Louisa swept into the dining saloon on Lord Granborough’s arm. She smiled at him—her husband,Giles!—as she bore the weight of six hundred pairs of eyes turned to study her rosy frock, her diamond collar, her perfect posture, and ladylike deportment.
She wondered if the other voyagers noticed her kiss-swollen lips and pinkened cheeks, for the Marchioness of Granborough sparkled in the glow of electric chandeliers, yet her radiance had nothing to do with her jeweled necklace or her extravagant clothing. Louisa shone with affection for the gentleman who guided her through the room.
With every day that passed, she and His Lordship drew closer to a true, loving partnership. She hummed with raw desire for him, for this man who held her hand and her heart, and she couldn’t wait to discover what the night had in store for them both.
They joined their party, happy to be hailed by the usual crowd—the Meyers and the de Roubernons, as well as two new faces. Mr. Ferron, a widower, and his daughter, Miss Minnie Ferron found their seats at the long, china-laden table.
Miss Ferron was young and attractive, and had recently been permitted to put her hair up. Louisa was delighted to share a meal with this girl on the cusp of womanhood, for her spiritedness reminded her of the belles she’d left in New York.
The two young ladies spoke during the champagne and soup courses, though Miss Ferron did not indulge in the wine.
“I am traveling to London and Paris,” said the girl, “to visit all of the great galleries, and then I will ‘finish’ in Switzerland.” She glanced longingly at Louisa. “I wish to marry and become a grand hostess.”
What a strange example Louisa must’ve set, dressed in silks and hung with diamonds, married to one of England’s most illustrious peers. While she would never change her circumstances, Louisa encouraged her tablemate not to surrender her girlhood too quickly.
“It’s such a privilege for an American to visit the Continent,” Louisa said, spooning soup. Tonight’s offering was a thick and creamyvichyssoise. “You must take full advantage of your time abroad. Concentrate on your studies and don’t rush to find a husband. You are so young!”
Miss Ferron glanced up from her soup bowl to state, “I am fifteen.”
“A tender age, to be sure,” Lord Granborough said. To his wife, he warned, “Careful, Louisa. Anyone might think you’re against the idea of marriage.”
“On the contrary! I think marriage is a wonderful institution—my parents have been happily wed for over twenty years. I don’t think it is anything to be undertaken lightly, as it is a bond for life.”
Matrimony was a binding contract and a sacred vow. She had promised to love and honor her husband for all her days, and Louisa had meant every word she’d uttered at the altar of St. Thomas’ Church. For her, there would be no separation, no infidelity, and no disgrace. She trusted His Lordship to uphold his half of their bargain and would accept nothing less than his devotion.
The fish course came. Louisa tucked into her flaky salmon, swirling each bite in creamy lobster sauce. She brought her fork to her lips, listening as the diners talked and laughed in easy camaraderie. They spoke of Mr. Meyer’s poor luck at cards and the Sitwell’s disappointment at being robbed of Lady Granborough’s presence the night before.
Madame de Roubernon leaned across the table to inquire, “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Much better, thank you.” She smiled at the Frenchwoman, enjoying this shared worldliness.
Only Miss Ferron was ignorant of the situation. “Have you been ill, ma’am?”
“The long journey across the Atlantic finally caught up with me, but don’t worry, it was nothing an evening in bed couldn’t solve.”
The ladies tittered and Louisa blushed, for she’d said something brazen. Even Lord Granborough swiveled at her words with his fish fork arrested halfway to his mouth.
She endeavored never to bore him, and from the laughter winking in his blue gaze, Louisa had succeeded in keeping him on his toes. She lowered her gloved hand to rest on his thigh, tracing lazy circles into the soft wool of his black evening trousers.
She had helped him dress tonight. She’d watched him strip to his drawers, utterly confident in his own skin, and then don his dinner clothes with casual grace. To watch one’s husband prepare for the evening was both commonplace and intimate, and Louisa had proved an eager student.
She imagined disrobing him—layer by layer—to pass the dinner hour.
While waiters cleared the table of the main course and returned to serve coffee and dessert, Miss Ferron turned her attention to Louisa. She edged around a waiter’s white sleeve to ask, “Are all of your dresses from Maison Worth?”
“No,” said Louisa, biting into a cream-filled brandy snap. She lifted her napkin to dab her lips, careful not to stain the bodice of her rose-silk gown. “But my frocks are from Paris. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A lady only received her trousseau once in her life, and there had been no reason to economize. To land in England with a shabby wardrobe would’ve been a slap in the face to every American who’d come before her.
Miss Minnie Ferron would not be put off. “Which is your favorite?”
“This one,” Louisa answered, because it was a Worth, and womanly, and complimented her diamond necklace so beautifully. She cast a sly glance at His Lordship, for she had a surprise in store for him on their last night aboardCampania.“And another one, which I’m saving for the Captain’s table tomorrow.”
“I hope to purchase such elegant gowns when I am in France,” Miss Ferron said, “though I’ll have to wait until I’m ‘finished’ to wear anything so fine as yours. Do you think gigot sleeves will still be the fashion? I’ve saved all the latest covers ofLa Mode Pratique, and plan to present my clippings to Mr. Worth at my first appointment.”
“I’ve never been to Paris,” confessed Louisa. “My clothes were ordered by cable from New York. If you want to know about French fashion, you should ask Madame de Roubernon.”
No doubt, Madame would enlighten the inquisitive young woman, yet Miss Ferron balked at the suggestion. A thirty-year-old was ancient in her eyes. “I’d prefer to speak with someone closer to my own age…”
