''I saw my whole life as if I had already lived it. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great precipice with no one to pull me back, no one who cared or even noticed.''

Or did they?

An Endless Parade: Part one – Mr. Astor's Party

Summer 1911.

On the outer fringes of the party thrown in honour of John Jacob Astor's forty seventh birthday and his recent marriage to the young Madeleine, seventeen-year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater was aware of the scandal surrounding the nuptials. The chatter was always the same at such events, the ones which she attended with her socialite and recently widowed mother, Ruth. Rose stood alone as she mostly did at these events; her mother had disappeared to exchange gossip with her friends and managed to find time to scold her daughter for wondering off. Truth was, Rose despised any of the associates of her mother, one tried very little to even be within their line of sight, for the was always some poisonous venom passed off as constructive criticism which they gave out. Since her father's death some months before, Rose desperately tried to bond with her mother, so attending such events were now part of Rose's daily life. She sighed, fiddling with her expensive lace gloves and eyed up the champagne. Dare she sneak a glass? She slowly moved towards the refreshments table; her dress so tight she could barely move. It was a navy blue in colour, and silk to touch, setting off the fiery colour of her hair and the creaminess of her skin, her lips were red; a shocking bright red. A colour she loved, but not knowing the effect those full lips had on every man present. She reached out for a glass delicately taking a sip. To stand alone at these events was scandalous, but still, courting a little of the kind whilst attending a party thrown by the centre of social gossips would go unnoticed. The scandal included the elder Mr. Astor marrying a girl just Rose's age. By all accounts, as they had danced in the centre of the floor, one couldn't deny just how in love they appeared to be. Their eyes shone. Their hands clasped together. Affection was evident between the pair if nothing else. One couldn't help but feel a little nip of pressure at seeing just how happy they were and now her own mother was on the lookout for Rose a suitable husband and one could only hope that it was on the far horizons and not in the foreseeable future, why on earth would a girl her age wish to enter into a lifelong commitment with another with whom they had nothing in common with aside from perhaps the town in which they were born.

Rose hadn't taken note at first but now it was apparent that Mr Caledon Hockley, son of Nathan Hockley; the steel tycoon, had followed her about the ballroom with his dark eyes narrowed and now, he closed in on her and she moved away slightly but remained nearby.

''Perhaps we should run away together.'' Her opening line was to him. ''You do seem to have done nothing but stare for the half hour which has passed. Because I am without my mother, it is still rude to stare at a girl."

''Ah, Miss. Rose,'' he murmured, wildly amused, ''your mother did warn me of your tendency to drive a man mad with a sharp tongue.''

Her pretty mouth pursed into a tight line. ''What fun would I be without my wit? Especially at such events.''

''There is amusement for you here?''

''No. There is not.''

''Every bit as lovely as you are now, but I do say, your wise mouth does render me speechless.'' Black hair shone beneath the beautiful chandeliers above. ''We have not been formally introduced.''

''Do we need to be?''

''As I recall, society insists upon it.''

''Indeed, but why? My life is not cold without your presence.''

''Because you do not have it.''

She stopped in her tracks. She watched him, wary and unsure of his sincerity. He urged her to walk with him, needing to be in motion rather than stood still where he would admire her form.

''You are frightfully demanding. So, tell me, what is your name?''

''Caledon Hockley.'' He extended his hand to her and she glanced at it without a second thought. The way he did say his name, each syllable of it, was drenched in arrogance and self-awareness and the gaze which followed was one which told her that she should have perhaps dropped to a curtsy for such a man. She did not.

''Yes, I knew, and clearly you know my name therefore there is no need to shake hands.''

''I would like to.''

Exhaling, Rose placed a gloved hand within his, to shorten the torture of having him attempt to charm her further. "Well then, pleased to meet you."

''I would like to dance with you.'' He smiled, squeezing her hand.

''You would?''

''It is the only way to make restitution for your rudeness.''

''I am flattered.'' Her smile was a sight to behold. ''Perhaps if I was more pre-occupied, I would have refused.''

