A small part of her still wonders if she's going mad— dreaming him up, her imagination conjuring any small comfort to break her misery, but she has decided to trust it for now. Really, what other choice does she have? At the very least it is making her feel a tiny bit stronger than she had been feeling. The idea of him still there and watching over her is a buoying one: she is not completely alone in this life she has found herself stuck in. He had been seemingly infusing her with his own confidence, giving her that little bit of resolve to take more of her fate back into her own hands, if only in very small ways.
Heading down for dinner the next evening she can feel a spark of her old defiance for the first time in months and while her current disobedience is a small one, its something nonetheless. She is determined this evening to show Cal that he doesn't have every power over her as he thinks he does now. She will no longer bend to his every whim when it runs so counter to who she is and what she wants from this life.
Cal had left instructions with her maid, as he often did, for Rose to be dressed in a particular evening gown, the Heart of the Ocean at her neck, and she knows his intention— to show her off to his father as if she were a jewel to be collected— a proper return on their investments, and she'll have none of it. Instead she has dressed herself in black— a high necked, frilled thing still in her trunks from her father's passing years before— a mourning dress, and one that is now horribly outdated. Her mother will be mortified on top of Cal's anticipated fury over being disobeyed, and if commented upon she'll simply say that she's is in mourning. She feels as if she is, for that matter— mourning Jack, mourning all of the lovely people she had met aboard that ship, mourning the life she could have had. They can be angry, or think that she actually is going mad. Let them. She would act out her own Mrs. Havisham if she has to. If this is the only thing she can think of to do to begin fighting back even in a small way she would do it.
The vanity in her has her checking her appearance once more in a mirror outside of the drawing room she is to enter, ensuring that above the odd clothing her hair is in place and she's at least looking presentable. "You look nice," Jack's voice is there again, full sincerity and laced with an undercurrent of amusement. He would be amused, she thinks, at any action that would take Cal down a peg.
Their chatter stops as she enters, everyone pausing to look at her— and she can see Cal's anger almost instantly in the draw of his lips; the tension of his jaw. His eyes are on her like a viper, the anger shining from them in an almost tangible way, and yet outwardly he greets her as if all is normal, making the unnecessary introductions to his parents, whom she had already met countless times, although not since before their jaunt to Europe, or the sinking. He makes the quick excuse for her dress that she has put herself in mourning garb for respect of her former ladies maid and all of the others who had perished, his obvious hope to have it be seen as an act of humility that would charm his parents, taking the play from her hands.
Her mother appears by her side, her own anger apparent in the shrewd clip of her voice as she hisses in Rose's ear.
"I don't know what you think you're doing, but this isn't funny, Rose. After your actions aboard that ship our situation is more precarious than ever, and you know it." She's referring to Rose's adultery, — her loss of innocence aboard the ship, and Rose has to fight not to roll her eyes. Rose does not see her actions that night in that way. Nothing had been taken from her— she had instead given it. She had given a part of herself to Jack that night and in doing so had forever rewritten the rules of her life. She could now never be Cal's blushing, naive and unknowing bride, even if that is the act she has continued to play. She had denied Cal the thing he had coveted most, making her virginity something that would forever be unattainable to him and had instead chosen to have that experience with a man she truly loved. An experience she's sure she'll never forget.
"Shut up, mother," she replies almost inaudibly to the older woman even as her arm is taken in a tight grip, the matriarch's nails digging sharply into her bicep.
"Sweetpea," greets Cal, taking her other arm as if the pair of them mean to haul her into the dining room as if she's a prisoner being dragged to the gallows. The greeting is dripping with disdain and distaste under the sweetened pitch of his voice. "I don't know what you're playing at," he whispers in her other ear, "but one more toe out of line tonight and there will be consequences. You know that everything hinges on my father's continued approval."
