Chapter fourteen:

Of course, he was unaware. A gentleman was never aware of his fiancée's turmoil. The melancholy haze which seemed to cloud her even on the brightest days. The impassive face which had been perfected down to an art when inside she was screaming. The one occasion which Rose had broached the subject with her mother and then Cal, it was dismissed with the swish of a wrist. The cardinal sin had been broken; ladies didn't speak of their feelings to their nearest and closest. Regardless of the notions which had played in her head, even considering suicide as a way out of the life which had been so carefully planned. She was so carefully wrapped up. Like the perfect China doll that was too dainty to touch or she would break and yet it was those who had trapped her that was causing her to crack, slowly and then, Cal had said those familiar words...

"I had hoped that you could come to me last night." His voice quiet and would almost be comforting if she hadn't detected the faint annoyance.

"I was tired," Rose smiled, stirring her coffee gently and carefully.

''Yes, I suppose your exertions dancing with Mr. Dawson would have that effect on you.'' Cal lowered his gaze to her, and she knew in that moment that this conversation wouldn't be about the fact that she hadn't joined him in the bedroom, but because of her interactions on the dancefloor with the man who Cal detested. ''Are you intentionally trying to provoke me?''

''Of course not.''

''Well, your demeanour of late seems crafted to embarrass me at every opportunity and I will not stand for it. What were you thinking?''

''I was being polite. Should I decline a dance in front of the entire ladies at dinner?'' Straightening her back, in a sort of defence, Rose raised her chin to speak. ''I see that you had that undertaker of a manservant watching me, how convenient. I am not a foreman in one of your mills to command, I am your fiancée. I am a woman. A woman with-''

Rose could hear the anger within his breathing; his nostrils flared as though he tried to keep his temper in check but in a slow second, his hand came up to strike her face. It was hard, fast and it knocked her backwards further into the chair. She remained silent, not even raising her hand to tend to it. The blow should have been expected; he was a man with the need to be in control of everything. Especially in control of her; a woman. A woman who was apparently just for decorative purposes. An object.

''Yes, you are a woman. And my fiancée, and my wife! You will honour me the way that a wife is supposed to honour her husband, you will not make me to be a fool, Rose.''

Cal's strike pulsated across her face. Across her head. Through her veins. Rose remained in the same spot; her neck to the side, facing away from Cal as the force of the blow had caused her to strain her shoulder and upwards. Through blurred vision, she concentrated on how the sun created shadows across their private deck. How lovely the sun felt on her back. How Mr. Dawson's fingers felt across her skin. How his lips felt upon her own...

Still, she never raised her head to meet Cal's gaze, feeling the absolute severe hatred of which, he would have inflicted upon her. Perhaps, she would even return that to him.

''Can you not look at me when I am talking to you?''

His voice was surprisingly smooth.

The erratic beating of her heart beneath her morning dress deafened her but he couldn't see that. Nor would he ever.

The pain hadn't ceased but it pulsated less, as though her nerves had deadened. Her feelings had become numb. Her entire body was quivering. Steeling her resolve, Rose twisted her neck to a more comfortable position but she still didn't look at him.

Then, his rough hands were on her face, forcing her to watch him with a twist of her neck and his lips came down on hers, slanting and protruding his tongue into her mouth as though he was claiming her as his own. As though he had known that Mr. Dawson's lips worked so much more beautifully than Cal's ever could. As though he knew that another's kiss meant more to her. As though he was sucking away the poison left by another. But that wasn't it, the kiss was simply a cruel reminder that she was indeed his to claim; in every which way that he possibly could. Rose struggled to breathe, kicking her legs about in a squirm beneath the weight of him as she felt almost tied to the chair.

''You will look at me when I am talking to you.'' Cal spat, tearing his mouth away from hers, forcing her legs apart with his knee as he hovered above her. ''Do you understand me?''

''Y-yes.'' Rose's voice was hoarse, just above a whisper. If she wanted to move in that moment, she couldn't, for she was held down in place by his weight. The blackness of his eyes was like the depths of Hell, how had she never noticed that glint of him before?

''Say it!''

''I understand.''

''Good,'' Cal stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and retreated to the interiors of the sitting room leaving a strewn chaos behind. Feeling the panic rise in her throat, Rose's breathing accelerated beyond her own control and she glanced about at the broken glass, china and destroyed food across their private deck. She took a shivering breath, and sank to the floor to collect up the pieces when she felt a pair of hands across her shoulders; comforting and easy.

''Leave it, Miss, allow me.''

The tremors started more, perhaps the adrenaline leaving her now that she had attempted to stand up to a man who would never see her as anything other than a possession. A woman would never be equal to any man. Not in their world. Why was she trapped in this modern mind of wishing to be allowed the same rights as a man? Why was Mr. Dawson the only one able to listen, to console and to not allow her fears to fall on deaf ears. ''I'm sorry, Trudy, we had a little accident, I stumbled and-'' she trailed off, unable to even pull out a considerable lie. Trudy's hands settled upon her shoulders, as she went to a kneel beside Rose and hushed her like a child.

