“I’m sorry my outfit displeases your Lord so,” Henry replied, but he did not appear apologetic.
Sometimes, Eliana enjoyed the simplicity of an informal dinner with her husband and two small children; right now, she was more than satisfied that her children, who were taken to the Dining Saloon before she left for the Ritz and were possibly even returned to their rooms for the night by now, that she could be present for the delightful nightmare that was about to unfold. She could not hide her glee as she took another sip of wine – it helped add to the excitement about what the night might bring forth – and her husband nudged her gently. Eliana ignored George, intent on inflaming the situation as much as possible. While she would lie and say she did it for Cecilia’s interests, she knew, deep in her heart, that she relished the drama.
And she would be lying if she said she did not want to cause her little sister to hurt.
She wanted Cecilia to pay for Georgiana’s crimes; then, perhaps, Georgiana would be more empathetic, and have the decency not to flaunt herself to the world. Perhaps then she’d learn that actions have consequences. Plus, she wouldn’t have a man who was common interfere with her sister’s heart. People that were common didn’t deserve Cecilia’s love; if Eliana were honest, which she oft wasn’t, she would admit that Celia was the best of three. Everyone said it was Georgiana, but it wasn’t. It was their baby sister. She could be rambunctious, but unlike Georgiana, she always cared who she hurt.
“It’s very shabby,” Eliana noted, unable to hide her smirk, knowing the suit would vex her father for the entire night. She caught sight of Georgiana’s distaste but ignored her. Georgiana liked to think she was better than Eliana, and she’d always felt that. Eliana hated how Georgiana acted as if she were beneath her. “And you say this is your best suit?”
“Yes, Lady Eliana,” he said, his eyes piercing hers. Eliana did not falter, nor did she cower under his glare. It did make her rethink her opponent, however; the man might be common, but he wasn’t a weakling, that was sure and certain. He wouldn’t take her digs lightly, the way her family oft did, preferring to reprimand her in private if they felt she’d taken it too far, but ignore her in public.
“Eliana,” her mother warned, her tone low. While her mother might agree with her daughter’s stance, Eliana was confident that she despised Eliana’s boorishness.
“Why don’t you tell us all more of the Biography Company you’re travelling to join?”
“You’re staying in America?” queried Eliana, her interest piqued. She wondered if her parents were aware; she guessed they did not, judging by the wary look they momentarily shared.
“For a time, yes,” Henry replied, smiling. “It won’t be for too long, I’m afraid. A few weeks at the most, perhaps a month if I am lucky.”
“Lucky?” Georgiana asked, her brow puzzled.
“Yes, what do you mean by that? Surely you wouldn’t want to stay anywhere as dastardly as America.”
“You forget,” interjected Cecilia coldly, “that I am destined to live there, thanks to the utmost kindness of Mama and Papa.” Eliana flinched slightly; the jab had meant to hurt the commoner, not her sister. Would she even stop demeaning Americans, once her sister became one? Probably not, she conceded. They were still ghastly. And they had those horrible, drawling accents. And their entire country had fought over whether it was right to have slaves or not not so long ago, something that Eliana found quite disturbing, as even she knew slavery was wrong. George and Papa kept playing squash with some of the men who’d served in America’s Great War, of which millions of boys had been killed while white men bickered over why they should be entitled to keep slaves and do with them what they will.
“Cecilia, don’t start,” snapped Albert.
“Why not? No one here but Henry –” Eleonora gasped audibly at the informality and familiarity the name called – “even likes America. And yet, you ship me off?”
“Cecilia, you are forgetting your place. Our business is not for Mr Hamilton’s ears; do not make it so.”
“Why not?” Cecilia cried, all but stamping her feet as tears welled in her eyes.
Yes, this was much better than Eliana could have hoped for. She had been disappointed there wasn’t more gossip amongst the servants; now, there would be. She would force Lee to share what her parents had chatted about, and Lee would oblige. Eliana waved for the waiters to refill her wine glass and she sipped it happily, her brown eyes watching the scene unfold.
