Part four – A Charity Polo Match
June 1912, Mr. Astor's Rhode Island estate.
''What a fine day, Miss. Rose.'' Vincent Astor smiled handsomely down to her. Her fan worked overtime before her flushed face and she nodded a response. The sun was uncomfortably warm and it seemed to burn through each layer of her garments. A lovely peach and lemon lace which had been created especially for a summer's day like this.
''Yes. Perfect for a fine match like today. All for such a wonderful cause.''
''Yes.''
''How lovely of you to participate.''
''It is a cause very close to my heart, Miss. Rose. Therefore, I must. Also, polo is a great sport, one which I don't find the time to play as much as I would like to nowadays.''
''Perhaps today should be good for you then.'' Rose glanced away at the field. ''It appears to be very lively out there.'' She had noticed her fiancé, Cal out on the field with his cousin, Samuel and other notable faces. Their long legs on display in their riding breeches. Chants and cheers sounded from the audience of gatherers who come to witness the event but Rose understood none of it. As the fiancé of the participant though, she was expected to attend in support.
''I wish to congratulate you on your engagement, I don't believe I have seen you since it was announced.''
''Yes, well, thank you.''
Rose lowered her fan slowly. Vincent Astor was the son of John Jacob, around her age, if not, the same age as Madeleine, John's current wife.
Vincent was very handsome. Dark hair and green eyes. He was tanned and tall. Nice teeth. Nice, neat fingernails. Most women watched him with those doe eyes, silently begging him to dance yet, he was here beside her.
''You are been watched by the others, I'm afraid that I must let you go.''
He hesitated for a moment. ''Perhaps you could indulge me in a walk once I have played my set?''
Rose smiled, her eyes falling on Cal out on the field. He had already offered to take her on a tour of the gardens afterward, but she had declined and made a terrible excuse that she must stay indoors because she burnt terribly in the sun. It wasn't untrue, but still. The worst part of it was, that she hadn't felt an ounce of guilt in her as she noted that perhaps she should have. After all, he had made his intentions and feelings towards her known. She should have been thrilled, flaunting her new courtship all across the polo match, well her engagement, but this had to be the hundredth polo match she had attended.
''Of course.'' Rose agreed. She admired his gentlemanly ways.
He nodded. ''Wonderful. Do excuse me.''
''Yes. Good luck.''
He tilted his head as an acknowledgement before proceeding to find his horse. She watched as he went, satisfied with her decision. There was something about him which was quite soft.
''Cal is appearing to be losing out there on the field.'' Lady DeWitt came silently beside her daughter. She fell a few inches shorter than Rose, her lips thin and tight. The woman was as sly as a fox, firmly positioning her ear in places where one's business shouldn't be and then passing on the snippets afterwards. Her movements toward Rose were unknown.
''Is he? I suspect it shall pick up.''
Rose smiled to her mother, knowing that she did not disagree.
''I hope so.'' She could sense that her mother wasn't happy about the loss but knew better than to pick at the subject. ''Men and sports are not a good combination for the mood or visits to the liquor cabinets after.''
''The sun is divine.'' Rose changed the subject as she smoothed out her scarlet dress. A stark contrast to her Mother's Spring pastel shades. ''Should be take tea before the next game resumes? I am quite parched and the sun is a little strong.''
''Yes, perhaps you should stay indoors a little while. You know how you burn.'' Her mother was just as pasty as she, although had never quite stayed out in the sun for a lengthy period to redden. Her Mother was beautiful for her forty-one years and Rose noted that even now, her thin physique and lovely vibrant hair caught the attention of even the youngest of gentleman.
''Yes, mother.''
Rose signalled for a waiter, who swiftly followed her inside, Ruth led the way indoors to where various tables were laid out. Madeleine played something lively on the pianoforte over by the French doors and the sound softly wafted outside. It was cooler indoors, Rose followed suit of smiling and nodding hellos to the faces of those who she knew before her mother selected a table in the far corner of the vast room with a view of the field out of a large window. They seated smoothly; her mother's gaze fell about the room. Rose could almost hear the brain ticking off any qualities which she would diss momentarily before sounding them aloud to her.
''I do not care very much for this décor.'' She leaned into to her daughter slowly examining the black and green. ''What a headache.''
