The air was cool against her skin as Grace walked across the deck, her heels clicking against the wood. She could hear the chatter of the women before her, but the words didn't register. Truth be told, Grace had never truly been around such rich and influential people. It made her consider every breath she took, every word she spoke aloud. Everything seemed utterly different. The world was cold and dangerous and these people would take every opportunity to tear someone else down. Of course, she knew wealthy girls and families. How not? She had attended school with quite a few, but this seemed utterly different.
As she walked, Grace was drawn from her thoughts when a body collided with her shoulder painfully. She winced at the pain and opened her mouth to utter an apology.
When her eyes met brown, the words faded from her mouth.
"Mr. Lowe." She said, a smile making its way onto her face.
"Miss Andrews," he said, his own smile etched across his face. He looked extraordinary when he smiled. "My apologies for bumping into you."
"No," Georgiana replied quickly. "It wasn't you. I was stuck in my own thoughts. I should be apologising to you. And it's Grace."
"Pardon?"
"My name. You can call me Grace."
"I -" he said and then paused. Harold's eyes searched her face for a long time, looking for something, though she could not say what it was. "Only if you call me Harold."
"Harold," she uttered. She had called him his name that morning, but this felt awfully different.
"Grace." He repeated back.
Something about it made her heart begin to race, as though she had run a kilometre and only then had stopped.
"How - how are you?" Harold asked, his dark eyes earnest and kind. Grace looked ahead and could see the disappearing silhouettes of the 1st class ladies. She glanced back at him and a weary smile crossed her face.
"If I'm being honest," she began. "I'm tired. I find high society life exhausting."
Then, she realised that she must have sounded like a spoilt child. "I shouldn't complain, however, should I?"
"You can to me." Harold uttered. "I don't mind."
"How very gallant of you," she found herself teasing. A laugh escaped the officer. The bell for lunch signalled and Grace felt her face fall at the sound. She had never been less interested in attending lunch.
"I should go," she told Harold, and he nodded in response.
"Of course. As should I."
As Grace began to walk away, she paused and turned to look at him again. She was pleasantly surprised to see he had been watching her leave.
"Perhaps I'll see you later?" The words came out as a question. "My father will be giving me a tour of the ship. He's very proud, you see, and he wishes to show it to me."
The smile that appeared on Harold's face was extraordinary. "I hope so."
Grace modded, smiling, before turning away and walking towards the dining hall.
Lunch had been a very strange affair.
She and her father had been seated at a table with Molly Brown and Mr. Ismay once again. Joining them was a man by the name of Caledon Hockley, or Cal as he insisted, and his young fianceé Rose Dewitt Bukater and her mother, Ruth. The three of them came from old money and it seemed clear that Ruth was not very fond of Molly.
When Grace had brought it up later, Molly had stated that old money always looked down on those who were new money.
Still, there seemed to be a marginal acceptance when it came to herself and her father from these people. After all, her father was the shipbuilder of the very thing they were all on.
Sitting at the table, she meant what she said to Harold. Being involved in high society could be tiring; having to sit perfectly and act mild mannered, knowing when to speak and when it's unnecessary. She missed the quiet eight years she spent in Belfast.
It wasn't all bad either.
She liked cosmetics and perfumes and wearing beautiful clothes, and she liked gossip. One of her favourite pastimes was telling her father all she had learnt about different high society ladies and gentlemen. And her closest friends were girls from wealthy families who she had befriended at finishing school.
"She is the largest moving object made by the hand of man in all of history. And our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up." Mr Ismay said, interrupting her own thoughts. Grace turned and smiled at her father, proud of him, despite the fact it was clear he disliked the attention.
"I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's." Her father stated. "He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is, willed into solid reality."
Grace jumped slightly when her father hit the table, side eyeing him for a brief second. At that moment, a waiter came to take their orders for lunch.
"And you, miss?" The waiter asked as he stood before her. Across from her, Rose Dewitt Bukater was lighting a cigarette.
"The salmon, please."
As the smoke reached her, she wrinkled her nose slightly. Grace detested the smell of smoke and found it quite unappealing.
"You know I don't like that, Rose." Ruth Dewitt Bukater stated.
"She knows." Cal Hockley said, taking the cigarette from his fiancé.
Grace raised an eyebrow, surprised. It was one thing to ask someone to stop smoking and another to take it from them.
"We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with very little mint sauce." Cal told the waiter when he reached them. "You like lamb, right sweet pea?"
From the fake smile that appeared on Rose's face, she highly doubted that. The actions didn't quite sit well with Grace.
"If a man presumed to take control of my order without my consent," Grace whispered to her father, "I'd strangle him."
Thomas Andrews sent his daughter a smile, knowing who she was.
"You gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?" Molly interrupted, clearly disliking the presentation before her. Cal sent the older woman a look and Grace, saying nothing, simply stared at the two of them.
"Hey, who thought of the name Titanic? Was it you, Bruce?" Molly began once again, switching topics.
"Yes, actually." Mr. Ismay said, seeming to preen at the topic. "I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength."
Not always, Grace wanted to say.
Before anyone could say anything else, Rose said, "do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. lsmay? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you."
At the same time, Grace and her father laughed. Rose was clever and quick-witted, something Grace admired greatly.
"What's gotten into you?" Ruth whispered to her daughter, displeasure and shock written on her face.
"Excuse me." Rose said, standing from the table and walking away. Grace exchanged a look with Molly.
"I do apologise" Ruth said.
"That's unnecessary, Mrs. Dewitt Bukater." Grace said.
"She's a pistol, Cal. Hope you can handle her."
"Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on, won't I, Mrs. Brown?" Cal replied, seemingly both angry and embarrassed at his fiance's behaviour.
"Freud? Who is he? Is he a passenger?" It was clear Mr. Ismay didn't understand what the fuss was about, nor did he truly understand what Rose said.
Instead, Grace gave him a light overview of Sigmund Freud and his works, though ensured she left out certain topics so as to not allow Rose to get into trouble.
The rest of lunch was quite uneventful until her father turned to her and said, "ready for a tour?"