By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  Amelia opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, C.J. walked away with quickened steps. With each step Amelia felt the tension in her rise. Why had she hesitated?

  C.J. exited the room, but instead of relief at seeing him go, the truth grew in her mouth, pressing to be released. If only she could tell him.

  If she were in their shoes, she’d want to know. Quentin was a drowning man. How could he succeed in America with nothing, no one? He didn’t want her to toss him a lifeline, but she knew his father and brother could be just that to him.

  “Damien, I have to tell you something.” The words spilled from her lips. “I have to tell you. I cannot hold it in. Quentin is here. He’s on the ship. That was when I met him, just yesterday … that’s how I am certain he’s well.

  His breath rushed out in a ragged gust. “Oh no.” He propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands.

  “I promised him I wouldn’t tell your father or you, but you need to know. You need to help him. He’s so thin. He was in rags when I first met him.”

  Damien reached out his hand and took hers. He tenderly ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. “You did the right thing by not telling my father. My father has faced more loss because of my brother than anyone should. Quin most likely wanted to get back to America so he could work himself into my father’s life. If you care for anything right and good, you will urge Quin to let my father be. He’s already faced enough heartache—“

  “But wouldn’t it help to see him?” she interrupted.

  “You don’t understand. You don’t know my brother. He will cry and say he’s been a fool, but as soon as the social circles press, or as soon as anyone questions where he’s been and what he’s done, he’ll be gone. He’ll disappear just as he did before. I’m not sure my father’s heart could take that.”

  She nodded, and sadly she had a feeling Damien was right. She’d seen how Quentin tried to keep everyone at arm’s length. Even when he’d sought her out, there had been a barrier there, as if he wanted to get close but was fearful of that very thing.

  Damien cleared his throat. “I appreciate your telling me, Amelia.” He offered her the beginning of a smile. “That means you trust me. And I will do what I can to not violate your trust.”

  She gazed at him, taking in the handsome man and his fine suit. She looked around the room at the people in their expensive clothes. “Give God a chance to guide your heart,” Aunt Neda had said, but here … how could this be part of God’s plan?

  A dining steward cleared their empty plates, and Damien rose. He was solemn, but Amelia could tell he wanted to finish off the evening well for her. “Would you like to have dessert at the Café Parisien? I hear the orchestra will be playing in the reception room there.”

  “Yes, of course, I would love it.”

  A few minutes later, they entered the Parisien, and Amelia sucked in a breath. It was decorated like a French café with wicker chairs and large picture windows.

  “Did you know the Prince of Wales is in Paris as we speak?” Damien asked.

  “Yes, actually. He invited me to go with him, but I told him I didn’t want to be civilized. I decided to travel to the United States instead.”

  Damien chuckled. “I beg your pardon. Are you saying Americans are uncivilized?” “Not all Americans. Not you.”

  Amelia touched her stomach. She felt bad that she’d told Damien about his brother. Wasn’t he concerned about Quentin? How could he hear that his brother was on board and act as if nothing had changed?

  Her stomach tightened into a knot, and she wanted to excuse herself. But where could she go? If she walked the decks, she could run into Quentin. She didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to explain why she’d betrayed his confidence.

  She also knew if she returned to their room her aunt would want to hear every detail about their evening. Maybe if she stayed out a bit longer, her aunt would be snoring, and Amelia could slip into bed without too much fuss.

  A dining steward approached, and Damien ordered vanilla éclairs for them both. When the steward walked away, he placed his cloth napkin on his lap and looked at her with a soft smile. “I wonder if the éclairs are as good as my favorite café not far from the Louvre. Then again, I hope the baker here treats us more kindly. You should have seen that other man’s outburst when my father left part of his pastry on his plate,” he said, launching into a story.

  She studied Damien’s calm appearance and wondered if he was more bothered than he was letting on. Seeing his indifference made her wary of any emotions that he expressed. Did Quentin know this was how his brother would react?

  I shouldn’t have said anything. What was I thinking?

  Amelia’s hand trembled as she added cream and sugar to her coffee. The steward returned with their desserts, and nearly as soon as he set them down, she took a bite of her pastry. She needed something to distract her. Something to focus on other than her worries. The pastry was light and sweet, but in her mouth it felt as dry and tasteless as cobblestone. Why did I tell him? What have I done?

  She glanced up, meeting his eyes, noticing that his face was lit with color. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, wondering if she had food on her face or if she had done something else to embarrass him.

  “It is all right to eat this pastry with a fork, isn’t it?”

  When he didn’t respond her eyes widened. “Or did I say something? Do something?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that you aren’t saying anything. I was wondering if I was a bore.”

  “No, no not at all. I just … well, I shouldn’t have told you about your brother. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Telling you about Quentin being on the ship … and with your father finding out.”

  “My father won’t find out.”

  “Really?”

  “I won’t tell him. I refuse. My brother chose to walk away. He chose his own path. I told Quentin it was a mistake when he left. I told him I wouldn’t chase him.”

  Unblinking, she stared at him. “And you don’t think he’ll seek your father out?”

