Eva, as well as several other passengers, stayed in their cabins, victims of mal de mer. However, after two days of such confinement, they ventured forth. Arianne renewed her efforts to teach Eva and Rafferty the proper rules of conduct. They discussed the fourteen different types of forks and the eleven types of spoons. Rafferty left before they covered the knives. She reviewed the responsibilities for maintaining the household, the responsibility and management of the servants, the rules on invitations and seating for dinner parties, and the rules for proper dress for various occasions. Arianne grew tired of hearing herself speak, and she imagined Eva and Rafferty felt much the same.
After dinner each night, the passengers tended to linger about the dining saloon, playing cards, watching Phineas practice his magic tricks, and often indulging in drink. Inevitably the group would erupt in song. One evening, Mr. Skylar brought a fiddle to the saloon and accompanied the boisterous group in their medley. The music inspired Arianne.
“We are going to have a dance,” she announced.
“Dance?” Rafferty shook his head in disbelief. “You wish to stage a dance on the
Irish Rose
?”
“I love the idea!” Eva leapt up in pantomime of a waltz.
“There’s not enough room,” Rafferty scoffed. “This isn’t the White Star Line.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Arianne murmured irritably, then forced a smile. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Skylar. He volunteered to play some melodies on his violin so that you and Eva might have the opportunity to dance together. You’ll be expected to do as much in Washington.”
“Just Eva and I?” His gaze held such intensity and promise that her mouth dried to the consistency of the calling cards about which she had earlier lectured. She had difficulty framing a reply when Eva came to her rescue.
“Mr. Barings will want to join us, and I’m sure that German couple will want to dance as well. Certainly one of the gentlemen will wish Lady Arianne as a partner.” She twirled by on one of her rotations around the dining saloon.
“Yes. One of the men most certainly will,” Rafferty replied. She noted his omission of “gentle.” “However, I’m afraid I haven’t the proper clothes available for a dance.” His lips lifted in a smirk, a jest.
“As this will be a lesson and not a public soiree, the appropriateness of attire is not as important as it would be otherwise,” Arianne counseled, wondering about his many excuses. “Mr. Rafferty, you do know how to dance, don’t you?”
The smirk faded. “The dancing I’ve done would not be appropriate for your aristocratic parties. Just as the dancing you’ve done would not be appropriate for mine.”
“Then I suppose that’s all the more reason we should practice,” she insisted, choosing to ignore his scowl. “Tonight after dinner we can meet near the stern where there’s sufficient room for several couples.”
Eva ended her dancing demonstration by hugging Rafferty’s neck. She leaned close to his ear. “Tonight, we’ll dance under the stars.”
AS EVA HAD PREDICTED, THE NIGHT SKY GLITTERED with stars that sparkled like cut diamonds flung to the heavens. Kathleen helped Arianne into a walking suit of gray toile that was destined to be altered to suit Miss St. Claire. While it wasn’t the most current of fashions, Arianne always liked the fuller skirt and the bold black trim. As she anticipated watching Eva and Rafferty dance, and not participating herself, she’d chosen a suit for the brisk night air. After witnessing Eva’s earlier display of affection, Arianne wasn’t quite as enthused about this evening’s entertainment as she had been when she first conceived the idea. Eva arrived on the deck with one of Arianne’s altered dinners gowns, a pale green satin and lace. She looked lovely, Arianne thought, and sure to catch Rafferty’s attention.
For his part, Rafferty joined the party looking stunningly handsome in a chesterfield jacket and crisp white shirt. Arianne began to wonder if there ever was an occasion when his appearance didn’t take her breath away. Phineas accompanied him to the deck, but with harmonica in hand, he joined Mr. Skylar on the metal housing that made a makeshift stage.
They began with a waltz. As Arianne had suspected, Rafferty pleaded ignorance of the steps. Once Arianne demonstrated, he led Eva about the stern, managing to trounce on her toes only two or three times. Eva refused to dance with him on the next song, complaining her toes needed to recover. She did, however, accept Mr. Barings’s invitation to waltz. Arianne made a mental note to speak to Eva about the etiquette surrounding the acceptance and refusal of dance invitations.
“Would you honor me with a dance?” Rafferty asked her, hesitantly.
