Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9) (8 page)

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sure to block their way, “but I’m feeling a little faint.”

She started to swoon, but had to stall in mid-collapse—her knees bent, the back of her hand to her forehead—and lingered there while they decided whether to help her or catch their man. The men were a little slow to pull their attention away from their quarry and she wondered if they were going to let her fall.

“I’m faintin’ here,” she said and grabbed onto one of the men’s sleeves.

Somehow that got their attention and they “caught” her. As they helped her to a deck chair, she glanced toward the lower deck and caught a glimpse of Edmund just before he disappeared.

“Are you all right, madam?”

“Must be the excitement of the voyage,” she said. “Thank you.”

They tipped their caps before walking over to the stairs. They stood there scanning the deck below, said something to each other and walked away grumbling.

Elizabeth waited until they’d gone before she walked over to the railing. She scanned the crowd, but didn’t see him. He was young, maybe twenty. She’d half expected him to be sitting there with a sketchpad. But she wasn’t Rose and he wasn’t Jack.

And she had no intention of trying to recreate scenes from the movie. In fact, there was one in particular she hoped to avoid. Just the thought of it sent a shiver up her spine. There would be room enough for two on her raft or there wouldn’t be room for either of them.
 

As worried as Simon was about things, he didn’t have a corner on the market.
 

The image of what was to come hit like a wave from the ocean. It nearly took her breath away as she looked around at the passengers, suddenly seeing them for what they were—men, women and children—people with days to live and no idea.

But she knew. She knew what would happen, what could happen, to her, to Simon. Suddenly, she wanted to, needed to, see him very much.

She found him on the landing by the great staircase.

“We’re all set,” he said and then frowned. “Is something wrong? Did something happen? Elizabeth, I—”

She shook her head and took his hand. “I just missed you.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t question her.

“I thought maybe we could have a rest before dinner, too.”

He looked worried but nodded. They walked in silence back to their suite, which wasn’t far.
 

Simon opened the door and Elizabeth walked in ahead of him. He closed the door behind them.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded, unconvincingly.
 

His eyes searched hers for some clue, but she didn’t want to talk about it and, thankfully, he knew enough not to press.

She held out her hand to him. He took it and gently tugged her toward him.

He put one arm around her waist and gently touched her cheek with his hand.
 

She lifted her head and brushed her lips against his. The gentle kiss grew, as theirs were wont to do. They retired to the bedroom but didn’t get any rest.

E
LIZABETH
LOOKED
AT
HERSELF
in the mirror of her vanity table. “Yikes.”

Her hair was in full revolt. The nice up-do she’d managed to wrangle was half up and half squashed now. Her perfect Psyche Knot, a sort of elongated squishy bun at the back of her head, was less knot and more blob. Loose curls hung down on one side and the other was just mush.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had bed-head?”

Simon looked over at her as he put on his collar. “I like seeing you like that.”

“A mess?”

He came over and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Well-loved.”

She nearly blushed. She was that.

“Dinner isn’t for another hour yet,” he said.

“That’s all?”

He chuckled to himself as he decided on cufflinks. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Somehow she did. After a few skirmishes, she and her hair had come to a truce and it was now pleasantly piled on top of her head in a poofy bun with just a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her corset kept her lower half in line and her bust bodice the upper. It was annoying that she needed either. At least these versions didn’t force her into that annoying monobosom she’d had to endure in 1907.

She did love her dress, though. It was princess style with a high-waisted bodice and long slender skirt. The tailor at the Council told her it was fashioned after one that Queen Maud of Norway had worn. The silk was ice green and embroidered with gold. It had a deep square neckline that showed off just enough but not too much and delicate quarter length sleeves.
 

For reasons she still didn’t quite understand, she also had to wear long silk gloves that made her palms sweaty.
 

Last came the jewelry. She wasn’t a jewelry person. She wore her wedding ring, simple earrings, and the occasional necklace. Simple, tasteful. Her taste in jewelry BS (Before Simon) had been solely of the faux variety. She’d never even touched a diamond before they’d met.
 

Now that she could afford some of the nicer things in life, her tastes hadn’t changed. The simple diamond studs she wore were just real diamonds now.
 

But this, she thought, as she picked up the enormous diamond bracelet the Council had given her, was a whole different thing. Cartier. The real deal and worth a mint. It made her uncomfortable, but she was playing a role and big, gaudy accessories were part of the costume.

She chose a necklace to go with it. The special watch key Teddy had given them dangled from a chain inside her jewelry chest. She could just see his face the day he’d given it to her. Even though, in his timeline, he hadn’t even invented the watches yet, he had “given her the moon” in that key. It was special to her far beyond its ability to let them travel without an eclipse. It reminded her of him—eccentric, charming, annoying, brilliant. She glanced at it once more. She felt a little naked without it, but the first night out on the
Titanic
called for bling. Tonight, Cartier and Tiffany would have to do.

“Would you?” Elizabeth asked as she held out the jewels.

Simon fastened the bracelet over her gloved wrist and then worked the clasp of the necklace. His fingertips brushed softly against her neck as he did.

He admired her reflection. “Beautiful.”

She turned in her seat. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He wore the uniform of wealth and power—the tuxedo—and he looked damned fine doing it. It was a slender cut with a white waistcoat. He looked sexy, but nothing could compare to the first time she’d seen him in a tuxedo—leaning smugly against Charlie’s piano at the club in New York.

They consulted the deck plan that had been printed and left in their suite along with a detailed passenger list. The First Class dining room was two decks down on Saloon Deck. They left their rooms a few minutes before seven o’clock. A small group of people gathered near the elevators while even more took the grand staircase. A clear but not unpleasant noise cut through the murmured conversations of the crowd.

“Am I losing my mind,” Elizabeth asked, “or is that a bugle?”

