Chapter eighteen:
''Would you dance, darling?'' Cal extended his hand to her and she didn't refuse, knowing just how he disliked it. Her mood should lift, Rose thought, as she made her way to the dance floor, her expensive skirts swishing around her legs and her shoes clacking against the thick wooden floor. Inside, her stomach was awfully still. She had expected some fluttering about to occur as she laid eyes on him. He had spoken at length with another attractive female before dinner. Rose should feel a shudder of something. A flicker. He was handsome. His beauty was masculine but also very clean. His dinner jacket was made of velvet, the material which a woman should want to run her hands over but Rose didn't. He held out his hand as he crossed the dance floor to take her dainty hand in his. They were smoother than hers. Not an ounce of labour had he done in his life. And then, they moved together in such a motion that it was structured from beginning to end. It was a lively dance, one which Rose moved to mechanically, wonderfully and her eyes weren't on her fiancé but on the floor. On the table. To the chandeliers ahead, and then back to him…
It was as though anything captured her attention other than the man she was to marry shortly.
''Darling, you look flushed, perhaps you have consumed too much champagne this evening?''
''Oh, no, I am just exhausted still from the events of the past weeks.''
''Shall we sit after this dance?''
''Oh, I would like at least another.'' Anything to distract her from her reconciliation with her fiance. Cal held her, his grip strong and guiding. It was as though she was under his tutelage and not his spell. Nothing about his touch formed a spark within her.
''I forget just how beautifully we danced together, Rose.''
'Truly? It wasn't such an age ago that we danced at my cotillion and all the way through Europe.''
''Yes, and we have danced every dance together since.'' His voice was low, supposedly enthralling to any other woman. Who shouldn't want to share the rest of their lives in the arms of the man they were engaged to be married to? Rose, however, felt her stomach twist. She had danced with another…on the beach. Beneath the stars. Her stomach wasn't moving due to the notion of her unfaithful behaviour, but of now dancing with another who wasn't Jack.
Since arriving back in New York City, Rose had found life continues as if nothing had even happened. Her mother, although thinner and a little pale, appeared to be the picture of health. Cal, was as flighty as always, apparently dealing with the insurance claims with the White Star Line for the items lost and yet, the safe was still stacked with hundred dollar bills, her mother had another wardrobe filled with the latest fashions and she, too, had been fitted for a full wardrobe to clothe her whilst in the City. Most had been ''off the rack'' which her mother wasn't too happy about, but without a stitch of clothing there, there wouldn't have been time to wait for the gowns to be made from scratch.
Tonight, the gown was a midnight blue, with a black lace trim across the chest and hem. The colour of the sky at night. She felt as fragile as a child in it, and as Cal swirled her about, she felt as though her upper body was completely rigid.
Turning her attention back to him, she felt him watching her through almost black eyes. Somehow she had forgotten just how dark his eyes were. How he seemed to watch her in that hawk-like way and it never caused a swirling in her stomach.
''Have you been faithful to me?'' Rose asked, before her mouth could stop her. ''Could you be faithful for a lifetime, to one person? Is monogamy truly in your heart?''
''Pardon me?''
''In our marriage, once the vows are taken, would you remain faithful to me?''
Missing a step completely, Cal's expression turned darker, his brows knitted in somewhat of a struggle. ''You ask me this, just one day after we are reunited and abandoning us in Southampton?''
Rose was about to apologise for even insinuating that he would break his vows, but added, ''yes, I do, I ask as a woman about to take a man as her husband; have you remained faithful to me during our courtship?''
''What occurs between a man and his affairs has nothing to do with a woman. You should remain focused on the wedding and less time reading those novels of very little import.''
Unable to respond, Rose nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat and lowering her glance to the way their feet went. His grip on her loosened then, and she recalled just how tightly Jack would hold onto her. How it made her want to be pulled even tighter; towards his body.
She waited with impatience until the last chord of the orchestra struck and then Cal had almost dragged her back to their table before making an egress as fast as possible. Rose's wits should have scattered there, but instead, she was—nothing. Nothing other than disappointed in herself for believing that he was a man who could potentially be faithful. Could potentially be a gentleman. He wasn't. Not in matters of the heart. That was what she had known all along but it was only now that evidence had been fully presented to her but then again, nor had she been the faithful one. Not in her heart. She still didn't feel fully aware of just what her feelings were.
''Rose, what has occurred? Cal is in a fouler mood now than when we arrived.''
Rose placed her hand atop her mothers, her mouth curving into a small smile. One which she hoped would sooth her shrill voice. ''Mother, it was a small disagreement, it is all right.''
''How could you disagree?''
Rose smiled, simply. ''He wasn't too keen on the colour of the bridesmaids gowns.''
''The pale yellow? That was my idea, and he was in favour of it just yesterday.''
Rose tried to keep her temperament even. ''Perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow, mother, when we are able to go over the rest of the details more thoroughly.''
Glimping to the dance-floor, Rose settled her hand across her unsettled stomach.
''It feels wrong to be attending such a dance when people are in mourning.'' Rose saw a notoriously famous socialite across the floor who had survived the sinking. Most eyes were on her, not just because she was wearing a lace overlay which matched the colouring of a peacock, paired with the flumes within her hair but because she was at least fifty and dancing with a boy at least half her age. A handsome one. ''Look at her, dancing with that boy as though she was a young girl herself.'' Her mother glanced over her champagne glass. ''Someone should surely tell her just how ridiculous she looks in colours of that vibrance.''
