“And you?”
“I’ll be here, too.”
James’s chest tightened, and he cupped her cheek. He loved Maggie as much as he loved George, even if this particular love wasn’t a romantic one, and it pained him to leave her. But he had no idea what else to do. Ever since George’s passing, he had moved through life as though in a fog. He felt so empty, so purposeless, and it seemed like no matter how much time had passed since the rail yard accident, he couldn’t manage to fix it. Couldn’t manage more than a week without revisiting certain memories—memories like seeing George in secret a couple of times while inside the estate’s walls, even sneaking him into the wine cellar on occasion, or once bringing George up to his bedroom while the Fairleighs were on holiday in France.
James needed to refind himself somehow. To rekindle his love of life. And the RMSTitanicseemed like as fine a place as any to start over. James had once heard it said that the sea was a place where man was never lonely. And so, perhaps a new connection, whether to his fellow crewmates or even only to the beauty of nature, could be precisely what he needed to finallyfeelsomething again.
But, by God, he’d miss Maggie Byrne.
“I promise I’ll write,” he said.
“Good. Because I’ve written you something already.” Maggie reached into the front pocket of her dress and pulled out a letter. She held it out for him to take. “Here.”
“You’re too much,” he said with a light laugh.
“I’m not. It was the least I could do—provide you with a bit of entertainment while you’re at sea. After all, you stayed here in Mayfair longer than you were supposed to so that we could spend more time together before that ship leaves for the States. And now, because of that—because ofme—I bet you’ll be one of the only crew members on that boat train to Southampton. Arriving with the passengers only hours before setting sail...” She frowned, worry lines rippling across her forehead. “Oh, James, you won’t even have time to settle in before they put you to work, will you? I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself sleeping on the floor since you haven’t claimed a berth by now.”
Crooking an eyebrow, James laughed a bit more. “Do you think that they have fewer beds than crew members on the most luxurious ship in the world? Of course I’ll have a bed.”
“I hope so.” Maggie’s tear-filled eyes flitted over to the mantel clock. “Well, I better not keep you. I know you still want to say farewell to some of the others, Mr. and Mrs. Fairleigh included if they’re awake.” James only nodded. “You know, they’ll never replace you.”
“Didn’t they hire a new footman yesterday?” he said through a chuckle.
“You know what I mean,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re one of a kind, James Morrow.”
He smiled warmly. “As are you, Maggie Byrne.”
They stared at each other for a few long ticks of the clock. And then James turned to check the time. In less than one hour, he’d be on the boat train for Southampton, as long as he managed to make it to the station before seven thirty.
“It’s time,” Maggie said.
James exhaled sharply. “It is.”
He turned, placed the letter in his luggage, and snapped the trunk shut. Tears welled in his eyes as he stood, clutching the handle. But then he immediately placed it back on the floor next to his feet so that he could pull Maggie in for one final hug. Removing her maid’s cap, James buried his face in her coarse, springy hair while struggling to hold back tears.
And he prayed to God that he was making the right choice.
Chapter One
Cassian
Cassian Penn Livingston let out a sigh as he melted into his leather chair on the first-class passenger train. Behind his eyes, he could feel a headache brewing, and so, he shut them for a while as the other passengers boarded. Beside him, his fiancée, Ethel Barrington, fiddled with her necklace, moving the pendant back and forth on its chain, and Cassian clenched his teeth as the constant, ever-familiarzzzpp-zzzpp-zzzppvibrated in his ears. It reminded him of the sound that he used to make when he clicked his fingernails together as a boy. Before his father had reprimanded him for it. Harshly. Groaning softly, he reached up to massage his temples.
“Sweetheart, you’re fidgeting,” he said plainly, his voice tinged with irritation that, likely enough, was as familiar to Ethel as the pendant’s buzzing sound was to him.
“Am I?” she asked and then stilled. “Oh, I am.”
Eyes still closed, Cassian massaged his temples a few more times while waiting to see whether Ethel’s nervous habit would return. Thankfully, it did not. Inhaling one more cleansing breath, Cassian took in the scent of freshly lacquered oak paneling, and then he tried to release some of his long-held tension with an exhale. Thank God the trip was over. Traveling across the Atlantic for businessby itself would have been fine, but being forced to entertain Ethel and her mother for the majority of it had been nothing short of wearying.
Next time, Cassian would have to insist on coming alone. Business was one of the only things that relaxed him. He took pride in his work. Negotiating with other leaders in his industries or even only chatting about the particulars of owning a series of both steel manufacturing plants and copper mines never failed to bring him a sense of peace. Even more than Cassian enjoyed speaking about business, though, he loved the thrill of seeing his money grow.
After a little longer, Cassian retrieved his pocket watch from his breast pocket. His lips curled into a small smile as he admired the elegant clamshell lid, adorned with a smattering of diamonds, each of which shimmered in the sunlight that was streaming in through the train window. Given to Cassian by his father, the watch was his most treasured possession. Notbecauseit had been a present from his father, exactly, though that was what most people most likely assumed (in fact, Cassian’s father would have crinkled his nose if his only son had proven to bethatsentimental), but because of what it represented as a whole.
Cassian Penn Livingston was as close to modern-day nobility as any American industrialist could be. His reputation for being a savvy businessman was known throughout the western world. And what could be more important than that?
Minutes passed while the rest of the passengers bound for Southampton boarded the train. Cassian put his watch away and stared out the window. On the platform, there was a panicked-looking man speaking with someone who, judging by his peaked cap, might have been the conductor.
Cassian pursed his lips as he continued to watch the scene unfold, and he wondered what had happened to cause the frantic man to be behaving in such a foolish way—his palms pressedtogether in a pathetic, pleading manner, his brows pinched and upturned. Probably the fellow had forgotten his train ticket. Or, more likely, he had forgotten hisandhis employer’s train tickets. Because there was little chance that a man who could afford a first-class ticket on the RMSTitanic(and was therefore seeking to ride the first-class boat train from London to Southampton) would be conducting himself in a manner as ridiculous asthat. So, then, it stood to reason that the slightly erratic man was most likely someone’s valet.