Rose laughed lightly at her mother's comment. ''Certainly not a cheery blend.'' She agreed but, failed to admit she found the collision of colours rather attractive. It was masculine, not like the golden and beiges of their home interior. Bland.
''I fail to know if we are in a dining room, a sitting room or even a reception room.''
Rose smiled in a small agreement, it was puzzling, but she wasn't as vexed as her mother, who couldn't appreciate a small act of kindness such as been invited to New York to spend a long weekend with the Astor's in their lavish home.
''I wish for a tea service, perhaps with scones.'' Ruth ordered sharply as she waved away a servant to proceed with her wish as though she was in her own home, or even a high-class restaurant. Rose turned her attention to the field. Her eyes fell on Vincent Astor as he mounted his horse to prepare for the game. The swift work of his body and he was straddling his powerful mare; tall and proud.
''What do you think, mother? Is Vincent just as handsome as Cal?''
''Absolutely not.'' She shook her head, firmly. ''You should not be entertaining such ideas when come July you shall become the wife of the latter."
Rose raised an eyebrow away from her mother. Yes, indeed. How in just less than two months' time she would join hands with Cal and become his wife. It was only now, spending an extended amount of time in New York that she had discovered just how controlling and bland he was. Now, she was about to expire in the random June heat watching a charity polo match. How could her mother remain so comfortable? Together, they enjoyed outings but her mother was far more comfortable with her life within society walls than she could ever be. Following her mother's suit had become a regular occurrence but since her father's passing, she had felt a closer bond with her. Perhaps, as close as Mother and Daughter could be before a woman was to marry. After all, then Rose would leave her mother's clutches and would be then lady of her own household. The thought displeased her as much as the idea of marriage, but still.
A tray of tea, scones and preserves were fetched to the table. Rose ran her hands over, smoothing out the cloth. A waitress tended to her tea, working to place two lumps of sugar in the cup whilst Ruth tended to the pot herself.
''Thank you.'' Rose smiled to the waitress who curtseyed before moving behind them.
''The tune on the pianoforte is wonderful.'' Ruth spoke above sips of her hot tea. ''Perhaps you should offer a tune afterward.''
Rose shook her head smoothly. ''I'd rather not, mother. I would prefer to indulge in the activities of this fine day, not sit at that instrument, it appears older than God himself.'' Rose indicated to the wooden old piano. ''Perhaps it is a family heirloom from the beginning of time.''
''Rose!'' Ruth cried, quietly. ''It is hideous.''
Ruth turned to her daughter, amusement shining momentarily for once. ''Yes, agreed. This entire room is obscene. I think I will take tea and then return home to the delight of my own sitting room. Cal shall understand that these events are not to a lady's taste.''
There was a relief when her mother revealed her plans to retire, she could enjoy the day without being so refined as she would need to be in the presence of her.
''I will return once I have taken a stroll with Vincent'' Rose told her. ''And of course, I shall see Cal's final victory if there was one to be had.''
''Yes. Do try to speak with Cal.'' Ruth nodded out onto the field. ''Especially if he loses, you don't wish for him to be into the spirits.''
''Of course. I intend to.''
It was a lie.
Most of Societies eligible females all gathered within this room. Some were beautifully stunning, others plains. Some were feisty, others very quiet. Some were better educated than others. Either way, before the season was out, most would have found a suitor to be married. Glancing around at the variety of clothing colours, figures, nose shapes and hair styles. One realised just what there was available to a young man these days. If only the same opportunity could be extended to a woman. Perhaps, if a woman flirted with a handsome man or two. Rose raised her chin, craning her neck as she watched the bachelors at play outside in the field. A male form could be examined from afar fairly discreetly, she decided in that moment. Her mother was chattering of some event or another, every now and again, Rose would mutter a response to ensure that she was listening when in fact she was otherwise engaged.
The cheers of the audience outside broke her attention and she noted a new rider on the field. Her attention turned to Cal; he was as competitive as they came, even when it came down to the woman he wanted. Rose sipped her tea, completely lost in the game outside but it wasn't the sport which had captured her attention.
''Mother? What are the rules of this?''
Ruth narrowed her eyes, obviously disinterested in the game.
''Hard to say.''
''Yes, it is.''
Rose stole glances outside after that. The game would be coming to a close very soon and then no doubt a party of some sort would commence to celebrate the funds raised.