“Cecilia, enough,” Albert snapped.
“The Biograph Company,” Georgiana seized the chance to take control of the conversation, to avoid it deteriorating it further. No matter, Eliana thought; they had only just started their first courses; it would be a shame to lose their companion so early in the evening. “Pray, Mr Hamilton, tell us of the Biograph Company. And Mr Edison. He sounds fascinating, truly …”
“Pray, tell us,” Albert said, his voice terse. “Otherwise, this will be a greatly wasted evening, and the entire ship will be aware of the fact we dined with a man so inferior he stood out, even amongst waiters.”
“Bertie,” whispered Eleonora, pleading for her husband’s silence. Eliana sipped her wine once more, glee filling her body along with drink. The waiter topped her glass for the third time; the dinner was becoming more impressive by the second.
“What would you have me say?” Papa snapped. “The waiters are dressed all in white and are Italians and they’re still better dressed than him.”
“Ouch, Papa,” Eliana replied, sipping her white again, though she meant it. She felt her father’s comment had gone too far, though she’d never admit to thinking it.
“What would you like to know, Lord Gresham?” the man’s voice came across as smooth, soft, but firmer than Eliana had expected, as if his tone came with a warning. For the first time, Eliana realised that while Henry Hamilton may know his place, he would not be intimidated. It wasn’t just Eliana he was willing to challenge; it was the head of her family. Eliana drained her glass, excited for the man’s pride to conflict with her father’s ego.
It would be interesting to watch, and she needed more wine. She waved her hand once more, and her red wine glass was once again full.
“You know,” Eleonora said, her voice light, “I’ve never actually seen a moving picture. Bertie’s not the type who cares too much for today’s progression of technology. It took us some years to implement electricity. Gresham Estate has only had it since 1901; though I managed to wrangle a fridge for Mrs Coleman. She was ever so grateful.”
Eliana watched as Henry Hamilton frowned, unceremoniously running a finger over his wine glass. She could tell he was contemplating his next words carefully.
“Electricity is a wonderful marvel,” he responded. “It’s a shame most people cannot afford it.”
“We’re not most people,” Eliana said coolly.
“No, your family is not,” agreed Henry Hamilton, and Eliana couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t quite a compliment. “Mr Edison is very passionate about ensuring that cine film lasts. It’s delicate, and can be easily damaged or inflamed. He sees it as his duty, to ensure certain things will be captured on film. It’s part of why I’ve been selected for the Titanic’s maiden voyage. He wanted film from one of the grandest ships, and when we dock Wednesday, I’ll not only have the two cargo crates of films, but I will have plenty of footage from the ship.”
“That is wonderful,” Eleonora stated pointedly, looking both at her eldest daughter and her husband, silently reprimanding them. “It sounds like you’ve found a true passion, then.” Her mother cut a small slice of Sauté Chicken Lyonnaise, placing it delicately in her mouth, clearly savouring the taste. Eliana immediately regretted her choice of Vegetable Marrow Farci. Her mother’s dish smelled delicious, the red wine vinegar’s distinct smell making her stomach rumble. She signalled for a waiter to change her dishes; she wasn’t about to eat her food to be polite.
After several more courses, Eliana felt light-h
eaded from the wine, and annoyed at the progression of the night’s conversation; it had waned from exciting, to the benign. As she sipped more wine, she wondered how she could incite things amongst the party.
Feeling foolish, desperate for attention, Eliana opened her mouth, “At least we can all agree that Mr Hamilton is not a suitable companion for our dear Cecilia. You do agree, don’t you, Papa?”
Eleonora’s fork hit her plate, making a startling loud noise as the silver hit the fine white china; her father’s face turned purple with wroth.
“What is the meaning of this, Cecilia? What do they mean, a suitable companion?” Albert’s tone was hushed, so as not to attract any more attention from the other passengers dining – Guggenheim had turned to his mistress, whispering; many of the lesser passengers, people Eliana didn’t recognise, looked on, wondering if there would be entertainment as part of the course. Eliana ignored their gazes; she wanted entertainment within the family; she would be mortified if others knew of her family’s disgraces.
