How to Please a Lady (8 page)

“Repulsed? My dear, the duke is quite handsome.”

“Do you really think so? I do not find him so.”

“It's of little consequence at any rate. We all grow old. Look at your father now. Old and fat.”

Rose laughed, for her father was indeed quite fat. But she quickly sobered, thinking what lay ahead. Years and years with a man she loathed, whose touch repulsed her. Would that change? She thought not.

“Good night, Mother. I shall endeavor not to be so silly in the future.”

Lucille smiled. “I do hope not. Weston is a great man and your father and I are beyond honored to have him choose you as his bride. You should be honored as well. I know it's frightening to you, Rose, but do try to think of the family.”

Rose nodded, but inside she felt a sickening panic grow. All she could think of that night as she lay in bed was escape.

“I
'm coming with you.”

Charlie, lying on his stomach on his bed and lost in concentration over one of his drawings of machinery, looked back to find Lady Rose standing at the foot of the bed, her eyes wide, a large and overstuffed carpetbag clutched in her hands. “Where do you think you're going?”

“To America. With you. I can't marry him, Charlie, and I see no other way out. I have money,” she said, patting her bag, her eyes wide and determined. “Not much, but enough to get me to New York.”

Charlie pushed down the sudden joy that filled him. Her brothers would kill him if he let her join him on the ship. Hell, they'd probably kill him before he set a single foot onto the ship. He threw back the covers, for he'd been planning to head out early to make his way to Liverpool the next morning, then immediately drew the blanket back over him when he realized he was dressed only in his smalls. “Would you mind, my lady?” he asked, looking down at his naked torso. She seemed glued to the spot, her eyes pinned to his chest. Then she spun around, muttering an apology.

“You can't come with me, my lady,” he said, tugging on his trousers. “You must know how foolish that would be. Your brothers would catch up to us and that would be the end of me.”

Her head dipped. “I can't marry him, Charlie.”

No, she couldn't. And it wasn't only what he'd done to her. Charlie had a chum who worked at Weston's estate and he'd asked a bit about the duke, about what the staff thought of him. What he'd heard made his blood burn. The duke, it seemed, had a fascination with the young maids, and there had been more than one who'd left in tears after being found in the bastard's bed by the housekeeper. The maids lived in fear of him and were cautioned to stay away lest they lose their position. “But it weren't their fault. Not always,” his friend had said. “Some of 'em were good girls, and they're ruined now. Hell, Charlie, one was only fifteen.”

But bring Lady Rose with him? In steerage? She couldn't travel alone; that would arouse too much curiosity, and no proper lady would ever travel alone. He looked at her standing at the foot of his bed, her hair pulled back in a simple bun, her coat plain and unadorned. She looked perfectly ordinary. She looked, Charlie realized, like a young woman who might be seen with a man such as he. This was no spontaneous decision, he realized; she had planned this all along, counting on his soft heart to save her.

And hell and damnation, she was right. He couldn't say no to her, not with her looking at him with those big brown eyes filled with more hope than she should have in such a situation.

“Your brothers—”

“—will never know. How could they? No one would think that I had run off with you. The last place they'll look is Liverpool. They'll check with all my aunts, then my grandmothers. And by the time they are about to go into a full panic, they'll have received the telegram I plan to send from Liverpool right before we depart. Please, Charlie. They need never know I have an accomplice. They'd never think that I would be with you.”

Charlie gave her a hard stare. “And what of when we're on the ship? What then? Do you plan to sleep in steerage with the other women? Or will you be traveling first class by yourself? Do you realize what could happen to a girl traveling alone like that? They'll think things about you, bad things. What of your money? Your clothes. Certainly they're not all like what you're wearing now. And when you get to New York, where will you go?”

At this last question, Lady Rose smiled. “I have a plan for that, too. I've thought of everything, Charlie.” She frowned. “Except for the ship part. Couldn't I stay with you?”

Charlie tugged on his shirt, the fabric snapping with his frustration. He wanted to help her, he truly did. But he was going to be in steerage with hundreds of other men, not crammed in a small room with a woman. A desirable woman whom he happened to love more than life itself. “I'll be in steerage with the other lads,” he said.

“Oh.” Then she pulled out a pamphlet, and Charlie instantly knew what it was—his pamphlet for the White Star Line. She held it out, one finger pointing to the print. “It says here that they accommodate married couples.”

