This is a totally sappy, romantic (and very long) bonus that has lots of callbacks to #harrine's early days. Enjoy ;)
November 1, 1912 - night
The wedding had been a simple affair.
That was more out of necessity than by choice, because they'd had a hell of a time finding someone to officiate. Corrine's condition by now was very obvious, and St. David's and St. John's balked at hosting the wedding, despite the family's long association with both. It was improper to marry a couple in a house of God if they had already enjoyed premarital relations, it was argued piously; their poor example might encourage loose morals. With an effort, Harold restrained himself from informing the church leaders that their flocks were most assuredly indulging in that and far worse activities every day of the week and twice on Sundays.
Finally Reverend Davies agreed to perform the ceremony, on the condition that it be held outside of the church so as not to offend the congregation. That suited Harold just fine. He wasn't at all concerned about what the people in Barmouth thought about his life anyway; he was going to live it on his own terms as always. Let the town gossip. He refused to be shamed for the choices they had made, for loving Corrine as he did. As for the woman in question, she didn't mind at all; she was thrilled to be getting married in his family's 'wee castle', as she jokingly called Penrallt.
As soon as Harold had found out Corrine was expecting their child, he put in a request for two months of shore leave. He had never asked for it before, and given the circumstances of the past spring, he thought it more than justified. Apparently White Star did as well, and the company granted his request without a murmur of protest. So for the foreseeable future the only responsibilities he had were doting on his fiancee and helping her plan the wedding. In a final ironic twist, Harold used the money that the obnoxious American swell had stuffed into his pocket the night of the sinking to finance the proceedings, and to pay for passage for their guests to travel to Barmouth. The bills had gone back and forth between him and Corrine so many times already that it had become a bit of a shared joke, and while neither wanted anything to do with the money, Harold did want to see that it was put to good use.
Although it was a small wedding, the preparations leading up to it took up nearly every moment of Harold and Corrine's day. Chief on the list was sending out invitations to their loved ones. They both preferred to keep the ceremony itself small, witnessed by only their close family and a few dear friends. Harold invited his sister Ada and her husband, his brother Arthur, and his other sister Annie; his brother Edgar, on a ship somewhere near New Zealand, couldn't make it. Corrine's father and uncle were at the top of her list, of course, as were her childhood friends. Although her friend Kate desperately wanted to attend, she couldn't make the trip back over the pond in time, despite the passage money that Corrine dangled in front of her and Daniel. Katie, however, had planned a visit to Paris with her fiance which fortuitously coincided with the wedding date, so she was able to wire an enthusiastic acceptance. To Harold's disgust, Corrine had even invited that tosser Lightoller and his wife, but fortunately he was at sea again. Harold's feelings toward him may have thawed a bit, but he still harbored some resentment at his earlier treatment... and he wasn't entirely sure of Lightoller's feelings toward Corrine, either; he didn't like the way he looked at her during their time in America when he thought Harold wasn't watching. It could have been admiration, or even a sort of paternalistic concern... but Harold didn't quite trust him. Altogether, he preferred to keep the man at a safe distance.
Other details consumed their time as well. There were rings to purchase, a suit to have tailored, dinner to plan - and a special surprise to organize. And those were just his duties; Corrine had her own very important task to attend: her trousseau. It had taken her three weeks to make her wedding dress, even with the aid of the sewing machine that Harold had bought her to assist with the process. She spent every spare moment - when he wasn't dragging her off to bed, that is - holed up in one of Penrallt's many spare bedrooms, sewing until her fingers became raw and calloused. She had refused his offer to hire a ladies' maid to help with the dressmaking and generally make her life easier ('I can take care of myself, Harry,' she had said tartly), and only brought in a seamstress from town one time, for the final fitting. The dress was a labor of love, she told him, and she wanted only her hands - and his - to touch it. Of course, she wouldn't let him see it before their wedding day, and the one time he sneaked up to the room to try and take a peek, she playfully swatted him and pushed him out the door, giggling.
So Harold waited, as patiently as he was capable, for the big day. He made it a point to actively avoid his harrumphing father, who seemed determined to dampen everyone's spirits. But Corrine seemed just as determined to bring joy and lightness to the occasion, and often consulted with his father about small details, such as the dinner menu and the most appropriate blooms for the flower arrangements. She made an attempt to appeal to his artistic eye whenever possible, and Harold could see, even if no one else could, that his resistance to her was eventually going to erode, slowly but surely.
The final days before the wedding were filled with a flurry of activity, as the guests started trickling into Barmouth and Mrs. Jones, the Lowe's long-time cook, began preparations for the feast. Harold himself was sent to fetch and carry for the harried woman, a task he didn't mind, as it allowed him to sneak out and have a surreptitious smoke every so often to calm his nerves. He was the happiest he had ever been, but instead of making him feel peaceful and serene, his bliss only made him wary. Deep down, he was worried that some last-minute catastrophe might befall them, preventing him from wedding the woman he loved more than life itself. When he whispered his fears to Corrine under cover of darkness in their bed one night, she embraced him passionately, then made love to him so vigorously that his trepidation - and his senses - left him at once. Thereafter, every time she saw a pensive expression cross his face, she would pull him away for a few moments of privacy. She distracted - and delighted - him so often that his father finally threw up his hands and roared at him to 'leave the girl alone! Have you no pride at all?'. Harold knew he was being a pain in the arse, but he didn't care; he just wanted to cling to her and never let go.
