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“Indeed. You did.” He quirked a brow. “And I find the green nearly as compelling as the blue.”

“Perhaps.” She brushed her hands across her skirt to dry her damp palms. “Though I can tell you that I tend toward the blue on most occasions. Perhaps when we are next together, you will see for yourself.” Gracious, had she really said such a thing aloud?

The fellow looked more than a little interested. “Then I look forward to our next meeting very much.”

Oh my. What have I done?

Tessa’s White Star Line napkin tumbled to the floor.
Oh, posh. The
waiter leaned down with a flourish and snatched it up then offered her a smile. Would she ever get used to this?

In an attempt to calm herself, she took a couple of deep breaths.
Her gaze shifted from chair to chair as she took in the men first. The fellow across the table with the shiny bald head looked kind enough. So did the older fellow, the one with the shimmering white hair meticulously combed to one side. He had introduced himself as James Carson, a friend of Nathan’s. Or perhaps a friend of Nathan’s mother’s. They appeared to be very chummy.

At last, she settled her gaze on Nathan’s mother. The woman was a fine match for most of the other elegant ladies in the group, her nose equally as elevated and her hat a smidgen larger than fashion might dictate. Her brow furrowed as she took in Tessa’s gown, but an admiring smile followed.

“My dear, is that a haute couture gown?”

Tessa felt a wave of panic sweep over her.
Haute couture?
Whatever did that mean?

“From Paris?” Nathan’s mother added.

Ah.
“No, it’s not.” Tessa reached for her napkin. “Though, I daresay my seamstress could easily find work in Paris. She’s quite skilled and very fast, as well.” Tessa tried to steady her breathing and willed her frantic heart to slow down.

Mrs. Patterson fussed with her gloves. “Well, it’s lovely. And that shade of green is very nice on you.”

“Thank you.” Tessa cleared her throat, her hands fluttering to the neckline of her dress. “I do hope you will forgive me, but I’m struggling with a bit of a sore throat tonight. Please don’t mind me if I listen in while the rest of you visit.”

She turned her attention to the demitasse cup and saucer then fixed her gaze on the glass cruet and the silver ice bucket, which sat nearby. Glancing over the rows of silverware, she tried to remember everything Jacquie had taught her. Oh dear. Which fork did she start with, again? Ah yes, the one on the outside. She hoped.

The saltcellar she recognized, of course. And the toothpick holder. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of some of the rest of it, though. Determined to stay focused, Tessa picked up the menu card and studied it, her heart in her throat. She recognized the words in English. Well, most of them. But the rest appeared to be in a different language. French, maybe? After examining the words written in English, she winced.

“Ox tongue?” She glanced up at Nathan, feeling a bit nauseated.

He shrugged. “It’s never been a favorite.”

She lifted the menu to read the rest but finally put it down, more confused than ever. How could she possibly eat oysters? Were they meant to be eaten?

Nathan caught her gaze and smiled. She knew that she should raise the menu and get back to the business of selecting her meal but found herself drawn to those twinkling eyes. Something in them rang of mischief. And caring. She could not deny that Nathan found her interesting. Not that she wanted to draw attention to herself, of course.

No, fading into the background was best.

She raised the menu and focused on her choices once again. She hardly knew how to pronounce these things, let alone eat them. A hint of a sigh rose up inside her, and she forced it down. The waiter appeared and shared his thoughts on the manager’s special of the day. Tessa couldn’t make sense out of what he said, but the way he described the foods made them sound delicious, in spite of their somewhat repulsive names.

“Have you decided, miss?” He held tight to his order tablet.

“Oh, I— No. Not yet.” With the wave of a hand, she let him know that she wasn’t quite ready. It would be easier to listen to the others first.

She listened closely as the others chose their foods. The man across from her ordered the Asparagus Salad with Champagne Saffron Vinaigrette.
Ah. So that’s how you pronounce it.
To her right, a lady in a lovely red dress ordered the Vegetable Consommé. What in the world was
consommé
? Then another ordered oysters. Ick. Nathan lifted his gaze from the menu to ask for the beef. Mmm. Finally something she recognized. Sounded delicious.