Her mother departed in her carriage not long after leaving Rose in the company of Madeliene Astor, who appeared to be heavily increasing if the stole which she carried about on a hot day like today was an indication of. Together, they were as giddy as two schoolchildren; loud and hardly refined.
''I find Vincent to be a rather brilliant polo player,'' she spoke of her stepson with fondness. She placed her hands upon her small waist, a protruding stomach just raising her skirts slightly.
''Well,'' she glanced out onto the fields. ''I wish I could pass comment but fail to see the appeal to the game.''
''Oh, you!'' Madeleine cried, smiling, hiding her own blush behind her fan as she waved it furiously. ''Even a newly engaged woman must see the appeal of men riding out on the fields.''
Rose bit her lip to stop the giggles from coming. Around them, others stared at the silly gossips, the elder generation shaking their head in dismay. She craned her neck above the crowds. The men had come inside now, some nursed a beverage. Most of the men had donned their wigs, dressed in their breeches, a waistcoat with short skirts, and a coat with curving back fronts. ''I cannot say that I do.''
''Word has it that you are to be heading to Europe on vacation.'' Madeline lowered her voice as she leant into Rose's ear. ''As a honeymoon treat.''
Rose shook her head furiously. ''Do not be so silly.''
''Wouldn't that be idyllic to travel overseas after wedding bliss?''
''I am not too fond of travel at the moment, not after the Titanic disaster, it almost makes me wish to never set foot on board a ship ever again.''
''Rose, darling.'' The call came from behind her, cutting Rose off mid-sentence.
As she turned, she noted Cal. His skin was tan but flushed from his exertion. His attire was black and clean. Polished.
''Yes?''
''Vincent Astor has just asked permission for you to take a walk,'' he was more concerned than anything.
''Yes, I shall find him. Allow me a moment of privacy to the ladies' room and I shall find you afterwards.''
''Shall you stay long?''
''Yes, with you, I shall.''
That seemed to satisfy him momentarily. She turned her head and located Jack Dawson standing by a fluted column with crossed arms and hooded eyes. Not for the first time, she noted how he didn't look at her as he had on the day they'd met. His stare now was hotter, more aware, and it awakened an answering awareness in her. Warmth blossomed in the pit of her stomach and expanded. Then, she found his eyes. Heavenly and blue. They twinkled more than the expensive chandeliers which adorned the high ceilings.
Jack Dawson...
Her full lips parted in such a state of shock, something came out but she was unsure what the sound was or if he even comprehended it as she certainly hadn't. Her fan had fell to the floor, sliding down her skirts unnoticed.
''Darling,'' Cal quickly bent to retrieve her lost fan and handed it back to her, clutching both of her hands in his and she pulled them back as though he had scolded her with hot water.
''Yes. I shall return shortly.''
Rose started for the ladies' rest room with such a sense of purpose that she went past all acquaintances rudely and abruptly. Down the long corridor of doors which led to rest rooms and the reception room, at the end of the Astor's New York home was an exit which led upstairs to an upper terrace if Rose correctly recalled. As she made her way further down to the furthest tall, white door, she felt the chatter melt and gave way to a muted glow, then silence. The terrace was located at the far left side of the mansion, overlooking the park and that was what she needed to regain her composure before re-joining the party.
The air out on the terrace felt less, stifling to say the least. She went to the far side, rounding a canopy when her foot seemed to become caught in the lace of her dress and she almost stumbled forward into another person, who she was unaware to have been up here. Immediately, she flushed an apology for her own clumsy and clattered behaviour.
''I beg your pardon.''
He held out his hand to her; clean. Her hand slipped into his, it was roughened from his work but firm, gentle and everything which she had imagined the night before whilst she had dreamt of him once more. His presence startled her, intrigued her but more than anything else, she couldn't take her eyes away.
Jack Dawson. A cloud of smoke about him.
Her head and her heart were completely separated.
Her head, which was the only logical part of her, was genuinely happy; ecstatic to see him so – elated. The smile on his face seemed to reach his eyes. She remembered that smile so well. The way he had made her smile and how everything had seemed perfectly all right. How he had touched her cheeks, then smiled, he had been happy. Four times she had met him and yet he was almost a completing part of her. Each time she saw him, it was like a unique blessing.
Her heart, however, was the opposite. It was torn completely, already weakened from the year of torment, heartache and time spent weeping herself to sleep – all for one man. The one man she was not engaged to and yet who completely enthralled her and was not hers to have, to want or to gain. The one man who wasn't to be her husband.