Katie swooped down on Penrallt like a hurricane, imperiously ordering Harold and the servants around like she was born to it and stepping in to show them how to do a task properly when things weren't up to her standards. Her bemused fiance, Monsieur Boucher, sought out Arthur and George for solace, and the three of them spent most of their time in the study trying to stay out of the way and avoid her whirling, nonstop energy. Annie and Ada slipped easily back into the routine of their childhood home, and spent most of their time fussing over Harold and cooing over Corrine, while Ada's husband Joseph retreated to the study with the other men.
But the most important guests of all arrived just two days before the ceremony. In a rare show of solidarity, Corrine's father and uncle traveled together to Barmouth, and Harold went with Corrine to meet them at the train station for what was certain to be an emotional reunion, particularly between the formerly estranged father and daughter. Sure enough, as soon as he stepped out of the coach, she flew into his arms. "My Alanna," Corrine's father choked over and over into her hair, stroking her back and clutching her as she wept onto his shoulder. "I'm so sorry - for everything."
And, in keeping with Corrine's boundless ability to forgive, those words was enough. They stayed like this for several minutes, as if unwilling to separate again after so many years of emotional and physical distance, and Harold marveled as he watched decades of resentment dissolve before his eyes. Once they had finally composed themselves, she managed to tear herself away from him and embrace her uncle, whose eyes were also shining with tears. "I've missed you so much, little one," he whispered, hugging her back with equal intensity.
When she finished lavishing her affection on the men who had raised her, Corrine led her father over to meet Harold. Frank stared up at him - he was only a few inches taller than his daughter - and Harold could tell that he was taking his measure. Harold met his sea-green gaze steadily. He knew their courtship had been unconventional, without the usual introduction of the families; he hadn't even asked her father for her hand, reasoning correctly that Corrine was capable of making her own decisions about her life. And if he were being honest, he knew what he would think if he were in the man's place: a sailor who got his daughter pregnant before marriage would likely not be held in high regard. Frank must have decided he liked what he saw, however, because after a time his face broke into a begrudging smile. "Pleased to meet you at last, son," he grunted, and that was that. Corrine looked thrilled; he supposed from her taciturn father, that passed as a ringing endorsement as far as she was concerned. Her uncle John was far more affable, greeting Harold with a firm handshake and a congratulatory slap on the back. Corrine then introduced him to her Aunt Gertrude, John's wife, and Mrs. O'Sullivan, who had come as Frank's guest. One look at her and he could tell she was smitten with Corrine's father, who nonetheless seemed completely oblivious. Harold smothered a chuckle. Unwittingly attracting attention from the opposite sex must run in the family, then.
Everyone managed to settle in quite nicely, and for the next few nights the house was filled with a warm camaraderie that Harold hadn't felt since he was a small, carefree child. Corrine was the ultimate hostess, seeing to everyone's comforts with effortless ease and entertaining them with stories of life in America, to which Katie also enthusiastically chimed in. Surprisingly, Harold's father didn't seem to resent her too much for it; perhaps he was grateful that her hospitality allowed him to steal away and indulge his two favorite hobbies: painting and drinking.
Soon, only one daybreak separated Harold from the fulfillment of his hopes and dreams. But to his shock, when he made to undress in their bedroom and slip under the covers with her on the eve of their union, she demurred, her eyes downcast and a little embarrassed.
"It's bad luck for the bride to see her husband the morning of the wedding," she said shyly. "I know you must think I'm daft, but... can you humor me, just this once, Harry?"
And so, for the first time since the seas had separated them, Harold and Corrine slept apart. Well, rather, Corrine slept; Harold checked on her several times and saw that she was resting peacefully. He, on the other hand, tossed restlessly the entire interminable night; he didn't think his eyes closed once. Sleep had always been difficult without her; now, on the cusp of his new life and still worried that it would all somehow be snatched away from him, it was nigh impossible. Finally he abandoned the effort, and sat on the edge of his bed watching the sunrise as he had done in Washington with Corrine all those months ago. In the dim grey light of dawn he dressed in a dark grey frock coat and matching waistcoat, white shirt and scarf, dark grey striped trousers, and his new patent leather shoes. Then he crept downstairs, sat in the garden, sipped tea... and waited.
The hours crept by at a snail's pace. He could hear the bustle and excitement emanating from the house, but he stayed where he was; he knew his presence at this stage would be nothing more than a burden. Finally - finally - noon arrived. His father, sent to retrieve him, ushered him inside with an impatient wave, and on trembling legs Harold rose and followed him, his empty stomach churning.