“Eliana misspoke,” Georgiana interjected, her voice harsh as she glared at her sister. “She did not mean to suggest that Cecilia and Mr Hamilton are familiar. She has had too much wine with her dinner. It’s plain as day. She can scarcely keep her eyes open, and she’s been slurring her words since her seventh course. I beg you, please do not rise to her bait. She’s merely scratching because it’s what Eliana does.”
Cecilia’s bottom lip trembled, and Eliana knew Georgiana’s efforts to appease a violent scene would not be catered to. While Eliana did not wish to attract a scandal to her name, she would be pleased if one was cast upon her sisters; perhaps then they’d realise what they’d taken for granted, instead of being so cavalier in their intimacies. It would serve them right, Eliana mused, taking another sip.
“Eliana, Georgiana is right. You’ve had too much wine,” Eleonora said, eyeing her with disapproval.
“I’m the disappointment?” laughed Eliana, her laugh not one of joy.
“I did not say that,” hissed Eleonora, “though your answer suggests that you should retire early. You have had far much to drink, and your behaviour disgraces us.”
“My behaviour?” spat Eliana, her voice too high, attracting the attention of even the Astors, who had been more engrossed in each other, lovingly embracing, talking in whispered tones, among their two-seated table. “Georgiana betrays you, marrying her dear William, and Cecilia’s following behind with this Mr Henry Hamilton, a commoner! You cannot tell me that you are so blind to see what the two have concocted; it’s the same as before. Georgiana is repaying the debt she owes Cecilia, and Cecilia is determined to be made a fool by degrading herself with this Mr Hamilton.”
Eleonora’s anger was palpable, quiet as a snake, as she turned to George and said, “George, please escort your wife back to your suite. She is not fit to be in the presence of anyone.”
“Of course, Lady Eleonora,” replied George, trying to mollify the damage that Eliana had inflicted. That was George, however, Eliana thought cruelly. He wanted everyone to play nice, but was too craven to be anything but an accessory at times. “My deepest apologies, Lord Albert, Lady Georgiana, Lady Cecilia. It was lovely to meet you, Mr Hamilton, and I apologise most profusely for my wife’s inexcusable behaviour. Other than the wine, I cannot understand what has possessed her to talk this way.”
“I don’t want to go,” whined Eliana, sulking. “I haven’t done anything. You’re weak, George.”
“Leave the table before I force you myself,” snarled Albert, his voice hinting that that was the only warning he would give her. Eliana placed her napkin down haughtily, and rose; she realised dimly, though the room swayed slightly as she stood, that many eyes were on her.
“Goodnight, Mother, Father,” Eliana said, hoping her tone would be as tight as theirs, but found that it was weak, almost broken.
George, grabbing a tight arm around his wife’s elbow, leading her out of the Ritz, was whispering at her, saying she was an embarrassment. The lights, as soon as they entered the reception area of the Grand Staircase, were so bright that Eliana instantly lifted a hand to her head, though she made no complaints as she was led back to her suite, trying to understand why she suddenly felt so terrible.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thursday, April 11th, 1912
Cecilia
Tears stung Cecilia’s bright blue eyes as she struggled to hide them; she worked on focusing directly on her meal in front of her – roast duckling, caramelised with balsamic vinegar and lemon, a lavish invention of Gatti’s and far more delicious than the standard apple sauce – while she breathed as slowly as she could. She could feel her lungs hyperventilating, despite her slow and steady breaths, and she wanted to place a hand to her head, as the room seemed to sway. She could scarcely look up to meet anyone’s eyes, afraid that half the room would still be looking upon her and her family.
“This has been a most disastrous night,” Albert declared, beckoning the waiter to bring him another scotch, neat. “It has been most unpleasant. I apologise for my daughter’s behaviour, Mr Hamilton. It was unseemly of someone with a noble title.” Cecilia’s father glared around the table, daring anyone to question him. The table remained silent, and for that, Cecilia was grateful.