''It is all right, Miss.''

Finding sanctuary within the deep, softened brown eyes of her maid, Rose allowed herself to sob, there on the private promenade deck. Sob for the life which she was trapped within, for the life which she longed for. For the love of a man that she could never love at all.

After a bath, and transforming into the beaming bride to be once more. Rose sat in Ruth's sitting room, taking a cup of tea before the morning's church service was to commence. Her mother had planned an entire day for them both...

''We have the hymn sing, lunch with the Astor's, then Mr. Andrews has offered to take us on a tour of the ship and then tea with the countess of Rothes, then dinner with the wideners at the restaurant...I do hope they have the lobster bisque again.''

Listening to her mother's dizzying list of an itinerary, Rose responded, quietly. ''I have other plans, mother, thank you.''

''You are not to see Mr. Dawson again, Rose. Are you listening to me? You will not associate with him unless it is within a crowd and then only for the politeness of others around.''

Hearing the notes of her mother's voice, Rose tilted her head and regarded her curiously. Cal must have shared the contents of their conversation with her from breakfast that morning.

''Oh mother, who are you to tell me whom I will or will not dine with. He's not a third class, is he? He is a member of our peers and so I should not be the one to treat him differently and nor should you.''

''Do not jeopardise things so close to the wedding. ''

''I will sit for the portrait which Cal commissioned Jack to do.'' Rose reminded her mother. Perhaps it was the only excuse which she could have to just see him one more time. One last time.

''He was only offering the poor boy some credit, for he did not belong at the table.''

''Yes, he did and Cal was serious.''

''Then he is testing you, and the situation is even more dangerous. Don't you see everything we have worked for is at stake''

''Everything you worked for, mother.''

''Do you think I was raised in a convent?'' Ruth hissed, ''of course I know of adolescent feelings. The ones young girls have when they see a handsome young boy.'' She sighed, taking a sharp intake of breath and shaking her head. ''But boys like him haven't had an education. Not a proper one. They do not know how to treat a woman, what a woman wants, her needs and how to be fragile. He will take what he wants and then leave you alone, or worse – pregnant.''

Rose remained completely silent with her back poker straight against the upholstered chair. Outwardly, she was collected and calm; as calm as could be. Her eyes softly gazed to her mother who paced her stateroom with such stress that she could almost feel the heart attack she was about to bring upon herself.

''I do not understand you, Rose. Your match with Hockley will ensure our survival. To throw all of that away, to discard him like trash and for what – a bohemian artist who knows how to fill a young girl's head with such romantic notions? His family connections are not worthy. He is new money...''

Ruth shook her own head, pacing to the fireplace to feel the warmth.

''A man like that will know how to charm women. How to lure them in with his good boy image, his handsome face and before you know it, a woman is just another whore in his bed.'' She clamped her right hand around her face as soon as she had cursed. ''Forgive me.''

''Oh mother-''

''Oh Lord, why did God allow this to happen to my child?'' Ruth covered her face with her hands. ''Why must I be cursed this way?''

''One would think I had caught some sort of disease. One would think that I had made it abundantly clear to you that I have affections for Mr. Dawson, when we have merely met three days ago and we have conversed of a variety of topics and danced just the once. It is not as though I have any sort of feelings really, perhaps beyond a mutual respect.'' Additionally, she wished to add, he had kissed her and sent her wits scattered on numerous occasions, but that wasn't enough to garner affection the way her mother seemed to be convinced of.

''But I have seen the way you look at him!'' Ruth eyed Rose sharply. ''A medical issue can be sorted by a doctor, a pill or a bandage. This, this is not like that.''

''No, it is not.'' Rose raised her perfectly arched eyebrow as her mother continued her pace. ''Mother, you cannot ''cure''' everything with a pill. You could not ''cure'' my father, you certainly will not be able to ''cure'' me.''

''That is what is wrong with you, you fail to see the good in what you already have. There has to be something in your head, something that needs to be rectified.''

''Perhaps that is so.''

''How can you be so blasé, Rose? This has to be rectified. This situation...''

''So, I am now a situation?'' Amusement had left her minutes ago, replaced by the sheer disbelief at just how black and white her own Mother saw this world. There was only twenty years between them. Yes, they were raised in different times, but surely time moved on. People were different. Every single person was beautiful in their own way. Those with flaws had such unique beauty. The only ugliness Rose saw in the world was her own narrow-minded crowd.

''Yes, you think it is acceptable to dally around with a boy? I saw the way he looked at you when you were dancing last night. I certainly saw the way he held onto you-''

Rose laughed pitifully. ''Is that so?''

''It is the way I see it. The boy will ruin you, take away your innocence and leave you an unwed spinster with God knows how many mouths to feed.''

''Better than marrying a man that I will never love.''

Ruth's mouth formed into an 'o'. It was the first utter of retaliation Rose had spoken. It was the first that Rose had ever said anything in a retaliation.

''Oh, you fool.''

