How to Please a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  After supper, Charlie suggested they go on the deck; the air below was stagnant and, if not completely foul, then unpleasant. Many of the other passengers were on deck, too, but it was rather cold and most didn’t last long.

  “I very nearly ruined everything, didn’t I?” Rose asked when they were standing alone at the rail.

  “But you covered nicely, my . . . wife.” Charlie let out a silent curse. Calling Rose my lady was so ingrained, it was beyond difficult to break the habit.

  Rose wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her coat close. “It’s rather chilly.”

  “We’ll go below soon.”

  “I don’t mind. The air is so clean. It reminds me of vacationing in Brighton when I was a girl.” She was silent a long time before she said, “I’m not doing very well, am I?”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  She shook her head. “No, I am not, but I shall try harder. Charlie, why are you going to work in a restaurant? You’re a groom, the finest one in Birmingham. Did you not enjoy your work?”

  Charlie looked down at his hands gripping the railing. “I did. Very much. But I suppose I wanted more. I never would have been anything other than a head groom, and I’m only twenty-five. Now I can be or do whatever I want.”

  “And what do you want to be?”

  “Rich,” he said without hesitation. “Very, very rich.”

  Chapter 7

  Be careful in conversation to avoid topics which may be supposed to have any direct reference to events or circumstances which may be painful for your companion to hear discussed....

  —From The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness

  Though Rose was exhausted, she could not sleep. The throb of the engine and the absolute darkness inside the cabin were driving her a bit mad. Because of the danger of fire, oil lamps were not allowed lit after nine at night. At home, a lowered gaslight was always lit, providing a sliver of light beneath her door, and the only noise she was likely to hear was the sound of crickets outside her window. And she was cold, even wearing her jacket. One would think the ship would provide the bare necessities, such as a blanket and pillow, but those luxuries were reserved for first class.

  “Charlie, are you awake?”

  “No.”

  She smiled. “I do apologize, but I cannot sleep and I was wondering how you were managing it. It’s the engine, you see. The noise.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  Rose stared up at the bottom of his bunk, unhappy with his reply. She would not get used to it and supposed she would not sleep for eight nights.

  “Charlie.”

  He grunted, and that was enough to encourage Rose to ask her question.

  “Are you frightened?”

  She heard a rustling sound and a thump as Charlie jumped down from his bunk. “I am a bit,” he said, his voice so close she knew he had to be sitting on the floor next to her, his back to her bunk. “But I’m excited, too. My uncle wrote that a lot of blokes don’t have jobs and I’m one lucky son of... lucky man. It will be strange not being in England; it’s all I’ve ever known. In New York, there’s all kinds of people. Italians, Germans, Irish, Greek. English, too. All there to find a better life. Sometimes I think there might not be enough better life in America so that we can all find it.”

  Rose turned on her side and reached out her hand to touch the top of his head. When she was very small, she use to beg Charlie to let her touch his hair and he almost always relented. She called it dandelion fluff because his blond curls were so fluffy and soft, and would pretend to blow the seeds away and make a wish. It was comforting in a way to reach out and touch that softness, that familiar sensation. “You have such lovely hair,” she said, moving her fingers as if she were lightly kneading bread. She blew and closed her eyes. “I just made a wish.”

  He chuckled before saying, “It’s a curse. But girls do seem to like it, so I suppose I’ll keep it.”

  She batted him lightly on the head. “Charlie Avery, such vanity. And you shouldn’t speak of other girls when you’re here with your wife.” She laid her hand on his head again. “It’s not fair you should have such lovely soft curls.”

  “You have curls,” he pointed out, his voice sounding oddly hoarse.

  “But not as pretty as yours,” she teased. She was silent for a moment, mulling over all her troubles, her fears. “It’s a distinct possibility that Mr. Cartwright will send me packing and I’ll return to England in disgrace.”

  “Is that your biggest fear?”