Charlie's entire body stilled, and for a count of five, he couldn't take in a breath. “You want us to marry?” he asked cautiously, hating that rush of joy that had him sitting abruptly on his bed, for in that moment, his legs couldn't be trusted to hold him. “I'd be more than happy to, my lady, if need be.”

Lady Rose let out a laugh. “Goodness, Charlie, you should see your face. The situation is not
that
desperate. We could
pretend
to be married.”

Charlie forced out a laugh, feeling foolish. “Of course. Scared the living daylights out of me.” What the hell had he been thinking?

“I would never do that to you, Charlie,” she said softly. “My plan is to marry Daniel Cartwright. He's an American who was just here for my engagement ball. He's a delightful man with a promising career in politics and he needs a wife. I will be that wife.”

Charlie raised one brow. “Does he know that?”

“Not yet. But I'm confident I can convince him. Please, Charlie, say you will let me come. I can't bear the thought of marrying Weston.” Her eyes filled with tears, and had it been any other woman standing there, he would have thought she was trying to manipulate him. But he knew she truly loathed and feared Weston. The man was a pig, and Charlie knew he would do anything in his power to protect her from him.

“Fine,” he said, sounding angry. “You can come with me. But when we get to New York, you're on your own, understood?”

Lady Rose grinned. “Understood.”

“And you know where you're going when you get to New York?”

She nodded. “I have his address. Oh, thank you, Charlie.” She hugged him and he thought he just might die if he didn't wrap his arms around her, but he didn't, and so he did die, just a little bit.

 

The sun was rising when they arrived at the Cannock station. Rose pulled a veil down, hiding her face, trembling with fear that someone would recognize her and immediately tell her parents that she was traveling unchaperoned with a strange man. That alone would instantly ruin her. Charlie purchased their tickets, refusing to allow her to pay her way, and returned to sit by her as they waited for the first train of the day.

They sat outside the wooden building upon a bench, the morning mist drifting toward them from across a stretch of grass. It was chilly and damp, and Rose was glad she'd worn a nice warm wool coat, but she secretly wished she also had the lovely mink muff that she'd left behind.

By the time the train finally pulled into the station at ten minutes past seven, her muscles ached as much from the stress of fearing someone would see her as from trying to stop her shivering.

“The train will be warm,” Charlie said, looking straight ahead as if the mist fascinated him. It was strange to be with him without a horse between them. Though she'd known him all her life, Rose suddenly felt as if she didn't know him at all. On this gray morning, his eyes looked more blue than she remembered, and a fine stubble of beard, darker than the blond curls on his head, made him seem even more foreign to her.

She shivered again, and he turned toward her, concern in his eyes. “Would you like my coat?”

Rose shook her head. “It's not the cold as much as I'm frightened to death that someone will recognize me.”

“I wouldn't recognize you if I stared right at you,” he said, obviously trying to cheer her. “Anyone who knows you would never suspect you would wear such an ugly dress.”

Rose immediately looked down at the serviceable brown dress that she'd “borrowed” from Sarah on the pretense she needed something plain to wear to the stables. “It's not that ugly,” she said.

“Compared to the fancy things you usually wear, it is,” he said, leaning toward her and speaking low. “Besides, that veil hides your whole face. You look like some sort of specter.”

“Good. Better I be completely invisible. I daresay by the time we embark, my nerves shall be completely frazzled.”

He frowned. “You ought to try to sound like someone from the working class. You talk like that in steerage and everyone's going to know you don't belong.”

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Ya mean I should 'ave talked like this, then? Like I never 'ave seen the inside of a 'ouse?”

Charlie chuckled. “That was awful. Just talk like yourself. You can be a former lady's maid who thinks she's better than she ought to be.”

When the train finally arrived, Rose stood immediately, impatiently waiting for the few people who were disembarking in Cannock to do so. She held her reticule in one hand and her large carpetbag in the other, until Charlie took it from her, saying, “You may not be a lady, but I can still be a gentleman.”

She grinned at him and handed over the bag, which was quite heavy. She'd crammed as much into it as she possibly could, including a sapphire necklace she couldn't bear to part with as it had been a gift from her grandmother, who would no doubt collapse in horror when she learned what her favorite granddaughter had done.