Before fear can wash over her at the thought of what consequences might mean to Cal, erasing her earlier confidence and defiance, she feels that buoying sense of calm come over her again, radiating out from the center of her back, and its as if Jack has placed a hand there, lending her his support and strength, and as they begin their meal she tries to bring herself present— to focus on the conversation happening around her for once rather than to tune it out. Perhaps it would give her some clue as to a course of action— it was after all, surrounding the topic of their long engagement, and of their upcoming nuptials. The plans so carefully laid by her mother and Cal himself as since the sinking Rose had made it clear that she wants no part.
That knowledge however, seems to have become apparent to Edith, Cals mother. She is a shrewd and calculating woman, almost foreboding. She had always reminded Rose of her old headmistress at finishing school; the evil woman with a sharp tongue who had cracked down upon Rose and her friends for their swooning over poetry, and their giggles over songs and moving pictures. After meeting her it was no wonder to Rose where Cal had gotten his calculating mind and volatile temper from, not that either of his parents are particularly pleasant. Maybe that's the whole issue, she thinks fleetingly. Maybe its due to his parents' harsh manner and the expectations forced upon him throughout his upbringing that have made Cal the way he is— not that its any excuse. Men of their station had the autonomy to choose how their lives end up, a luxury that she, being born of the lesser sex had never had.
"Tell me, Rose," begins Edith, "Why the sudden cold feet? I would think that after the ordeal on that ship that you would be ready to marry as soon as possible— to shore up any possibility of further stain upon your name. That is your intention, isn't it, Ruth?"
Rose's mother's eyes snap to Edith, a mixture of fear and shock plain on her face before she has a moment to disguise it. None of the three of them are sure what ordeal Cal's mother is now referring to— be it the debt behind Rose's name— an unspoken stain upon the entire proceedings of their engagement — or that perhaps word of Rose's infidelity had gotten out. Her eyes drifting to Cal she can see the fear apparent on his face now as well, and the undercurrent of anger beneath it, all of which he's trying to mask with a facade of indifference. Rose almost wants to congratulate Edith on her shrewd perceptiveness and apparent ability to mine for information, or perhaps just her capacity to see through Cal's bullshit.
"What is she on about, boy?" Cal's father speaks up now, his eyes trained upon his son. If Cal gives the wrong answer this could go from bad to disastrous for all of them very quickly.
Rose can feel a sense of anxiety mounting that is separate from her own, and realizes that Jack, wherever he may be witnessing this exchange from, is watching to see how this would all play out.
"I asked a question," says Edith, her eyes still focused on Rose.
"With all due respect, Madam Hockley," she starts, "My hesitance has been in having time to bereave the souls which were lost in the sinking. You can imagine what a shock the whole ordeal has been."
The older woman's eyes stay trained on her. "Quite the shock, I'm sure," she says, voice laced with disdain and mistrust. "You see my worry here is in ensuring that our Caledon makes the right choice in his pursuit of a wife." Her eyes drift to her son, whom Rose can see from the corner of her eye is staring back at his mother not so much with fear but still with a bit of deference.
"The woman my son chooses will not only be his wife, but the mother of his children— the mother of the heirs who will come to inherit this family's name, and you see my dear, my worry is that you don't show enough care for that name, or for any name, not in the way your mother obviously understands the importance of a family legacy, and I would hate to think that our family name could possibly be embroiled in any kind of scandal should the wrong choices be made or the wrong people begin to talk. I would hate to hear of any inappropriate behavior."
The insult is not lost on Rose or Ruth— the implication of their family debts and the poor job the thin veil of the Dewitt-Bukater legacy is doing at this point to mask the truth of their— or more so Ruth's shortcomings, as at this point Rose is beyond caring about reputations or names. The only one she had given any real thought to since the night of April fourteenth had been Dawson. And it seems, somehow, Edith Hockley has heard that name as well.