The formal exchange of vows was to take place in the sitting room. Reverend Davies was already waiting there, as were their few witnesses, excepting Katie and Corrine's father, who were attending the bride. The room was decorated with the last of the redshank blooms that Annie had plucked from Penrallt's gardens. Ava had stretched satin ribbons from one end of the room to the other, making an aisle for Corrine to walk down and for guests to stand on either side. He tried to give them a smile of thanks for their thoughtfulness, but in his keyed-up state he knew it must have looked more like a grimace of pain.
As the minute hand on the mantle clock ticked to quarter past the hour, Harold's impatience grew. His leaden immovability from earlier was gone; in its place was a restless animation that drove him to nervously pace the floor with his hands folded behind his back. "Where is she?" he gritted through his teeth as he watched the doorway.
"You know, it's quite unlikely that she's going to do a runner at this late date," his father remarked drily, reading his thoughts.
Harold shot him a quick glance; from his normally surly father, it might have passed for humor. But George's face was expressionless; if the man was amused by Harold's predicament, he was keeping it to himself. Harold scowled, staring at the thick carpeting beneath his shoes, until his father abruptly nudged him and said, "Here she comes."
He collected himself and quickly hurried into position. Tradition dictated that he not look at her as she walked down the aisle, so he obediently turned away from the door and faced the clergyman, who remained impassive. His ears perked up at the murmurs of admiration and delight from the guests, and he surmised that she must have entered the room at last. Then everything became hushed, and he could hear nothing but the faint swish of her gown as she moved toward him. His body twitched with the effort of remaining in place, of behaving like a dutiful groom... and then he caught himself remembering Corrine's words in Washington: 'Why are you trying to act like such a... a gentleman with me, Harry?'
The thought made him smile, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. The hell with it, he thought. Convention be damned; I'm going to look.
He whirled to face her - and all the foreboding and apprehension he had been carrying for the past week were instantly driven from his mind.
She was flanked by her father and her uncle, who were escorting her down the open space between the guests, but she paused the procession to glance up at him bashfully under her long lashes. His darling Corrine was stunning, a vision of perfection. Her white satin dress shimmered with intricate crystal beading and hand-detailed lace, the empire waist and slim contours of the gown highlighting their son growing inside her. But it was her expression of love that reduced him to a puddle. We are one, she seemed to say. You have nothing to fear.
He stared at her awestruck, forgetting to breathe, unable to move, as he lost his heart to her all over again. And then the dam burst. He bawled like a baby, tears streaming down his cheeks as he beheld her. His father gave him a look of disgust, but he barely registered it; he couldn't take his eyes off of his radiant bride, who slowly resumed her gliding advance toward him. When she reached his side, she handed her bouquet of dandelions, red campion, honeysuckle, and clover to Katie, who had followed behind, kissed both her father and her uncle, and then turned to Harold. "I'm yours now, Harry," she murmured. "Now and forever."
Her words set him off anew. The reverend, ignoring Harold's emotional outpouring, cleared his throat, and both bride and groom tore their eyes away from one another and turned to him. 'Dearly beloved...' Davies declared in a sonorous voice, and with that, the service began.
He said a few words about the role of marriage in society and in the church, but Harold barely paid attention; his entire being was focused only on the woman at his side. When the reverend came to the recitation of the vows, though, the quiet, gentle dignity of the rites penetrated the bubble of his delirium fog. Though Harold had heard the words before, this time they were suffused with a significance that he had never before appreciated. They seemed to throb and resonate with the weight of duty, responsibility, and love:
'I, Harold, take thee, Corrine, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward...' His voice wobbled, but at the reassuring squeeze of her hand he recovered and finished the phrase. She repeated the words after him in a high, clear voice that rang with deep conviction, and her earnestness was never more apparent as when she promised "to love and to cherish, till death us do part."
He was scarcely able to blubber his way through the rest of the vows; only the constant touch of her hands on his kept him from breaking down entirely. The joining of their hearts was solemn, sacred... almost too poignant for him to bear. And during the exchange of rings, he shook so badly that he fumbled and dropped the tiny gold band. He heard a gasp of dismay from Katie - presumably she believed in the old superstition that it was a sign of bad luck - and his own heart plummeted. But then Corrine bent over with cool aplomb and retrieved it from atop her slipper. With a glint of a smile, she handed it back to him and whispered the words that only he would understand: "Don't worry, Harry - I won't let you fall."
Too late, darling, he thought to himself. I fell long ago.
He slipped off one of her white lace gloves - a wedding gift from her aunt and uncle - and placed the ring on her dainty finger. Corrine turned to Katie and retrieved his ring, and then slid it over his knuckle.
And just like that, it was over. "What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder," declared the reverend. She tilted her face up to him and stared straight into his eyes as the man then said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Harold lifted the lace veil covering her angelic face, and bent down to press his lips to the sweet swell of her mouth.
And it was done. Corrine was his wife; he was married to the most dear little bride in all the world.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of confetti, congratulations, and toasts to the happy couple - during which neither the groom nor the bride imbibed, of course. Harold was sure there was food involved as well, but he didn't remember eating much. He couldn't stop gazing at Corrine, and his infectious, doting happiness must have amused their guests, because he caught more than one of them giving him a sly little grin during the celebrations. But a part of him still felt like he was floating in a dream. Occasionally he found himself reaching down to touch his ring finger, as if to assure himself that it was real.
