by Jane Goodger
“I know you mean well,” Genny repeated. “And I also know I am ignorant about English society. Frankly, the more I learn, the more it baffles me. I grew up thinking that one person was as good as the next, and I find it a bit strange that someone is thought less of just because of their occupation or their parentage. I’m trying to understand, truly.”
“I do see what you mean,” Miss Marshall said, warming to the subject. “In America, a man can build his own life, create his own dreams. In England, if you are born a farmer, you will die a farmer. I find it fascinating.” She looked at her mother to gauge the older woman’s reaction. “Did you know that Mr. Vanderbilt grew up poor and was a ferry pilot? Now he’s one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
“Sylvia,” Mrs. Marshall said, as if her daughter were blaspheming.
“It’s true, Mother. In America, you can be whoever you want to be. You may not have a title, but if you gain wealth, you’re respected and considered aristocracy.”
Mrs. Marshall shook her head sharply. “That may be, but they are not aristocracy and they never will be. It’s in the blood.”
“What’s in the blood?” Genny asked, not impolitely.
“Good breeding,” Mrs. Marshall said with a sniff. “You, my dear, despite your unfortunate circumstances, cannot deny your breeding. You are the granddaughter of a duke. You are young and perhaps do not realize the importance of this, but mark my words, someday you shall.”
“You’re so old-fashioned, Mother,” Miss Marshall said lightly. “Is he very handsome?”
“Sylvia Mary Marshall,” Mrs. Marshall said, but something in the way she said it made Genny realize she wasn’t nearly as bothered as she was putting on. Mrs. Marshall raised one eyebrow, and asked, “Is he?”
Genny grinned. “The most handsome man I’ve ever met.” She didn’t bother telling them that Mitch was one of only a handful of men she’d formally met. “Shall I introduce you?”
The two women looked at each other and nodded.
Mitch was feeling a bit antsy. It’d been two days since he’d made love with Genny, and since that time he hadn’t been able to talk with her, never mind make love to her the way he wanted to. He knew he probably shouldn’t have made love to her, not without a ceremony, and in hindsight he was beginning to regret his actions. Genny was about as innocent as a girl could be and his damned conscience began to nag at him about four hours after he’d left her. But still, he wanted her, conscience be damned.
Ship life was bloody boring. Since he really wasn’t a drinking man—plenty of the men on board were—he had little to occupy himself except reliving those wonderful hours spent with Genny. He would imagine a lifetime of nights, of how beautiful she would look in the morning. Of their children, gathering around them. Of how she would look, heavy with their child.
He stood near the bow of the ship, watching some of his shipmates play a game of craps. He would have joined in if he had any coin to spare. That was where Tillie, sullen and clearly unhappy with her task, found him.
“She wants to see you,” she said in a near snarl.
“I assume you mean Miss Hayes.”
Tillie simply turned on her heel, obviously expecting him to follow, which he did. When it was clear she was headed toward the first class saloon, Mitch stopped dead.
“I can’t go in there,” he said, spreading his hands to indicate his rough attire. “They’ll throw me out in a minute.”
Tillie shrugged. “She wants to introduce you to some friends she met.”
Mitch took a step back. “I don’t believe you.” He knew Tillie disliked him and he wouldn’t put it past her to try to humiliate him. What the hell was she trying to do?
Tillie stared at him a long moment, hands on hips, then sighed and walked over to him. “She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that a man like you shouldn’t even look at her, never mind . . . God, Mitch, she’s the nicest girl I’ve ever met in my life and I know she loves you. And I know you love her. But she doesn’t have the foggiest idea how other people think. She told me to fetch you, nice as you please, so she could introduce you to some of those fancy ladies she’s making friends with.” Tillie took a deep breath. “Look, Mitch, you’re a swell fellow. But I don’t think either of you knows what you’re doing. Especially Genny.”
Mitch let out a curse.
“That’s about right,” Tillie said. “What should I do?”
