"Ah!" one of the gentlemen exclaimed when he caught sight of Edward and Emily. "And here is young Edward Mason." He shook hands firmly with Edward before turning to Emily. "But I don't recognize your companion. Who is this lovely young lady, my boy?"
"This is Emily Sullivan, Mr. Astor. She is traveling with mother and I. Emily, this is John Jacob Astor."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Astor." Emily conducted a graceful curtsy.
"You are a charming one, aren't you?" Mr. Astor took Emily's gloved hand in his own large one and kissed her knuckles. "How old are you, Miss Sullivan?"
"Eighteen, sir."
"Eighteen, eh? Well, Miss Sullivan, you're just about the same age as Miss Dewitt Bukater here." Mr. Astor gestured towards a young, red-haired woman who was on the arm of a very handsome man. "Would you like to meet her?" Emily nodded politely, and Mr. Astor took her off of Edward's arm, transferring her hand efficiently from Ed's elbow to his own, and led her to where the couple stood. Mr. Astor cleared his throat when he reached them.
"Ah, hello Mr. Astor." The young man's greeting was certainly pleasant enough, but something about his eyes warned Emily that he was not a pleasant person. These same eyes lit upon Emily within moments. "Who is this beautiful girl that you've bamboozled into letting you escort her?" The laughter from his joke did not go any further than his mouth.
"This is Miss Emily Sullivan. She's traveling with the Masons, and she is about your age, Rose."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Sullivan. My name is Caldon Hockley, but you may call me Cal." He took Emily's hand and kissed her knuckles; it took all of Emily's willpower not to yank her hand away. "And this is my fiancée, Rose Dewitt Bukater." The two ladies curtsied to each other.
"Charmed, I'm sure." The redhead smiled in a detached, distant sort of way.
"And here is our captain, Mr. Edward Smith." Mr. Astor turned her to face a jolly-looking, white haired man who appeared to be in his 60's.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith." Emily's month worth of etiquette lessons seemed to be paying off nicely.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sullivan." The man's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, making his aged face seem years younger.
A bell was rung then, signaling that dinner was about to be served. Mr. Astor led Emily to the table and pulled out a chair for her, which Emily seated herself in gratefully; her pumps were beginning to hurt her feet. Emily found herself seated between Rose Dewitt Bukater and Edward, the latter of whom kept trying to catch her eye, and the former whom was trying to avoid any conversation, it seemed.
Dinner passed by in a whirl of laughter, conversation, and music. Though they had been seated precisely at one o'clock, they did not finish eating and conversing until well after two. By the time it was suitable to excuse herself, Emily was feeling exhausted, and not as excited about this new life as she had been a month ago.
"If you'll excuse me," she said politely, standing up from her chair, "I'm going to catch a breath of fresh air out on the deck."
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sullivan." This sentiment was repeated up and down the table as Emily left, breathing a sigh of relief when the cool ocean air hit her face. Emily made her way to the bow of the ship, passing by many well-dressed ladies and gentlemen. Emily bypassed these people, making her way, instead, to the bow, where the third class deck was located. Emily opened the gate and stepped through, feeling an automatic sense of relief as she looked at the third class passengers.
Emily passed by a group of three men, and she couldn't help but notice that their eyes followed her as she walked. She stopped about fifty feet down from these men and leaned against the rail, looking out at the azure ocean.
As she looked back at where the shore had been, she felt a pang of homesickness. Though Southampton had never held any fond memories for her, Emily knew that it had been her only home. It was only one short month ago that she had simply been Emily Catherine, a poor maid at the orphanage, and now, she was Emily Catherine Sullivan, supposed wealthy companion to the wealthy Madam Mason. Emily glanced down at the cream gloves on her hands, scowling at the unoffending pieces of fabric. Suddenly these soft satin accessories seemed to embody her entire social climb, and she hated them. For once, she longed, more than anything, to be Emily Catherine again. To hear Miss Stewart barking orders irritably, to shove her way through the crowded marketplace, and to tend to the crying babies.
As Emily looked at her gloves, a sudden inspiration struck her. Grinning like a mischievous child, she took her gloves off one by one and bunched them up in her hand. With one last look at the wide, blue ocean, she tossed her gloves to the waves, watching as they drifted down to rest among the sapphire crests. Still grinning, she leaned back against the railing.
"Might I ask what a lovely first class lady like yerself is doin' down here murderin' her gloves?" Emily whipped around, startled by the newcomer.
The man leaning on the railing next to her was one of the men she had passed before. Judging by his accent, he was Irish, and his looks supported this. His curly hair was a dirty-strawberry-blonde, and long enough to peek out from under the worn brown hat that was perched on his head. His eyes were a warm hazel-green, and they seemed to sparkle as they studied her.
"Oh!" Emily gasped, clutching her recently liberated hands to her heart. Despite her shock, however, she liked this man immediately, and smiled up at him. "I suppose you might ask that." She smiled and turned back to look over the railing, but she could no longer see her gloves.
"My name's Tommy Ryan, by the way." He reached for her hand, and took it in his large, calloused ones, kissing her knuckles. This was very different from when the gentlemen in the dining room had done so; somehow, in that one simple gesture, Tommy Ryan was able to say that he cared about her, and not her looks or the way she dressed.
"Emily Sullivan."
"So, what is a first class lady doin' down here?"
"Oh," Emily laughed, turning to look back out at the ocean. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asked abruptly, turning to face Tommy Ryan. "You can't tell anyone, though."
"That's the nature o' secrets, isn't it?" Emily laughed again.
"Yes, I suppose it is." She studied Tommy for a moment before saying, "I'm not really first class."
"What?" He looked confused, and probably rightly so.
"Well, what I mean is, I'm traveling first class, and I dress first class, and I'm expected to act like I'm first class, but I'm really not." He still looked puzzled. Emily happened to glance up at the sun, and realized that it was far later than she had thought. "Oh dear," she said with dismay. "I must be getting back. I promised Madam Mason that I would help her dress for supper, and lord knows that it might take two hours." She stepped away from the railing and faced Tommy again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Ryan." He took her hand and kissed it again, but didn't let go afterwards.
"Ya didn't finish tellin' me yer story, Miss Sullivan."
"Oh, yes, right." Emily thought for a moment. "Meet me right here at eleven o'clock."
Tommy released her hand and grinned, a gorgeous, heart stopping grin. "Eleven o'clock," he repeated. "I'll see ya then, Miss Sullivan." Emily hurried away, but couldn't resist a backwards glance. Tommy was still standing there, looking after her, that grin still on his face. As Emily turned away, she couldn't help but smile, as well.