  “No,” she said, removing her hand from his hair. “Being forced to marry Weston despite my running away. That’s my biggest fear.”

  Charlie turned so that his arm rested on the bed. It was so dark in the room she couldn’t even see the glint of his eyes, but she could sense he was looking at her. “I won’t let that happen,” he said in a tone she’d never heard him use before. “If I had the power, I would make sure he never married anyone.”

  Rose frowned. “I daresay there isn’t much you could do if Mr. Cartwright does send me away, though I can’t imagine Weston would still want me after this humiliation. If he finds out. There is a distinct possibility I’ll be home before he even knows I’m missing. He mentioned he was going to London for several weeks and wouldn’t return until just before the wedding. Knowing my mother, she will do everything in her power to keep my disappearance from him.”

  “Surely your parents cannot keep it a secret for too long.”

  “They are very determined for me to marry Weston. He’s a duke, Charlie. I very much fear I’ve made a terrible enemy; I pray my parents do not bear the brunt of my actions. It was a selfish thing of me to have done.”

  Rose felt her hand suddenly engulfed in his. “You mustn’t say that, Rose. You are not some sacrificial lamb to be offered to that ogre. Is it selfish to want to be happy?”

  “At the expense of everyone else, yes.”

  He pressed her hand against his beard-roughened cheek and Rose stilled. It felt lovely and safe, but somehow far too intimate in this small, dark place. Fortunately, he dropped her hand quickly and turned back around so that he was facing the wall again. Rose hesitated before touching the top of his head again, but the lure of those soft curls was just too much.

  “This man you’re wanting to marry. Is he kind?”

  Rose smiled. “He seemed so. And Marcus likes him, and you know how difficult he is to please.” She rested her head on her hand, wishing she had thought to bring a pillow. “I realize it seems a bit mad to travel across the ocean expecting to marry a man one hardly knows.”

  “Just a wee bit,” Charlie said, sounding as if he were half asleep, but when she dropped her hand from his head, he gave a small protest until she returned it.

  “Do you think this is a terrible sin, Charlie?”

  “Touching a man’s hair is perhaps the most sinful of things. So, yes.”

  “Ha,” Rose said. “You know what I meant. I meant me, sharing a room with you. Pretending to be married. Lying. All sins.”

  “But not bad sins, Rose. Not sins that will make God too angry. And I think He’ll understand your reasons.”

  “This is the most sinful thing I’ve ever done. Oh, I forgot disobeying my parents. Thou shall honor thy mother and thy father. I’m breaking a commandment.”

  “A commandment created by man, not by God.”

  “Charlie, that’s not true. Is it?” She could tell he shrugged. “I’ll pray extra hard. If I were a Catholic, I’d just tell my sins to a priest and that would be that. Sometimes I think the Church of England should implement something similar. I suppose if God wants to punish me, He’ll make me return to England and marry Weston.”

  Charlie chuckled. “Rose.”

  “Very good, Charlie,” Rose said. “That’s the second time you’ve called me Rose this evening. Yes, what is it?” She could feel him breathe, in, out, in, out. Whatever he wanted to say was apparently not easy.

  “What
happens between a man and a woman who love one another, or who are at least kind, can be lovely. I wanted you to know that so you wouldn’t fear your wedding night if this man does agree to marry you. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  Rose’s throat squeezed shut, more from the way Charlie said those words, with quiet conviction and a concern that truly touched her, than from the words themselves. If the rumors about Daniel Cartwright were true, she would not have a wedding night, which was exactly why she’d chosen him. She’d spent long hours lying in her bed, trying to think of a way out of marrying the duke. Many young women married men they did not care for. But not many married men they feared.

  Weston did not love her and she most certainly did not love him. But did that give her the right to do what she had done?

  “I’m not afraid,” Rose said finally. “Not now.”

