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“I—” He shrugged. “I just don’t know how I feel about leaving England. My family is here. You know our situation. My mother and sister depend on me now more than ever. They count on the money I send each month and on my care whenever my father goes through one of his…spells.”

She longed for him to explain further, but he did not. Still, the pained expression in his eyes spoke volumes. A lump rose to her throat and she forced back tears. Had he really just dismissed her idea? Could such a thing be possible? Perhaps her feelings for Peter had been in vain after all. Perhaps he didn’t care for her in the same way that she cared for him.

“I—I see,” she managed at last. She didn’t, of course, but would never say so. Jacquie swallowed hard and strengthened her resolve. Very well. She would make him love her. She would use her womanly wiles to accomplish the deed. A fluttering of eyelashes followed, her first attempt at flirtatious behavior set to win him over.

He didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for understanding.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Besides, I can’t help but think this is for the best for you
as well. What would your grandmother say if you arrived in New York with a stranger in tow—a man, no less? She would send us both packing. We would end up on the streets with no place to go and no source of income.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” Jacquie rose and began to pace, finally stopping directly in front of him. As he stood, she slipped her hands into his and gave them a squeeze, tears now stinging her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, Peter. I only know that I love you, and I want to be with you—at any cost.” Perhaps her impassioned words gave away too much of her heart. Still, how could she hold back, with her heart in such a state?

He gave her a pensive look. “Honestly?”

“Yes.” She threw herself into his arms and the tears began in earnest as the weight of her situation took hold. If she couldn’t win him over with her charms, perhaps he would fall prey to her emotions.

“No crying, Jacquie. Not today.” He handed her a handkerchief. “Because I’ve had a few days to come up with an idea of my own, one that involves no travel across the Atlantic for either of us. I’m convinced that it will put a sparkle in your eyes and a smile on your face once again. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?” She gazed at him, hope rushing over her.

Over the next several minutes he shared his plan—his delicious, heavenly plan—and she couldn’t help but smile. In fact, she might just go on smiling for the rest of her life.

Chapter Four

Saturday, March 30, 1912

Hotel DeVille, Paris, France

Nathan Patterson spent the better part of the dreary Saturday morning drawn into the pages of a fascinating novel. Though he tried to close the book to rest his eyes, he could not. The story held him spellbound. After nearly three hours, the pages complete, he left his suite at Paris’s famous Hotel DeVille and made his way to the door of his mother’s room. It took two knocks before her lady’s maid, Greta, answered.

Nathan walked into the room, beyond the fringed lamp on the intricately carved mahogany table, past the expensive landscape-themed paintings that hung in gilded frames on the far wall, and toward the woman in the soft yellow gown, who sat perched upon the edge of the canopy bed like a queen awaiting her subjects. Mother had never looked more regal. Or more perturbed.

“Nathan, there you are.” Her brow furrowed as she glanced his way. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” She released an exaggerated sigh. “What a morning this has been. My nerves are in a fragile state.”

An exaggeration, no doubt. Still, he would play along. Playing along was easier. “And why is that?”

“There’s just so much to do.” Mother extended her hand, and he
took a few steps in her direction. “Are you all packed? We leave for London on the four thirty train.”

“Yes, I finished packing hours ago. Spent the rest of the morning reading.”

“The paper?” she asked. “I took a look at it myself. Did you read that marvelous article about Marie Curie? Quite the scandal, you know.” Mother fussed over a blouse and then passed it off to Greta, who folded it and placed it in the trunk.

“What sort of scandal?”

His mother quirked a brow. “They say she’s dishonored the name of her late husband by engaging in a relationship with another man, but she’s withstood the pressure quite well. I’m not sure I could handle such a public outcry over my behavior.” She reached across the bed for her hat—a multifeathered number in a deep shade of purple—and placed it into a hatbox. Then she handed that off to Greta, who couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with it.

Nathan chuckled. “Mother, the moment you start behaving scandalously, I will go to the papers myself.”

She paled at his joke and fanned herself with her hand. “Don’t tease like that. I’m simply trying to say that the woman won her latest Nobel Prize in the midst of this scandal. She’s managed to hold her head high in spite of what others are saying behind her back. I find that to be an admirable trait. Don’t you?”

“I suppose.” He shrugged. “But to answer your question, I haven’t read the article on Madame Curie,” he said. “I spent the morning reading—”

“Oh, you must have seen the piece on the
Titanic
. She’s being fitted out as we speak and will soon face her sea trials. Can you believe we’ll be boarding her in less than two weeks?” His mother’s
nose wrinkled. “Not that I’m in a hurry to get back to New York, mind you. But I am looking forward to the luxurious accommodations.” She lit into a lengthy dissertation about the ship, focusing on the fine amenities. “And look at this…” She pressed a newspaper into his hands, and he fought to translate the French advertisement but could not.

“What is it, Mother?”

“Soap. Vinolia soap, to be precise. Offering a higher standard of luxury and comfort at sea.” She laughed and put the paper down. “As if a bar of soap could make me feel luxurious.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Greta interjected, “but if the soap doesn’t make you feel like a queen, the other niceties onboard the ship will. I hear they’ve got everything a soul could ever want and more.”

“Yes, Greta.” His mother’s expression soured. “I’m well aware of the fact that the
Titanic
is the finest ocean liner sailing the seas today. That’s why we’re taking her back to New York.”

Nathan paced the room, his thoughts returning to the novel. “Well, speaking of ships, I find myself a bit unnerved at the proposition of traveling the high seas now.”

“Unnerved?” His mother gave him an inquisitive look then nodded at Greta, who attempted to close the trunk. “Why is that, son?”