Even though the baby's birth was still a few months away, Corrine was reluctant to travel at this stage of her pregnancy - and she had flatly refused to go anywhere on a steamship anyway. So a honeymoon was out of the question, and because they planned to remain at Penrallt for the foreseeable future, they had all the time in the world to spend with their visiting friends and family. At their urging, Harold and Corrine opened their wedding gifts after breakfast. Ava and Annie had given Corrine a fashionable hat, soft leather gloves, and a dainty parasol. It was a thoughtful and sisterly gesture, and Corrine exclaimed over their beauty; neither bride nor groom had the heart to tell them that Corrine likely wouldn't use them much. Katie presented the couple with a bell, and Corrine with a white linen handkerchief ("You'll be able to use it as a bonnet for the wee one soon enough"), in keeping with their Irish traditions. She also proudly showed the couple the tiny silver horseshoe that she had skillfully hidden in the bouquet "so that your luck will never run out". Harold was flabbergasted and deeply touched by the gifts from Sara Compton and Rene Harris; once more his eyes filled with tears and he was unable to speak as he gazed down at the tokens of their respect and admiration for him. They opened Lightoller's package last. Corrine was transcendent with joy over the long Asian print shawl, and kept fingering its soft embroidered silk and beaded fringe... but was speechless when she opened the box containing the little iron key.
Harold was lost for words as well. He had no idea how the man had obtained that particular item, but he had to admit that he couldn't have picked a better talisman if he tried. Her wonder mirrored his own. "He remembered, Harry," she said softly after finally finding her voice. "I can hardly believe it."
Harold dug out the note enclosed at the bottom of the box and felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead as he read the brief message - and the cleverly worded warning. Received and acknowledged, sir, he answered Lightoller in his head. He had just sworn to love, comfort, honor, and protect the key to his happiness forever - and there would be no delinquency or neglect of this particular duty.
Other than the absence of those dear and lost to them, there was only one thing that seemed to mar the day. "I wish we could have had a little music at the reception," she sighed regretfully. "But in my preoccupation, I didn't even think of it."
Harold hid a knowing smile.
At around tea time, neighbors and friends from Barmouth started to arrive. They had published the banns, or announcement of their impending nuptials, in the local papers three weeks prior to the wedding as custom dictated. But Harold hadn't actually thought that anyone other than their loved ones would wish to recognize their union. To their surprise, however, most of the town turned out for the formal presentation of the married couple. Corrine and Harold hastily formed a receiving line, so that the guests could first pay their respects to the fathers, who were stationed just inside the door of the sitting room. They then passed on to shake hands with the bride and groom and expressed short congratulations and blessings for a happy future. Harold was secretly gratified - and honored - to see that so many people he had known from his childhood had come to wish them well. And they were unfailingly polite to his new bride. There were some curious looks at her swollen abdomen, but fortunately they had the decency to keep their questions to themselves, and there was no judgement in their stares. It seemed that the clergymen's fears of censure and ostracism were unfounded, then; instead, the town had wholeheartedly embraced the two of them. After mingling with the families and their acquaintances for some time, each guest left with a piece of cake, a three-tiered frosted fruit-filled concoction baked by Mrs. Jones three weeks prior to the wedding.
As the afternoon wore on to early evening, though, Corrine's energy began to flag. She still greeted everyone with smiling cordiality and graciousness, but her eyes were dulled, her steps slowed. By the time the last guests had collected their wraps and bid them farewell, the day's toll was visible. She looked utterly exhausted, and with uncharacteristic vehemence he insisted that she rest and put her feet up.
He escorted her over to the settee, where he instructed her to lie down. The he removed her slippers and rubbed her swollen feet. The soothing sensation relaxed her, and she was soon yawning. "Fancy a kip?" he smiled affectionately.
"Only for a minute," she mumbled, her eyes already drifting shut.
He knelt beside her on the floor, holding her hand and watching her breathing gradually slow to a calm, gentle rate. As soon as he knew she was asleep, he eased himself up, tiptoed out of the room, and softly closed the door behind him. In a few minutes he had gathered Katie and his siblings together in the foyer. "Right," he said briskly, rubbing his hands together. "Now here's what I need from you."
Corrine awoke an hour later, sleepily rubbing her eyes. Harold was sitting on the edge of the settee, watching her.
"Where is everyone?" she murmured.
"They just finished dinner, and have retired either to the library or the study."
She sat up suddenly, patting her disarrayed hair. "Oh! Oh, I should get up and-"
He reached out and stayed her fussing. "It's all right, darling," he said, stroking her cheek. "They're not expecting us. Tonight... tonight is just for us." He gently began pulling the pins out of her hair. When she blushed and tried to protest, he said, "But you know how I like it unbound. And no one will see you with your hair down, I promise."
She cocked her head, bewildered. "Why not, Harry? Where are we going?"
He rose and held out his hand. "Come with me. I have something to show you." So she slid her slippers back on and followed him out of the room, her fingers laced with his.