  She was lying, Charlie knew she was. He let it go because he was hesitant to say anything that would stop her soft, warm hand from caressing his head. He knew she didn’t realize it was a caress. Likely, it was just as calming to her as it was to him, but he was damn sure it wasn’t nearly as erotic. If she knew that her simple innocent touch was driving him mad with need, she’d never touch him again. It was the worst sort of torture, but one he was willing to endure. For a lifetime. He could stay where he was forever, sitting on this cold, damp floor, listening to her talk as she threaded her hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and tried not to picture her hand other places, but he was no saint. Then again, maybe he was.

  Charlie had been taught the art of pleasing a woman—and it was an art—by a young widow who found him, as she put it, full of endless energy. For a long time, Charlie thought all women were like Rhonda Smithers, finding as much pleasure in the bedroom as he did. And Lord above knew he did. He hadn’t been with Rhonda for more than a year, since she’d left for Cornwall to care for her ailing mother, and as he wasn’t one to seduce innocent women or cuckold married men, it had been a while since he’d enjoyed the pleasure of a woman.

  “Charlie, how do you know?”

  Charlie tensed a bit. “Know what?”

  “You know, with a woman. I didn’t know you had a sweetheart.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old, Rose.”

  She let out a sound that very much resembled a snort. “That’s not an answer.”

  “That’s all the answer you’re getting.”

  She pulled his hair just enough to sting, and he smiled. When they reached New York, they would say good-bye, and it was unlikely they would ever see each other again even if she frequented Delmonico’s with her new husband. He’d be working in the kitchens and storeroom, not out front, though his uncle had said if he were “as pretty” as his father was when he was young, the owner just might promote him to waiter. Charlie had no desire to be a waiter or anything at Delmonico’s for long; a man didn’t get rich working in a restaurant.

  That first night aboard ship set the pattern for much of the journey. The two would talk late into the night until exhaustion finally overtook Rose and she was able to fall asleep. Charlie would take up his position on the floor, their heads close together so they wouldn’t have to shout, and talk about what they thought New York would be like, books Rose had read, their childhood adventures. So many conversations started with Rose saying, “Remember the time . . .” Many times, Charlie hadn’t remembered until she related the story.

  “Charlie.”

  She’d been silent for perhaps ten seconds. Rose knew she was likely driving the poor man crazy with her talking, but he never complained or hinted she was bothering him. She simply couldn’t bear to lie there listening to the throbbing engine. She’d imagine it sounded as if it were saying something, like Go home, Go home, Go home. And no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t make it stop.

  “Yes, Rose.”

  She smiled. There was something about the way he said her name, a certain hesitation that told her he still resisted calling her by her given name.

  “Remember the time I caught you in the loft with our governess?”

  “Now that’s one I remember. You saved me from a terrible mistake, Rose. I was only seventeen and Miss Talbot had found herself in a difficult situation.”

  “Do you mean what I think you mean?” she asked, more shocked than she could express. Miss Talbot had been such a stickler about propriety, and as a little girl, finding her alone with Charlie hadn’t really been Rose’s concern. Finding her sitting on a pile of hay in the middle of the day when she was supposed to be preparing Rose’s lesson was the true shock.

  “Yes. She was let go shortly after, remember?”

  “Do you mean to say she was already enceinte and she was trying to make you think that you . . . Oh, that’s terrible. Why you?”

  Charlie laughed. “Because I was seventeen, had a decent enough position, and I was ready and willing. And she was a very desperate lady.”

  “Really, Charlie, have you no shame?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he said with mock affront. “She was trying to entrap me.”

  “But you were willing. That sort of activity outside the confines of marriage is a sin.”

  “Not a very big one and not one very many people avoid. And of course, who wouldn’t be willing?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Rose said, sounding a bit more morose than she’d meant.

  “You’ll change your mind about all that, no doubt.”