She feels an invisible hand close around hers at the thought, steadying her. Grounding her enough that she may think of a suitable response, but its not necessary. It's at that moment that the lights go again, this time with a loud pop and hiss, causing the matrons at the table to shriek in fright as glass and sparks from the fixture overhead fall to the table, the linen catching light.
"Damn these blasted lights!" Yells Cal, standing to douse the flames it's his water glass before they can spread. "Why am I not surprised that your husband had shoddy wiring installed, Ruth? It'll simply have to be fixed." His mood is dark as he calls for the footmen to bring tapers, and her mother's face is darker at the mention of her late husband. Glancing to Cal's parents, she sees his mother, hand upon her chest with a look of horror so expressive she wants to laugh, and Cal's father's face has gone beet red. She honestly can't tell if its from anger, or if its always that color from all the alcohol he consumes, as Cal's face turns just as crimson when he's been drinking.
"That's it!" Says Edith, standing. "I will not be dining in darkness as if we've regressed to the Stone Age, Caledon. We'll be returning to the hotel." Her eyes slide from her flustered son to Rose and back. "I trust one or the both of you to make the right decision and really consider what we've spoken about. Cal, we'll expect your arrival in Pittsburgh in three days' time."
— — —
Just like that the dinner is over before it had started, and she knows that she has Jack to thank.
Returning to her rooms, she sets about getting out of the stuffy high collared dress, waiting for Sarah's return to help her from her corset and stays. "I don't know how you did it, Jack, but thank you," she whispers, pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders. "I was at a complete loss for what to say to that woman."
"Who on earth are you speaking to?"
Cal's voice sounds from the doorway, and she turns, startled, clutching the robe closed against her chest.
"Don't you knock?" Asks Rose tersely. "I'm not decent."
"And why should I?" Asks Cal, entering the space and closing the door. "You and I both know you've got nothing I haven't seen before," he says, referring to the nude portrait she had left for him to find aboard the ship. "and apparently my mother knows of it as well. I'm not sure you've ever been decent."
She bites her lip, trying not to let his words, or the fear that has spiked from his proximity get to her, her mind flashing to overturned breakfast tables and the harsh blow to her jaw upon learning of her infidelity. "The same can be said for you, or do you think I'm naive about what you were out doing during those evenings you'd disappear in Europe? And I assume here as well." She bites back, trying to steel her nerves. He has her unsettled. He always does since the sinking, but she's done shying away from him and shrinking herself out of fear. " I find it comical the way you look down on me and call me a whore when you visit so many. All I'm asking for is a little privacy right now, Cal, and I will speak with you in the parlor after Sarah has me dressed properly. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes" he says, his tone dangerous. She has tread very close to a line with her words and she knows it. "It is. In fact,That maid of yours should have had you dressed before dinner as expected. I've half a mind to dismiss her. I don't think I'm inclined to give you anything you ask for anymore. In fact, I think I may begin taking things away." He begins wandering around the room as if he's presence were welcome and normal, inspecting details of the space. It's the room Rose has occupied since childhood, this being her family home. It's a space she had tried once upon a time to make as much her own as had ever been allowed.
"I've never asked you for anything, Cal," says Rose. It's the truth. She hadn't. She had asked for none of this— not his attention, not the proposal, or the European excursion— none of it. "And I don't think there's anything I value that you haven't already taken from me."
"Do you forget who has paid for the food on your table and the clothes on your back for the last two years?" He asks harshly. "The wine you drink, the damned cigarettes you insist on smoking like a vaudeville act? I've supported your ridiculous mother all this time as well."
Rose shakes her head. "I asked for none of it. I didn't ask for this engagement, Cal. I never wanted it. I don't want it."
"I didn't hear you say no when I proposed," says Cal snidely. "Am I to assume it was your vanity that had you accepting?"