The train ride from Cannock to Liverpool was blessedly quiet. Thankfully, the pair didn't see anyone they recognized at the station, and once they were on the train, Rose finally relaxed. She refused to consider what her parents would think, what the duke would do, how her brothers would react. She prayed she'd be on the ship and looking back at England by the time they realized she was gone. Whenever she felt panic building inside her, she pushed it down. She could not allow herself to think about how she could very well be ruining her life. Certainly when she'd detailed her plan to Charlie she'd sounded confident, but she was so far from that state she nearly broke out into hysterical laughter. Every time the train stopped, she had to force herself not to run off the train and take the first one back to Birmingham. She would sit there, still, clutching her reticule in her hands until she heard the engineer call for everyone to board, and only then would she trust herself not to jump from the train.

Charlie was silent and brooding, no doubt thinking about how angry her brothers would be if they discovered he had been her accomplice. Rose didn't believe they would find out; she would never have put Charlie in that sort of position. The entire train ride, she kept reminding herself:
It's not too late. You can go back and no one will ever know.
The ship wasn't leaving until that evening at high tide, which meant she had until six.

“Charlie.”

“Yes m'la—I'll have to stop calling you that, you know. If we're pretending to be married, I'll have to call you by your given name. I do apologize.”

She waved a hand at him. “Don't be silly, Charlie, I completely understand.” Still, it would be strange to have him call her Rose, but she imagined she'd have to get used to it. Soon, if all went as planned, she'd be simply Mrs. Cartwright, a far, far lesser title than duchess. That was if she didn't change her mind. “Charlie, am I doing the right thing?”

“You're doing the right thing, but I'm not certain you're doing it the right way. I don't know why you couldn't talk to your mother.”

Rose looked out the window at the passing scenery. “You don't know her like I do. She never would have let me break the engagement. I told her I wanted to break it off, you know, but she became quite cross with me.”

Charlie looked at her solemnly. “Then you're doing the right thing. I just pray to God your brothers understand. Don't think for a second they won't come after you.”

“I know they will, but by then it will be too late. I'll already be engaged to Mr. Cartwright and your name will never be mentioned. I'm so grateful for your help, Charlie.”

Charlie let out a sound that Rose supposed was an acknowledgment of her gratitude. She knew she was putting him in a terrible situation; she only prayed her brothers, particularly Marcus with his terrible temper, never found out.

C
harlie, who had never been to a city larger than Birmingham and only on the rarest occasion, found himself a bit overwhelmed by the activity and smell of Liverpool. He'd had plenty of doubts when he'd agreed to let Lady Rose accompany him, but getting jostled and stepping carefully to avoid God knows what on the streets, he felt those doubts triple. This was no place for Lady Rose, and he was completely out of his element, a country bumpkin in the bustling city.

The train station was just a short walk from the port where their ship was berthed. He'd purchased his ticket in steerage weeks ago and could only hope the ship could accommodate another passenger. He wasn't sure what he'd do if there was no room left.

“Shall we get a hack?”

Charlie shook his head. “The conductor said the port is only five blocks, so we can walk. It'll be good after sitting on the train for so long.”

Lady Rose—no matter how hard he tried, he could not think of her as “Rose” as it was far too familiar—gamely followed, relinquishing her heavy bag to him. The truth was, he had very little money to spare and he certainly couldn't ask a lady to pay his way.

“My, this is even busier than London,” Rose said, and something in her voice made Charlie stop and turn to her. She looked so damn young and lost, and he wished more than anything he could make everything better for her. She stood, her dark hair coming loose from her hastily repaired bun, her brown eyes looking up at him, and tried to smile. It was that pathetic little smile that tugged at his heart the most.

“Here, grab my coat. That way we won't be separated.” Charlie felt unaccountably pleased when she immediately took hold of his coat. He liked the tug of her hand; it gave him a sense of protectiveness, as if he were finally doing something to make her safe. Less than ten minutes after they departed the railway station, Charlie was looking up at the
Adriatic
, a steamship that would take him—and Rose—to their new lives.

“We have to go to the ticket clerk and purchase another passage,” Charlie said, looking around until he spied a sign for the White Star Line. All around them, passengers struggled with luggage, sometimes entire families with even the smallest children tugging bags and trunks behind them. The first-class passengers stood out, for they carried not a single bit of luggage; they had servants for that. He looked back at Lady Rose and smiled wryly. Despite her simple gown, it was clear she wasn't like the rest of the steerage passengers, who looked world-weary and disheveled. Lady Rose had an air about her born from years of training that marked her as a member of the upper class. That, and the fact she was wearing a pair of expensive kid gloves that no one in steerage could ever afford.

As they waited in line, Charlie bent down so he could whisper to her. “My lady, I think it would be best to take off your gloves.”