  A curt laugh burst from Damien’s lips. “And reveal once and for all how he lost everything? How he ended up on the streets with nothing?”

  “Then you know?”

  “Everyone in our circle knows. There are many eyes on us always, Amelia. The eyes of those of the same status. And then common people, too—those who look to us with awe, wishing they could live our lifestyle.”

  She set down her fork and leaned closer. Her body felt hot, flushed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from anger at how Damien treated his brother or sadness that Quentin had lost so much—by his own hand. Then again, what did she know, being one of those “common people”?

  Damien’s face flushed even deeper. “I’m not heartless. I don’t hate Quin for what he’s done. Sometimes he gets into trouble … with the law, with owing money to the wrong people. I’ve helped him in—” He paused. “Never mind.” Damien took a sip from his water. “Just forget I said anything.”

  She nodded, but she also knew she wouldn’t forget. Damien cared for his brother without Quentin’s knowing. Had he paid off bad debts? Had he assisted his brother in other ways?

  She looked deeper into his eyes and noticed something new. She saw anger and maybe a bit of relief.

  “He’s not all bad.” Damien sighed. “Quentin is just lost.”

  Damien glanced from her to the paneled ceiling.

  She understood then why Damien hadn’t been peppering her with questions. He didn’t say anything, because he was relieved that he knew where his younger brother was sleeping tonight.

  Her heart warmed at that thought. Maybe she was being too hard on him. Maybe she should just enjoy spending an evening with a handsome man.

  Amelia picked up her fork again. “You mentioned the Louvre. Did you go there? I would love to go someday. But now, going to America, I doubt I�
�ll get the chance.

  Damien fixed his gaze on her again. Relief flooded his face. “Maybe someday. You never know what the future holds, Amelia.” He smiled. “And to answer your question, I greatly enjoyed the Louvre, although there was far too much to see in one day. The Mona Lisa was the highlight of the trip.” He chuckled. “But I guess that’s what everyone says.”

  “I’m so glad she found her way back to the Louvre.”

  “I know! I couldn’t believe it when I heard she’d been stolen. And for her to be gone for so many months. Was it three months?”

  “No, nearly six.” His face shone with excitement as he talked. “But I said from the beginning that she’d be found. I knew the thief would try to sell her, and when he did the end would be near for him.”

  As if punctuating Damien’s words, beautiful music filled the air. It was a popular American tune that she often heard her neighbor playing in Southampton. Amelia tapped her toe to the beat.

  “So true.” She glanced around, noticing that the musicians had moved just outside the doors of the café. Crowds followed the music—long lines strolled in from the decks and from the dining room, packing into the smaller space—and she understood why. The musicians’ skill was like none she’d ever heard. Yet the more people entered, the more she noticed something else, too.

  As he talked about his knowledge of how the thief had gotten away with the perfect crime, Damien took on a new air. He sat straighter, talked with more conviction. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the conversation that had stirred him. Maybe it was the people. Rich people that everyone in the room seemed to know. She was never one to keep up with their adventures that the newspapers loved to commentate on.

  From the corner of his eyes, Damien seemed to be watching the first-class crowds as much as they were watching him. Even though she sat across the table from him, she no longer felt as if they were on a date. Damien seemed to be courting the whole room.

  Was this how the wealthy lived? Enjoying fine foods and exquisite music and studying each other—wooing each other with their manner in hopes of gaining everyone’s approval?

  French waiters served coffee and pastries to the other guests. They moved in and out of the kitchen with quickened steps through the revolving doors. Amelia wondered if the attendants were used to this display. She guessed if they spent any time serving first class, they were. Had her mother noticed?

  “You know, Amelia,” Damien continued, interrupting her thoughts, “if I believe in one thing most of all, it’s doing what is right. The thief who stole the Mona Lisa will get what he deserved. Even those on this ship …” He glanced around. “They can act one way, but the truth of who they really are will always come out.”

  Is he talking about his brother?

  Amelia sat straighter in her cushioned chair, and a strange sensation came over her. What if … what if Quentin didn’t want anyone to know his whereabouts because he was in danger or feared being caught yet again hiding away on the ship?

  What if Damien went to the bridge and told the captain of his brother being on board? More than that, just how far would Damien go to make sure his father didn’t know of his youngest son’s presence?

  Would he sacrifice his brother to protect his father’s heart? His wealth?

  CHAPTER 12

  Damien was thankful Amelia had agreed to stroll the decks with him. Thankful for the quiet. Thankful to leave curious eyes behind. Dorothea had watched him from across the room. Others had, too. Who is this woman? He spotted the question in their eyes.

  And from those who knew that Amelia was from second class, he saw judgment, too. What is she doing on our deck? She doesn’t belong. To them, kindness and gentleness of heart were not traits to be valued. But after spending time with women who cared more about their latest custom hat than whether their cutting words wounded, Damien found Amelia a breath of fresh air. And she was beautiful in her own simple way.

  Damien eyed Amelia as she studied the deep, dark water. The light freckles on her nose beguiled him. He imagined her walking off this ship on his arm. He imagined taking her to his father’s estate and showing her the property, seeing the joy the beauty of the place would bring to her.