If regret was something you could hold in your hands, Mitch would have two fistfuls of it. He couldn’t take back that night they’d shared, and he probably wouldn’t even at gunpoint. But he knew—he knew—he’d made a terrible mistake. A selfish one. Genny deserved better. It didn’t matter what she said because, dammit, she just didn’t understand. Genny had no idea the life she was throwing away. Hell, he didn’t even know. Someday, when things were lean and they couldn’t afford all the things she deserved, she’d think about everything she could have had and she’d start looking at him in a way he wouldn’t like. He fully believed she loved him. But how long would that love last when they were hungry? Or their children were hungry?
“Maybe she needs to see this,” Mitch said finally, silently adding, and maybe I do too.
“It’s your funeral,” Tillie said, with one of her characteristic shrugs.
Mitch walked into the room and watched in amazement as twenty pairs of eyes turned his way—and froze. The saloon was a long narrow room with a sitting area at one end, complete with what looked like a well-stocked bar, and a series of small round tables with delicate, padded seats at the other. In the middle were four sofas, set up in a square, where three elderly women sat looking as if they’d all eaten something sour. Two younger men, standing across from him with brandy snifters in their hands, literally looked down their noses at him and narrowed their eyes as if trying to determine what sort of being had just walked into their midst.
Hell, he might not be wearing his nicest jacket and trousers, but he didn’t look like a loafer. Genny sat with two women at one of the small tables, and she immediately rose when he spied her. She stood gracefully, and he had to smile thinking about how many times they’d practiced just that movement. She walked over to him, smiling as if nothing at all was wrong.
She held out both hands, and he grasped them automatically, feeling a bit like a man clutching a lifeline.
“I’m glad you came,” she said warmly, and gave him a wink. And just like that, he knew that she knew exactly what the disapproving stares meant and that she didn’t give a damn. That she was actually having a bit of fun and allowing him to be an accomplice.
“Come over and meet two new friends,” she said, pulling him over to where she’d been sitting. “Mrs. and Miss Marshall, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Mitchell Campbell, one of the finest portrait photographers in America,” she said.
The two women, looking a tad uncomfortable, stood and nodded.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Campbell. Your fiancée is charming.”
Mitch darted a look at Genny and drawled, “She sure has a special way about her, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, Mother, a cowboy,” Miss Marshall gushed.
If Mitch had had a hat on, he would have tipped it. “No, miss, I’m not a cowboy but I spent time with some.”
As they were talking, a steward approached the small group, discreetly, and went up to Mitch. “I do apologize, sir, but this saloon is reserved for first class passengers only.” Mitch had to give the steward some credit, he could have been a bastard about it, but he was giving Mitch a modicum of respect.
Genny immediately came to his rescue. “Oh, no, Mr. Dunn, it’s perfectly fine. I’ve invited Mr. Campbell. You see, we’re to be married and he didn’t think it proper for both of us to be on the same level. Such a stickler, you know. But I am so glad to see you are performing your job with such ferocity. I’ll have to mention this to Captain Spencer, as I’m certain he’ll be more than pleased to know his crew is so capable.” She flashed a smile that produ
ced such an idiotic reaction in the poor slob, Mitch almost laughed out loud.
The steward wasn’t a complete fool, apparently, because he looked over Mitch’s attire and said, “Mr. Campbell is more than welcome to stay, but we do have a dress code in the saloon.”
“I see. And under normal circumstances, he would comply. We must maintain standards, mustn’t we? But how silly would Mr. Campbell look if he wore his regular attire while in third class? I think he might draw a bit too much attention, don’t you? I think it was awfully clever of Mr. Campbell to dress like the other third class passengers so as not to attract undo attention or make the others uncomfortable. There is nothing worse than a snob, whether it’s a rich man or a poor one, and I’m sure you agree.”
“Of course I do, Miss Hayes, but—”
“Thank you, Mr. Dunn. I’ll be sure to mention your stalwart behavior to the captain. I’m meeting him on the bridge right before dinner, you know. He’s promised to show me how to navigate using the moon.”
Mr. Dunn let out a small sigh, and Mitch knew it was a sigh of defeat. “Yes, miss.” He nodded to Mitch, giving him a curiously long look before moving back to his station near the bar.