They traversed the length of the quiet house in silence. When they came to the back door, Harold slowed and turned to her. "Now, I want you to promise you'll keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. All right?" When she agreed, he carefully led her by the hand out of the house, guiding her over the flagstones until they came to a halt.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she had an expectant little smile on her face. "Now, Harry?" she asked.
"Yes," he breathed, his lips next to her ear. "Open your eyes, Corrine."
She did, and her big eyes grew rounder and rounder as she took in her surroundings until he had to reach out to steady her as she gasped and staggered into him.
Under his careful direction, the garden had been turned into an enchanted fairyland. Hundreds of candles in all shapes and sizes occupied every available surface, burning in candlestick holders scattered on the grass-covered paths, the walls, and the benches. Clusters of thick waxy columns were grouped together onto trays and dishes and laid out on the paving stones that lined the paths. Tealights in tiny glass bowls floated in the small pond, while lanterns containing more candles hung from the trees. Alfred had even dug out some heavy silver candelabras from the attic which held tall, slim sticks that reached nearly to waist height. The entire area glowed with the warmth of the delicate flames, each pinprick of light radiating outward to touch the others, as if seeking comfort in the darkness.
Harold stood very still, watching her take it all in. It seemed at first that she was too overcome to speak. She stared as if mesmerized, the flicker from the illumination reflected in her shining eyes. "You brought the stars down to us," she said at last, her voice very small as she clutched his hand.
He grinned triumphantly, pleased that his handiwork had such an effect on her. "I stole them all from the heavens, just like you wanted. Do you remember, darling?"
She tore her eyes away from the blazing display at last. "Of course I do," she whispered, and in her tear-filled gaze he saw the same wonder from the night on Titanic's deck when she had made that request.
Alarmed, he brushed his hand across her cheek in an attempt to keep her eyes from spilling over. "No, no - none of that, Corrine. I've done enough snivelling for both of us today," he scolded her gently.
"I just- it's- I feel like I'm dreaming. Today has been so perfect, Harry," she breathed, stifling a sob.
Wanting to prevent his bride from dissolving into tears, he quickly changed the subject. "Well, it's about to get even better. Because I have another surprise for you." With a flourish, he gestured to the piece de resistance: a gramophone, which sat on a small table near the doorway.
It worked; her wistful nostalgia was instantly forgotten as she squealed and rushed over to it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, bouncing on her toes with excitement. Her fingertips twitched as if she itched to touch it but didn't dare. "Oh, Harry, how grand! Where did you get it? Is it ours to keep? How does it work? I've always wanted-"
Suddenly she halted, and her babbling, effervescent air was replaced by one of shame and guilt. "Oh. You've done all this for me... but... but I haven't anything for you," she said meekly, her eyes downcast.
Aghast, he just stared at her for a moment, and then marched over and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, pulling her close to him. "Are you daft, Corrine? You've given me everything!" He swept his hand out, indicating their surroundings with a dismissive wave. "This... this is nothing. The merest token, compared to the love of an earth-bound angel. And do not argue, either," he warned, before she could open her mouth with the expected protest. "I won't hear it. I'm the luckiest man in the world, and believe me, I know it."
She blushed, flustered at his praise. "Harry, I told you once before - I am completely ordinary in every way."
He shook his head adamantly. "Not to me. Never to me. Don't you see? You are my light in the darkness," he said tenderly. As if to underscore his point, the wind stirred gently, making the flames flare momentarily brighter. Sliding his hands up her arms, he brushed the hair away from her face so that he could gaze into her eyes. "You've been my salvation, in more ways than you could ever know." Then he reached down to cup her belly for emphasis. "And you've given me a future I never dreamed possible." The baby kicked his hands, seemingly in agreement.
His heartfelt declaration had made her eyes well again; invoking their upcoming bundle of joy tended to do that to both of them. Before her emotions could threaten to overwhelm her once more, he said lightly, "I'm afraid you bring out the moony-eyed romantic in me, my darling." Then he shook his finger at her. "And after today you're stuck with me, so you'd better get used to it. Now, let me pamper you - tonight and for the rest of your life." He tweaked her nose and she gave him a winsome little smile in return.
His eyes flitted over the garden, noting the way the candlelight filled the blackness with brilliant gold, softening even the harshest shadows. "I do believe this is a perfect venue for a concert, don't you?" Before she could answer, he turned the crank on the gramophone, then lifted the tone arm and placed the needle gently on the record. A few seconds later, an elegant melody emerged from the small box, as clear and crisp as if an orchestra were in the garden with them.
She stared at it as if in a trance, watching the thin black disc circle around and around as the music continued to flow from it. "What is it?" she asked softly, never taking her eyes from the gramophone. "The song, I mean."
"The Blue Danube. It's a waltz, Corrine."
She tore her eyes away and looked at him. "A waltz?" she repeated, confused.
"Yes," he confirmed. His eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he said, "I do remember how you love to dance."
"But... but I don't know the steps to that dance, Harry," she said hesitantly.
"Then I will teach you," he replied indulgently, silencing her protests. Taking her hand, he led her to an area of the garden that had been purposely kept clear of candles, and held out his arms expectantly.
She looked up at him, incredulous. "You...? But when...? How...?"