She’d heard it, or thought she’d heard it while they were dressing.

“The call to dinner.”

“Is it a race?”

Simon laughed. “No.”

They descended the last set of stairs that spilled out into the reception room where everyone waited for dinner. People gathered in small groups to chat about their day as a man played classical music on the piano in the corner.
 

The room was lovely and stylish with white paneling and brass light fixtures. There were Chesterfield sofas, wingback chairs, and small groupings of cane furniture scattered around the large room.

They wound their way through the elegantly dressed passengers in search of Niels. Nick. Nicholas. Dammit.

“Hello!”

She knew without looking it was Harry Kimball.

They walked over to him.
 

“Good to see you again. I think we’re at the same table.”

He turned toward the group he’d been talking to. “These are the Rivets,” he said, introducing a very handsome looking couple in their mid-thirties. “And this is Doctor …”

“Hass. Gunther Hass,” he said as he held out his hand toward Simon. Elizabeth tensed slightly at his German accent, but this wasn’t their Mr. Personality. This man was probably about the same age, early forties, but pleasant looking and with a kind smile. A far cry from the craggy nightmare that haunted her sleep.
 

“George Rivet,” the other man said, his French accent thick. “My wife, Henrietta.”

“Simon and Elizabeth Cross,” Simon said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Henrietta turned to Elizabeth. “Your gown, it is beautiful. Laferrière?”

Elizabeth had no idea what or who that was. “Yes.”

Henrietta looked at Elizabeth’s bracelet. “And Cartier.”

The corners of her mouth pursed slightly in an impressed smile. From the arch in her eyebrow and the look in her eyes that was something that didn’t happen often. She had a regal bearing and more than a hint of charming condescension nearly worthy of Marie Antoinette.

“Have you seen Mr. Baker this evening?” Simon asked as he made a show of looking around the room for him.
 

“Not yet. But he’ll turn up,” Kimball said. “Food’s too good to pass up, I hear.”

“It had better be for these prices,” Rivet said under his breath.

“Don’t be gauche,” his wife reprimanded him softly, but not gently.

“Speak of the devil.” Kimball nodded toward the elevator.

Niels stood inside, talking with the lift operator who shook his head as the other passengers got off. Niels looked up and around the car and said something else to the man, who shook his head again. Finally, Niels nodded and left the elevator.

“Nick!” Kimball said so loudly that Henrietta actually blanched. “Over here.”

Niels gave them a small uncertain wave and walked over to join them.

“What was that all about?” Kimball asked, nodding back toward the elevator as Niels reached them.

“I was asking him about how it is powered.”

“You are interested in how things work?” Dr. Hass asked.

Niels gave him a small smile. “Theoretically.”

Elizabeth fought down a laugh at his joke. He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a quick smile.

The bugler sounded the call to dinner and the double doors to the dining room were opened.

The dining room was enormous and covered the entire width of the ship. It was easily one hundred feet long.

It was light and bright with light maple wood paneling, brass fixtures, and a white plaster ceiling with delicate floral carvings. Large leaded glass windows diffused the light and obscured the ocean beyond so passengers never even had a sense they were on a ship. Alcoves broke up the enormity of the room and gave people the feeling of a much more intimate setting than dining with five hundred of their closest friends.

One of the staff met them at the entrance and escorted them to their table. Tables ranged from seating two to twelve and were all covered with white linen, fine bone china and silver service.

Finally, they reached their table. A very handsome younger man was helping a somewhat elderly woman into her seat. He said something to her and then looked up as they arrived.

He smiled broadly.
 

“Good evening.” His voice was rich and his accent Spanish. “Are you here?”

The older woman muttered something in German. He looked chagrined.
 

“May I present the Countess Sophia Trauttmansdorff-Weinsberg of the great Austro-Hungarian Empire.”

Simon and the other men bowed.

A countess? That was impressive. “A pleasure to meet you,” Elizabeth said with an awkward little curtsy.

“I am afraid she does not speak English,” the man said. He came around the table toward Elizabeth and held out his hand. “I am Antonio Carrillo.”

Elizabeth took it and he raised her hand to his lips to brush a light kiss along her knuckles.
 

“Elizabeth.”

The corners of Antonio’s lips curled into a slightly seductive smile.

“Cross,” Simon added. “Elizabeth
Cross
.”

Antonio let go of her hand and turned his charm on Simon. He could have saved the effort.

“Mr. Cross.”

“Carrillo.”

Antonio shook hands with the others as they exchanged introductions.
 

Simon pulled out one of the heavy green leather chairs for her and then took his seat next to her.
 

Hass and Kimball sat directly across from them with the countess and her … whatever he was to Elizabeth’s right. Niels sat to Simon’s left and next to him was an empty chair.

“I wonder who that’s for?” Elizabeth asked.

“That’d be me.”

Everyone turned and then the men stood. Somewhere under the brim of an enormous plumed hat was a woman with a round face and a broad smile.

“Sorry I’m late, but you know the French. Margaret Brown,” the woman said by way of introduction. “But you can call me Maggie.”

She must have just arrived on one of the tenders shuttling people out to the boat from Cherbourg, France.

She unpinned her hat and waved for one of the waiters. “You do somethin’ with this for me, son?”

She shoved the hat toward him.

“And bring us some champagne when you get a chance, would you?”

Elizabeth had been waiting to see her. The famous Unsinkable Molly Brown. She was every bit as big and bold as Elizabeth had hoped she’d be. The daughter of immigrants, she married a man who struck it rich in the mines of Colorado—she was big and brassy and not afraid of anything or anyone.

Quick introductions were made as she settled into her chair. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said with a wave of her hand in the direction of the retreating waiter, “but I find these sort of things get off to a better start with a little booze in the mix.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Hass said.