A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. :o) I'm sorry this chapter too SO long to get out, I know, I know. I'm going to try to start picking up the pace and getting a chapter out every week instead of every three weeks like it's been. This past weeks have been tough, my long term boyfriend and I recently broke up so I've been dealing with that and all the mess that came along (and is still coming along) with it. Sorry guys! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you all think.

May 20, 1912

"…I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun…"

Rose marked her page and carefully stood up from the armchair, glancing down at the cover of Jane Austen's Pride and PrejudiceShe had been surprised to find a copy of it in Cal's library, as it wasn't exactly the type of book a man usually kept, but then she had remembered that his younger sister and mother must have influenced the collection somewhat as well.

She kept the book in one hand as she made her way over to the bay window of the library, glancing outward through the fogged glass. It had stormed all morning and afternoon, and by the looks of it, it didn't look to be letting up anytime soon.

She heard the doorknob to the study door rattle and in came Cal, sopping wet with a stack of papers in his hand. She wanted to laugh at the disgruntled expression he had on his face, but he beat her to it.

"Damn rain," he muttered with a charming grin to follow, setting the stack of papers on the desk. He removed his suit jacket and hat and loosened his tie.

"How did you get so wet?" Rose laughed, setting the book down on the desk and carefully placed his jacket and hat on the coat rack.

"Forgot my umbrella," he mumbled sheepishly, running a hand through his wet hair. He stopped sorting through the papers momentarily and glanced down at the book Rose had set on the table. "Pride and Prejudice. Mary's favorite."

"And mine," Rose added. "I haven't read it in years."

"And has the charming Mr. Darcy confessed his undying love for Elizabeth Bennett yet?" he smiled thoughtfully.

"Have you read this book before?" Rose smiled with a slight laugh.

"Perhaps," he chuckled back. He lifted a letter out of its envelope and scanned it briefly, frowning at its contents. "Your mother has written me from New York. She wishes me to travel to Philadelphia to sell the mansion. For the time being, she will be staying with a relative in a town called Cedar Rapids. " He glanced up at her, as if waiting to judge her reaction.

Rose took a deep breath and nodded, smoothing her hands nervously over the bosom of her lavender dress. "My father's sister. I see."

He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, still holding the letter in one hand. He came out from behind the desk and leaned against the front casually. "You're safe with me, Rose. You do know that, don't you?"

She looked at him square in the eyes. "I know that." She brushed past him, suddenly retreating within herself as she headed for the door. She felt him gently rest his hand on her forearm and she forced herself to glance back at him.

"You can trust me. Your mother will know nothing, I can assure you that."

"I'm trying," she finished solidly, pressing her left hand against the column of her throat. She opened the door and nodded to him. "Forgive me, I'm not feeling well."

He paused, open mouthed at first, but then nodded. "Of course. I'll have Marion send up a supper tray later on this evening."

But she was gone before he could barely finish his sentence.

Rose nearly flung the door of her bedroom shut behind her, and with a shaky breath, she slumped against it. She clawed at the old string of pearls at the base of her neck and pulled them off by the clasp, clutching them loosely in her hands. Why had she reacted like that towards Cal? Things between them had been progressing well, and over the course of her stay a venomous enemy had turned into a reliable friend. What was she thinking, casting him aside like that? He cared for her still, that was for sure. She had come to accept that he always had.

It took one mention of her mother; her ridiculous, selfish mother, that had sent the world she had slowly been trying to rebuild crashing down. Her mother to sell their Philadelphian mansion? How dare she. She thought of all the memories her childhood home had encompassed, most importantly memories of her father. But of course, as the more rational part of Rose attempted to point out, now there was no money. No Hockley money to better the DeWitt-Bukater name; their final assets slowly running dry long before the Titanic. Her mother was smart to sell the mansion, for it would provide her with enough to live off comfortably for the rest of her life. She would, of course, no longer be able to afford a pricey, high class lifestyle, which explained her move to Cedar Rapids perfectly.

Was she selfish to let her mother mourn her loss while she was very much alive and well?

There. Rose knew the answer now. She was crazy. Insane, probably. Perhaps Mrs. O'Neill was right after all. The mental hospital would have suited her well.

Stop it, Rose, a voice chided her. You are not crazy and you know it.

She thought of Jack for a brief moment, and his face smiled back at her. A life of her own, that was what she really wanted. Not a life in the Hockley mansion, decked out in pearls and fancy dresses. She wanted to get her hands dirty and learn the true meaning of work; of making a living. The life Jack had.

She missed him. Perhaps a small part of her had loved him after all but had not wanted to admit it. She was sure that she would have grown to love him completely, had he survived. The things they would have seen and accomplished together would have been endless. Now she would never know. She would have to take each day as it came and uphold her end of the promise.

Promises were often made to be broken, but not this one. She owed Jack's memory that much. He had taught her more about life and love in three days then she could have learned in three lifetimes.

That promise was all she had.

And Cal had been surprisingly good to her through all of this. They had hurt each other deeply, and yet still harbored affection for one another. The hardest part for Rose was trusting him again after all he had put her through; all they had put each other through. Trusting someone meant she cared. Looking at it logically, every person she had trusted and cared about had left her. Either by fate or choice, or both. Her father, dead at fifty-three to cancer. Jack, to the North Atlantic. Her mother, by Rose's own choice. And now her childhood home, the result of losing her mother. Again, by choice.