  He shook his head, wondering why he dreamed up such ideas. His chest grew heavy, as if Titanic’s anchor settled there. He didn’t know if he could continue on with the rest of the evening without telling her how he felt.

  “Amelia?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up to him, and he saw interest in her eyes. Perhaps the same emotions that were surging through him tossed around in her heart, too.

  “I know this sounds like a line, but being with you this evening is one of the best nights of my life.”

  She crossed her arms and pulled them to her. “Yes, Damien, I have to agree.” Her eyes blinked slowly, and a smile touched her lips. “I enjoyed it very much. Enjoyed getting to know you. You’re a very special person.”

  Her words—her contentment in being there with him—stirred something within he couldn’t contain. He lowered his lips to kiss hers. He touched her lips slightly. They were soft, cool from the night air. His heart exploded inside his chest. A rush of heat moved through his limbs.

  But instead of returning the kiss, she pulled back. Her face registered surprise, shock.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been too bold. I’m overstepping my bounds.”

  “Well, if you want me to disagree, I won’t. I haven’t spent time with someone like you before.” She swept her hand toward the room they’d just exited. “I am not accustomed to your lifestyle. I’m not sure how these women respond, but … I do not give my kisses away so freely. In fact, I don’t wish for that to happen again unless it’s with the man I plan on marrying.”

  “I’m sorry.” Heat drained from his face. “I never thought….” He let his words trail. Foolish, foolish. Most women were eager to accept his kisses, but they also understood and appreciated his standing and his bank account. A kiss to them meant access to both—or at least that was their hope. This woman seemed unconcerned with either. He liked that. He liked her. And at that moment, this was the woman he wanted more than any other. He’d let his shipmates entertain the women who had high standards and low morals. This was a woman to whom he wished to give his heart.

  “Tomorrow? Do you think we can meet again soon? Tomorrow for breakfast?”

  “I should spend some time with my aunt. I’m afraid she’s growing tired of engaging in conversation with strangers rather than her niece. But perhaps tomorrow afternoon … or maybe supper tomorrow night. You could come down to second class.” Her eyes studied him as she said that—as if she was testing him—but to Damien it made no sense. Why would he partake of an inferior meal when his first-class passage had already been covered?

  “Or we could try the A La Carte Restaurant. I hear that’s something,” he suggested.

  She nodded and bit her lip. “That’s in first class, isn’t it?”

  “It is. The meal there isn’t part of the ship’s fare; it’s an extra charge, but I imagine it’s worth it.”

  “I suppose that will work. Let me talk to my aunt and see if she has any plans,” Amelia said with a sigh.

  He noticed her breath when she spoke, and he saw her lips shudder.

  “We had better go inside,” he said softly. “We don’t want you to get a chill.”

  “Yes. Yes we should.” She quickly rubbed her arms.

  “Unless you would like to stay. I can offer you my jacket.” He unbuttoned the top button.

  “No.” She raised a flat hand toward him. “I’ll keep warm enough until we get inside.”

  Why did I waste so much time talking about Quentin? he wondered.

  He wanted to know her. Really know her better. Maybe then she’d take his jacket if he offered.

  He walked her from first-class down to second. People were dressed in their best clothes, too, yet their garments hardly compared to what she’d just seen in the first-class dining room. Music pl
ayed on this deck, too, and laughter was carried along with the melody through the halls.

  As they strolled by, Amelia’s eyes skittered to the second-class lounge. “If you’d like to stay, we can find some chairs inside. They have a three-piece orchestra that I’ve enjoyed greatly.” But as they entered, he noted a man in the far corner. He knew the back of Quentin’s head well enough that he recognized it even though he hadn’t seen his brother in five years, give or take. Maybe that sight was so familiar because as long as he could remember Quentin had always been walking away. Running away.

  Damien paused in the doorway. “Actually, I need to get back to where I belong. On my own deck.”

  “Oh, yes,” her voice was aloof. “I’m sure you are used to much grander furnishings.”

  He was about to tell her that wasn’t the case. He remembered the days when his family lived with little and struggled for their daily bread—before his father’s hard work paid off—but before Damien had a chance to explain, Quentin stirred in his seat as if he was going to stand. Damien took a step backward through the doorway.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” With that, he turned and strode off. He was not ready to face his brother. If luck had its way, they’d make it off this ship without meeting, without confrontation. For if he were ever to come face-to-face with Quentin, his brother would surely not like to hear what he had to say. He also couldn’t guarantee the encounter would stop at words alone.

  Damien balled his fists at his sides. His brother had ruined everything—more than once—and the years only fueled the fire flickering within.

  Amelia was halfway across the second-class lounge when she noticed Quentin seated at a table in a far corner. He sat with a group of older women, and from their bright faces, she could tell they were happily telling stories. Quentin threw back his head in laughter, and she paused. Joy filled her heart to see him like this—enjoying himself without a care in the world. Amelia found an empty chair nearby to watch. The tingle of Damien’s kiss was still on her lips, but her heart warmed when she saw Quentin’s smile.