"Ship's secrets," he said, and winked at her. At her confused expression, he clarified, "I asked one of those society ladies on the Gothic to teach me, so that I could surprise you."
"And you certainly did," she laughed, delighted. "You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you?" Then she frowned. "I'm not so sure I'm chuffed about another woman touching you, though."
He laughed at her obvious jealousy. "Corrine, she only groped me one time," he said in mock seriousness. At her outraged expression, he clarified, "Well, she was pretty spry for a woman in her sixties, after all."
She giggled, her dismay vanishing. He bowed low and held out his hand to her. "Well, Mrs. Lowe? May I have this dance?" he asked formally.
She curtsied back prettily, her eyes alight, and then moved into the space between them. He took her right hand in his, placing his other hand on the middle of her back. "Now, just follow my lead," he murmured in her ear: "Forward left, side right, close. Back right, side left, close. One - two - three... one - two - three..."
She was tentative at first, not wanting to step on his toes, and he couldn't resist the urge to tease her as she had once done to him. "Don't look down at your feet. Look right here," he grinned, pointing to his eyes.
Corrine threw her head back and laughed, the sound trailing behind her, and from then on they moved in unison as she became less self-conscious and allowed her feet to move instinctively.
Her white satin slippers glided noiselessly over the paving stones as they swirled round and round the garden. The swish of her dress made the flames in the candles flicker gently, casting moving shadows over their figures. The music seemed to transport them to a world of fantasy where nothing else existed but the two of them and their secret garden, lit with the stars above and the candlelight below. Even the air around them seemed suffused with magic, and Harold found himself wishing that he could freeze time and stay like this forever.
He wound the crank over and over until, laughing and dizzy, she protested that she couldn't dance one more step. When she finally caught her breath again, he led her further into the garden, away from the warm, soft light. They wound their way through the multiple paths lining the flower beds until they settled onto a stone bench. Together, they gazed up at the numberless stars in the sky, sparkling like diamond chips scattered onto rich black velvet.
"The sky is beautiful tonight," she breathed. "The stars... they look so sharp and-"
Her voice cut off as she shivered involuntarily. Harold looked at her in alarm. Her body had been flushed after their whirling dance, but now the chill air had caught up with her. She tried to hide her trembling, but he could feel the vibrations in his own body, an echo of the ordeal that had never really left her.
No. He was never going to let her be cold again.
He sprang to his feet with an oath. "I'll be right back," he promised. "I just need to get you a wrap." He ran back inside, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry, and snatched his officer's greatcoat - the same one he wore the night of the sinking - from the hall closet. He glanced briefly at the shawl hung over the back of a chair, but let it be. Lightoller may have given her a thoughtful gift, but he wasn't going to let him intrude tonight. No, Harold would be the one keeping her warm on their wedding night.
He flew back to where she was patiently waiting, her arms wrapped around her body, and draped the coat over her shoulders. She snuggled into it, seeking its comforting warmth, and her lips parted in a sigh of contentment. Harold, too, exhaled deeply, feeling the tension leave his body now that she was once again snug and warm. He pulled her closer to him on the bench, and she leaned her head against his arm as they perused the heavens together. He smiled as a familiar sight caught his eye.
"Alnilam is back," he murmured in her ear. "See?" He lifted her hand and pointed to the glittering speck with her finger.
"It's back?" she repeated, puzzled. "What do you mean? Where did it go?"
He smiled, eager to share his knowledge with her. "Well, because of the earth's orbit around the sun, and the rotation of the earth, not all the constellations are visible year round. Orion can be seen only from fall until early spring."
"So it disappeared around the time the Titanic sank-"
"And reemerged for our wedding," he finished, beaming. "And speaking of stargazing, I have one more surprise for you," he informed her. With a flourish, he pulled the sextant that Rene had gifted him out from behind the bench where he had hidden it earlier.
She gave a joyful laugh at the sight of it. "Harry, you remembered!" she cried, clapping her hands together.
"I promised you that I would teach you how to use one on our next evening together." A pause as the silence pooled between them for a moment. "A long time has passed since then - and our lives have changed so much. But I never forget a promise, darling."
The smile she gave him put the glow of the candles to shame. "So I noticed," she replied adoringly. "And I'm going to hold you to it. I want to know your world, Harry."
And so he showed her. She was able to look through the telescope at the mirror and find the horizon by herself easily enough. But when he tried to teach her how to adjust the index arm to locate the moon - a large enough target even for an amateur, he figured - she feigned ignorance of its workings in such a sweetly cunning manner that he was forced to conclude that she would require some assistance. So he gallantly offered to help, positioning himself behind her and guiding her hands as she held the instrument up to her eye once again. Her triumphant smile told him that was what she had wanted the whole time, and he played along, his own lips twitching in amusement as he moved her delicate fingers over the knobs and arm to adjust them properly.
Even without looking himself, he knew approximately how far to maneuver the arm in order to bring the moon into her field of vision. At the sudden gasp of "Oh!" from her lips, he knew that it must have suddenly appeared on the horizon mirror. Together they adjusted and fine-tuned the mirror to bring the moon close to the level of the horizon. As she eagerly followed his instructions, he buried his nose in her sweet-smelling hair, drinking in her awe at the routine he knew so well.