She looked down at her hands. “Whatever for?”

“Because they mark you as a lady. And because I wouldn't put it past any of these passengers to steal them from you. Those gloves are worth more than some of these people make in a year.”

“Oh, of course. But do you really think someone would steal them?”

“In the blink of an eye. If you have any other valuables, you ought to give them to the steward for safe keeping.”

She quickly removed her gloves, and Charlie let out a small groan, for she had revealed delicate, white, unmarred hands decorated with a lavish sapphire ring and an opal that seemed to sparkle unnaturally, as if it were lit from within. At least that's the way it seemed to Charlie.

“Put one of your rings on your left hand, my lady,” he said low. “Then turn it so the stone doesn't show. See? Now it looks like a simple wedding ring. Put your other ring in your sack.”

Lady Rose gave him an affronted look. “It's not a sack, it's a reticule.”

“A fancy sack, then,” Charlie said, teasing.

She grinned and held out her left hand, and seeing that band of gold made his chest hurt again. “We're officially married,” she said with a grin, and he looked away toward the ticket counter. Stupid to feel a tug in his chest when she said that. He could almost hear Harry chuckling at his foolishness.

“I need another ticket for third class,” Charlie said when they reached the clerk. “I decided to get married.” He looked back at Lady Rose and winked.

The man glanced at Lady Rose, then shook his head. “Booked solid. Every berth in the married section is taken, nearly a full ship. Can't say I'd want to be in third class with one thousand other souls aboard at any rate. Sorry, mate.” He looked down at his log, then to Rose, and said, with odd reluctance, “I could separate you. You with the men, her with the women.”

“No,” Rose said, clutching at Charlie's sleeve. The clerk noticed the gesture and smiled, likely thinking his “wife” couldn't bear to be apart from him, newlyweds that they were. “What other accommodations does the ship offer?” she asked, sounding like exactly what she was—a lady. The clerk's brows jumped upward and he took a closer look at Lady Rose, as if he might see the blue blood flowing through her veins.

The clerk looked down at his log, brows furrowed. “You're in luck. I've got one second-class cabin available, but it will cost you twenty more quid.”

“Twenty,” Charlie repeated, feeling slightly ill. That was more than half a year's wage and a large portion of what he was carrying.

“Charlie,” Rose had said quietly. “May I have a word?”

He stepped back from the window, just far enough to talk to Lady Rose without the man overhearing. Charlie could picture Marcus going up to this very window and making inquiries about Rose and learning quickly that a lady traveling with a scruffy blond man had indeed booked passage on the
Adriatic
. “Could you please sound less . . .” Charlie struggled for a word, until he finally settled on “hoity-toity.”

“Hoity-toity?” Lady Rose repeated. “Did I truly?”

“Yes, my lady, you did. You do know Marcus will murder me if he realizes I have helped you. Any one of your brothers will, of course, but I think Marcus would be particularly brutal. The less attention you can draw to yourself, the better.”

She lifted her chin. “And perhaps you should remember to call me Rose. I daresay there are very few husbands traveling in second class who call their wife lady.”

“It's difficult,” he ground out.

“So is everything about this trip, but we shall manage. Now, please allow me to pay for our passage. While I don't believe I have the funds for first class, I see no issue with you allowing me to pay for second class. After all, you are doing me a very great favor and this is the least I can do. And to be honest, Charlie, I've read terrible accounts of steerage and I cannot tell you how relieved I am that we won't be forced to travel that way.”

Hot shame filled him, but he wasn't about to let his pride stop him from allowing her to purchase a second-class cabin. At least Lady Rose—
Rose, Rose, Rose
, he thought with frustration—could avoid the humiliation of the physical exam if she was in second class and would have a bit more privacy.

In the end, he let her pay, knowing it was for the best; she wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb quite as much in second class as she would have in steerage, where passengers slept together in one large room. And if he were honest, sleeping in a large room with a few hundred unwashed men wasn't something he particularly looked forward to either. But he did wonder which would be worse, sleeping in a roomful of unbathed men or sleeping in a tiny room with sweet-smelling Rose.

 

Rose stood at the rail, clutching it with gloveless hands, her knuckles even paler than her face.
Go back, go back, go back
, she screamed to herself. There was still time; the gangplank was still letting passengers on board, many in tears as they left behind loved ones. Rose's eyes were dry; she was too terrified to cry. She'd sent a telegram minutes before they'd boarded:
I am safe STOP Cannot marry Weston STOP Will wire when destination reached STOP.