Genny gave Mitch another smile, one that could only be described as saucy, and he chuckled. “What you’ve seen, ladies, was a small miracle and one of the reasons Miss Hayes managed to ensnare my heart. She could sell snake oil to a traveling salesman.”
Mitch knew how to charm a lady, and he gave his best smile to Miss Marshall, who looked like she might swoon, and Mitch congratulated himself on at least ingratiating himself with the younger Marshall. The older one was still looking at him as if he might take out a knife and rob them all.
“Do you have a studio, Mr. Campbell? I was thinking I should have a portrait of my daughter done.”
“I’ve just returned from out West, ma’am, but I do hope to set up a studio in New York when Miss Hayes and I return to the States. I’d be more than happy to accommodate you when you visit again.”
Mrs. Marshall sniffed, as if she could tell by his scent whether he was telling the truth, which he decidedly was not. There was no way in hell he’d be able to afford to set up his own studio now, but he didn’t want to appear a pauper. “I’ll make certain to look for your studio on our next trip.”
“He does take the most beautiful portraits,” Genny said. “You should see the one he did of me. I hardly recognized myself. You have it in your watch, do you not, Mr. Campbell?”
In a hundred years, Mitch knew he would never meet another girl like Genny. Anyone looking at him at that moment would see he was likely the most smitten man on the planet. He couldn’t even try to stop what he was feeling from showing on his face. Mitch drew out his watch and snapped it open, revealing a miniature of the larger portrait, which was carefully packed away for their trip, a gift for her grandparents.
The two Marshall women leaned over to look at the portrait, the younger giving a small gasp; she did seem prone to them. “It’s lovely,” she said. “Oh, Mother, we must have my portrait done.”
“Yes, Sylvia, we most certainly must.”
With a smile filled with satisfaction and just a smidgeon of smugness, Genny said, “I’m so glad you took the time to meet my new friends, Mr. Campbell. I’ll walk you out.” Genny calmly took his arm and they walked sedately to the door and onto the deck. She continued walking until they were far out of sight, then burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as if it hurt.
“Did you see their faces? Oh, what horrible women. No, not horrid, but victims of their beliefs. You should have heard what they said, Mitch, how I was making a terrible mistake and was too naïve to know better and how could I possibly think of marrying you when I was the granddaughter of a duke. Goodness, the way they were acting, one might think I was a duke.”
“Duchess.”
She waved a hand as if the title didn’t matter, which apparently it did not. At least to her.
“I have to admit, I was a bit nervous walking in there,” Mitch said. “It was a little bit like throwing a mouse into a room full of hungry cats.”
“I know and I’m sorry, but I wanted to put them in their place just a bit. I know I lied, but I just couldn’t help it.” She pulled his arm closer against her. “You know, I am naïve, because I just don’t understand the fuss. I’m just me, the girl who grew up on the side of a mountain in a one-room cabin. I may like pretty things, but that doesn’t mean I’m a different girl from the one you met. You do know that, don’t you, Mitch?”
He looked around and seeing no one about, pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. He wanted more, but forced himself to draw back. “I’m starting to, darlin’.”
Chapter 12
As scenery went, it wasn’t much, but Mitch supposed there was some beauty in the endless blue. The ship cut through the waves at a small angle, for a nice breeze had come up and the captain had ordered the sails hoisted to aid the steam engines. The only other time Mitch had seen the sails up was during the storm; apparently the canvas helped stabilize the ship and keep her on course.
Far more fascinating was watching the crew, who worked well together, obeying orders quickly and efficiently with a sharp nod and an aye-aye. Still, Mitch would rather look out over the plains of Nebraska than out to the endless sea. He liked the sharp division between land and sky, the way the sun sent shadows and light over the plains, the subtle sound of the grass moving in the wind. At sea, it seemed there was endless noise—the wind, the sails, the ropes, the engines, and the sea itself. A man’s ears couldn’t get a rest, even at night, at least not in steerage. The men’s steerage was set next to the engines and there’d been nights he’d thought he’d go mad if he continued to hear that continuous pulsing sound. More than one night, he’d headed to the deck to lie out on the deck chairs, at least until one of the crew came along and told him to go back to his cabin. It could get mighty cold, but Mitch would rather be cold than hear the engines. His roommates found that large quantities of liquor was a good solution to dealing with the noise on board, so not only was he hearing engines, he was also suffering through a chorus of manly snores.