“The novel I’ve spent all morning reading. It’s called
Futility
.” He rose and helped Greta fasten the hinges on the oversized trunk.

“Rather sobering title.” His mother rose and moved toward the vanity. She glanced at her reflection then fussed with her hair. “Don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s a novel about a British passenger liner called the
Titan
, written nearly fifteen years ago by an American author named
Robertson. Don’t you find that strange?” Nathan hefted the trunk off the bed and placed it onto the floor.

“Strange that an American would write a book about a British ship, you mean?” Mother gave her reflection another look then turned his way. “Nothing too unusual about that.”

“No, strange that he would name the ship the
Titan
, when we’ll be sailing on the
Titanic
in a couple of weeks. The ship in the novel sailed in April, just like ours will. Can’t help but wonder about the similarities.” His thoughts continued to reel as he eased the trunk to a better location near the door.

“Well, don’t give away the ending of the book,” his mother said with the wave of a hand. “I hate it when someone spoils the ending of a good story for me. Maybe I’ll read it while we’re at sea. If you think it’s something I might enjoy, I mean. You do seem to know my preferences better than most, even my own husband.” She offered up a dramatic sigh. “Your father never notices any of my likes or dislikes.”

Not for lack of trying on his part.

“I somehow doubt you would enjoy the book, Mother. As I said, it’s rather disconcerting.”

“Not that I will have much time to read onboard, anyway.” She shrugged. “Likely I’ll be too busy socializing. You know that many of our neighbors and acquaintances will be traveling alongside us, don’t you? Why, people of every status and station will board, and we’ll be in the thick of them.”

“True. Though I haven’t thought about what I will do aboard the ship, other than fill my belly with good food.” He rubbed his stomach and chuckled. “As if this trip to Europe hasn’t put ten pounds on me already.”

“You hide it well,” she said. “On the other hand, Greta will
have to tighten my corset or I will never fit in my dresses.” She paused. “The meals will be fabulous, I’m sure, but the company even more so.”

“Aren’t you looking forward to getting back home to Father?” Nathan rose and walked in his mother’s direction.

Her thinly plucked eyebrows quirked. “Well, I might have preferred more time in Paris. I do wish we could spend more time shopping before the boat sails. I had hoped to replace most of my old gowns while I was here. I’ve grown weary with wearing the same dresses to every social function. It would have been nice to purchase new things.”

“The dress you wore to the theater last night was new.”

“Well, yes, but it was one of the few purchases I’ve had time to make. Everything seems so rushed.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see Helena Rubinstein’s salon. I had every intention of visiting it while in Paris.”

As she carried on, he bit back the need to ask,
How will you manage without a day at the salon?

“It’s just so sad that we have to leave for London already.” Her lips curled downward in a pout. “Your father knew that I wanted to spend two more weeks on this leg of the journey, but you know how he is.”

Yes, Nathan knew how his father was, of course. Kindhearted. Loving. And far too sympathetic to Mother’s spoiled nature and off-the-cuff comments.

“The man is pushing us off to London, likely under the mistaken impression that I will do less damage to his pocketbook there.” She giggled. “Sometimes I wonder if he knows me at all.”

Point well taken.

“I’ve missed Father,” Nathan said. “And as much as I’m looking
forward to boarding the
Titanic
, I must say I’m even more excited about going home again. It will be nice to settle into my new job at the insurance company.”

His mother eased her way into a nearby chair and rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s all we need, the son and the husband both married to the business. And little old me, fiddling around for things to occupy my time because no one takes an interest in me.”

Nathan fought the temptation to roll his eyes. As if anyone could ignore his mother when she so easily pressed herself upon all.

Mother waved her hand in his direction. “Well, go on with you, then, and join your father’s firm. See if I care. I should have had a daughter. A daughter wouldn’t have deserted me.”

“Perhaps one day you will have a daughter-in-law. She can shop with you and throw fine parties. How would that be?”

“Hardly a good substitute for the son I would prefer to spend time with, but I suppose it will have to do. Have you someone in mind that I’ve not heard of? Has Bridgette Cannady finally convinced you to court her, perhaps?”

“Bridgette?” He laughed. “Hardly. She’s the last girl I would consider marrying.”

“Good.” His mother turned to give him a stern look. “Just promise me one thing, son. Don’t let anyone convince you to marry someone who doesn’t truly deserve you. I don’t think I could bear that.”

Deserve me?
“Mother, should I marry, my bride will be God’s perfect choice for me. My complement and my equal.”

“Then you will be among the rarer set, for few find such a thing in reality. In novels like the one you’re reading, perhaps, but not in real life.”

“Are you saying there’s no such thing as true love?”

Her elongated pause gave him reason to wonder. Still, as the conversation shifted back to their upcoming trip, he breathed a sigh of relief. Before long he would be on the ship, sailing for home. His European adventures would be behind him once and for all, and he could get on with life as usual.

Saturday, March 30, 1912

Gloucestershire County, England

Tessa looked up from her labors as a shiny Mercedes limousine pulled into the lane in front of her family’s meager cottage. Her heart raced to her throat. Why had such an impressive automobile found its way to their humble abode? Had someone died, perhaps? Her anxieties did not lessen as a liveried chauffeur stepped out. Tessa shuddered then dropped the rake and started toward the lane, scarcely able to breathe.

The chauffeur opened the rear passenger door and a beautiful young lady dressed in brilliant blue appeared. Even from a distance the girl reeked of money. That much one could observe from her stance, her coiffed hair, and the tailored gown. But why had she come? Perhaps her automobile had broken down.