Cassian looked back and forth between Mr. Quinn and Ethel, who now looked a bit forlorn. He wanted Ethel to be happy. And Ethel very much liked Mr. Quinn. Cassian liked the man plenty himself, so much so that he often invited Mr. Quinn to eat with him at restaurants when they were traveling, especially if business matters weren’t expected to be a main topic of conversation. Perhaps Cassian could bendTitanic’s rules a bit on their voyage. If only to make Ethel happy. Besides, having Mr. Quinn nearby would mean that Cassian’s personal needs would never not be taken care of with the sort of immediacy he craved.
“Come sit with us,” Cassian said. “I’ll settle the finances with the inquiry office later. After all, I paid a large sum for our tickets, yours included. If I prefer to have you with me while I’m in the saloon, then I believe it’s simply within my rights as a first-class passenger here on the ship.”
Mr. Quinn’s mouth began to move, but no words escaped for the first few seconds, and then, finally, he swallowed and shook his head.
“Are you sure, Mr. Livingston?”
“Of course.” Cassian chuckled. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Quinn covered his heart with his hand. “That’s... oh, that’s incredibly generous.”
“Yes, it really is,” Ethel said, beaming up at Cassian. “How kind of you, Cassian.”
Her eyes were sparkling with such wonderful warmth that Cassian’s face began to warm, too. He knew for certain, then, that he had made the right choice.
He winked at her. “Let’s find our table.”
The four of them moved farther into the saloon and then took their seats. For the next few minutes, while other passengers were finding their way to their tables as well, Cassian finished his cocktail and looked over the menu. He was familiar with the type of cream-based soup they were offering. He liked it well enough. And there was a fish with lobster sauce listed, which looked interesting as well. Unfortunately, though, the main courses weren’t to his particular tastes.
Cassian was wrinkling his nose at the menu when someone—one of the saloon stewards, most likely—came up beside him. Cassian held up his hand to signal that he was busy reading the night’s offerings.
“I’ll have a Bordeaux for now.” Cassian’s eyes scanned the text some more, though of course the menu hadn’t changed. “Come back to me once everyone else has finished ordering.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
Cassian’s brain barely registered his words.
He continued to look over the menu, pondering his choices. Should he have the sirloin of beef, which would come with potatoes, or the roasted duckling, which would be served with apple sauce? He liked chateau potatoes, but he was choosy about his cuts of beef (rightfully so, in his opinion). Cassian much preferred having a meal from his own kitchen so that he could have things exactly as he liked them.
After a moment more, he looked over at Ethel, only to see that faraway look in her eyes, her expression perhaps a bit less melancholic than before, but her sorrow still somewhat evident. His mouth set to a frown as he looked back down at his menu.
While Cassian was rereading the menu for the fourth or fifth time, the background of calm conversation and soft piano suddenly became overlaid with thezzzpp-zzzpp-zzzppof Ethel’s necklace chain. Cassian clenched his teeth.
“Ethel,” he whisper-scolded.
Her hands fell to her lap. “Sorry.”
Heaving a sigh, Cassian touched his fingertips to his forehead and closed his eyes.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” the steward asked, only this time, Cassian vaguely recognized the man’s voice.
When Cassian looked up, he was confronted with those damned pinchable cheeks from the boat train, and it took him an extra second to find his words, his tongue suddenly feeling leaden in his mouth.
“Sir?”
Cassian shook his head.
“Yes, right,” he spluttered. “I’ll have the roasted duckling. But I’d like both the chateau potatoes and the apple sauce with it. Assuming that’s possible.”
It had better be with the money I’m paying to eat here.
“I’m certain that it is,” the man said. “And, even if it isn’t, I’ll make it so.”
Cassian rather liked the man’s response. He bit the inside of his cheek to better contain his burgeoning smile. Contrary to his previous presumptions, the steward seemed to have some prior experience providing satisfactory service.
“Good,” Cassian said, picking his menu up off of the table.
The man responded with a bow and small smile, one that was so strangely perfect, it made him look a little statuesque.