''Am I not enough to occupy you?''

Her stomach had yet to curl with some newfound affection. Rose turned her attention to the portraits on the wall. In truth, she had enjoyed the ball, if not for the art work which Mr. Astor displayed upon his vast walls. She had not expected to enjoy it, as she wasn't fond of this crowd. The room was almost full and the hum of conversation was a steady but not unpleasant drone. Caledon Hockley was pleasant company but above all, she found herself drawn to the artist's work more so than she could have initially thought. Colours on a canvas didn't usually call out to her so much, but this evening, she had found herself falling into quite a few of the artist's works. Perhaps, it was a welcome distraction from her own mind. Just like when she grew enthralled with her literature each night. Each one was a world away from her own and she fell so deeply into it that she forgot her own existence at times. This was a time when she needed to fall deeply into something other than herself.

''Which is your favourite so far?''

''I think that one.'' He pointed to an image of a galloping horse. ''I like to play polo.''

''Hmm. '' She studied it. It wasn't ugly, but not wonderful either. There was nothing great about it, overall. It was a simple horse. Brown. Dull. ''I think mine is this one.''

She pulled him forward and singled out a portrait of a dancer ''The skill involved in turning mere paints into an image that looks as though it can walk right off the canvas.''

''Mud puddles. By Degas. Waste of money.''

He watched as she fell into the painting before them. The way she watched it seemed to stir up jealous notions in his stomach which surprised even him. He was not one to develop those sort of idiotic feelings – not for a woman. It was of utter possession. The fact something drew her attention in deeper than him was unsettling.

''I am glad you find fascination with such things though. Should we attend a gallery together, perhaps, if your mother could locate a suitable chaperone.''

She squeezed his arm. ''Perhaps.''

''If by then, I haven't positively bored you to tears.''

''I find you charming.'' Rose felt his arm tense at her comment. "For now." Mr. Hockley's company could be a pleasure, but also, a burden she could sense. She felt no flutter in her stomach, nor did she feel a longing in any way. Even other married couples seemed to have more spark between them as they led their way across the floor at the many dances. Her Mother had noted her awareness of this vital part of the way men and women came together and had dismissed it with a flick of her wrist, insisting that it was a romantic notion. Marriage is for business, not pleasure. The pleasure is in the luxury a man offers, the children which they will gift you with and the comfort of having everything which they have to provide you.

They continued around the room at a leisurely pace, pausing every few feet to take in the many paintings occupying the many walls or to converse with another couple. After a while, they all started to grow blurry and merge together as her interest started to wane in them all.

After an about hour, Rose asked to be excused. ''Just allow me a moment to freshen myself.''

Caledon wanted to say no, she could tell. ''Only one moment, I have time to spend with you whilst the night is young.''

Rose fluttered her fan as she moved to the open French doors which allowed the night air to gently waft inside. The evening was stuffy and whilst Caledon wasn't the worst company, she could feel herself stifling many yawns. She needed air for just a moment or two to return refreshed. She failed to note the time and couldn't place just how long she had been in his company for her. She feared it was a smaller length than it actually felt. She found herself alone, as a couple she failed to recognise walked slowly passed as they retired indoors and nodded slightly a sign of 'hello.'

The night was cool but not cold and the air felt wonderful across her face. The gardens lay out before her and she recalled witnessing a polo match out on the lawns some months before. With that image of the area mapped out in her head, she started for the steps which led down onto the unlit lawn. Amongst nature was where she did enjoy to be, perhaps the most. A stuffy carriage trip bored her to the point where she could cry just to entertain herself. Polite conversation and exchanging of pleasantries were fine for a little while until the mind would start to wonder to a place where a refined woman shouldn't go. She knew that was the trouble with herself, the side of her which she would have to curb one day very soon as she chose a husband and allowed the man to lead her off into another life.

