She reached up and put her hand over his. "I have that, in you."
Lost in his gaze, with his face so close to hers, the whole world seemed perfect. Nothing could mar this moment, until she heard a familiar voice say, "Pardon me," She felt John stiffen, as did she.
John turned and faced Craven, who said, "Might I have a word with you?"
"Certainly," John replied.
"In private."
Now what? Lydia wondered. John glanced at her, gave her a tender look, stopped to speak briefly with S. J., and walked out of the room with Craven.
14
If you don't mind my speaking personally," John said when he joined S. J. in the library, where they had agreed to meet after dinner.
"I consider us friends, John." His cheeks dimpled. "And judging from dinner conversation, along with my mother's comments this afternoon, my children will be involved in your wedding."
John sat in the armchair near his new friend. "S. J., I fully intended to ask if you would be my best man."
S. J. must have judged by his face that something had changed. "But?"
"That's what Craven wanted. You see, when Lydia and I became engaged I asked him. He was furious, said it was against his and her father's best judgment."
"But he changed his mind?"
John nodded. "He has reconsidered. And his going along with this will help me and Lydia remain in her father's good graces. He's willing—" John couldn't help his sarcastic tone, "willing to suffer through being the best man if I'm still so inclined."
"And are you?"
John's fingers toyed with the soft material covering the chair arm. "I am and I'm not. Since he's realized Lydia and I are really serious about each other, his attitude has been contrary to what I'd consider the attitude of a man wanting the best for a woman he loves, even if it isn't him. If I believed Lydia loved Craven, I would want her to be with him. Mind you, it would break my heart."
S. J.'s demeanor was serious. "I might understand him better than you."
"What do you mean?"
"Craven had everything to gain until you came into the picture. Now he has everything to lose."
John scoffed, "I'm not taking anything from him. Lydia chose me."
"There's more at stake. When her name is talked about in our—" his face dimpled, "our circles, she's spoken of as the Beaumont Railroad heiress. Who is John Ancell when he becomes the husband of the heiress?"
"Are you talking down to me, S. J.?"
"Not at all. I'll share this with you. I've proved myself as a novelist, but I might never have had my first book published were it not for my mother's name and my father's background. This is the world we live in."
"I don't care about that."
"I believe you. That's one thing I admire about you. But you see, once you become Cyril Beaumont's son-in-law, he will ensure your status is elevated."
John was doubtful. "He says I have ingenious ideas. But I know when he says 'toy maker,' he means a nobody."
"You're right. But with the publicity you'll get from this wedding, Cyril Beaumont will hold his lapels, throw back his shoulders, and proudly proclaim you as his son-in-law. Then you're like Molly, accepted among the nouveau riche."
John laughed. "I rather think he'd disinherit her and disown me."
"And how would that make him look, after the romantic wedding of the century?"
John got his point. "I do believe you think like a novelist."
S. J. nodded and a sadness crossed his face. "Yes. And like a man who married the most wonderful woman in the world who was considered beneath his station."
John hadn't known that part. He remembered the novel. It had had an impact on him. He felt regret for S. J.'s loss, but returned to the subject at hand.
"Perhaps I will be accepted publicly, but as I've been reminded many times, my trains are just toys."
S. J. nodded. "Can't you imagine that Ismay's and Andrews's first ships were little wooden boats with a paper sail, perhaps in a rain puddle? Incidentally, my first novel was written when I was five years old, and it consisted of three lines. Once upon a time there was a boy. He didn't like his tutor. He shot him."
S. J. laughed. "Been eliminating my characters ever since. And the public loves it."
John knew that was true, considering his wide acclaim.
"Getting back to the toys," S. J. said, "If Cyril Beaumont and Craven Dowd weren't aware of what can come of toys, you wouldn't be near their company, nor I daresay, eating at the captain's table."
John scoffed, "I'd be in steerage, perhaps."
"Mmm, maybe second class. For your information, I've been down to—" He glanced around and said "second class" as if saying a dirty word. John knew he was kidding, and yet they were both aware even second class was a dirty word to some of the more elite.
"Seriously, John. There are quite a few writers and artists down there. I doubt you'd have time to join me there since you'll be honeymooning for the rest of the trip."
"Perhaps in New York."
"That's possible," S. J. replied. "Negotiations have already taken place over the wireless between Abington and my London publisher. However," he said congenially, "let's get together in New York if at all possible. Perhaps with some of the writers on the ship. Incidentally, many second-class passengers would be first class on another ship, such as the Mauretania or the Olympic."
That was interesting. "I didn't know that. But I haven't crossed before and didn't pay my own passage."
S. J. showed no surprise. He likely assumed Beaumont would have done that. "You must really be a genius."
"No," John said. "Just a dreamer."
"And sometimes," S. J. replied, "dreams come true."
Sometimes, crossed John's mind. A short while ago at dinner remarks were made about the wonders of the ship never ceasing to amaze even those accustomed to the world's best. He thought it was Daley who quipped, "This is almost too good to be true."
But it was true. John had found his dream wife. S. J. had lost his. He had her forever in a book, but that wouldn't keep him warm at night, wouldn't both hasten and still the beat of his heart.
