Chapter seven:
Pushing his fingers to his throat, Jack attempted to give himself an ounce of room to breathe. The collar was tight, digging into his flesh and with a string of curses released as he pounded the corridor which led to the Grand Staircase, regret swam about belly for even accepting the invitation to dine with the Hockley's - Christ's sake, what was he thinking? It was one thing to spend the day with the woman who would become Hockley's wife. A vibrant, modern woman who was about to be trapped into a long life with the man who Jack loathed more than any other. How a whiskey would be needed, perhaps several.
Rose DeWitt Bukater had tortured him, thrown accusations and then taken his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Together, their minds had taken them from the decks of a ship to the beaches of California and the thought was beyond pleasing. The way that her laugh affected his stomach was a new notion and then, they had parted to dress for the dinner which her fiancé had invited him to attend, out of pity, no doubt. It was her temper though, which irritated him the most, struck a chord perhaps. The fact that she wasn't identical to other ladies of society who swooned, who massaged the male's ego just for gossips, or a dance. It was the matter of how captivating she was, without trying to do anything other than navigate her way through a prickling situation and Jack was suspicious, today aside, of when the last time she truly laughed had been.
A man engaged to a woman of Rose's calibre should be proud, pleased and bending himself backwards to please her in return. Not restrict her in such a way as described.
Almost reaching the landing, strains of classical music caught Jack's ears and his own footsteps became drowned within the sounds, and then, his fidgeting stopped as emerald eyes locked onto his and a rush of tenderness tightened his chest and prevented him from breathing.
Rose.
Her attention entirely on him, with the backdrop of a spectacular sunset painted across the sky out of the large glass window behind her. Together, it was a sight to marvel. She wore a gown of dark red satin-backed silk, which had a slight sheen to it with a bottom layer of black beaded circles and also helped the dress stand out from the knees on down. The gown consisted on an underdress with a black lace and nude bodice, and the skirts. The skirts consisted of a red tubular under layer, covered by a layer of fine black netting. The netting went to calf height, and had the beaded circles sewn to it and is trimmed with the beaded fringe. Each of the skirts had 8 beaded circles with rhinestones in the centre. The circles are made from large black crystal beads. Her hands were un gloved, clasped in front of her stomach and her hair was simply done, with wispy pieces of curl simply framing her face.
''Good evening, Jack.'' Her soft voice cut through the elegance of the music and using his given name, as instructed earlier, weakened his heart.
''Hello, Rose.''
''I begin to feel as though I am lacking wits,'' she groused, ''I am hungry and yet, I am dreading sitting with the vultures of society to dine.''
Jack found her slight honesties endearing. Rolling his shoulders back, he fought off the tension which was gathering there. She watched him, wary and unsure.
''You are not lacking anything, but you do look beyond beautiful.''
Taking three steps to her, they were a few metres apart when he took her left hand in his own and slowly, almost painfully so, brought it to rest upon his lips and allowed her skin to linger there just a moment before he kissed the back of her hand and then lowered it back to her. Mesmerised, Rose was unable to look away from him. He was an extraordinarily beautiful man, his skin as dark as clover honey, his dark blonde hair falling over his forehead in a way that made her fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. He met her wide-eyed glance with a steady interest that caused her toes to curl inside her leather shoes. Fighting for composure, Rose looked away from him. But she remained sharply aware of him, the relaxed alertness of his posture, the unknown pulse secreted beneath the elegant layers of his clothing.
"Where is your escort to dinner?"
Knowing that Jack was referring to her fiancé, Rose gathered her wits to respond. "He left earlier with my mother. I fear my beauty rituals kept him waiting longer than he preferred." In honesty, asking Trudy to take care rearranging her hair and taking a while longer to select a gown hadn't been for any other reason than to ensure she wouldn't be entering the dining room with Cal and her mother. Rose had wished to wait alone, perhaps to see if Mr. Dawson would come after all.