As she walked on, nature seemed to welcome her with open arms and hold no restrictions or judgement of her place in Society or the way she perhaps sloped her stance a little more when out in the world. What difference does it make if one slants their shoulders a little now and then? Inside, mouths would be agape with horror.

A scent of fragrance minced the air and she inhaled its delicate smell, welcoming it. Something else seemed be laced in with it...tobacco, horses and-

Rose almost fell, stumbling as she completely missing the final step and was almost carried to a conifer tree which lined the sides of the lawn just a stone's throw out of sight of the open doors in the arms of someone dressed in white and sturdy. The groan she sounded was muffled but she was immediately released and grasped onto the arm of her capturer until she was steady upon her feet. In the darkness, she blinked back the fear until she noted the face which was before her. Her legs seemed to buckle beneath her more than they had when his hands had come across her, simply from his intensity of his stare.

''Just what are you doing?''

''Miss, you were stumbling, you would have fallen straight into the mud. '' He whispered, harshly, before she could even open her mouth to speak. He held her until she was tucked away right beneath the shade of the trees and away from prying eyes who could have exited the ballroom, the same way she had.

Rose's eyes were wide with surprise, confusion and above all – who the hell was he? Out on the Astor's lawn late at night unattended.

''Why not allow me to fall?''

Rose was mad with wonder. So many other questions lined her mind yet, they failed to come out, her tongue failed to move further. He shoved his hands into his pockets. He was fidgeting. He was dressed in a smart but slightly worn white waiters' garment with overly long, what appeared to be unkempt but washed dark blonde hair which fell into sparkling, intensive eyes. His hands were tucked away as he took a commoner's stance. A line furrowed between her brows. What was his purpose for putting his hands on her the way that he did? He could be locked up for the handling of the daughter of the late Robert Bukater. Then, she realised that wasn't the reason she was shaking. He was. It wasn't anger. It was nerves. He hadn't hurt her, even if he had startled her and if he was going to attack her in any way, he would have done that by now.

''I am not just going to let a girl fall over.'' He swiped the hair from his eyes. ''I was brought up better than that.''

''You-'' Rose struggled to breathe, she leant against a tree, her cries softening. She was agitated for unknown reasons. ''You're employed by the Astor's?''

He blinked, confused at the change of conversation.

''Pardon me?''

''You're dressed like a waiter.''

He smiled softly. ''Yeah, I was in there earlier serving champagne to the stuffy set. Mr. Astor pays well, treats his staff better than most pompous pieces of-'' He stopped, ending on a curse, before smiling, as though reining his tongue upon realising who she was.

Rose should have been disgusted by him, but there was a fascination beyond the one she had for Caledon Hockley. She pressed her lips together, feeling just how dry they were. Her hands felt about for the cool bark of the tree behind her and she allowed herself to run her hands up it, it steadied her to concentrate on something other than him but it didn't stall the intensity. Nothing ever did. In her mind, she knew that she shouldn't be here with him and to run back to the party and report to Mr. Astor just how his staff had put his hands on her was the right thing to do, and yet, she knew that she would never tell because the meetings like this were the most exciting thing in her life.

''You don't know how to speak to a woman of my station?''

''I did not know.'' He smiled, weakly. 'No one does.''

''Excuse me?''

He removed his hands from his pockets, running them through his hair and he smiled, knowingly. ''People from your crowd, they think they're giants of the universe.''

''Why tell me such a thing?''

''Because it's true.'' He bowed his head. ''You seem different, somehow.''

Rose's heart raced. Now, she was alone in the dark with a man she didn't know. He was twice her size. He was a complete unknown entity and yet she was so drawn to him like she had never been pulled before. Was it the mystery which surrounded him which caused the appeal? No, she knew that, because if he told her every single minor detail about his life, she suspected that she would find him even more fascinating than she could possibly ever imagine.

''I could so easily go into the party and report you lurking about in Mr. Astor's lawns.''