Now, without questioning, John would savor the reality of love and happiness with the one who would make him complete, on this ship of dreams.
15
Lydia didn't want to offend anyone by hurrying away from the À la Carte, and showed her ring to all who approached her. But there was so much to do.
Before Caroline left the À la Carte, she'd said, "Do you want help with anything? Like the invitation, music, order of the ceremony, anything particular in the vows, rice thrown at you?"
Lydia laughed. "I'll forego the rice." She sobered quickly. "I'd love your help."
Caroline nodded and said she wanted to get a breath of air and hoped her lungs didn't freeze in the process, and that she would then be on the promenade deck or in her room.
William had walked over. He nodded to Lydia and spoke to Caroline, "Let's take that walk, my dear. Seems many of the fellows are occupied with plans for an upcoming wedding."
"Oh, but you will have your brandy and cigars?" Caroline asked.
"To be sure," William said. "What's the end of a great evening without a visit to the smoking lounge?"
Caroline rolled her eyes for Lydia only, and they grinned. William offered his arm, and they left the À La Carte.
Lydia sought the Astors to thank them.
They were delighted about the wedding. "Lydia, you have made this crossing anything but boring." Madeleine's lips pursed slightly as she glanced coyly at her husband. "Rather wish I'd thought of it."
They laughed lightly, and after casting an adoring glance at his wife, John Jacob said, "Our staff and the ship's staff will handle everything about the reception. So don't give that a thought."
"Unless," Madeleine added, "you want anything in particular."
"I'm sure I couldn't think of anything more delightful than what you will do. Thank you so much."
"Our pleasure," the two said together.
Soon, Lydia rushed out to meet Caroline. She and William stood at the railing. Slowing her steps, Lydia viewed the calm sea and thought how smooth the surface looked, reminding her of how things were working out for her and John—so much better than they could have imagined.
She became aware of William's resonant voice. "Perhaps we should renew our vows on this ship. Astor might throw in a substantial gift."
He laughed, as though it was a joke.
Caroline did not laugh. "We have more than we need, William."
"But you've never minded the extras, I daresay."
Lydia wondered if she should continue her approach. She sensed contention, not jesting, in his tone.
"Did you see how they looked at each other?" Caroline's words barely reached Lydia. "Have we ever had that kind of expression in our eyes, William?"
He turned to Caroline, but she turned her face away. Was she afraid of what she might see in his eyes? Surely they had been in love.
"Have I not been a good husband to you, Caroline?"
Caroline's focus fell on Lydia, who hoped it might appear she had just walked up.
Caroline's gaze moved to her husband, and she smiled. "Of course, William. You are the perfect husband. Oh, here's Lydia." She reached out her hand. "We were just talking about you. So impressed with young love." She glanced at William as she moved away from him. "Lydia and I are off to plan the most exciting event this ship could offer. And you might be thinking about a wedding gift, William."
As they walked away, Lydia insisted, "No gifts for us, Caroline."
"I was just ribbing William about something."
Lydia smiled. Yes, ribbing him about wanting to receive a gift instead of give. Caroline was a woman after her own heart.
"Brrrr." Caroline shivered. "It's much cooler tonight than last."
"Decidedly," Lydia agreed. "I'll turn on the heater in my sitting room."
Caroline paused at the door of her stateroom. "Let me get out of this corset so I can breathe." She shook her head. "Men want their women to look as trim as the day they married them. But do they give a thought to their own—" She made a curved motion at her stomach. They both laughed.
"Some men do wear corsets, Caroline."
"Yes, you're right. William doesn't." She opened her door. "I'll be right over."
"I'll get more comfortable too. A change of shoes wouldn't hurt, either."
"Exactly!" Caroline's finger gestured to her pointed-toe shoes.
Soon they were in comfortable dresses, and designing invitations. Along with them were a couple of notes formally inviting Phoebe and Henry to be attendants.
"I think Phoebe would like such a note as a memento," Lydia said.
"What about me? Don't you think I want a keepsake?"
"Of course," Lydia said playfully. "You took the words right out of my mouth."
"Mmmhmm," Caroline murmured as Lydia wrote the note. Soon Marcella had all the notes, which she would give to a steward, who would deliver them to the printing office.
"I'll also need thank-you notes for after the wedding."
Caroline thought a moment. "Let me do that. It could be to all who attended, just as the invitation is to everyone. After you arrive in New York, you could send notes to those who were a part of this in a special way, such as the Astors."
"Yes," Lydia said. "I would like to give a token of my appreciation. Not even free passage on a Beaumont train would be impressive after having sailed on this ship."
Caroline lifted a dainty finger. "What about a toy train?"
"Perfect!"
They laughed together at the irony of how such a gift would be something most wouldn't have and that it might serve as an intriguing conversation piece. And it would represent John's expertise, not her father's money.
Marcella returned and poured tea for them.
"You do know," Caroline said, stirring sugar into her tea, "you and John are going to be the toast of New York." Her eyes widened. "All of America, in fact."
"Oh, you're being fanciful."