"And did the looking glass agree with the reflection before it eventually?"
With flushed cheeks, Rose nodded in agreement.
"Well I dare say you'll be the most wondrous sight at dinner this evening and your betrothed is a fool for allowing me to escort you down there." Her eyes flew open, however, as she felt a gentle touch at the edge of her jaw. Jack's fingers were nudging her face upward, his thumb brushing the tip of her chin. The unexpected intimacy sent a little shock through her. His flame-bright gaze had seized hers again. "Don't worry. My intentions are completely honourable."
There was that jest. Again. How could a man be so elegant and yet such a rogue? Society was right about one thing; he wasn't quite one of them. His wicked tongue kept her guessing at just what could come flying out of his mouth yet. It was unheard of, jesting of such matters, with a lady of her station, but she could have silenced him and turned the other cheek, but it would be impossibly difficult to. Who else could provide such a shocking conversation?
"Well, Mr. Dawson," Rose found the cockiness of her tongue again. "I do hope they are. My fiancé would not quite forgive you if I was ever-"
"I won't compromise you." Jack smirked, offering his arm for her to take. "That you have my word on."
It wasn't quite what she had expected for him to say. It wasn't quite the type of conversation one should have with a man who she had known less than a day. In fact not a conversation to be had at all and yet her tart tongue resisted the urge to fire back another remark. Instead, she placed her left hand at his forearm and feeling just how he stiffened there at her touch, wondered just how tolerant of her he was been and for what reason. She didn't question it. Instead, they were greeted by the two stewards at the landing and before they could say another word the upper landing of the Grand Staircase was laid out for them. The main stairwell was located in the forward part of the ship and began on the Boat Deck, extending six flights down to E Deck. B and D Decks contained entry foyers on either side where First Class passengers would embark and disembark, the D Deck entryway leading directly into the Reception Room. Each level was constructed in solid English oak with sweeping curves and the surrounding spaces paneled in the sleek neoclassical William and Mary style. The balustrades displayed distinctive wrought iron grilles with ormolu swags in the style of Louis XIV. The staircase was crowned by an extravagant wrought iron and glass dome with a large chandelier at the centre. The wrought-iron dome was installed on the roof of the boat deck and provided natural light to the stairwell before being artificially lit at night from behind. On the central landing of the A-Deck staircase was an exquisitely carved clock with allegorical figures on either side, known as Honor and Glory Crowning Time. At the foot of the staircase, on the newel post of the middle balustrade, was a bronze cherub holding an electric torch.
All about them, the most impressive and notable faces of Society swarmed about. The ladies in newly purchased gowns fresh from their modiste and diamonds from the finest jewellers in London or Paris. Some wore plumes in their hair and others had pearls. The gentleman in their top hats, three piece suits complete with exotic perfumes.
"It's exactly like been in a play." Jack nodded, smiling widely through gritted teeth.
"How so?"
"Because its all an act. A pretence."
"Perhaps to you. To them it is their entire world."
Jack bit back a grin, tightening his forearm as they approached the stair case. At the bottom, Rose could see The Countess of Rothes and her companion dressed in a pale blue.
"An entire life built on how one envisages them from the outside. Is this truly how the earth should be?"
Rose agreed wholeheartedly but there was something inside which bit out, to disagree for the sake of it. Their views differed somewhat but they were very much the same as well.
"Mr. Dawson, judgement of how one lives their life is no different than the self-centred gossips who attend the balls and galas in the city. I never had you pinned at the type," she smirked, "are you just as bad as they are?"
Jack stopped, obliging her to turn to face him as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "You. You make me want to—" He stopped as if thinking better of what he'd been about to say. But the trace of amusement lingered on his lips. She didn't like the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel hot and nervous and giddy. All her senses informed her that he was a thoroughly untrustworthy man. One who abided by no one's rules but his own.