Rose shakes her head again, frustrated, and feels that calming presence again— Jack trying to calm her and ease her temper. Cal really had never tried to understand her at all, she realizes, and its astonishing. "How could I decline? I was fifteen years old. My father had just died, I had been pulled from finishing school and thrust into a ballroom, and my mother had laid the responsibility of our livelihood on my shoulders. According to her, you were our best prospect, and I was lucky to have good enough looks to turn your head. How is that fair, Cal? How did I have any agency to say anything other than yes? I never heard you question the arrangement, even after you knew of the debt and Mother's motives." She's surprised she's getting this out— surprised Cal is letting her speak on it in a way he had not allowed during their entire sojourn. He's quiet for a moment appearing almost contemplative, but his expression is still dark— still maintaining that undercurrent of anger that she had seen building since she had shown up at dinner, and in fairness she had known exactly what she was doing. She had known the danger of her stunt.
"Yes, that responsibility was put upon you, but the moment that I proposed, I assumed that responsibility. I took on the role as your benefactor on the back end of a promise that you have continually disrespected. I did everything I knew how to try and earn your love." His expression then isn't so much desperate as frustrated, and she realizes that he really doesn't understand. That in his mind, he had done everything he was supposed to and really couldn't figure out where he had gone wrong, and that's just the issue. He had never once tried to listen to her or regard her as a complete person in her own right.
"That's just it, Cal, you're still assuming that I asked for any of it— that I wanted it, and I showed you no disrespect until you began disrespecting me; visiting brothels, belittling me in front of our peers, gossiping about my family's situation behind my back to applaud yourself for being such a savior. Love isn't something to earn, its not something you can buy, but I guess that's beyond you. It's sad, really, how little you're able to understand the concept."
"And you know so much on the subject?" He retorts. "From what? Two days with a penniless street rat? Oh, I'm sure he showed you all kinds of things, but love wasn't one of them."
"Don't you dare talk about Jack," warns Rose, even as she feels his invisible hand there again at her shoulder reminding her of his presence. "If you had even bothered to listen to anything he said— hell if you bothered to listen to anyone around you, you'd understand better."
"Oh I heard him alright— all that talk of making it count— it's just fancy words if you've got nothing."
Rose has to close her eyes for a moment to keep from balking at him. His arrogance is unmatched, she realizes— really and truly. "Tell me, Cal, how are you making life count for yourself? With your wealth you've got everything at your disposal, and yet you seem to do nothing of use with it. You're a 30 year old man who can't even stand up to your own parents."
"I do what is expected of me," says Cal. "Or, I would, if you would stop making that so damn difficult." He has drawn closer again, getting just a few inches from her face, his hands rising to grip her shoulders harshly. His voice grows low, dangerous.
"This wedding will commence as planned if it means dragging you to the courthouse tomorrow. The debt will be paid and your mother will keep this house, faulty wiring and all and burn down with it for all I care, and you and I will be settling in Pittsburgh within a fortnight where you will do all that is required of a wife of your station. I will hear no more argument or protest, no more talk of grief or that goddamned ship, you will stop this foolishness with the fainting spells, and if I ever hear the name Jack Dawson from your lips again there will be hell to pay. That rumor must not get any farther than it apparently already has, is that understood?"
The look in Cal's eyes— the cold, calculating tone of his voice, and his vice-like grip all point to just how serious he is, and she curses herself for thinking she could get away with the antagonization. She should have realized just how tired he had grown of the waiting and of her games— leaving that portrait for him to find really had been the last straw for Cal's patience and all that she has done since had only been to her detriment. She had known it then but can never really help her petulant nature— Jack is right, she thinks. She really is a spoiled little brat, and in this moment she feels the last allowances of oxygen to her flame being siphoned away. She would rather die herself than marry this man and she feels that so acutely now, and yet, with his promise of marriage the very next day its as if this night has become the last awaiting a gallows sentence.
He shakes her by the shoulders again, drawing her attention back up. "Am I understood?" He asks, demanding a response.
"Yes." It's all she can manage for how hopeless she feels.