“The honor would be mine,” she replied. She placed her hand lightly on his forearm, feeling the hard muscle there. He slid his hand up and down her side as if searching for just the right spot to hold her. His hand settled at the curve of her waist, but there was nothing settling about the awakening beneath his fingers. A comforting heat spread through her frame in all directions and ignited in the most private of areas. He stroked the inside of her arm from her forearm to her elbow before lifting her hand. Stimulation tingled up her arm even through the barrier afforded by her jacket.
“Shall we?” he said with a lopsided grin. The music began, and he guided her through the steps. He was stiff and uncertain, but he only stepped on her toes once. His concentration centered on the count and not her; still, she enjoyed the sway and swirl of the waltz held in his arms. The music came to an end.
“Again,” Rafferty called to the musicians.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try something else?” Arianne asked. “Perhaps a galop?” She saw Captain Briggs swirl by with Mrs. Summers on his arm. She smiled in amazement, not having actually seen Mrs. Summers dance before. “I believe we have enough to try a quadrille.”
“No,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “I want to master this . . . with you.”
That familiar look of determination, the one she remembered from the reception, settled in his gaze. If Rafferty approached everything with the same intense determination as he did the waltz, she could understand Lord Henderson’s faith in the man.
“Very well,” she said. “Then look at me, not your feet. Don’t count; listen to the flow of the music. When you’re ready . . .” She captured his gaze, hoping to distract him from that intense focus. She succeeded. She saw it in the softening of his jaw. “Then so am I.”
They soared together across the stern of the
Irish Rose
beneath the approving stars. His initial apprehension faded, replaced by surprise and then desire as they swirled with the violin. When the last note was played, his hungry gaze slipped down to her lips. She thought he might kiss her, there in full view of the passengers. She dismissed the warnings and alarms sounding in her head. She wanted his kiss. She longed for his kiss. She parted her lips.
“Arianne.” Mrs. Summers tapped her arm. “Miss St. Claire would benefit more from Mr. Rafferty’s attention.”
The spell was broken. “Yes,” she said, gazing into Rafferty’s eyes, watching regret replace desire. Or were those her own emotions reflected in his eyes? She stepped back. He hesitated a moment before he released her arm. “I suppose she would,” she said, though not convincingly.
Arianne once again resumed the role of teacher as she watched her students practice the waltz without the passion she’d felt in Rafferty’s arms. She noted that Rafferty kept his gaze on Eva, and she didn’t offer any complaints of sore toes.
“This dance was a delightful idea,” Mrs. Summers observed. “They make a wonderful couple, don’t they?”
Arianne chose to keep her opinions to herself. “I saw you dancing with Captain Briggs,” she said.
“He’s a lovely man,” Mrs. Summers replied, a bit flustered. “He has been explaining to me all about the navigation of the ship and the taking of soundings. He’s really very brilliant.”
“That’s reassuring,” Arianne said. At least one person on the boat was brilliant. It certainly wasn’t her. Rafferty would waltz out of her life in just a few days. Knowing that, a brilliant person would put her emotions under lock and key.
“A wonderful couple,” Mrs. Summers said again as Rafferty and Eva swirled past. “A perfect match.”
THE NEXT DAY, ARIANNE DESPAIRED AT THE LIMITED confines of her cabin, the boat, and unfortunately, the company. Mrs. Summers seemed ever underfoot. Arianne was free of her only when she was teaching the etiquette class, and that aspect of the trip had become humdrum and monotonous.
She watered the plants she’d brought from England, then fussed with her vials of fragrance out of boredom. Kathleen had reported that Miss St. Claire would again not be present for a morning etiquette lesson. If today was similar to the previous week, Arianne suspected the actress would make a surprising recovery by afternoon.
“Is it seasickness?” she’d asked Kathleen.
“I wouldn’t know, miss,” the maid had replied, averting her gaze.
Once Kathleen had finished her duties and left, Arianne repeated her question to Mrs. Summers. “Do you think Miss St. Claire is truly ill, or do you suppose there is another cause for her absence?”
Mrs. Summers looked over her glasses. “What are you suggesting?”
“I just wonder . . .” Arianne took a seat across from Mrs. Summers. “She’s always ill in the mornings. My brother said that when he made the crossing he was ill at all times.”