"Tell me, Miss. DeWitt Bukater . . . what would you do if you were invited on a midnight ride across the earth and ocean? Would you choose the adventure, or stay safely at home?" She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from his. The topaz eyes were lit by a glint of playfulness, not the innocent mischief of a boy, but something far more dangerous. She could almost believe he might actually change form and appear beneath her window one night, and carry her away on midnight wings . . .
"Home, of course," she managed in a sensible tone. "I don't want adventure, not too much any course."
"I think you do. I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself."
"I don't have moments of weakness. Not that kind, at any rate.'' His laughter curled around her like a drift of smoke.
"You will."
Rose didn't dare ask why he was so certain of that. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze to the top button of his waistcoat. Was he flirting with her? No, it must be that he was mocking her, trying to make her look foolish.
"Well I doubt that, Mr. Dawson because I thoroughly fear flying. I do hope there is never a time one has to soar above anything. Feet belong on land or on the decks of a ship. No where else."
Gathering her dignity, which had scattered like bits of dandelion fluff in a high wind, she frowned up at him as he led her down the second staircase with an amusing smile. Why did he infuriate her so? To the point she could actually stamp her foot in anger. Of course been a well brought up girl, she couldn't.
Pleased with the way he had slipped beneath her skin already, Jack tensed his jaw as soon as they saw Rose's mother up ahead dressed in a yellow gown, and Cal beside her as they exchanged pleasantries with the Duff Gordon's. He felt Rose stiffen slightly but he continued to lead her forward to her fiancé.
"Darling, surely you remember Mr. Dawson?"
Cal turned with those glittery onyx eyes narrowed at Jack as though he was eying up a pig to take to slaughter.
"Of course. How could I forget. Nice of you to come."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Jack replied, flatly. Turning his attention to Ruth, he inclined his head. "Mrs. DeWitt Bukater."
Ruth simply raised a brow and then allowed Cal to lead her onwards.
"Come along, sweet pea." Cal gestured but Jack held her back as her feet went to go forward, mostly out of entertainment. What would happen if the little lamb didn't follow when called? It was oddly satisfying that Rose didn't follow.
"Jack!" Molly, breathless, placed both of her hands upon his right arm. "Good lord, care to escort another?"
"Of course."
It was another second before Molly was off in a rush again. "Oh, just a moment, I have to say hello to the Countess."
"Are you familiar with the family?" Rose watched after Molly, exchanging pleasantries with the others as though it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
"I am familiar of no one."
"Well that there, with Molly is the Countess of Rothes. She is known for her charity work in London and Scotland."
Rose pulled Jack to a more discreet location at the fringe of the room at the bottom of the staircase so that they could spy on the faces of Society.
"That's John Jacob Astor. The richest man on the ship. His little wifey there Madeline is my age and supposedly in a delicate condition." Rose spied how another strategically placed stole was in front of her stomach. "See how she tries to hide it?"
"Yes, I was aware of the Astor's. Quite the scandal, I imagine."
"Of course. Their age difference was quite a headline when they married last fall. Mother was beside herself with the gossips. The child is legitimate. Just."
Jack narrowed his eyes to the entire room. Each person with a story and yet all they cared for was massaging each other's ego. Style and grace were the answer to their prayers. Keeping up the appearances.
''What if the child wasn't?''
Rose recoiled in aghast. ''Pardon me?''
Relishing her flushed innocence, Jack slackened his stature. ''If a man loves a woman and they conceive a child without a piece of paper which would only declare a woman legally his, then why would it matter?''
''Mr. Dawson, I fear you were raised quite differently to I.''
''I was raised to learn of love. A child should be loved regardless, not shunned purely because of a simple error.''
''You call conception an error?'' Rose was in disbelief, and only ears breathe away from her, society's finest stock was breezing past whilst she stood on the fringes discussing conception. ''Good grief,'' she exhaled, turning her attention back to the crowd and not waiting an answer to her own question.
"That is Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madam Aubert."
"So, where is Mrs. Guggenheim?"