  Rose wondered if she would. It was highly unlikely, given that just the thought of kissing a man made her slightly ill. Unfortunately, every time she tried to picture it, she saw Weston’s leering face, his too-thick lips, his . . . She squeezed her eyes closed as if that would banish the images. It was just as well she wasn’t going to have to worry about kissing and men and all that bedroom activity. If Mr. Cartwright was indeed not interested in women. What would she do if it turned out all those rumors were wrong and he still wanted to marry her? Not two days ago, she’d congratulated herself on being the cleverest woman she knew when she’d come up with her plan. “I do believe my mind is made up,” she announced with certainty.

  “That’s because you’ve never wanted to be with someone. When you do, you’ll change your mind.”

  “I never will.”

  She heard a rustling sound that meant Charlie was turning to look at her. “What about when you are married?”

  Rose’s face heated. “I really do not want to discuss this any further,” she said, sounding very prim. “It is a highly improper conversation.”

  “Even with your husband?” Charlie asked, clearly teasing.

  “You are not my husband, thank God.” Charlie turned around suddenly and Rose had the feeling she had hurt him. “I didn’t mean that to sound quite so awful.”

  “No matter. I’ve thicker skin than that.” But he sounded off, and Rose frowned.

  “I’d make a terrible wife in truth, Charlie. I don’t know how to cook or clean or do any of those other things a husband demands.” Rose found herself wincing. She had not meant that to come out quite the way it had, and found herself quickly explaining to a silent, inscrutable man. “That’s not what I meant. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to. With you. But of course I don’t. It’s nothing against you. You’re a fine-looking man and I imagine any woman would . . . Oh, God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying more.

  “My lady,” Charlie said, putting things to rights by using her title. “I know what you meant.”

  “Do you? Because I don’t. Oh, Charlie, I’m so confused.”

  He chuckled, and Rose resisted the urge to give him a smack.

  “You’ve been through something, Rose,” he said quietly. “And it’s going to take some time to get over it. But someday quite soon, you’ll be back to your old self, kissing your beau and looking forward to walking out with your new fiancé.”

  Rose snorted. “Kissing a beau.”

  Charlie turned back around and said quite near, “
What is so amusing?”

  “Nothing,” Rose said quickly.

  “You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

  “Of course I’ve been kissed.”

  “Where?” Charlie demanded, clearly not believing her.

  “At my ball,” she said with a small sniff. “And other places, of course.”

  “Not where as a place, but where on your person? Cheeks and hands don’t count.”

  “Oh,” Rose said, slightly crestfallen. “Then I’ve been kissed a dozen times at least.”

  “Liar.”

  “Charlie Avery, how dare you say such a thing? You are hardly in a position to know whom I have kissed and whom I have not kissed.”

  “True enough,” he said, sounding rather grumpy.

  Rose let out a sigh. “I was lying. I haven’t been kissed.” This was said so quietly, Rose was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  “I thought so.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him even though it was far too dark for him to see. “It’s all a bit of nonsense at any rate. Kissing and romance and all that. It’s nothing I’m interested in. Not one bit. When Weston showed interest in me, I was so relieved I wouldn’t have to participate in the husband search any longer. I pity girls who fancy themselves in love.”

  “Do you really?” He sounded almost sad.

  “Of course. For one, it’s impractical, especially for the aristocracy. Marriage is a business matter, an arrangement. Love only complicates everything.”

  “You sound like you’re repeating something you’ve heard a dozen times, Rose. You cannot truly believe that. What of your brother and his wife?”

  “Marcus?”

  “No, Adam. He and his wife seem to like each other enough.”

  Rose pursed her lips; Charlie was right. Adam and Georgette loved each other madly. Marcus, on the other hand, did not seem nearly as happy in his marriage. Still, she recalled his courtship and it certainly had seemed as if he and his fiancée had adored one another. “I suppose they do,” she said reluctantly. “But they are newly married. I rarely see couples who’ve been married for any length of time staring into one another’s eyes like lovesick calves. I’ve never seen my parents touch each other in affection and certainly never saw them kiss.”