by Jina Bacarr
He’d not have her any other way.
‘It’s more beautiful than any diamond,’ she whispered to him after they broke the kiss, clasping the gold ring close to her heart.
‘No more beautiful than you,’ he said, then he kissed her again.
Tears filled the ladies’ eyes, envy in the gentlemen’s.
He couldn’t wait to be alone with her.
But not before they held court seated on a splendid divan covered with plush red silk cushions and were placed on a raised platform where New York society could pay homage to them.
Buck was impressed with how Ava handled herself. She was more than a paragon of breeding, but a warm, generous lady. She never faltered in answering questions about the Titanic, though he knew her heart was breaking.
Fiona would have been so proud of her.
‘This is a night no one will forget,’ Mrs Benn-Brady whispered, smiling for the camera, then leading Buck and his bride to a quiet corner. A quartet began to play Brahms as a subtle diversion to encourage the guests to chat among themselves.
‘What about Trey?’ Ava asked, concerned.
She nodded toward her son and Lady Pennington wrapped up in champagne and in each other. ‘I have a feeling there will be an official announcement of an engagement in the near future.’
Ava pulled the pins from her hair and removed the tiara. ‘This belongs to you, Mrs Benn-Brady.’
‘What am I going to do with it?’ she said, pretending to be insulted. ‘Keep it in a stuffy old box? It’s yours, my dear Countess. Wear it proudly, knowing you made an old woman very happy.’
She smiled graciously, then went on her way, taking compliments from her lingering guests. He saw the society matron holding court as if she were the queen of the ball. She had everything she wanted.
Time to think of Ava.
‘Let’s sneak away from here,’ Buck said. He loved her, and if he had to go through nearly drowning in the icy, cold water to be worthy of her, he’d do it again.
She belonged to him, and as long as he could tell her that for the rest of their lives, he’d be a happy man.
‘Do we dare?’ she asked. Her eyes told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He pulled her close to him.
‘Mrs Benn-Brady will never miss us,’ Buck said. ‘I’d bet on it.’
Waldorf Hotel
5 May 1912
1 a.m.
Ava settled into his lordship’s arms as easily as if St Michael himself carried her through the gates of heaven. But it wasn’t a foamy mist of clouds and good deeds that swirled around his feet as he carried her over the threshold, but plush white carpet.
And into the bridal suite at the Waldorf.
It didn’t seem real. Her eye wandered everywhere, taking in the walls and ceiling decorated in white and gold, the Parisian furniture covered with blue brocade and gold fringe and the large marble fireplace with beveled Italian mirrors over the mantelpiece.
‘A kiss for your husband, Ava,’ Buck said, nuzzling his face in her hair. She grabbed him tighter around the neck.
‘Is that all you want from me?’ she said, looking squarely at him, teasing him.
‘I want your undying love,’ he said, his voice husky and deep, assuring her she was the only woman who mattered to him. Then in a playful manner he added, ‘And a romp between the sheets.’
His gaze traveled over to the canopied four-poster half-covered in shadows that deepened as golden lighting bounced off the white damask walls. He’d had his things moved to the luxurious bridal suite. Ava knew he could well afford it. Trey had insisted on paying off the bet.
‘A wedding present, old boy,’ he said, and then he kissed the bride.
Finally they were alone.
Without a word, Buck laid her tiara on the round writing desk next to the gramophone, then turned her around and helped her out of her wedding garments except for her corset, chemise, stockings and slippers. Then he removed his shirt and tie. ‘I want to make love to you every night.’
‘Oh, do you?’
‘Yes, but first…’
He flicked a switch on the gramophone and the strains of a sensuous tango filled the room. ‘Shall we dance, Countess?’
She smiled, then kicked off her satin slippers. ‘With pleasure, your lordship.’
Then Buck pulled her into his arms, his bare chest pressed against her breasts, sending her out of control. She didn’t want to pull away, she never wanted to leave him.
The savory seduction of the tango and his tall, strong body pressing up against hers intensified an ache to have him make love to her, her heart drumming to the beat of each sensual dance step reaching down deep into her soul.
Just when Ava thought she could stand no more, he twirled her around and dipped her, his lips kissing her at last.
Then he took her with so much love, she couldn’t stand it. She moaned and threw her head back, her body closing around him.
‘I love you, Ava,’ he said, holding onto her, tight and hard.
‘I love you, too, my darling.’
And with a deepening pull to her heart, Ava knew the girl she was when she boarded the ship of dreams was gone. She was now a woman.
His woman.
And it was the grandest dream of all.
Epilogue
New York City
Spring, 1962
‘Oh, Gram, that’s the most beautiful story I’ve ever heard,’ Elizabeth said, her eyes glowing with excitement. She sat still, her hands folded in her lap, the enchantment of all that was the Titanic overwhelming her.
Going back to that glorious time in her life hadn’t been easy for Ava. There was an urgency in her to tell her granddaughter the truth. The girl needed to know and she prayed she’d understand the cold, hard facts that drove her to do what she had. The truth had lay hidden for far too long.
So she told her the story of Ava O’Reilly and the Titanic.