None of the rest made much sense to her, so she mimicked everything Nathan had said, right down to the oyster appetizer. Then she fussed with her napkin and gazed at the wall decor.

“Oh, I hear the food onboard
Titanic
is to die for.” Nathan’s mother smiled. “No doubt we’ll all put on weight on this journey.”

“Not enough to sink the ship,” Mr. Carson said, and he winked.

Mr. Weir leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. Tessa knew that Jacquie would have been appalled by this but didn’t say so.

“I read somewhere that
Titanic
needs seventy-five thousand pounds of meat to feed her passengers. Can you imagine? And something like forty tons of potatoes.”

“Heavens.” Mrs. Patterson’s brows elevated. “If we’re worried about the ship going down, let’s toss the potatoes. I daresay my waistline can do without them.” She giggled.

“There are forty thousand eggs aboard, as well,” Mr. Weir said. “So don’t think twice about asking for seconds at breakfast.”

Tessa looked his way and he offered a wink, his somewhat bushy eyebrows elevating a bit beneath his wire-rimmed spectacles. She took in his overcoat with its stiff collar and tie. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable in that getup as she was in this ridiculous dress with its confining undergarments.

Mr. Brayton, a rather rotund fellow, took a sip from his crystal goblet then placed the glass on the table. “If the
Titanic
is sturdy
enough to hold three thousand passengers, all our luggage, and thousands of pounds of cargo besides, I daresay she can handle any added weight around my midsection.” He rubbed his extended belly and chuckled. A couple of the ladies snickered, and he went back to drinking.

Nathan looked a bit flabbergasted by the man’s outburst. He shook his head and looked Tessa’s way. “Miss Abingdon, what do you think of the journey thus far? Is it everything you imagined?”

Everyone at the table turned to face her. So much for disappearing into the background or feigning a sore throat. She steadied her breathing and reminded herself to use the proper manner of speech before she uttered a word, one the real Jacquie Abingdon would be proud of.

“I daresay the views are magnificent from my suite.” She spoke with great care, enunciating every word. “And the room is all I imagined and more.” She dabbed at her lips with the cloth napkin. “But, by far, the best part of the journey has been the people I’ve met along the way. I’ve already acquired new friends.” She spoke of the dogs, of course. They had greeted her with enthusiasm, hadn’t they?

“Indeed.” Nathan quirked a brow. “New friends, indeed.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and drew her hand to her throat, hoping he would take the hint about her supposed sore throat. Why did this young man have such an effect on her? She couldn’t be sure. Still, she’d better watch herself. No point in making herself vulnerable to anyone on this journey.

No, Tessa. Just get to the other side of the pond and start your life over. No thoughts of romance along the way.

Her gaze shifted back to his captivating eyes and she pressed down a grin.
No, Tessa. Do not entertain romantic notions, even for someone as handsome as Nathan Patterson.

Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday Evening, April 10, 1912

The First-Class Dining Saloon

Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Jacquie’s face when the waiter delivered the food. Her eyes widened as she took in the oxtail Mr. Weir had ordered. For a moment, she looked as if she might be ill. Just as quickly, she seemed to regain her composure. He had to give it to her—she recovered quickly from whatever moments of distress came her way. An admirable trait.

“They don’t eat a lot of oxtail where you’re from?” he asked.

Her usually rosy cheeks paled. “N–no.”

“Same here. But I understand it’s actually quite good.”

“I’ll never know.” Jacquie shook her head with such force that he wondered how the feathers on her hat stayed in place. When the waiter delivered her plate of food, she gazed down at it as if she couldn’t figure out what to do. She finally dove in, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Nathan noticed that she pushed the oysters aside. With a wink, he slipped them onto his plate. She mouthed a silent “Thank you” and kept eating.

Mother glanced Jacquie’s way, her brows knitted together as she watched the young woman swallow her dinner in such a rushed fashion. No doubt she found her to be something less than proper. Not that Nathan minded. He found Jacquie easy
on the eyes and easy to talk to. The rest of the group bored him to tears.

Mother and James chatted at length about their plans aboard ship, Mr. Weir went on and on about
Titanic
’s provisions, and Mr. Brayton couldn’t seem to talk about anything except card playing and the like…until an unfamiliar woman entered the dining saloon and took her seat at the table behind them.