Pulling back, Rose smiled. "At home with the children."
Jack smirked. "So, he takes his show piece on a boat while the wife is at home doing the real work, huh?"
Rose arched a brow, in surprise of his comment. ''For a man so against monogamy, you seem to be a slight offended by Mr. Guggenheim's circumstance.''
Jack looked down at her, a crinkle between his brows. ''I never said I was against monogamy. If you marry, then surely vows should be abided by or it would be pointless reciting them at all.''
Rose was about to reply when Molly had returned, taking Jack's arm and leading them onwards to the dining room and it left her completely stumped, adding another facet to Mr. Dawson which she was left to contemplate. There was so much to figure, yet if she spent the entire voyage trying to dissect every inch of the man, she feared that she would never find the ends of the sentence. There was no logic. Just the truth...
"Ain't nothing to it, is there Jack?"
"I had forgotten just how to act like a pallbearer. Stick my nose in the air instead of up their-"
"Pardon me, Rose." Molly quickly cut in, "Jack isn't quite as accomplished in the eyes of Society as you. His opinion of it can be a little rude."
Rose could only stifle a giggle as they approached the dining room. The centre of the universe for some people. The chatter was already loud. The clattering of places. The chimes of the band.
"There's nothing to it. You have a gold mine."
"Yes but it's like going into a snake pit. You never know which one will try to bite you first or perhaps all at once."
Rose laughed. "You sound afraid, Mr. Dawson."
"No, never afraid." Jack turned and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "I always bite them harder."
To Rose, upper society resembled the ornamental tanks used for exotic fish-keeping in fashionable parlours, filled with glittering creatures who darted and circled in patterns she had no hope of understanding. Rose wondered what it must be like for him, caught between two worlds, belonging to neither. No hope of ever being fully accepted. And yet there was no trace of self-pity in his tone. Only amusement. At his comment though, she shivered in an already stifling room.
"Hey Astor!" Molly called, leading them towards John Jacob Astor and his wife, who was dressed prettily in a glittering gold.
"Well, hello, Molly, nice to see you."
Rose exchanged pleasantries with them both before introducing Mr. Dawson to them. Mr. Astor shook his hand, intrigued.
"Tell me, are you familiar with the Boston Dawson's?"
"Actually, yes. Eric Dawson was my paternal uncle. He passed the year before last." Jack informed him, and Mr. Astor's brow crinkled.
"Yes, I heard. My condolences. Eric and I were together at Harvard. I did keep myself abreast of your work with the business until last fall when I was taken on an extended honeymoon."
Madeline Astor stepped aside to Rose, whispering low in an appreciative tone. "What a pity it is that we are both spoken for."
"Pardon me?"
"A handsome and intriguing man, Mr. Dawson. Would you not agree?"
Rose couldn't respond. The clattering and the music all seemed to join together and took her swimming along with it. Jack was at her side, offering his arm to her, immediately. If she was to faint, she knew he could collect her in a heartbeat. How could she trust a man with her entire heart after such a short time of introduction?
''He is wonderfully tall, with fine broad shoulders and a wild wit if what people tell me is true. I have heard that he is unmarried, unencumbered and has quite a queer liking to French ladies, alone.''
''French?'' Rose enquired, intrigued.
''Why, yes, he spent the majority of early Spring in Paris with a string of beautiful ladies, or so I read.''
With her eyes taken from Mrs. Astor to the man who's arm she had taken so easily, to be led to a formal dinner, Rose felt ill all of a sudden. It was very heated in the vast dining room and the walls seemed to close in about her.
In the foreground, she spied Cal, attempting to see her in the crush of people.
"I-I must go be seated with Cal and my mother."
Mr. Dawson gave a nod, took her in with one of those bright, disarming glances, and stayed to watch her progress as she walked away. With each step Rose put between them, she should have felt safer, but the sense of disquiet remained. And then, she heard him murmur something, his voice shadowed with amusement, whatever it was, made her shiver.