He draped his arm across the seat-back, letting his gloved hand fall at Louisa’s side. “It has been a long day.”
“I am exhausted,” she said, slumping against him. “I tossed and turned all night last night, too anxious to sleep.”
“No second thoughts, I hope.” He’d never imagined she might wish to withdraw from their engagement. Then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask how she felt about any of their proceedings, as negotiations had been very business-like with her father, and wedding details were planned down to the minute by Mrs. Thurston Reid.
Giles assumed Louisa had a hand—and a say—in all of it, all along.
“It was more like stage fright, really,” she explained. “When I was younger, Mamma insisted I take piano lessons. To progress to the next level of instruction, pupils had to perform a short repertoire in front of their friends and family.”
Louisa turned in the pit of his arm to face him, confessing, “I was so nervous! I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I just knew I’d forget all of my lessons, embarrass my teacher, and disappoint my parents.Thatwas how I felt last night. But, as with my piano recital, once I put all my practice, training, and preparations into place, everything went perfectly.” She beamed at him with pride. “I never missed a stroke.”
Her radiant, smiling face hovered very close to his. “I didn’t know you played…”
“Oh, I don’t. Not really. After mastering‘Kinderszenen’, the piano held no more appeal for me. I only did it for my mother, anyway.”
He regarded her with horror. “That is a terrible analogy for a wedding!”
“Let’s say I moved on to greater challenges.” Louisa laughed. “What about you, my lord, any nerves or second thoughts?”
“No,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation, “you are exactly what I wanted.”
If he could not marry the woman he loved, he would settle for the greatest consolation prize known to man. Yet that comparison was unfair to Louisa, for she was no second-place trophy. In many ways, she was Lady Venia’s equal, and in others—Giles began to fear—she was superior to any woman he’d ever known.
The carriage slowed to a crawl, jammed up among wagons, delivery vans, pedestrians, and other voyagers. Over the creaking of cartwheels and the whinnying of horses, stevedores shouted in their New York drawl. Giles needn’t peek from the shaded window to know that he’d reached the Cunard dock. His ears rang from the clangor.
The carriage door swung open, flooding the interior with light, and heat reflected off so much steel, and the oily stink of a shipyard. Their borrowed coachman deployed the steps, offering his assistance to Lord and Lady Granborough.
They descended from the conveyance amid the bustle of the pier. Giles extended his arm to his wife, who placed her gloved hand upon his sleeve. She walked straight and proud at his side, never once faltering, though she must’ve felt every eye upon her, and heard the speculation whispered about her.
Who was she? Where had she come from?
More importantly—Where was she going?
Customs and Immigration agents doffed their caps and waved her through. They bowed and scraped, and cleared the gangway so that she and Giles could ascend alone.
Had this young woman on his arm been a match-stick girl, the crowd would’ve parted for her, but Louisa was a Fifth Avenue princess, an English marchioness, and, now, a warrior queen preparing to cross the ocean and conquer whatever awaited her on the other side.
CHAPTER THREE
“RMS Campaniaoffers the most luxurious passenger accommodations available,” the cabin steward explained as he escorted Lord and Lady Granborough to their stateroom suite. “She’s been in service for only a year.”
Louisa was unsurprised to learn the ship was new, for its inner workings and outer appearance were modern, yetCampania’sinterior—or, at least, the first-class interior—harkened back to the ‘good old days’ of opulence, imitating the grandeur of the lost courts of France.
Long passageways were paneled in rich, dark mahogany, embellished with gilt scrollwork and painted plaster moulding. Electric lanterns hung from the ceilings in regular intervals, casting a soft glow through their frosted-glass shades. Satinwood furniture upholstered in velvet and brocade was bolted to the floor, which was covered by thick carpets to muffle any engine noise.
Ignoring the rambling steward leading his enthusiastic tour of the ship, Louisa knelt to examine the carpet pile with her fingertips. It was machine-made on an Axminster loom.
Lord Granborough paused at her side, regarding her with some amusement. “Are they sufficient?”
She stood and dusted her gloves. “They’ll do.”
People often cut corners on carpet. Fine furnishings and expensive ornamentation delighted the eye, yet decorators rarely focused on that which lay underfoot. Louisa could judge in an instant whether a homeowner or a department store owner possessed a discerning eye for detail just by feeling the quality of their floor coverings.
The Cunard Company had not economized here, which meant they were unlikely to have economized elsewhere. She appreciated such consistency when, for the next five days, her life floated in their hands.
She and His Lordship caught up with their guide. The steward directed their attention toward a ship’s map as they passed through the Grand Reception area.
Three decks formed the first-class portion of the ship. The stateroom suites, along with the surgeon’s office and purser’s desk, were located on the main deck. One floor above lay the promenade deck, the busiest part of the ship. This floor held the smoking room, assembly room, and library, encircled by a wide promenade where guests could reserve deck chairs and blankets, or simply walk the circuit of the ship. The lower floor boasted the dining saloon and the majority of passenger cabins. Beneath that lay second-class and steerage accommodations, of which no details were given by the steward.