He came to her. His eyes bright and they sparkled beneath the dim moonlight. He stopped a foot or two away and she straightened her back, deciding that leaning against the tree did very little to show her strength. She would need the strength to face him. She had to show him the opposite effect of what he did have upon her body. She didn't need to feel heavy, to long for him to support her weak knees. She must stand; tall and steady.

''I wished for you to be safe, that is all.''

A gust of wind came out of nowhere and it awakened all of her senses, heightening them as though she had seen the sun for the first time in her life. Slowly, his hand came to her chin, brushing upwards to her cheek. It was roughened but yet so gentle. She longed to close her eyes and relish the feel of his hand upon her bare cheek but she knew how improper it was. If this man was to kiss her now, then she would truly fall beneath his spell. But, if he claimed her mouth right there, then she would succumb and not push him away. If a man was to kiss her for the very first time, it may as well be a stranger.

''Breathe, Miss.'' He urged, sensing that she had stilled at the point he had touched her. ''You must breathe or you'll be falling again and not waking up for some time.''

Rose could only nod. She was no longer aware of her own body, of anything around her for she was cast beneath the wicked spell of his stare. Her lungs expanded once more, as though it had remembered the way to take in oxygen. Gone, was the sharp-tongued girl and replaced with the uncertain, naïve impulses of a young girl.

''I know how to breathe, sir.''

His hand moved upward, playing with a loose strand of her curls. She closed her eyes, melting against his hand, knowing that right in that moment, she was truly dazzled by his presence. Her scalp tingled as he curled her hair around his index finger slowly. Why was he doing such an intimate act but more importantly, why was she so affected by it.

''It should come naturally.''

''How?'' She whispered.

She opened her eyes, meeting his once more. She couldn't look away and neither could he. Everything blended beautifully into the background and only he existed. The need to know something further about him was eating away but above anything, she needed to know how he felt. How he could seek her out. The words were on the edge of her tongue and about to be spoken aloud. The power of his stare was magnificent, spell-binding and she knew that it would haunt her for a lifetime there at that damned party.

''Miss. Rose?'' A voice sounded, worryingly close by. ''Miss. Rose?'' It called, louder...incessantly...

It belonged to Caledon Hockley.

He removed his hand from her face. Rose closed her eyes to mentally prepare herself to be sought out, so near another man but when she reopened them, He had gone; vanishing into the night in just a whisper. It was as though he had simply melted away into the wind like a ghost. She noticed how the air changed when he left. It was colder; clearer. She could think straight.

''There you are!'' Caledon came to her, with a purpose. His expression wasn't of concern, more anger. She straightened out her skirts as quickly as possible, ensuring that her face wasn't as flushed as it felt to be. The waiter's touch lingered on her cheek, in the air around her. Where had he gone? He had melted away just like the holy ghost. Her stomach clenched with such disappointment she felt nauseous.

''Forgive me.'' She muttered. ''I needed some air.''

''I could have accompanied you.'' He shook his head, annoyance slight in his voice. ''Perhaps, a stroll around the gardens could relief some of the stuffiness.'' His suggestion was filled with hope, the need to spend a little time alone with her outside of the dreaded party.

''Oh, no.'' She allowed him to take her arm once more, claiming her as his as he led her back inside. ''Let us enjoy the rest of our wonderful evening. Mr. Astor has gone through so much trouble this evening and my mother will be looking for me.'

Rose needed to return to some normality away from the world in which only she and the waiter had existed, if only for a mere minute or two.

Caledon pulled her towards him, leading her up the steps which minutes before she had fell down with such a tender pull. She felt her lungs expanding as she tried to steady everything about her. She felt dizzy, tired and a sickness spread across her stomach. She stopped in her tracks; Caledon eyed her perplexed.

''Are you quite all right?''

In the moonlight, his eyes appeared even darker than they were in the daylight. As black as night. As though he was the devil himself. Something seemed to cross them now and again. A hunch. Something which told her to run away from him as far as she could possibly go. The feeling pulled at her stomach as though it was it tried to tell her something.

''Yes. I believe that I owed you a dance, Mr. Hockley.''