The voyage would soon be over. He’d overheard one of the crew say they’d be in Liverpool by the next afternoon. A quick train to London and they’d finally reach their destination—only to do it all over again in two weeks. Genny and he had decided that two weeks was plenty of time to see the sights and have a nice visit with her grandparents, and that was about all he’d be able to afford anyway.
Mitch gripped the rail and leaned back, stretching unused muscles. He wasn’t used to being so sedentary, and found himself walking around the deck in endless circles. He’d just spun to take another turn around the deck when he spied Tillie walking toward him on the arm of Mr. Dunn. He was still struck by how different she looked without her wig and rather outlandish dresses. She looked, in his opinion, far prettier. She was smiling up at something Dunn said, but that smile instantly disappeared when she saw him.
“Miss Parks,” Mitch said, doffing an imaginary hat. He’d taken to leaving his own hat in his cabin, tired of the struggle to keep the damned thing on his head in the wind. Mr. Dunn had pulled his hat down so far, he looked rather misshapen, as if his head was half the size it truly was.
“Where is Miss Hayes?” he asked, looking behind the couple in hopes of catching a glimpse of Genny behind them. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a day and, frankly, he missed her.
“She had trouble sleeping and was up most of the night reading so I let her rest,” Tillie said with forced pleasantness. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join us for breakfast?”
It was clear she didn’t want him, so Mitch politely declined and let them go on their way. And then a wicked and wonderful thought struck him: Genny was alone in her cabin in her nightclothes. Nightclothes that were easy to remove. He was instantly aroused, thinking of her lying naked beneath him, her slim legs wrapped around his torso, her eyes closed in ecstasy.
<
br /> He debated with himself whether he should take advantage of this rare gift, all the while walking toward her stateroom. Looking up and down the hall and finding no one about, he tested the door, thanking God and all the saints that it was unlocked, and let himself in. He closed the door and locked it.
When he turned to look into the room, he found Genny sitting up in bed, her hair streaming down her back, and looking worriedly at the door until she realized who it was. She let out a small sound, threw back the covers, and was in his arms in seconds, kissing and laughing.
“You’re such a clever man,” she said, placing her hands on his cheeks. “A clever man who needs a shave. Are you growing your beard again?”
He shook his head, still celebrating the miracle of being able to hold her, to feel her warmth through the thin cotton. “I tried shaving the first day and nearly cut my throat,” he said, nuzzling his lips against her hair. He loved the way she smelled, all fresh and Genny-like.
“Tillie’s at breakfast,” she said, stepping back and holding one of his hands. Then she pulled him toward her bed and Mitch swallowed hard. He hadn’t wanted to presume—actually he had wanted to presume—but he sent up another quick prayer thanking the Lord for giving him such a willing woman.
“It’s your turn, I believe,” she said.
“My turn?”
“Or rather it’s my turn. To find out what you like.” She blushed and looked away, losing a bit of her sauciness. “You said—”
“Darlin’, you are a pure miracle. I think that, you know. Every time I kiss you or hold you in my arms, I think that I don’t deserve a miracle like you.” He hissed in a breath when she touched his chest, growing painfully hard at that simple caress.
“This should be easy,” Genny said, grinning.
“Men are far less complicated than women,” Mitch managed to say. He made quick work of his boots and clothes, and in just a few minutes, he was standing before her naked, feeling her gaze as if she were touching him. God, he wanted her, burned for her. “Come here,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice, which had gone low and rough as if he could hardly get the words past his throat. She stepped toward him, suddenly shy, and he smiled at her reassuringly, adoring her charming mix of courage and nervousness.