“Then perhaps it’s not seasickness,” Mrs. Summers replied dispassionately. “She’s an actress eager to leave London. She could be with child, but that shouldn’t matter, as she’s playing the role of a contented wife.”
“Contented wife. I believe my mother’s experience shows that to be a contradiction in terms.”
Mrs. Summers put down her pen. “Your mother was an exception, Arianne, not the rule. Many women find joy in marriage.”
“Joy?” Arianne made a pretense of sniffing at an opened bottle of lavender water. She had thought there’d be joy in submitting to one’s husband, or one’s soon-to-be husband. However, her experience with the Baron had divested her of such foolishness. She recapped the bottle. “I don’t see why. Anyway, as Eva is not married, this conversation is pointless.”
Mrs. Summers cocked her head, then removed her glasses. “Is something wrong? You seem particularly snippy of late.”
Arianne opened her mouth to protest but realized Mrs. Summers had a point. She shrugged and placed the lavender water back in her traveling case. “I suppose I’m bored. There’s not much to do on this ship. I’ve already read the book I brought for this crossing. There are no newspapers to follow the events of the day.” She stood and stretched her arms. “I’m weary of card games, I’ve seen all of Phineas’s magic tricks, and there aren’t many people to talk to.” She decided not to mention her discomfort at the “contented wife” observation in regard to Miss St. Claire. She wasn’t certain why the concept pricked her so.
Mrs. Summers sighed. “I don’t know how you will ever survive living alone in that country house. You thrive on the excitement of city living.”
“I won’t be alone,” Arianne said. “You’ll stay there with me, won’t you?”
Mrs. Summers glanced at her. “Perhaps you should go up to the top deck for some fresh air. Captain Briggs mentioned Mr. Rafferty maintains quite a selection of books in his quarters. If you speak to the captain, I’m certain he could arrange for you to borrow a few.”
It was a good idea, and she could use something new to read. Smiling, she reached for her gloves and parasol. “Captain Briggs. Not Mr. Rafferty?”
Mrs. Summers placed her glasses back on her nose and picked up her pen. “I imagine Mr. Rafferty, like Miss St. Claire, is difficult to find in the mornings. It wouldn’t surprise me if the two are taking their married roles seriously.”
That made her pause. Arianne’s smile faded. “I won’t be long,” she said as she left the cabin.
THE SEA BRINE GREETED HER BEFORE SHE OPENED THE door that separated the steps from the top deck. She hoped to see Rafferty, just to remove the sore taste left from Mrs. Summers’s comment, but he was nowhere to be seen. She stayed as far from the rail as she could manage, though it was difficult not to catch the expanse of the ocean from the corner of her eye. Anxiety tumbled in her stomach, not unlike the powerful engine that drove the
Irish Rose
forward amid great rumbling and vibration. With one hand on the metal housing of the interior and the other clasping her parasol, she walked toward the bow and under the raised area the captain had called the bridge. The exercise felt invigorating, the day pleasant. She turned toward the stern, and about midship, she noticed a gathering of men and boys cheering and shouting. She could only see the backs of the crowd, but curiosity pulled her forward.
She meant to stay on the outskirts of the bawdy crowd, but a group of gawking young men joined in the fray behind her. Soon she was jostled into the midst of the gathering. She spied Phineas watching and cheering along the inner ring of the group. She worked her way to his side.
“Lady Arianne,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
A dull thud rent the air followed by a loud cheer. She turned toward the middle of the circle to see Rafferty in fisticuffs with a swarthy, bare-chested bear of a man. Her jaw dropped in shock. Blood trickled from Rafferty’s nose and spotted his shirt.
“Hit him again!” someone yelled.
The larger man pulled back his fist. Arianne was about to shout “No!” but before the words could leave her mouth, Rafferty adeptly shifted his weight, avoiding the punch. Her lips pressed in a line. This was ridiculous. Someone would get hurt with such nonsense. She lowered her parasol, thinking to use it as a weapon to knock sense into the two fighting men. Phineas’s arm barred her way before she could step forward.
“Let them fight,” he said. “Rafferty can hold his own.”
Indeed, she saw Rafferty land a punch to the man’s ribs. Before the larger man could recover, Rafferty followed with his left hand, catching the man on his chin. He staggered back from the blow, and the crowd cheered.