everything so black and quiet, a pungent smell made her sniff. Something she couldn’t identify. Not leather. But heavy and spicy, like a garden overgrown with too many dandelions among the roses.
Crushed posies lay at her feet.
Like she’d be if she didn’t pull this off.
Trey poked his head inside the limousine, then sat down. ‘You did it, Ava. You fooled my mother. Not an easy feat.’
‘For now. We have a lot of work to do if I’m to help you and Buck – I mean, his lordship – pull off this charade. Though for the likes of me, I must be as addled as a pig on its way to market to go through with this scheme.’
He flashed her a grin. ‘Why don’t we start your training now?’
Without warning, Trey leaned over and kissed her, a lip-stinging sweep of his mouth brushing hers, forcing her to part her lips. She barely had time to take a breath before a sudden breeze chilled her.
Someone had opened the passenger door.
‘There’s more to being a countess than knowing how to kiss a man, Ava,’ she heard a deep masculine voice say. ‘I see you no longer need my services.’
Buck. He’d seen Trey kiss her. Her heart cried out with new pain at the American’s audacity to grab an opportunity for an intimate moment at her expense.
‘She’s my fiancée, old man,’ Trey said, his tone possessive. ‘Not yours.’
‘As you wish, old man.’
Ava pushed away in time to see Buck slam the door and pull up his collar
against the rain, then walk down the streets she had once thought were paved with gold. His stride was long, his mood angry. He didn’t look back.
She couldn’t stop the tears from forming. Her heart had been heavy since the scene on deck with his lordship. Now her spirits sank.
Why did Captain Lord Blackthorn break her heart so? Why? What right did he have to question her kissing another man?
It was his bloody idea for her to marry Trey.
It was all too much. What did he expect her to do? Live with the man like she was a holy sister?
Was he daft?
Women, Buck thought, paying no attention to the stares directed at him as he strode through the opulent hotel lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria. Hatless. His clothes wet, his eyes fierce.
They can soothe your ego, drain your bank account and then make you fall in love with them all over again.
Letting his guard down had left him open to many perils, but when saw his old friend kissing Ava, he came to grips with how much he loved her. Really loved her. And because of his own foolish actions, she was lost to him. Again. First on the ship and now in New York.
Damnation.
In his life he’d made a lot of mistakes, made love to many beautiful women, but he never left them until they ended the affair. Acted like a gentleman. Now, when he was down, he’d been kicked in the gut.
And it was his own fault.
‘I believe you have a suite reserved for me,’ Buck said to the hotel desk clerk. He tapped his fingers nervously on the desk, agitated.
‘Your name, sir?’ The bored clerk wiggled his nose at his appearance.
Buck couldn’t blame him. His clothes were wrinkled, torn and smelled of more than the sea. The only reason the doorman didn’t stop him when he pushed boldly through the revolving doors was because he’d arrived in a limousine sent by the hotel.
‘Captain Lord Blackthorn.’
The clerk cleared his throat. ‘The Captain Lord Blackthorn… from the Titanic?’
Good God, had all New York heard about him?
‘Yes,’ Buck said.
Immediately, ladies and gentlemen in fur-trimmed overcoats edged closer upon hearing his name, eager to get a good look at him. He was the subject of heated whispers, hard looks and elegant sighs for the next several minutes.
Buck clenched his fists. He couldn’t believe there was that much interest in him because he’d survived the sinking ship when so many gallant gentlemen had lost their lives. There was something else at play here, but what?
The desk clerk displayed an amused smile, then looked through his list of reservations.
Buck fought hard to control his emotions. ‘I’ve had a long journey and I’d like to go to my room. Have you found the reservation?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Ah, yes, here it is, your lordship. Lady Pennington’s solicitor arranged for you to have our deluxe accommodations.’ The desk clerk raised his voice for all to hear then added, ‘The Waldorf looks forward to welcoming her ladyship when she arrives from London.’
Oohs and aahs from the ladies followed.
Buck winced. So Irene was behind his sudden fame. No doubt giving press interviews about their affair to the London scandal sheets. The New York newspapers, hungry for any story about the survivors, had picked them up.
Now he understood the hard-nosed stares.
‘Your suite will be ready presently, your lordship,’ said the desk clerk, ringing for the bellboy.
‘I’ll be in the bar,’ Buck said, and then strode off before he was waylaid by curious ladies begging to hear about the sinking. Cripes, he wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t caught Trey kissing Ava. He’d had no intention of accepting Irene’s offer, but when he saw Ava’s soft lips parted, her mouth bruised from another man’s kiss, he was so angry he couldn’t see straight.
So he’d bolted.
Only luck and a heavy downpour had led him to a curious policeman, who placed him in the waiting limousine when he identified himself as a Titanic survivor.
A vein throbbed in his forehead. Buck swore he’d pay back every pound to her ladyship out of his winnings. He had to win the bet.
For his sake and Ava’s.
Getting rid of her accent wouldn’t be easy, though he had an advantage since Fiona spoke with a winsome brogue. Still, he would have to instruct Ava in grammar, etiquette and the social graces without Mrs Benn-Brady finding out.
