Isobel and her father Charles saw to their things in their staterooms, before heading up to the deck of the ship to wave goodbye with the other passengers. It wasn't that they knew anyone in particular to wave farewell to, just Southampton. Isobel had enjoyed it immensely, and considered England to be the place where she had truly begun to heal from her ordeal with Edward. She wondered how she didn't see his intentions sooner. Looking back in hindsight really is 20/20, as she now understood that he never truly committed to anything when it came to their future.

Isobel smiled widely, and even let a giggle escape her as the infectious good mood in the air lifted her spirits even farther. It was a sound Charles genuinely her he took a few moments to bask in his girl's good mood. It is 12:30 in the afternoon when Titanic is completely free of the docks, her mooring lines pulled onto and rolled on the deck and is making headway towards Cherbourg.

Charles turns to Isobel and asks, "Care to take a stroll about the ship with me? Explore our temporary home?"

Isobel nods and continues to smile. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, daddy," she says softly.

There were times when they had to take small detours, needing to avoid, obviously, the private promenades and areas where only crew members are allowed to tread, but other than that, Isobel and Charles deemed the ship more than adequate to bear them home. With a final decision to retire to their parlor for the evening to just take the time to enjoy each other's and to eat their first meal on the ship in peace and good company.

o0o o0o o0o

Caledon was walking the promenade of his fiancé's room as a servant was showing him the way through the rooms.

"This is your private promenade deck, sir. Will you be requiring anything?" he asked.

Cal dismissed him with a distracted wave of his wine glass as he peered out one of the windows, his thoughts on the scent he had caught traces of as he boarded the ship. The scent brought his sweet Isobel to mind and she just refused to leave it.

"Excuse me," the servant said as he left Cal. Cal, his thoughts still on Isobel, then started to absentmindedly wonder his and Rose's rooms as he poured himself a glass of wine. He passed the parlor as he did so, and stepping in hearing Rose speak to her maid about the prints of paintings she had bought.

He decided to let off some steam. Nothing got his blood boiling, nor released stress quite as well as picking a fight with Rose. Even if what he said was a direct contradiction to what he felt.

"God, not those finger paintings again. They certainly were a waste of money," he sneered, leaning against the door frame and taking a sip of wine.

"The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine, is that I have some. They're facinating," she said to no one in particular, not even deigning to speak to him directly. She laid the Picasso print on the couch. "Like being inside a dream or something. There's truth but no logic."

"What's the artist's name?" Trudy asks.

"Something Picasso," Rose said as she picks up a print by Degas.

" 'Something Picasso-'," Cal scoffs. "He won't amount to a thing. He won't, trust me. At least they were cheap," he says to Lovejoy, who had just finished directing the last of their luggage into the parlor.

"Let's put the Degas in the bedroom," Rose tells Trudy as the leave the room.

o0o o0o o0o

Late Morning, April 10, 1912

We've docked at Cherbourg, to take on more passengers. I am told that J.J. Astor and his wife will be among those counted, as well as Maggie Brown. I have had the pleasure of Mrs. Brown's company before and she is a unique character, I will admit. I admire that she pulls no punches and she has very little patience, once she sets her mind to something. If she can do something herself, no pleading of help from her hired help will stop her, she will do it herself.

I have business with Astor, however. I am hoping to take a portion of my trust fund and invest it in some land. I've always been of the opinion that land is a valuable commodity. It is the only thing that there isn't any more of. What we have now on this good earth is all we are ever going to get. I'm hoping to buy a plot of land, somewhere in the Midwest probably. I may even venture all the way to California. It all depends on what J.J. recommends. It would be a foolish man, indeed, that turned down financial and investment advise from one of the richest men in the world.

I may have to get Maggie's thoughts on that as well. After all, it is her husband that had made his own fortune that far out west.

o0o o0o o0o

"She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all of history," Bruce Ismay explained to those at his table that afternoon for lunch. "And our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her, from the keel plates up."

"Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea, was Mr. Ismay's," Mr. Andrews said modestly. "He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in it's appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is. Willed into solid reality."

"Hear, hear," Cal said with a smile to the obviously proud man.

It was at this time, that Isobel and her father walked into the dining room, taking seats at a nearby table. Charles, recognized the young man instantly, but it was obvious that Isobel had yet to see him. Charles was now in a quandary. He couldn't rightfully see that they were situated in another dining room, or even at another table without raising his daughter's suspicions. However, he didn't know what her reaction to seeing her former paramour would be. He decided to ride it out. He would be there to support her if it was needed.

Rose, who was not thoroughly bored of the current topic of conversation, pulled out a cigarette and her holder. A little act of rebellion, to pull attention towards her, where it always should be, but never made to look intentional.

"You know I don't like that, Rose," her mother said as she took a lungful of the tobacco.

Rose blew smoke across her mother's face in a silent insult. Rose was, after all, considered an adult. She should be able to do as she wished. Cal, who wasn't in any mood to humor any of Rose's games, leaned forward and plucked the cigarette from it's holder as Rose's attention was diverted towards her mother.

"She knows," he said exasperatedly. Then, as he put out the small lit object, his own attention was grabbed by a waiter. "Hmm. We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with very little mint sauce."

He then continued to munch on a carrot stick as he sent his own small jab towards Rose. "You like lamb, right sweet pea?" Cal didn't like to hold the fact he was male over any woman's head. In fact, he often looked towards women in matters of business, as they often find things from an angle you never expect. But there was just something about Rose, that raised his hackles.

Isobel froze in the middle of putting her napkin on her lap at hearing the long familiar voice. She closed her eyes momentarily, and inhaled deeply to center herself, before she opened her eyes and looked questioningly at her father. He knew she wanted to know if he was really there and Charles nodded in affirmation.