He gave her a brief summary of the next steps, which consisted of recording the time and the degree measurement of the sextant in order to calculate the angle of elevation. But she was more interested in the sextant itself than the math involved in plotting their position, and so for practice, he helped her shoot a few stars too. It didn't take long before she had the hang of it and was able to perform the adjustments on her own. "Isn't this is grand, Harry?" she sighed.
She was too preoccupied with the task at hand to notice that his attention was fixed not on the vast universe spread before them, but on her - his own personal Pole Star, always shining brighter than the rest, always guiding him. Mesmerized, unable to tear his eyes away, he replied huskily, "Yes, darling. Indeed it is."
She was in the process of trying to locate Alnilam in the telescope when out of the corner of his eye he saw a sudden flash in the sky. Excited as a child, he yelped and grabbed her arm. "Look, Corrine! A shooting star! See?" Startled, she moved the sextant away from her eye and looked to where he pointed.
"So it is," she said in wonder as it flashed across their field of vision and disappeared.
"You know what to do, darling. Make a wish now."
To his surprise, though, her eyes remained open. When she sensed him looking at her quizzically, she turned to him, and he saw to his consternation that her hand was covering her mouth, and her eyes were swimming with tears once again.
"Corrine?" he asked, concerned, and reached out to wipe away an escaping tear.
"My wish has already come true, Harry - and it's everything I ever wanted. I dare not ask for more," she whispered.
But he could. He had never wished on a star before - he thought the idea silly - but as he stared up at the sky, he sent out a silent plea. Dear God, if you still take requests from a wretched sinner like me, please, let me die first, he begged the heavens. I never want to live a day without her.
Of course, in keeping with the superstition that a wish spoken aloud would not come true, he kept it to himself.
He wrapped his arms around her waist - although he had to stretch a bit farther than he used to, owing to the fullness of her belly - and pulled her close to him. Her tiny frame rested against his chest as they studied the heavens together, lost in contemplation. But not lost in the universe anymore, he amended in his head. He knew exactly who he was now - and where he belonged.
After a time, he gently roused her from her reverie; although he wished that their time under the stars never had to end, there were... other activities he was eager to get to as well.
As usual, she must have read his mind. "So what now, Harry? What surprises do you have for me next?" she teased as he led her back toward the house.
"Well, it's nothing you haven't seen plenty of times before, but..." He paused, dragging out the anticipation.
"Yes?" she lilted, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously in a manner that suggested she knew exactly what that innuendo meant.
He sauntered past her and set the sextant down next to the now-silent gramophone before turning and waggling his brows at her suggestively. "It's our wedding night... and I do believe that means we're supposed to consummate our marriage." He smirked and stalked back to her.
She looked at him with an impish smile. "Well, there'll be no surprises there," she said, gesturing to her burgeoning belly. "It's not like I saved myself for tonight, or anything." She was still smiling... but if he wasn't mistaken, he thought he heard a hint of self-condemnation in her voice.
That concerned him - and confused him as well. She had never before expressed regret for anything they had done. "Why would you say it like that, my darling?" he asked, frowning.
Now her smile faltered. "Because I gave into temptation long ago. And now your wedding night won't be... special." She shrugged nonchalantly and quickly glanced away, but not before he caught the guilt in her expression.
Harold felt suddenly indignant. Damn society and its judgmental attitude toward sex for putting these ideas in her head. And damn the impractical rules that she was punishing herself for breaking. No, he refused to allow the public's repressive beliefs about morality to dampen her spirits. Not on this most sacred of days. "But it will be special, Corrine. I've never made love to my wife before," he insisted gently. She looked up and gave him a small, grateful grin as she grasped his meaning. "Besides," he said, his eyes lighting, "I don't think you've really been put to it yet."
She goggled at him in disbelief, her shame forgotten. "What was all that before, then?" she spluttered.
"Practice," he said breezily. "For tonight."
Then, without warning, he scooped her up in his arms, making her shriek in surprise. "What are you doing?" she bleated. She pounded on his shoulder futilely, laughing. "Put me down, you daft git!"
He only cradled her tighter against his chest, though, stilling her kicking legs and tucking her head underneath his chin. "Hush, now, wife," he commanded in his most authoritative voice, the one that made the seamen on his ship snap to attention immediately. "It's a Welsh tradition that I must carry you over the threshold; if your feet touch it, it's supposed to bring bad luck. And I won't invite any more trouble for us."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him sensuously right above his collarbone, sending a thrill racing through his body. "Well, then, by all means, lead the way," she murmured.
They returned to their room to find a merry fire burning - most likely Alfred's handiwork - and a bottle of sparkling cider in a bucket of ice. Harold smiled at that. His father's doing, he was sure. He had always respected Harold's decision to abstain from drinking - he recognized the damage it has caused in his own life, even if he wouldn't admit it - but he had often pressured him to indulge on special occasions, which Harold had still adamantly refused. The presence of a celebratory drink that contained no alcohol was a small concession, but a meaningful one.