The rather somber-looking woman settled into her chair and fussed with the fur collar on her ornate velvet gown. She then unpinned her hat and set it aside, revealing a mass of disheveled dark curls.

Mother’s eyes widened, and Nathan could practically read her excitement as she whispered, “Do you know who that is?”

He did not, of course, so he shook his head. Still, he kept his gaze on the woman as the waiter approached to take her fur collar.

“Edith Russell.” Mother fussed with her necklace as if nervous. “She’s a fashion writer.”

“Oh, a fashion writer? Truly?” Jacquie swung around to give the woman a closer look. “My friend—er, lady’s maid—will be thrilled with this bit of news. She’s something of a fashion expert herself.”

“Your lady’s maid, a fashion expert?” Nathan’s mother pursed her lips. “Unusual. Well, I daresay Edith is a story in and of herself. I heard one of the stewards talking about her just before the tenders arrived with passengers from Cherbourg. That’s where she boarded, you see.”

“Ah.” Nathan tried to act interested but found it difficult. If not for the curiosity in Jacquie’s eyes, he would tune out the rest of the conversation.

“Yes, I hear she’s taken possession of a cabin on A Deck but has also acquired a second on E Deck to house her clothes.” Mother
leaned forward and whispered, “She’s brought nineteen trunks aboard. Can you even imagine? All filled with clothes, no less.”

“I read somewhere that she’s got a successful buying-and-consulting service in France,” Mr. Weir said. “Perhaps that has something to do with it.” He reached for his water glass and took a sip then dabbed at his lips with the cloth napkin.

“Yes, and she’s coming out with her own line for Lord & Taylor in New York.” Mother squared her shoulders and gave the woman an admiring glance. “It’s to be called
Elrose
.”

“I sense a shopping spree in your future, my dear.” James Carson reached over and patted Nathan’s mother on the hand. “That should bring a smile to your face.”

A cold chill settled over Nathan as he watched the exchange. He was unsure which bothered him more—James touching his mother’s hand, or the fact that he had referred to her as “my dear.”

“I can’t wait to tell Iris,” Jacquie said. “She will be so excited.”

Nathan watched as his mother’s eyes narrowed into slits. Mr. Brayton lit into another discussion about cards, and by the time they finished dessert, the older fellow had worked himself up into a lather about the idea. He rose and tossed his napkin on the table. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I plan to spend the night in a poker game once this grand meal is behind us. Any brave souls want to join me?” He took another swig from his glass.

“I don’t believe so, sir.” Nathan took a sip of his water and leaned back in the chair. “But thank you for the offer.” He glanced Jacquie’s way. “I had hoped to take a walk around the Boat Deck. I hear the moon is nice tonight.”

“Sounds lovely.” Her eyelashes fluttered in a soft, appealing way. Not like the giggly girls who had sashayed past him earlier in the day, but with more of an innocent air.

He offered a smile. “Perhaps you would consider joining me?”

“Don’t be silly, Nathan,” his mother said as she folded her napkin and placed it on the table next to her White Star Line coffee cup. “Miss Abingdon has already told you that she has a sore throat. The night air would only make things worse.”

“Yes, you really must take care of yourself, Miss Abingdon.” Mr. Brayton gave her a compassionate look. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Your father would have my head.”

Jacquie paled. “I do suppose it makes more sense to go back to my room. I’m awfully tired.”

“Can I walk you to your room?” Nathan asked, not quite ready for the evening to end.

“I suppose.” She offered him a shy smile. “I’m on B Deck.”

This started a new conversation about the various cabins, but Nathan wasn’t interested in any of that. He simply wanted to offer his arm to this vision of loveliness.

And so he did. As she rose, he extended his arm in gentlemanly fashion and she took it then nodded to the group.

“Thank you for including me in your little dinner party. I apologize for not joining in the conversation more. Perhaps I will recover shortly.” She gestured to her throat.

“I hope you feel better in the morning, my dear.” Mr. Brayton nodded in her direction. “Until then, get some rest.” He muttered something about the color of her eyes, but Nathan didn’t hear all of it.