''I always seem to find you in the darkest of places.'' His cocky, lopsided grin twisted her insides and suddenly, the edges of the earth seemed welcoming to run to, even in the devastating heat. ''Who are you running from now?''
''My fiancé.'' Her voice cracked. ''I am running away from the man who will become my husband in two months' time.'' Her words were shaky, uncertain even as she spoke them.
''Who is he?''
''His name is Caledon Hockley.''
Jack didn't take his eyes away from her, as though he was needing to see her reactions to his questions.
''Ah, the penguin I asked you about last year?''
She said nothing but she didn't need to. The pain etched on her face said it all. Jack bit harshly at his lip to stop himself from wanting and needing to know everything about this man but he knew that she was fragile. The subject was sensitive.
''I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I saw you downstairs and knew you would come up here, somehow, I guess I did seek you out this time, to make sure that you were all right.''
It should have settled her but it didn't.
''No, I am not all right, but thank you for been the only person who cares enough to ask me that question.''
Jack finished his cigarette, leant back against the cooler wall and folded his arms across his chest.
''Tell me then.'
She mustn't. Couldn't. But did.
''My father died just three months before I met you last year, leaving my mother with some debts and the only way we could repay them was for an arranged marriage between myself and Cal.'' Rose started. ''Well, my mother didn't realise just how bad the debts were until she had arranged my cotillion and the creditors came looking for her. It was thought of between my mother and Mr. Hockley's father.''
''Was there no other option?''
''There was no way out, for me anyway. Aside from jumping from a very large ship perhaps. My mother does suspect me to be beaming about the idea; what girl doesn't dream of marriage to a handsome man?''
As he watched her crumble before him, he knew that she was in need of an escape. The fractured pieces of memory would continue to haunt her until she found some form of respite. He knew that much from his own experience. Rose found that once she had been honest with him, the rest of it tumbled out of her mouth very easily. It was an outlet which she had needed so long. She had needed her voice to be heard, to be soothed afterward and to be told that it was all over. She needed that now.
''I fear that with the marriage, my life would become yet more controlled. It is already an endless parade, of parties and cotillions, yachts and—polo matches. The same mindless people, the same boring chatter. My crowds, they're like moths, all the same, great big hairy moths bashing themselves to pieces after a silly flame behind a glass so clear that their eyes don't see it. And if they do manage to blunder their way inside the glass to fly into the flame, they fall down burned and dead; a product of a society upbringing. While all the time out there in the cool night there's food, and love, and life. Isn't that worth living?''
With that, Jack pulled Rose a little closer to him. She rested her head numbly on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around her, and in those few seconds, she felt more loved than she had in a long time. She hadn't been embraced for years. She had almost forgotten what it felt like. It was nice. It was the one thing which she needed more than anything. Jack seemed to give her strength and when she felt she had poured her entire soul out to him and more, she felt the relief which flooded through her. Even just to tell someone her deepest fears was therapeutic and now, he held her. Like she hadn't been held onto before.
''Yes, it is worth living, Rose.'' He whispered to her, as though the whole world would know their secret.
''Isn't that what life is about? About learning, growing and caring. About submerging yourself into interesting things, inspiring things, to inspire others or to help others. What could we pass onto our children if not?'' She laughed, cruelly. ''A handful of insecurities, debts and more misery followed by a marriage to a man who I don't love.''
''Does your mother know you don't love him?''
''Yes, but we don't marry for love, but convenience. This match shall save the family name and my mother could rest knowing that the debts are paid.''
''But the price is worth much more.'' Jack smiled, in the sincerest, beautiful way. ''Your happiness...''
Rose almost extracted herself from the embrace until it was clear that she couldn't. It was hard. The warmth of him was strangely comforting, the scent of his was intoxicating, the touch of his hand across her shoulders in the lightest, most innocent way but all together, it set her senses on fire.
''A small price to pay.''
''It is the largest one.'' Jack sighed. ''You do know that there is no way out of this now? I'm too involved, if you jumped then I would, too. I can't turn away without knowing that you will be all right. That's all that I have ever wanted.''
He felt her nod in his grip and resisted the urge to kiss the top of her head. They stayed silent for a while. Two strangers finding strength and comfort from the other in a twisted world of which they could never be anything, not even friends.