"Let's go, dad. I'm afraid I've lost my appetite. I'll call for something should I get hungry later," she promised softly. Charles sighed. He had really been looking forward to dining in company, but nodded as they both rose.

Rose sent a mocking smile his was after she had put her cigarette holder away. Maggie Brown, who had sensed the tension between the two, decided to get the conversation back on track in an unconventional way.

"You gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?" she chuckles. "Hey, who thought of the name Titanic? Was it you, Bruce?" she asked, sending a knowing glance towards the man.

"Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength."

"Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you," Rose said calmly.

"What's gotten in to you?" Ruth softly asked her daughter in a tone of rebuke.

Isobel and Charles, who had made their way calmly towards the door, a path that took them right past the table Cal and Rose were dining at, stopped. Isobel looked appalled, and Charles, seeing the veiled insult for what it was, cleared his throat. The company at the table turned, and Cal froze, his eyes widening at seeing his beloved Isobel here, on board the Titanic.

"If you are going to be insulting people with science, I suggest you do so with substantiated found facts. Dr. Freud has yet to publish that particular study as his main source material for information, have been women. I don't expect it to be published for a number of years yet. Please, refrain from such barbs in polite society," Isobel said with a disdainful look towards Rose.

"Excuse me," Rose said as she rose and hurriedly left in embarrassment. That whole scene played out much differently than she had imagined.

"I do apologize," Ruth said to the company as a whole.

"She's a pistol, Cal. I hope you can handle her," Maggie stated. But his attention was solely on the ethereal angel before him. Dressed in a stunning pale lavender evening gown, white gloves, and a shawl, just a shade or two darker than her dress.

"Iso-"

"Please, excuse us. We did not mean to intrude on your lunch, nor your conversation," Charles interupted with a smile to the table as he gently took Isobel by the elbow and started to lead her out. "I am afraid we were just leaving, having finished our lunch."

Finally gaining the fresh air outside, Charles turned to his daughter, a look of concern on his face.

"I'm fine, dad. Honestly. I just think, I'll take a walk about the deck. Why don't you go to our rooms and order us something light to eat," she said with a genuine, if strained smile.

"Are you sure? I could walk with you. Quiet as a mouse until you gain your composure again," he offered. Isobel, touched by his offer, hugged him about the middle.

"I'm sure. I won't be long, I promise." Charles took one last look at Isobel before he gave a single nod and a smile back, as he turned on his heel and headed towards their rooms. Isobel took one more deep steadying breath as a single tear made it's way from her chocolate brown eyes, down her chin, and onto the deck of the ship.

o0o o0o o0o

Rose made her way out to the end of the top most deck, and she took a breath of air, steadying her nerves. The only way that little tramp would know of Dr. Freud's study would be if she actually met the man. It took Rose days to track the man down on his holiday, and even longer to convince him to sit down and talk with her. Now, she had been made a fool of, instead of actually sounding learned.

It was then, Rose noticed one man, sitting amongst a group of three, that was looking up at her. Looking up at her as if he were seeing light in a long dark tunnel, at last, after being lost for days. His friend in the beret next to him, waved his hand in front of his face, but the young man's focus never wavered.

Their staring match was broken when Cal joined her on the deck.

"What do you think you were hoping to achieve," he asked heatedly.

"Nothing more than everyone's undivided attention," she said honestly. If there was one trait Cal admired about his and Rose's love to hate relationship, is that the woman never lied to him. She turned and walked back towards the dining room.

"Well, you got what you wanted, even if it was attention borne of embarrassment. I hope you're proud of yourself," he said as she retreated. Rose didn't want to hear one of his long lectures on propriety.

"So… that is your Rose?" came the sweet voice of his personal angel behind him. His beautiful Belle. He didn't turn around, as he kept looking out to see. But he nodded.

"It is," he said in resignation.

"I must admit, I don't like her much," Isobel said. Cal let out a laugh. The kind of laugh only she was able to bring out of him. Honest to goodness humor.

"Neither do I. Is your offer of elopement still on the table?" he asked jokingly, though it was a poor excuse at fishing for information.

She joined him at the railing with a sigh. "If I only had the confidence I did then. I would freely accept such a request. But much has happened in the intervening two years," she tells him. Cal looked over and studied her for a moment. She looked beautiful as ever, that was never in any question, but he now noticed the new along with the old features.

Belle was thinner, and had a world weary look to her gaze. Her posture, while immaculate and straight as ever, seemed to fold in on itself. "What has happened, Belle?" he asked in astonishment.

"Love, Cal. Love is a beautiful blessing… and a brutal curse," she said softly, as she laid her hand softly on his arm. She let it linger for but a moment before she was gone.

o0o o0o o0o

Evening, April 10, 1912

It had been a shock to find Isobel aboard the Titanic. But it was nothing compared to the shock of her countenance once I finally had gotten around to paying attention to it. She said love was a beautiful blessing and a brutal curse. Was it her love for me that drove her to look as she did? Had she fallen in love with another and then lost him that gave her the appearance of bearing a heavy load?

I wish so much just to go to her and beg on my hands and knees for her to give us another chance. To turn my back on my father and his expectations. On Rose and Ruth and the promise of our union. I want a union of love, not of material gain. I remember talking to Belle of our future. How we would have both one boy and one girl, though we would have the girl first. How we would find a modest home and settle down with a garden to grow what we needed to sustain ourselves and a few goats for company and the like. A simple life.

All of that seems a million miles from here and now. If there is one small comfort, if can be called that and not the ghosts of my past haunting and taunting me, it is the mere fact that she is nearby. Nearby, and, from first observations, healthy. I plan to seek out her father, Charles, for further information. The man had always been more of a father figure to me than my own.