By the Light of the Silvery Moon (5 page)

“If he’s highly respected, that means he’s a man of means—which seems certain since he paid for you both to come.” Ethel sighed. “My Edward is a bricklayer, but I’d rather have love than money. And truth be told, I’ve never known a more devoted man. He returned to England to marry me, and being his wife has brought my happiest days.”

Amelia studied the soft glow about the woman’s cheeks and neck. A twinge of jealously tightened her gut. “Yes, well, I hope I will find that type of love someday.”

Ethel turned to Amelia, taking Amelia’s hands in hers. “You will.” Ethel smiled. “God has a special man for you. And from that sparkle in your eyes, I have a feeling it will be your Mr. Chapman.”

Amelia blew out a huge breath, and the tension left her shoulders.

Ethel glanced into the gymnasium where the two handsome passengers had retreated. “Then again they call this ship
The Millionaire’s Special
.” She laughed. “With a husband like that, you can travel in this style the rest of your life.”

Amelia wrinkled her nose. Out of all the things she hoped for in a future husband, wealth wasn’t one of them. Compassion and a gentle spirit were traits on the top of her list. And eyes that drew her into their depths. Eyes that expressed love and acceptance. That’s what she wanted most of all—for someone to love her for who she was. Who didn’t care where she came from—who didn’t expect her to change.

For some queer reason, it was the homeless man’s face that filled Amelia’s mind as she considered someone she wanted to get to know better. He wore rags, but she could tell there was much—much more—hidden within him. She had seen a gentleness in his gaze, and he’d truly appreciated the gift of the ticket. He seemed honored that she cared—that she’d thought of him.

She glanced around. Had the man gotten dressed in her cousin’s clothes? Did he now walk the decks? She didn’t see him. Would she, on this voyage? She hoped so. She wanted to hear his story. Why would he have the walk of a king but wear the rags of a beggar? On the streets of London, she’d learned not to be surprised by the type of people who were down on their luck, but this man surprised her.

With a gasp, Ethel turned. “Amelia, look! Another group of passengers boarding. I believe I recognize some of those faces from the society section of the
London Times.
Do you wish to take a look?”

“Yes.” Amelia nodded, but it was not those from the society section she wanted to see. Was the man from the docks around here somewhere?

T
he first-class passengers’ boat ferry arrived from London’s Waterloo Station at the dockside. Damien Walpole glanced up at the majestic ship, preparing to board and more impressed than he thought he would be. The
Titanic
rose into the horizon, gleaming under the light of the sun. Men and women, wearing their finest, strolled on the first-class decks high above them—wanting to be seen and to rub elbows with some of the wealthiest men and women in the world. Damien took a deep breath and prepared for that. There was no relaxing when there were important people to engage in conversation and an image to uphold. The approval of his fellow high-society passengers had taken his father far, and because of his brother’s unwise choices, Damien had to prove their trust of his father and his business was not in vain.

Travel had never been relaxing, with his father to give companionship to and his father’s friends to entertain. Yet there were times he allowed himself to relax—a beautiful woman on his arm helped with that. But for once he wished he could get lost in the crowd. He longed to be known more for himself than his name or the size of his father’s bank account.

Behind him sat Colonel Archibald Gracie, a former colonel in the Seventh Regiment of the United States Army. Colonel Gracie filled the boat with his commanding presence. While Father and Gracie chatted about their recent London adventures, Damien’s mind was drawn away. Gracie’s presence took Damien back to the worst day of his life—the day they buried his mother. His stomach tightened.

It had been a bright, sunny spring day. He’d been only ten years old. The sun seemed to taunt him with its warmth. Everything had changed that day in so many ways.

Damien had always shared a room with his younger brother, but before their maid had brought his suit for the funeral that morning, he’d packed up his things and moved them down the hall. He’d always gotten along well with his younger brother, but after what happened, he didn’t even want to look at him. His brother had taken away their mother. Damien didn’t know if he could ever forgive him for that.

Damien looked around. Most of the first-class passengers on this ship had been friends with his father even back then. They vacationed in the same locations and stayed in the same hotels. The problem was whenever they were around, Damien couldn’t escape the memories—not that the loss of his mother was ever far from his thoughts.

Whenever Damien remembered his mother’s funeral, he couldn’t forget Colonel’s Gracie’s face leaning low. Gracie’s mustache had twitched as he’d attempted to keep his composure. “Son, your mother is gone. Your father needs you now. He needs your strength.”

Other men—wise and wealthy men—had mimicked those words. “You need to be there for your father. He only has you to count on.” And as the days and weeks and months followed, those same men had watched him. They’d nodded their approval to see Damien attending dinners with his father, traveling with him, standing by his father’s side at public functions, transformed from a boy to a man before their eyes.

And they watched him still.

It was a heavy load to carry. The load hadn’t lightened over the years. Yet he also knew his father wouldn’t have been able to continue without Damien by his side. Father especially wouldn’t have been able to deal with Quentin’s foolish ways on his own. For every step of responsibility Damien had taken, his brother had taken a step backward, until he’d sunken to lows that even Damien never expected.

Colonel Gracie’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Damien turned to see the older gentleman speaking to four women.

“Mesdames, I see you are traveling alone.” Gracie tipped his hat to the women. “It would be my honor to offer my services to you.”