Buck ordered a brandy at the Waldorf café, a bar reserved for men only. Downing it in one swallow, he ordered a double, then made his plans.
First, there was the problem of Irene.
She had booked passage on a Cunard ship departing next week, which meant she would dock in New York in a fortnight. Once she arrived, she’d claim him as hers. To protect Ava, he’d not argue that.
Not much time, old man.
Buck stared at the empty shot glass, as if he could see the future. It was crystal clear. He had two weeks to turn Ava O’Reilly, a poor Irish girl from County Cork, into the Countess of Marbury.
Then he’d leave New York and never see her again.
God help him.
33
Fifth Avenue, New York
20 April 1912
‘Who was that devilishly handsome gentleman I saw you conversing with on the gangway, Countess?’ Mrs Benn-Brady asked over afternoon tea in the drawing room.
Tea with lemon, Ava noted, staring down into her cup. Not milk.
‘Captain Lord Buck Blackthorn, madam,’ she answered carefully. She avoided looking at Trey, though he watched her with interest. She wondered if he’d caught the warm feelings for his lordship in her voice, feelings so close to the surface they surprised her. ‘I’ve known the gentleman since he came to stay at the hunting lodge belonging to his father, the duke, near my home at Dirksen Castle.’
Trey arched his brows, impressed with her knowledge of the countess. He raised his cup to her.
Lowering her eyes, she put the cup to her lips and finished her tea. No telling expression crossed her features to enlighten the woman what she’d said was a lie. Trey knew and that made her smile. A fine lie it was, too. The countess would be proud of her, reciting all that grand talk.
She would, wouldn’t she?
Ava stiffened, not certain the countess would approve, even less certain she would succeed in her game. What if she failed? So far, the hand of an angel lay on her shoulder with Mrs Benn-Brady accepting her as the countess.
So far.
‘You remember me speaking of Buck, Mother,’ Trey answered quickly, smiling at Ava. After the kiss in the limousine, she was a bit wary of him. Once they’d arrived at his mother’s Fifth Avenue residence, he acted the perfect gentleman. But for how long? ‘We were at Cambridge together.’
‘Ah, yes, the gentleman who acted as the go-between for your engagement to the countess.’ She whispered a few words to her butler, Niles, who bowed, and then left. ‘I must invite him to tea.’
Ava rattled her empty cup, her nerves shattered. Ever since she’d arrived at the stately mansion, she’d been in a dither trying to take it all in. Such a palace she’d never seen. The Benn-Brady residence sat squat on the corner, its drab appearance reminding her of an ancient cathedral. But if the outside was as plain as the church poor box, the inside reminded her of an enchanted fairy story.
She swore her feet barely touched the fancy mosaics made from shimmering marble as she glided down the long hallway with light streaming in through stained-glass windows edged with bronze. She waltzed through so many elaborate wrought iron and glass doors she didn’t think she’d ever pass through the same one twice.
She slept until noon on a bed so soft Ava floated into her dreams, not like the cast iron bed she had slept on in the grand house in Ireland, with a mattress stuffed with straw.
Then the dreams had turned into a nightmare.
Those last, dreadful hours on the Titanic replayed over and over again in her mind. Raw emotion drove her to toss and turn,
throwing off the fine linen sheets in spite of the chill from the rain. Seeing the countess in her mind, her face so pale and drawn in her last moments on the staircase. Then Ava was holding Buck close to her on the deck of the rescue ship, his heart nearly stopped beating…
Holy Mother of God, where did she go from here?
Hands shaking, her heart racing, Ava could barely stand still when Blanche, the French lady’s maid, arrived with her morning tray of tea and toast and set about dressing her. Attaching her stockings to her corset, laced so tight she could scarcely breathe, a single petticoat eased over her hips, then a silky gown in a shade so green it put an emerald to shame. Two diamond clips held up her hair.
Ava was afraid to look in the mirror, but she did peek into a looking glass when Mrs Benn-Brady took her on a tour of the mansion. By the saints, was that her? Prim, genteel and unabashedly elegant. Couldn’t be… but it was.
She was still prickling with goose bumps over her new look when they toured the library. Carved oak hugged the walls, but the decorator had outdone himself in the dining room with its black velvet wallpaper. According to her hostess, the electric lighting could be dimmed or brightened to showcase the colors of the ladies’ gowns. Finally, they sat down in the drawing room, with gold threads and shiny crystals peeking out from the rose velvet brocade covering the walls.
Then afternoon tea with Trey and his mother, both listening intently while Ava told them all about the first cabin ladies in the lifeboat with her.
Nodding, Mrs Benn-Brady had her secretary write down the ladies’ names to add to their list of wedding guests, then sent the girl off to type them up while Ava sat, stirring sugar into her tea and trying not to purse her lips when Mrs Benn-Brady insisted the footman drop another slice of lemon into her cup.
And still she waited.
But not one word from Buck.
Was he still angry with her for Trey’s indiscretion? Did the man not know what she was going through? Ever since he’d left her, everything she did as the countess was a lesson in futility and frustration.