She wondered how long it would take for her parents to receive the telegram and whether they were already in a panic looking for her. She hadn't left a note, hadn't wanted anyone to know she was gone. No doubt her maid had been the first to realize something was amiss. Sarah had probably been curious, wondering if Rose had gotten up early to go to the stables. Rose had done that on numerous occasions. Did they even know she was gone yet? Or was everyone making assumptions? They'd know soon enough.

Her mother would be devastated, her father livid. And the duke, oh God, it didn't bear thinking. What would a man like Weston do after being humiliated so? She wanted to be glad of her escape, but at that moment, watching as the crew prepared to pull back the bridge onto the dock, she couldn't even revel in that thought.

Rose looked down into the dark, swirling waters of the Mersey, idly wondering if she would survive a jump. When the bell rang, a delicate sound above the murmur of the passengers, the engine came to life, a great deep rumble like some animal stretching and awakening, vibrating beneath her feet. And then the ship began to move and real panic set in and her breathing became shallow. Charlie stood next to her, a calming presence, and once in a while he'd look over, no doubt worried that she was about to do something rash—or more rash than running away. Oh, Lord, this was a horrible mistake.

“We should probably go to our cabin,” Charlie said after a time.

She turned to look at him, and she knew her panic was clear in her eyes. “Oh, Charlie, what have I done?”

If she had asked that question thirty minutes ago, he would have likely replied, “Nothing that can't be undone.” But now, with the sun setting behind Liverpool and the ship pulling away from port, gaining speed—it was already too far away to safely swim to shore—there was no reversing her decision. “You've saved yourself,” he said.

Bless him for saying that. His words, spoken so matter-of-factly, calmed her as nothing else could. She was saving herself. Yes, she was leaving behind a terrible mess, and she doubted her mother and father would ever forgive her, but it was worth it to not have to marry Weston. She had to keep telling herself that. Rose took a bracing breath. “Let's go see our cabin, shall we?”

The mood of the other passengers was solemn and Rose sympathized. They were more like her than she realized, all leaving home, all likely believing they might never see their loved ones back home again. A young couple who stood in front of them while they waited to be directed to their cabin seemed especially sad. The woman leaned heavily upon her husband as she wept.

“It'll be all right, Charlotte, you'll see. We'll come back when we can,” her young husband said, but his words only caused the woman to cry in earnest. The man looked back at her and Charlie, giving them an embarrassed smile. “She's got four sisters back in York, you see.”

“I have four brothers,” Rose said, feeling her throat close up. She swallowed and pushed down the sadness; it would never do to put on such an emotional display in public. If she cried, which she prayed she would not, she hoped to do so in complete privacy. Already she'd made a cake of herself in front of Charlie and she'd vowed that would not happen again.

The young woman turned, her eyes red and watery, her nose pink. She looked the picture of misery.

“I do apologize for making such a scene. I didn't even think to cry until the engines started and then I couldn't stop,” she said, laughing a bit. “I'm Charlotte Browne. With an e. And this is my husband, Roger.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Browne. We are Mr. and Mrs. Charles Avery of Cannock.” Rose gave Charlie a smile, proud that she'd handled the introductions so flawlessly.

They all stepped forward, closer to the steward. “What takes you to America?” Roger asked. “We're settling there with my brother and his wife. He has a haberdashery in Boston. Not buttons and such. Men's clothing. It's different in America. Don't know why, but there it is. My brother is an excellent tailor and he has a very fine business and could use my help. They left two years ago and convinced us to join them.”

“Convinced
you
to join them,” Charlotte pointed out good-naturedly. It was obviously something that had been pointed out before, because Roger took her jibe in stride.

“She was excited up until a few minutes ago,” Roger said. He draped his arm around his wife, an easy gesture that made Rose slightly self-conscious. She and Charlie were supposed to be married, but they were acting like virtual strangers. Then again, she'd never seen her parents touch one another unless it was absolutely necessary, such as for a dance or to disembark from a carriage, and they'd been married for thirty years.

When Charlotte and Roger were busy with the steward, Charlie leaned in close and whispered, “Are you feeling better now?”

“I'm quite fine, thank you. And but for a momentary lapse, I've been fine this entire trip. Thank you for your inquiry.”

He chuckled, deep and low, and something about that laugh made her feel slightly off. “You ought to pay attention to Mrs. Browne. She acts the way a person in second class ought to act.”

“I have no idea what you could mean,” she said, lifting her chin.