Damien watched.
Why didn’t I think of that?
It was the gentlemanly thing to do to offer services to unprotected ladies. He glanced at his father, wondering if he’d see a hint of disappointment that Damien hadn’t offered first, but Father seemed more intent on hearing the story of the women—three of them sisters—who were returning to America after attending a family funeral in England.

“I am Mrs. E. D. Appleton, and these are my sisters, Mrs. R. C. Cornell and Mrs. John Murray Brown,” one woman announced. “And, of course, our friend Miss Edith Evans.”

At the pronouncement of “Miss,” his father glanced over at him, but Damien cringed. His father didn’t hide his desire for Damien to find a good woman to marry, but this woman was not what he had in mind.

The woman was an old maid with a dour expression and condescending manner—not anything like the type of woman he wanted to spend his life with. Besides, he’d accepted his fate long ago. As long as his father needed him, he’d have to put off his own pursuit of a wife and family. Maybe next year—when his father had some time to realize his brother was lost to them forever—he’d be able to follow his heart. Even then, only the most stunning, most caring young woman would do.

“Father.” Damien cleared his throat. “Why don’t we head to the back of the boat ferry? We needn’t rush to board the great ship. Ladies first, isn’t that what you always told me?”

His father nodded, approval reflected in his eyes.
That’s my son,
his gaze seemed to say.

As the boat ferry approached the
Titanic,
ten stewards stood at the gangplank, a small army of troops ready for service, but Damien’s eyes were not on the stewards. Instead he was drawn to a spot of yellow. A beautiful woman in a buttercup yellow dress stood like a rose among a meadow of thistles. Unlike most of the high society ladies who hid their hair under extravagant hats, her blond hair was pinned up on her head, and a few soft curls slipped from their hold and blew in the wind. As he watched, her head tossed back, and although he couldn’t hear her laughter, he saw the way it brightened and transformed her face. He wished he knew the joke her friend at her side shared. Wished he could see that laughter again. He envied her joy and her easy manner. An ache stirred deep inside wanting that for himself.

“Is it everything you expected?” his father asked, speaking of the great ship.

It wasn’t a difficult question, but Damien felt himself at a loss for words. “Yes … no. I expected this … but it’s also so much more.”

His answer, of course, not only spoke of the ship, but of the woman. He’d lived among the same circles for so long he usually wasn’t impressed by those he met on voyages. Yet this woman. He knew he hadn’t seen her before. A face like that—her fine features and smile—those he would not forget. His heartbeat quickened, and he wasn’t sure if the sun had brightened or if it was simply her presence that caused him to warm.

Damien looked at the long line of people ahead of him and willed those walking up the gangplank to hurry. He knew he couldn’t make his introduction yet, but …

Please look this way.

He wanted to get close enough to look into her eyes. To see if there was any spark of interest as she looked at him. One thing Damien had learned was that the best business deal was one with mutual interest and investment. He wasn’t one to chase a customer, and he had the same opinion about finding a woman to share his heart with. Yet even as he neared, the woman’s eyes weren’t on him. Instead she looked to his father’s maids with an interest that Damien could not understand.

Look this way. Look this way,
he willed. But as he neared, the woman lowered her wistful gaze and then turned to her friend who was standing by her side.

His only consolation was they had the whole voyage to get to know each other. And Damien made it his goal to do just that.

Amelia watched as the group of men and women climbed aboard. Men in their proper gray coats and matching caps. Women in dresses that looked fine enough for tea at Windsor Palace. Her knees buckled slightly, but she resisted the urge to curtsy as they passed. And then there were the maids. She saw the eagerness in their eyes. Yes, they boarded as servants, but they, too, experienced the same luxury. Had her mother felt a similar hint of excitement as she traveled to distant places? Mother had served those who traveled upon the seas, but she’d been carried along just the same over the rippling waves.

She glanced to Ethel. The woman’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the maids who followed, clutching fresh flowers to their chests. “Even they dress finer than the rest of us,” Ethel muttered under her breath.

One of the maids carried a dog who yapped at the gathering crowd, as if warning them to keep back. It was as if the small creature realized those who watched weren’t worthy to wait in the shadows of those who walked aboard.

“Serving girls, aren’t they lucky?” Amelia murmured. She lowered her head and turned away.

A strange emotion stirred her—a longing for her mother. Being here, on this ship, made her feel closer to her mother than she had in years. Perhaps because she now experienced all the things her mother spoke of. How many nights had Amelia fallen asleep to the gossip from her mother’s past, juicy revelations the serving girls had shared with the stewardess from journeys long ago? More than she could count. Those stories had been to her like tales of knights and dragons, godmothers and queens, but being here on the
Titanic
made it all real. She sucked in a breath of salty air and clutched her hands before her. Her lips straightened into a thin line. Her chin quivered and the tendons in her neck tightened as she held back the tears.

Ethel touched her arm. “Are you feeling ill?”

Amelia forced a smile. “Just thinking of my mother.”

“Come …” Ethel swept her arm as if offering the deck—all of the
Titanic
—to Amelia. “Let’s go listen to the orchestra. That will surely lift your spirits!”

Amelia walked beside Ethel. She tightened her stomach muscles and held a pent-up breath, willing the engines to roar to life and the ship to slide out into the channel. Maybe, if the shore disappeared behind them, the memories would fade into the horizon, too. That would make all things easier.

It seemed only right that she should launch a new life without the old one dragging her back as an anchor.