‘It’s not finished yet. There’s Fiona to consider,’ Ava said, her tone reverent as if the countess were sitting here with them in her New York penthouse. ‘I have to make things right.’
‘What do you mean?’ Elizabeth asked, curious.
‘I’m going to the press with my story.’ Her tone was defiant, her heart racing with the thought of what that meant, of digging up the past that lay buried for so long. She could give the countess peace at last. She deserved no less.
‘I’m so proud of you, Gram.’
Her granddaughter hugged her with a youthful enthusiasm that touched her with a flurry of emotions she hadn’t expected. Warmth. Joy. And hope.
A fine girl she is, lass. Reminds you of yourself, doesn’t she?
‘It’s the only way, Elizabeth,’ Ava said, looking into the large mirror over the fireplace, expecting to see the girl she was. Instead she saw a face etched with the fine lines of a life lived, her green eyes full of secrets. No more.
‘What’s the only way, my love?’
Ava and Elizabeth turned to see Buck enter the room, his shoulders still broad, his hair flecked with gray, but his masculine presence as powerful as it was the night he had swum in the icy waters of the North Atlantic looking for her.
After all these years, Ava’s heart still melted when she heard his deep voice and looked into his dark, brooding eyes. He was a fine husband and a man whose strength never wavered.
He would need that strength now.
After they repeated their marriage vows before a priest in a small church in Brooklyn, Ava and his lordship had gone west to San Francisco, a city rebuilt after the quake. There in the West they started a new life together, making a fortune in land speculation. They had lost nearly everything in the crash of 1929, but after World War II, Buck had become successful in land development and as a builder.
They had a daughter, who later died giving birth to her own child without revealing the name of the father. Ava and Buck came back to New York to raise their granddaughter, Elizabeth.
&nb
sp; ‘Gram told me the truth about the countess,’ said Elizabeth, awe sparking in her eyes. ‘She must have been an amazing woman.’
‘She was a poetic and gentle soul, a true lady,’ Buck said, repeating his words from long ago. He held Ava in his arms and she snuggled her head against his chest.
‘I’m going to take my story to the people of New York,’ she said. ‘Let them decide if what I did was wrong.’
‘Are you sure this is what you want to do, Ava?’ He held her by the shoulders, his eyes burning with questions. ‘It happened so long ago. The world has changed since then.’
‘People haven’t forgotten the Titanic and they never will,’ Ava said, her chest tight. She forced herself to keep her voice steady. ‘That’s why I must give up what is not mine. I owe it to the countess.’
‘You’ve earned the title, Ava,’ Buck insisted. ‘No one can deny you that.’
Her eyes sparkled at the proud note in his voice. If she was a countess, it was because he had made her so. He had believed in her. He’d taught her the only charade played in life was to be untrue to yourself.
‘Captain Buck is right,’ said Elizabeth, using her pet name for her grandfather. ‘You’ve worked hard, Gram, and made outstanding contributions to so many charities.’
It was true. Ava had done her best to make amends. Ever since the tragedy, she’d worked tirelessly for the Titanic victims and their families, setting up a trust fund with the monies she received from the sale of the countess’s lands in Scotland. Over the years, she’d also raised money for the Titanic Trust and had orchestrated several charity events for the upcoming fiftieth anniversary of the sinking.
‘I appreciate your concern,’ Ava said, swallowing hard, ‘but I’ve made up my mind.’
‘I’ll stand by you, Ava,’ said his lordship.
‘Me, too, Gram.’
‘Thank you both.’ She took their hands in hers. ‘I’m going to call a press conference for tomorrow. The world will soon know the truth.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming here today. You all know me as the Countess of Marbury and for my work with the Titanic survivors,’ Ava began. ‘I’m here to talk about another survivor. An Irish girl named Ava O’Reilly, whose name never appeared on that list.’
Ava stood before the anxious group of reporters in a conference room in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Not the original Waldorf where she’d made her famous walk down Peacock Alley fifty years ago, but the newer hotel built on a different spot.
She couldn’t help but think of that night and the dinner in the Palm Room with Trey and Lady Pennington. Who would have thought that Trey would tire of his mother’s meddling and Lady Pennington’s shopping trips after they were married?
He’d secured a commission in the Army when the Great War broke out and was wounded in France in 1918 by a sniper while trying to save a fellow soldier. He was disabled, but to everyone’s surprise, Lady Pennington had devoted herself to him. She had discovered a different side of herself when Mrs Benn-Brady convinced her to volunteer for the Red Cross and she had worked in a hospital with wounded veterans.
Mrs Benn-Brady was gone now, but they had remained close friends over the years with Ava making several appearances at her charity balls and dinners, always putting in a word for her Titanic Trust.
The woman had never suspected she wasn’t the countess.
Ava smiled. She wondered what the famous society matron would have thought had she been here today. No doubt she would have loved the publicity.
‘Ava O’Reilly was nineteen when she boarded the Titanic at Queenstown and escaped in lifeboat number four, yet no one ever saw her land in New York.’ Ava paused, then said, ‘That’s because I’m that Irish girl. The real countess died that night aboard the ship before she sank into the cold North Atlantic.’
