He picked up the water—Mr. Quinn’s, not his own—and made himself have some.
For the rest of the meal, Cassian continued to feel lost, his emotions a confusing mess wreaking havoc on his mind and heart. After eating the last mouthfuls of his French ice cream, Cassian steeled himself as James came by to remove his bowl. His chest still ached from being subjected to James’s constant aloofness, not to mention the knowledge that he was somehow the cause of the newest break in their relationship—something that had happened even though he hadn’t done anything wrong—and now James was forcing his hand.
Indignation began to pulse through Cassian’s veins at this irrefutable fact, making his blood run hot, but within mere moments, his irritation cooled, for he knew that regardless of whose fault it was that his and James’s relationship was on the brink of ending, the final result was the same.
Cassian needed to make a choice. And there was only one choice that hecouldmake. It was the one that would enable him to keep the man whom he loved. Yet making that choice would entail swallowing his pride, pretending he knew that he’d somehow been wrong, and exposing himself to potential future social ostracization or financial challenges if and when rumors someday began to circulate over his marital status (and, perhaps, the company he liked to keep since he’d be seeing James so frequently, either on the ocean liners where James worked or in ports or cities or elsewhere).
Cassian was not a weak man. But still, he found himself wondering whether he was strong enough to make such a choice.
Life was, indeed, unfair.
Scowling at the space where his ice cream bowl had been, Cassian startled when someone clapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to see Jacob Calbot.
“Are you interested in playing some bridge this evening, Cassian? Even if not, I’d still be happy to relax with some cigars and brandy in the Smoking Room.”
Cassian shook his head.
“I think I’ll retire to my stateroom earlier than usual,” he said, though he was too mentally and emotionally exhausted to come up with a sufficient excuse for his premature bedtime. Hopefully Jacob would simply accept his refusal without pressing further.
Squeezing his shoulder, Jacob nodded.
“Feel better,” he said, probably having overheard the conversation about the water from before.
Cassian smiled a strained, closed-mouth smile and nodded back. At least his percolating headache had helped him avoid socializing for the night.
After excusing himself (and reassuring both Ethel and Mr. Quinn that he was all right), Cassian walked back to his stateroom, thankful that he’d have a reprieve from bearing witness to James’s obvious heartache but missing his perfect steward all the same.
***
April 14, 1912
11:20 p.m.
Hours later, Cassian was lying in bed in his stateroom, his gaze unfocused while he tried to figure out what a life with James Thomas Morrow could look like for someone like him. Perhaps the particulars hinged on whether or not James wanted to continue working as a steward. If so, then Cassian could only ever spend time with him on whatever ocean liner James was working on atthe time or maybe whenever James had time away from work for holidays. Cassian didn’t have a clue how much time stewards like James might be given in between ocean crossings, either. Hours? Days? Likely not weeks, though that would have been nice.
If, however, James would considernotworking as a steward anymore, then what else could he do? Cassian vaguely recalled that James had mentioned being a footman before starting with the White Star Line. Perhaps James could return to that sort of work, presumably, either in London or in New York, though Cassian failed to see how they’d manage to spend much alone time together without the logistics of it causing both of them metaphorical or real headaches. Besides, he kind of wanted James to himself.
Cassian wondered whether he might hire James in place of Mr. Quinn, though if Cassian himself stayed unmarried, then perhaps him spending an inordinate amount of time with his handsome valet might raise some eyebrows. It seemed like a possibility, though.
Dammit, he hated that James was putting him through this. Couldn’t the man just accept that for men like them, for men likehim, marriage was normal and expected and mostly just a simple social contract? Cassian cherished James as things were now, and he’dcontinueto love him and cherish him and let the man please him regardless of whomever he shared his bed on the nights when they couldn’t be together.
Scowling, Cassian halfheartedly smacked the wood paneling of the wall with his fist.
Only seconds later, he heard what sounded like a woman crying and thought that perhaps he had startled the passenger in the adjoining room. But he quickly realized that the sound was instead coming from the hall. Furrowing his brow, Cassian continued to listen as the sniffling moved closer. He waited for the crying to fade,but it lingered, as though the crying woman had stopped only a few rooms over.
Ethel?
Cassian immediately sat up and started for the door. When he opened it, he saw Ethel outside her room, probably waiting for the cabin steward to let her inside. Her cheeks were wet, her face somewhat puffy, and even though she must have heard Cassian open his door, she kept her eyes in front of her, fixed on the floor.
“Ethel?” he said. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
Ethel only shrugged. Leaning out into the corridor, Cassian looked up and down its length for a cabin steward, but there wasn’t one. Damn. He couldn’t just leave her there, crying.
“Come to my room for a while,” he said, but Ethel stayed put. Letting out an exasperated huff, Cassian walked over to her. “We really can’t have people see you like this,” he whispered. “Someone might think thatIcaused whatever this is. Remember, I’m still your fiancé, as far as everyone else is concerned. Not that you should be in my room at this hour, either, but I think that’s preferable to you standing out here sobbing.”
She sniffled and nodded. Cassian pulled out his handkerchief, and she took it from him. Together, they walked back to Cassian’s room. Ethel sat on the edge of the bed, and Cassian sat with her. He waited for her to say something, but she only sat there, sniffling on occasion. Cassian began to bite his nails. Both of them were quiet for a while.
Finally, he said, “Ethel, talk to me.”