''I would rather be a fool than a whore for Cal, to give myself to him, to carry his heirs and then be discarded to the wolves of society to be gossiped of for the next sixty years of my life. To watch my children be subjects of such extreme negative, narrow-minded talk, like what you speak of now.''

''Do not be so ridiculous!'' Ruth cried. ''We are women, our choices are never easy.''

''Why mother? Why did you put this on my shoulders? Why was I to be the one to marry such quality in order to save the family name?''

''I am to mourn; a widow should not re-marry within the time limits set out as by the rules of society.''

''Yes, let us follow the rules, mother. Let us never allow ourselves to think, or love or feel. Let us grow to detest ourselves, our lives and everything about us, simply because of a societal rule book written by people who would go on to make the same mistakes.''

''You are a child, Rose. A naïve, little girl who believes in the fairy tale you have been fed by a boy.'' Ruth shook her head. ''What has he told you?''

''I know that he is the most honest person that I have met. He cares, he is truthful, he sees the world the way I want to see it.'' Rose paused for breath. ''The only reason why he is shunned from his peers is because he has a difference. He is truthful about the world, about his own life, his loss and it is because he doesn't conceal a thing, that is the reason why he is disliked. Made out to be a monster of some kind.''

''More pathetic, idiotic notions. The world is there and around us. We have wonderful things, beautiful things. He said himself at dinner the previous night that he sleeps under bridges, rides the rail without a ticket. He is an urchin yet; he states that he has the funds to live. Who is to believe that? Do you want that life for yourself?''

Rose felt the blood drain from her face. A realisation had made her numb. Her hands were steady as she swirled the tea about in the bottom of her China cup. It was cold and the milk had started to lighten the colour; it was like a tiny person drowning. She almost felt like that person. Reasoning with her mother would never happen. Ruth DeWitt Bukater was far too close minded, stubborn and rude to ever accept Rose's choice but the one thing which she hadn't revealed was that her mind was made up; she was going to start to have some rein of her own future.

Rose had reduced her mother to a mess in a short time. The truth was, beneath this crumbling exterior she knew that the woman was fearing for herself and what would become of her. The weight of their entire world fell on Rose's shoulders and when she threatened to crumble beneath it, Ruth would bark at her to stay afloat. Now the reins were loosened, Rose was going to escape. Ruth would have to keep herself afloat, stop leaning on her only child. The weight was endless, suffocating and enough to make any person resent Ruth for piling on the pressure but the truth was, she didn't feel anything at all.

Once, Rose had feared for the rest of her life. It was planned, each chapter was carefully laid out before her. Each dinner was the same but with a different beautiful dress. Each eligible suitor was the same face with a different name and each as arrogant as the other. They would list their family's accomplishments, their accolades and their bank balance. Each time she cared less and less.

''You said that you knew how it felt, mother, to be attracted to someone. You said yourself, you weren't raised in a convent.''

''No, I wasn't. I know how difficult it is to distinguish between adolescent, naïve feelings and a real safe and secure man who will take care of us.''

''Of us? It is always us, isn't it? Never me. My singular feelings have never once been thought of here.''

''Don't be absurd. You are the reason I have fought so hard for this family name to stay above water for your father allowed it to sink so far in the mud, it was hard to even retrieve it.''

''No, you fought for yourself. You threatened me since my father died, how I would have to hang my head in shame if you would have to find some sort of work and that you had very little skill. That is what terrifies you more than anything, isn't it?''

''And so, it should you, too. We are women, our choices are limited but they are easy. We are to carry the children, to raise them to be fine up-standing individuals.''

''Then, I must have failed you well and truly.'' Rose stated matter of factly. The atmosphere was as thick as winter fog.

''You will only fail me, Rose if you leave.'' Ruth closed her eyes, a watery line visible as she came to sit at the table. ''I only want what is best for you, for us.'' She pleaded with Rose. ''Cal is a fine man who offered you more than he needed to.''

''Yes, he did.'' Freed of the necessity of good manners, Rose placed her elbow upon the table and swiped the curls from her face.

''I encourage you to love him, as he does you.''

A flutter of melancholy settled then across Rose's shoulders, weighting it down more than what was initially ploughing her down. Oh, soon she would drown, she could feel it. Gazing at her mother's pleading face, in her heart, she knew what Ruth had done was indeed for the good of her daughter. Marrying for love was never an option.

''Mother, as we are so honest, I feel that I would be unable to-'' Feeling herself flush, she exhaled before letting the words tumble from her mouth. ''I fear consummation. He is rather—eager to, even before we marry.''

''Do you expect to have to live a virginal existence? Cal is a handsome and attractive man in his prime and you are a beautiful woman who is the centre of his universe. Of course, you will have to entertain him the way a woman is required to entertain her husband.''

''Entertain.'' Rose repeated, in a haze of confusion. Was that the word for it? Well, she was indeed no different from an actress or perhaps even a common whore after all, and perhaps much less use than one.

For all intent and purpose, Rose DeWitt Bukater was simply there to be decorative. To entertain. To be used. After all, wasn't that the point of a woman?