She risked darting a glance at Henry, who looked solemn, as if he were already willing to lay the blame at his feet. But it’s not his fault, Cecilia’s heart ached. It was Eliana’s.
Her moods, and her cruelty, knew no bounds. She could not believe her kin would want to see her in ruins; nor could she think her sister was so soused. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed her sister capable of the performance she had just displayed, nor the quantity of wine she had drunk.
“Mr Hamilton, while your tales have been most captivating this evening –” Cecilia flinched at her father’s condescending manner – “I’ll bid you to not call on anyone in my family again. Lady Cecilia, as you should understand, is engaged to be married to the heir of the Vanderbilt tycoon, Thomas Cornelius Vanderbilt II. Unfortunately, due to my own daughter’s ridiculous behaviour, whether or not you’ve grown too fond of Lady Cecilia is now irrelevant, and I don’t care to hear of your pleas or wishes either way. You are not permitted to call upon her. Thanks to Eliana, the whole ship will wonder why we’re titled Americans with the display she just gave. She’s possibly ruined the family name with her little performance! The whole’s thing a farce, if you ask me; this ship should make sure its lessers are known.” He looked at Henry.
“Papa –” pleaded Cecilia.
“Hold your tongue!” he hissed. “I’ll not have a second daughter defy and disobey me. If you cannot stay quiet, I will send you to your room, like the little girl you are.”
Cecilia glanced at her plate, tears welling once more, threatening to spill out of her blue-grey eyes, down her rosy, plump cheeks. “Good night,” she whispered, before darting out the door. She could hear her father’s furious call, but she did not heed it. She ran up the staircase and opened the door to the Boat Deck. She gasped sharply, the cold air hitting her immediately; she had not stopped to collect her cloak, nor had considered the chill in the night air. It was likely no later than nine, yet the night air was a cold as some of the winters she’d had while staying at the Inverlochy Castle Hotel. She pulled her arms across her, trying to warm herself.
Cecilia looked out; the stars twinkled brightly in the night sky, and as she looked up in wonder, she watched as her hot breath turned to fog in the night air. It was beautiful, she thought; the night sky twinkled, and the ship moved, the gently waves making a familiar splashing sound around her, and the cold awoke her soul, grounding her. The moon was but a sliver, disappearing for its cycle, and hidden largely by clouds.
She moved to the deck’s railing, peering out, enjoying the sea breeze, brisk against her skin, when a voice caught her. “Lady Cecilia?”
Cecilia swirled, turning to look at the handsome man before h
er. His eyes were blue and kind; his face made her heart swell. “Henry!” she cried, then remembered; “I’m so sorry. What my sister said was horrible, and then my father -”
“It’s not your fault, Lady Cecilia,” he insisted, and she shivered as he touched her elbow. “It is mine. Your father is right; I cannot let you bring any hint of scandal to your name. You have so much to lose.”
He moved closer to her, and Cecilia felt his body heat radiating off him. His dark hair blew gently in the wind, and Cecilia caught a twitch in his left arm, as if he wanted to reach out, to touch her face. She wanted to lean forward; his hand upon her elbow was the most sensual thing she’d ever felt. Every part of her body was screaming at her to lean forward, that she needn’t worry, her mouth would find his; yet her mind screamed at her to restrain herself.
“What if I wanted the opportunity to make my choice? What if I did not care if I had my father’s opinion?” she breathed. She was close enough that, when they breathed in synchronisation, their breaths merged as one.
He stepped forward again, and Cecilia felt herself tremble; there was scarcely an inch between them. She could now feel his breath on her, and she longed to tip her head up, to brush her lips against his. She did not care who saw, or what they reported to her parents. She wanted him to take her in his arms, wrapping himself around her, sharing his body heat, and kissing her.
“It would be unwise to ignore it, Cecilia,” he whispered. “I do not think you should cross your father, especially not for someone like me.”
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