If she trusted Cal, and perhaps began to develop the feelings that she had once harbored for him in the beginning of their courtship, he too would leave her, by either fate or choice. Wouldn't he?

She set the pearls carefully on the surface of the vanity and began pulling the pins out of her hair, letting it flow freely around her shoulders. She glanced at her reflection and at the thinness of her face; the darkness underneath her eyes. She moved her lips into her prettiest smile; a true smile, not a fake, forced one. She then let it drop and began to brush out her red curls slowly, tying them back loosely into a ribbon.

Someday, she promised herself, I will smile like that again.

Cal had spent the rest of the night in his father's study, reviewing the last month's expenses in the Pittsburg mill's ledger. His father had always been a terrible bookkeeper, and several of the pages were nearly illegible, with smudges and cross outs confusing the figures. The Philadelphia mill's ledger would have to wait until tomorrow. He sighed and rubbed his temples. He didn't know why he bothered sometimes. His father was quick to find fault in everything he did, and he was sure that although things had been running smoothly at both mills in his absence, Nathan Hockley would find something to hold against Cal. He always did. And it was times during which he endured his father's criticism that Cal truly hated the family business and dreaded the day he would have to take it over completely. At least with his father still in control, the full responsibility still wasn't quite in his hands.

It was just assumed that after Peter's death that Hockley Steel would fall into Cal's hands. Like Nathan certainly had emphasized before, Peter would have been the better business leader, but Cal would have to do now. He regretted that his parent's had never even bothered to ask whether or not continuing the family business was something he wanted to do; it was just implied. Truthfully, Cal had a longing in his days at Harvard to become a lawyer. He was never a steel man; never one for the industry. Now, he had no choice.

He stifled back a yawn and looked over towards the grandfather clock, surprised to find it already half past ten in the evening. He shut the ledger and stood up stiffly, stretching out the tension in his back as he placed the ledger in its proper place on the bookshelf. His supper plate, brought in hours ago by Marion, had remained virtually untouched.

He left the study, still harboring the yawn. All he could think about over the past few hours had been Rose, and her strange reaction to her mother's letter. He wished there was something more he could do for her, because even though she had been warming up to him as of late, there was still a melancholy look in her eyes that seemed to look through him at times. He had tried everything; dinners, walks in the park; picnics in the garden. For the first time in almost a year, they were getting along, as things should have always been. Yet through her laughs and smiles, Cal still sensed something in Rose that wasn't quite right. He just wished he could get to the bottom of it.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he contemplated going to the kitchen before bed to fix himself something to eat. It sounded tempting, yet he was beyond exhausted. He had just started to ascend the stairs when suddenly, muffled, far off screams caught his attention. His eyes grew wide as he gripped the banister, and glancing down towards the first floor he heard a door slam and noticed Marion running down the hall, one hand covering the curlers in her hair and the other clutching her robe shut.

"What in the world, Mr. Hockley?" she questioned, taking the stairs nearly two at a time behind him.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he replied back, out of breath. The stairs seemed endless to him, and he never remembered it taking this long to reach the second floor before. He then realized, as they both paused momentarily on the landing, that the screams were coming from Rose's room.

Cal led the way, flinging his arm back and motioning to Marion to stay several paces behind him just in case. Quickly they bounded down the hallway and reached Rose's room, the third door on the right. Flinging the door open with Marion peering over his arm, he had been right. Rose was screaming.

There was no intruder, nothing to harm her of the sort in sight. Instead, she was lying on the bed, pale as a sheet. As he moved closer to her, he could make out her clammy complexion and the sweat that had trickled down the side of her face. From the sight of the bed, it appeared to him that she had been thrashing about, suffering the worst of a nightmare. His suspicions were only confirmed as he watched her lift and fling her arms about, and instantly he sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides.

This only made her struggle more in her unconscious state. "No! Don't please, No!," she screamed, fighting against Cal. Her eyes suddenly flung open and she began pounding her fists against his chest, still fighting an imaginary demon. He himself had broken out into a sweat as he tried to calm her.

"Rose!" he shouted, gripping her arms as he tried to still her. "Rose."

She stopped fighting then and only glanced at him, as if she finally had woken up. Her eyes darted back and forth and she shut them only briefly, as if relieved that she was, in fact, safe. "What happened?"

"You were having a nightmare," Cal soothed, still holding her by the arms, although less forcibly. "Marion and I heard you screaming from downstairs."

Listlessly she nodded and leaned forward, collapsing into Cal's chest as if all the energy had been drained out of body. He was taken aback by this and repositioned his hands and held her as she began to sob into him.

Marion took this as her cue to leave and nodded politely to Cal. "I'll be downstairs, sir, if you need me. Please don't hesitate to wake me. Goodnight, Miss Dawson."

Not quite sure what to say or do, he continued to hold her, stroking her hair in the dim lamplight. Curiosity got the best of him, and he asked a simple question. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She sat up slowly and pulled away from him, dropping her hands into her lap. She shook her head, and Cal didn't press it, instead giving her a simple nod.

As she wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief, she managed a small smile towards him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he smiled back, unsure of what else to say at the moment.

"I just want…I want things to get better. I want to go to sleep and not dream of Titanic and of all those people frozen in the sea."

"And they will," he comforted her. "And whatever I can do to help you, by God I will."