''Oh mother,'' Rose exhaled, ''does it matter as long as they are happy to dance?''
''Yes, of course. Would you see me dressed like a bird of the African rainforest? Would you see me flirting with a boy half my age? Absolutely not, in fact I should rather be sent to my grave this instant.''
Ruth's spine stiffened, aware of what she had just said. Rose glared down, to her mother, and to the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria in disgust.
''Oh, mother, shut up. Do you not understand just how lucky you are to have survived such an ordeal? To have been put safely aboard a lifeboat? To have been the warmest that you possibly could have and yet you invite death because of a fancy hat and bright colours?''
Rose sensed Ruth's remorse for speaking out of turn but she didn't apologise, she never did. ''Sit down, Rose.'' Ruth quietly ordered, low and with a breezy smile as her gaze cast across the crush looking for Cal.
''I shall not. I should rather return upstairs for an early night.''
''Rose, you cannot-''
''I bid you goodnight, mother.''
Without a chaperone, she made her way to the adjoining rooms of the penthouse suite where her mother and Cal had been staying since arriving in New York. The only trouble was, her maid, Trudy, had not survived the sinking. Nor had Ruth's lady's maid. In their place, two pleasant Polish girls were working tirelessly to press the linens and hang the beautiful dresses. With limited English, all Rose could do was smile politely and move mechanically as she was dressed for bed.
It was then, as she fell into a restless slumber, along with her own thoughts that she allowed herself to grow lost in Jack Dawson once more. It was almost as though he was a figment of her imagination but he wasn't; he was living and breathing and in New York City; out there somewhere with his fate on the wind, as he would always say.
Of course, Cal was unaware. A gentleman was never aware of his fiancée's turmoil or 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 in which Rose had broached the subject of misery 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 at breakfast the next morning...
"I had hoped that you could come to me last night." His voice was 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 whilst we were apart kept you entertained. Something has impregnated your brain with some idiot notion.'' Cal lowered his gaze to her, and she knew at 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 him. ''Do you mean to tell me that whilst we parted you believe that I took another woman?''
''Cal, I never insinuated. I simply asked…I would like to believe that a man and woman should be able to openly speak of such matters. If we are to be married-''
''When.'' Cal corrected.
''When.'' Rose went along with him. ''When we are married I should like to be able to speak with you of all matters.''
''Such as whether or not I shall take another woman into my bed?'' He was amused, she saw the lines around his mouth. Good God, he didn't even take her seriously now.
''And if I took another man?'' Rose raised her chin and eyes to meet his. If she had taken another man into her bed, then not only would she have been ruined, then her wedding night should have been a pointless exercise. A woman was expected to remain in a virginal state until marriage and yet, she had stood with barely a corset clutched to her breasts before Jack. She had kissed him with such a passion that it had lit a fire in the bottom of her soul and each time she had laid eyes upon him, the flames had climbed even higher.
''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 are you thinking?''
Straightening her back, in a sort of defence, Rose raised her voice. ''I am thinking that I should be able to speak of such matters with my husband.''
''Then, you are wrong.'' Wiping his mouth, discarding the napkin upon the breakfast table and then inhaling slowly he frowned. ''What has gotten into you since we parted?''
''That is the thing, perhaps, I had some….enlightenment of how I should like to be treated as a wife. As a woman. As an equal.''
''Good God, soon you shall be working at the steel factories,'' Cal laughed, incredulously, ''or a member of the White House, perhaps, even King!''
With each passing moment, Rose wished so deeply to tell him just how arrogant he was. How she was more than capable of simply breeding and sitting, delicately drinking tea. Oh, how she felt more than a fraction more worthy of that.
''So am I to simply join you in the bedroom at your request and through my own dreams or desires to the wind?'' Rose calmly placed her tea spoon down upon the saucer and delayed bringing the coffee to her mouth after seeing the steam rising from the cup. ''How convenient of you to think of me as nothing other than a face and a figure. I am not a foreman in one of your mills to command, I am your fiancée. I am a woman. A woman with-''
''A woman who knows nothing of how to use her face or her figure. A woman who belongs to me, in sickness and in health and riches and poor.''
Rose could hear the anger within his breathing; his nostrils flared as though he tried to keep his temper in check.
''In poor?'' Rose asked, sure that now, more than ever, he truly was a buffoon. ''How you should never be able to live as the poor do. You shall never get over your own damned arrogance and ego, nor I doubt would know how to truly treat a woman.''
Cal's 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.
''I believe that I am the fool, utterly.''
Still, she never raised her head to meet Cal's gaze, feeling the absolute severe hatred of which he would have inflicted upon her.
''Yes, we agree on something. Never question my faithfulness. Never question my honour again, Rose.''
He had no honour. Of that she was damned sure.
''Can you not look at me when I am talking to you?''
Cal's 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.
Stealing 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 Jack'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. The kiss seemed to go on for so long, but she failed to respond. Her lips didn't move. Her tongue was limp and lifeless. Cal sucked the last pieces of freedom out of her.
''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?''
She wished to say no, but for now, she obeyed.
''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. Rose didn't move, didn't even flinch. A solitary tear found its way down her cheek but then it soon disappeared soaking into the materials of her morning dress.
Slowly, lethargically, Rose turned her neck to the window, to face the bright outdoors of the final days of April. The sun seemed to be shining for the first time in so long. It was a shame that she felt darker than she ever had before though; in her life and in her heart.