Caroline shook her head. "Not at all. This will be greater news than John Astor stepping off the ship in New York. Or even Ismay and Andrews."
Lydia couldn't hold back her giggle.
"A bride. What sparks the imagination like a wedding?" She answered her own question, "Nothing. The whole world loves romance."
Lydia heaved a sigh as her eyes roamed the sitting room, admiring its elegant furnishings, fireplace, and original paintings. "This is like a fairy tale."
"Better," Caroline said. "Better even than royalty."
"Oh, I think not. Your wedding must have been grand."
It was common knowledge the Chadwicks were royalty and their fortunes had been handed down over many generations. Lydia heard that King Edward had attended their wedding.
"Yes, the wedding was grand," Caroline said softly. She toyed with the huge diamond on her finger. "I never had to make a choice. We've always accepted that we are well-matched. And of course, I love him. He's my husband. William was simply the one for me."
Lydia nodded. "My father and family acquaintances, with the exception of a couple of young friends, feel Craven is the one for me." She described him, as if Caroline didn't know: "A great catch. The right background. Compatible with me in every way. And I like Craven's looks."
Caroline's nod and grin seemed to say she did too.
Lydia added, "His ability to run the company, the way he impresses my father, his impeccable manners, his gentlemanly attributes, his intelligence."
"Oh, my," Caroline said. "Perhaps we should cancel the wedding or change the groom."
"Not a chance."
"All right." Caroline set her cup and saucer on the side table, then folded her hands on her lap. "Now tell me, how does John compare?"
What was it about John? He wasn't as highly educated as Craven or other possible suitors, nor as up on politics or world events, and owned no stock at all, although he was being advised to consider such now that he was in negotiation with Beaumont.
"I'm not completely delusional," she said. "I don't want to live poorly. I can't imagine anyone would. But John isn't poor. Compared to my father and Craven and others here, yes." Caroline and William would be among that group.
"So," she said with a tilt of her chin, "can John compare with Craven?" She answered her own question, "Not at all."
Caroline touched her lips with her fingers as if to stifle a laugh.
"Oh, in looks he can. Of course, he doesn't have that mature look of Craven. But he's so handsome. Did you ever see such vivid blue eyes?"
"Only on you, when you speak of him or look at him," Caroline said.
Seeing Caroline's enjoyment, she took it further. "So why do I want John?"
She felt the joy, the shiver of warmth, the feeling that swept over her. John, without any worldly possessions to speak of, touched her heart. "John thrills me. Excites me, makes me feel more loved than ever in my life." She added tentatively, "He quotes poetry to me."
Caroline's eyebrows moved up, and the smile remained on her lips.
"All I know is, it's a feeling, a knowing, that you want to be part of that person, share a life with them, raise a family." Realizing she should have asked this sooner, Lydia said, "Do you have children?"
"Not of my own." Caroline looked at her tea cup. Then she focused on Lydia again. "I've had three miscarriages. William decided not to put me through that again."
Caroline took a sip of tea, then smiled with her lips, if not her eyes. But as she talked, her hazel eyes softened, as did her voice, "I have children in orphanages where I've volunteered. I dearly love children. But—"
She seemed to change her mind about what she might say and nodded to Marcella, who brought over the teapot. "We can talk after you're an old married woman. For now, let's concentrate on your wedding."
Her being childless seemed a difficult subject for Caroline to discuss. Lydia
had considered mentioning her condition to Caroline, thinking she'd understand and even be happy for her. Now she knew that might only make Caroline sad.
"Are you just visiting America, or will you and John make your home there?"
"That's not been decided yet."
"Oh, Lydia," Caroline said. "I'm so glad we met. Let's make a point to remain friends."
"I'd love that," Lydia said sincerely.
"Now, let's make sure we have everything planned." She lifted her tea cup. "To love."
With a delighted laugh, Lydia touched Caroline's cup with her own.
16
Caroline wondered at her strange thought when William stepped into the bedroom where Bess was brushing her hair. He looked into the reflection of her eyes. "Bess may leave for the night unless you have further need of her."
"No, that will be all. Good night, Bess."
"Good night, ma'am, sir." She laid the ivory brush on the dressing table, and William picked it up.
Caroline pondered her thought.
They all smell the same. Like smoke and brandy.
Not that she minded. That was among the least of the facts of life she'd accepted. But here on this ship, her senses seemed keener. Everything was so new.
No other woman, besides servants and workers, would have looked into that mirror. And they, not to groom themselves. Now she and William were there, like a moving photograph. His fingers played gently with her hair as he smoothed it with strokes of the brush. He enjoyed doing that, so she kept it shoulder length.
"I especially wanted to bring you on this trip," he said. "This is living, Caroline. We're in a new age. Lights and autos. My autos will be known throughout the world."
Yours?
Yes, of course they were his, and had proved to be profitable. Her main goal had been to have a family. But not being able to, she'd sought to be useful.
But she must stop thinking about what she couldn't have. Right here, right now, she had all the opulence the world had to offer. There could be nothing grander. And she said so.
William smiled and laid the brush down. His hand moved to her shoulders, which he gently massaged. She thought he was in an amorous mood.
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