Excited murmurs erupted from the crowd of reporters, seasoned veterans, who, if Ava read their faces correctly, were stunned by the news.
She swallowed hard. She wished her sister, Mary Dolores, was here to see her. She had never let Ava forget she was a poor girl from Ireland, telling her not to ‘act all fancy and grand’. Ava knew she was secretly proud of her.
She had brought her to San Francisco to live with her, but the big city wasn’t for her. Mary Dolores had gone back to Ireland and married a fine lad with his own farm and had five children and eight grandchildren before she joined their parents in their final resting place.
Ava reached into the pocket of her navy-blue silk jacket and clasped the pieces of her mother’s broken rosary. She’d kept the pieces to remind her of that night, knowing the pain would always be there, but she must go on. She’d touched so many lives since she’d boarded the grand ship Titanic. His lordship, the countess, Trey and his mother, the two Irish girls, Lady Pennington and all the survivors she’d helped over the years.
She gripped the broken rosary in her hand, her nails digging into her palm.
A tear for each rosary bead, she thought, her eyes burning, then she wiped the tears away. She’d already shed so many. She must face the truth.
‘I’m not asking for forgiveness, but understanding. Imagine a young Irish girl so filled with hope and faith she risked everything to come to this great land, a place where no one was judged by the clothes they wore or how they spoke or their education, but by their willingness to work hard. Only by a twist of fate did I sail on the Titanic with a third-class ticket and find myself acting as a lady’s maid to the lovely Countess of Marbury. A job I took to save my Irish arse from a wrongful charge of larceny.’
Laughter. Then flashbulbs popping, questions tossed at her. ‘What did they say you stole, your ladyship, the royal jewels?’
‘Or was it a man’s heart?’ called out another.
Ava smiled, then explained how the earl’s daughter had accused her of stealing a diamond bracelet out of jealousy.
‘I had no choice but to take the only path open to me and that was to board the Titanic.’ She paused to take a sip of water. This was the hardest part of all. ‘When the ship’s officer mistook me for the countess and dropped me into a lifeboat, I had a decision to make. Risk being sent back to Ireland or go to America and start a new life as the Countess of Marbury.’
She looked over the crowd, every eye on her. ‘I made my choice on the Carpathia. I vowed then I would never stop working to help the victims and survivors of the greatest maritime disaster up to that time. Whether or not I have succeeded in my mission is in your hands. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for listening to my story.’
Acknowledgments
I am forever grateful to my editor, Nia Beynon, who embraced my feisty heroine and her story, and everyone at Team Boldwood for their dedication and hard work in bringing my book to publication.
Author’s Note
The Titanic was called the ‘ship of dreams.’
And a dream it was for her passengers who sailed on a calm, glassy sea. The dream shattered four days later when the ship hit the iceberg at 11:40 p.m. on 14 April 1912. Only 705 passengers and crew survived. 1,517 lives were lost. First and second class, steerage passengers and crew.
I wanted to relive the voyage through the eyes of three passengers from three different worlds. My characters are fiction, but what they experienced that night before the Titanic foundered is real.
A moment by moment account of those last few hours. From that first whistle blast when the ship leaves Queenstown to the foghorn sounding on the rescue ship Carpathia, my story is a tribute to those brave souls who lost their lives.
We will never forget what happened on that starry, starry night.
More from Jina Bacarr
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You can buy Her Lost Love, another glorious historical romance from Jina Bacarr, by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…
Chapter 1
Posey Creek, Pennsylvania
December 12, 1943
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‘I bet you my last pair of stockings, little sister, I’ll be saying I do before Christmas.’
I whirl around in a circle, pretending the most wonderful man in the world is holding me in his arms, my heart soaring. A pot of Ma’s meat gravy simmers on the burner, the smell tickling my fancy to have my own kitchen soon. So many wonderful memories here. Planked floors, big white stove humming with good cooking, Ma’s rocker and her rosewood sewing box. Wallpaper dotted with daisies, their yellow petals turned golden over the years – and four ceramic angels lined up on top of the spice rack. A tradition we do every year along with listening to the holiday radio shows, but this Christmas is even more special to me. It’s crazy I feel so confident, even though he hasn’t actually asked me yet. But I know he will.
Eyes popping, Lucy swallows the spoonful of jam she shoved into her mouth. ‘You, Kate? Married?’ Slender and graceful like a young doe, she’s not as tall as me, though at sixteen she’s already filling out her sweaters. Dark brown hair rich with honeyed highlights frames her oval face and an army of freckles deepen in color on her cheeks as she laughs. ‘I hear Santa’s taken.’
I ignore her sarcasm and scoop Ma’s holiday cherry jam onto crackers. ‘It’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone.’ I wink at her, not letting up with my tease. I can’t. I’m too excited. Lucy adores secrets. Her face beams with excitement, like she got away with something without Ma finding out. Like using a pillow case for a laundry bag since bedding is hard to come by, or borrowing my two dollar face powder when she thinks I’m not looking.