He poured a glass for each of them and then turned to Corrine. She had already removed her slippers and stockings and was waiting patiently, watching him.
He stepped behind her and began unfastening the buttons on the back of her dress. "Do you remember the last time I did this?" he murmured in her ear.
She hummed in her throat and leaned back against him, as she had done then. "Yes," she said softly, and smiled when she felt the same response. "And I remember what happened - or rather, didn't happen - after that, too. You and your self-control," she admonished him gently, as he loosened the last button.
"Corrine, in case you hadn't noticed, my self-control goes out the window when I'm around you," he replied as she stepped out of the dress. "Of the two of us, you're definitely the more sensible one, you know."
"Sensible?" she snorted as she draped the delicate dress over a chair. "You wound up in a lifeboat, I wound up in the sea. What's sensible about that?"
He smiled at the gentle ribbing. These days, the mention of her ordeal no longer caused the anguish that it once had; they had come to terms with it by always reminding themselves of how fortunate they were to have survived at all. They had managed to beat the odds, and - as Harold had said on the Carpathia - how they had done it was ultimately irrelevant.
He shed his own clothes like they were on fire, leaving them lying all over the floor where they fell. While he was doing so, she continued to remove all her frivolous female undergarments until she was down to her drawers.
Before she could remove that last scrap, he picked up the glasses and handed one to her. "A toast," he proposed in a low voice. "To us... to the rest of our lives."
"To our love," she replied in a murmur, "which is as deep and endless as the ocean."
Her nearly naked body glowed in the dim room, and as she lifted the glass to her lips, he saw the light glint off the small iron key, which hung around her neck on a thin gold chain. His mouth curved into a smile. His sentimental Corrine had found a way to treasure that reminder of their first meeting, then. But he was curious about one thing. "Where did you get the chain?" he asked, fingering the key. He knew she didn't own any jewelry, other than her wedding ring... and if anyone were to present her with some, he wanted it to be him, of course.
His mood changed from bemused to reticent at her next statement, though. "My father..." She swallowed thickly. "My father gave it to me before the ceremony. He said it was my mother's - the only thing she brought with her when she left her house in Liverpool to run away with my father. She had asked him to keep it for me until my wedding day..." Words failed her, and she reached up to wrap her hand around his.
So that was why she had been delayed for the ceremony; she had needed time to pull herself together after such an emotional surprise. His heart went out to her, and he leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. "Oh, Corrine... my darling..." he crooned as she let out a little sob.
Her shoulders hitched a few times, and she collected herself with an effort. "I felt her presence today, Harry," she said, fighting to speak through her tears. "I really did. She was with me every step of the way, lending me her strength."
As he comforted her, Harold reflected on that word. Strength. Corrine had always shown an abundance of it. From her willingness to leave Ireland, and then England, to start anew, to her fight to survive the sinking of the Titanic, to her determination to pick up the pieces of her life and move on after he had abandoned her on the Carpathia. She was not only more sensible than he was, she was also braver than he was. She had been his rock before the wedding, and as he had stewed and shivered in a storm of anxiety and elation, she had calmly, lovingly reassured him. She had brought peace and contentment to his heart - it was something that she had been doing since the day they had first met.
But every once in a while, she was the vulnerable one, the one who needed to lean on him for support. And right now was one of those times.
She was still weeping. "I'm sorry, Harry," she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I've been a right mess since I woke from my nap."
He placed a finger under her chin and raised it until she was looking up at him through her moist eyelashes. "Don't apologize, darling. After all, it is your turn," he smiled. At her bewildered expression, he hastened to clarify. "What I mean is, this morning during the ceremony I was the emotional one, while you were the dependable, steadfast one. We just switched tonight, is all."
The last of her tears dried up as she mulled his words. "So you're saying we've had our wires crossed all day, is that it?" she asked, confused.
"Or perhaps," he suggested gently, "We've been perfectly in tune with one another." He lifted the champagne flute from her hand and set it on the table before continuing. "We have always been a study in contrasts, Corrine. That's what makes our love so strong: we complement one another." He lifted her hand and placed his palm against hers, then gently entwined their fingers. "We're two sides of the same coin, two halves of the same heart. And when one is weak, the other becomes strong."
Her eyes were thoughtful, and he could tell she was casting her mind back over their time together and seeing the truth of his words at every turn. "As usual, you are right, my dear husband," she said at last, her lips quirking up in a smile at the still-unfamiliar term. "We're complete opposites, yet somehow that makes our union even more solid. Like you said, we're two matching halves... two halves who just somehow managed to find each other in this great big world."
"And today, those two halves became one." He leaned his head down to give her the gentlest of kisses, the first since their exchange of vows. "I love you with all my heart, Corrine."
To his delight, she threw herself into his arms and returned the kiss passionately. When she finally came up for air, she breathed, "And I love you too, Harry. As you said in Washington, this is only the beginning for us."
Then she took him by the hand and led him to their bed.
Songs that inspired this epilogue: Holy - Justin Bieber/Chance the Rapper, You and Me - Lifehouse, Perfect - Ed Sheeran (of course).
