Hearts That Survive Part 7

Lydia controlled the urge to bristle. "I do have suitable gowns and-"

"Oh, chere, you misunderstand. There's no question of your wardrobe."

Lydia should hope not. After all, she was Cyril Beaumont's daughter.

"What I've been thinking is, I have trunks full of wedding dresses. They have never been shown anywhere. New York will be their debut."

Aware that her jaw had dropped, Lydia closed her mouth, took a deep breath, and tried to speak. Harriett Sylverson was the most famous dress designer in the world. "But wouldn't that take away from your showing?"

"Oh, Lydia. There is no place for a fashion parade to compare with the grand staircase nor a couture salon floor more exquisite than these polished teak decks, or rooms more luxurious." She paused, wearing a sly smile. "You appear to be about the size of the model I've chosen to wear the wedding dress."

She shrugged as if no problem existed. "If something needs attention, my staff can handle it. No one ever sees my final creation other than the model who wears it. But where would I find a more distinguished group gathered in one place to view my creations? Surely," she continued, "you would not deny me this privilege. The wedding dress, of course, is the showstopper. I would be honored if you would wear the dress."

Lydia could hardly breathe. She was accustomed to the best, but being on this ship was outdoing it all. She was on the greatest ship ever built, might wear the most famous gown the world would know to this point, and marry the most wonderful man in the universe. Of course, she knew Harriett would gain more publicity and a more worthy audience here than at several showings in New York, but that didn't take away from her and John's wedding.

They would all benefit for their own particular reasons.

Molly spoke up. "Think you could suffer through all that, hon?"

Lydia picked up her gla.s.s. "I believe I could."

They all lifted their gla.s.ses.

Dinner began to be served.

"Tomorrow evening," the designer said. "Then you lovely young people can honeymoon aboard the t.i.tanic. Oh, what stories you will have to tell." She glanced at the newspaperman. "And you."

"Sounds like it's settled," the captain said.

"Hear, hear," said the men.

Molly laughed. "We haven't finished by any means, but only just begun."

This time the women echoed, "Hear, hear."

"Perhaps we should dine," William said, "then retreat to the smoking room and allow these ladies to plan all they want."

That cue to change the subject led to mention of the temperature seeming colder. "I've heard mention of icebergs," Daley said. "Any chance of our getting into something like that?"

"Perhaps." The captain spoke confidently. "If any icebergs are spotted, the ship will simply take appropriate action."

"I've crossed many times," Lady Lavinia said. "But I'm not fond of deep water."

"Are you finding everything to your liking?" the captain asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Being on the t.i.tanic is more like walking on land than any ship on which I've sailed."

The conversation turned to men's topics: the world being on the threshold of prosperity, autos, flying machines, faster transportation.

"Speaking of fast," Ismay said, "as you know, White Star has always outshined the Cunard Line in luxury. Now, with this ship, we can outrace them in speed."

The men were clearly impressed. Later, as most of them left the table to retire to the smoking room, John laid his hand on Lydia's shoulder.

She looked up at him. "I miss you."

He leaned closer, and she longed to be in his embrace. His tender words indicated he felt the same. "Soon, we'll have a lifetime."

"I know we don't need all this-"

"No, we don't," he said softly. "But it's the best. And I want that for you."

She reached up and put her hand over his. "I have that, in you."

Lost in his gaze, with his face so close to hers, the whole world seemed perfect. Nothing could mar this moment, until she heard a familiar voice say, "Pardon me," She felt John stiffen, as did she.

John turned and faced Craven, who said, "Might I have a word with you?"

"Certainly," John replied.

"In private."

Now what? Lydia wondered. John glanced at her, gave her a tender look, stopped to speak briefly with S. J., and walked out of the room with Craven.

14.

If you don't mind my speaking personally," John said when he joined S. J. in the library, where they had agreed to meet after dinner.

"I consider us friends, John." His cheeks dimpled. "And judging from dinner conversation, along with my mother's comments this afternoon, my children will be involved in your wedding."

John sat in the armchair near his new friend. "S. J., I fully intended to ask if you would be my best man."

S. J. must have judged by his face that something had changed. "But?"

"That's what Craven wanted. You see, when Lydia and I became engaged I asked him. He was furious, said it was against his and her father's best judgment."

"But he changed his mind?"

John nodded. "He has reconsidered. And his going along with this will help me and Lydia remain in her father's good graces. He's willing-" John couldn't help his sarcastic tone, "willing to suffer through being the best man if I'm still so inclined."

"And are you?"

John's fingers toyed with the soft material covering the chair arm. "I am and I'm not. Since he's realized Lydia and I are really serious about each other, his att.i.tude has been contrary to what I'd consider the att.i.tude of a man wanting the best for a woman he loves, even if it isn't him. If I believed Lydia loved Craven, I would want her to be with him. Mind you, it would break my heart."

S. J.'s demeanor was serious. "I might understand him better than you."

"What do you mean?"

"Craven had everything to gain until you came into the picture. Now he has everything to lose."

John scoffed, "I'm not taking anything from him. Lydia chose me."

"There's more at stake. When her name is talked about in our-" his face dimpled, "our circles, she's spoken of as the Beaumont Railroad heiress. Who is John Ancell when he becomes the husband of the heiress?"

"Are you talking down to me, S. J.?"

"Not at all. I'll share this with you. I've proved myself as a novelist, but I might never have had my first book published were it not for my mother's name and my father's background. This is the world we live in."

"I don't care about that."

"I believe you. That's one thing I admire about you. But you see, once you become Cyril Beaumont's son-in-law, he will ensure your status is elevated."

John was doubtful. "He says I have ingenious ideas. But I know when he says 'toy maker,' he means a n.o.body."

"You're right. But with the publicity you'll get from this wedding, Cyril Beaumont will hold his lapels, throw back his shoulders, and proudly proclaim you as his son-in-law. Then you're like Molly, accepted among the nouveau riche."

John laughed. "I rather think he'd disinherit her and disown me."

"And how would that make him look, after the romantic wedding of the century?"

John got his point. "I do believe you think like a novelist."

S. J. nodded and a sadness crossed his face. "Yes. And like a man who married the most wonderful woman in the world who was considered beneath his station."

John hadn't known that part. He remembered the novel. It had had an impact on him. He felt regret for S. J.'s loss, but returned to the subject at hand.

"Perhaps I will be accepted publicly, but as I've been reminded many times, my trains are just toys."

S. J. nodded. "Can't you imagine that Ismay's and Andrews's first ships were little wooden boats with a paper sail, perhaps in a rain puddle? Incidentally, my first novel was written when I was five years old, and it consisted of three lines. Once upon a time there was a boy. He didn't like his tutor. He shot him."

S. J. laughed. "Been eliminating my characters ever since. And the public loves it."

John knew that was true, considering his wide acclaim.

"Getting back to the toys," S. J. said, "If Cyril Beaumont and Craven Dowd weren't aware of what can come of toys, you wouldn't be near their company, nor I daresay, eating at the captain's table."

John scoffed, "I'd be in steerage, perhaps."

"Mmm, maybe second cla.s.s. For your information, I've been down to-" He glanced around and said "second cla.s.s" as if saying a dirty word. John knew he was kidding, and yet they were both aware even second cla.s.s was a dirty word to some of the more elite.

"Seriously, John. There are quite a few writers and artists down there. I doubt you'd have time to join me there since you'll be honeymooning for the rest of the trip."

"Perhaps in New York."

"That's possible," S. J. replied. "Negotiations have already taken place over the wireless between Abington and my London publisher. However," he said congenially, "let's get together in New York if at all possible. Perhaps with some of the writers on the ship. Incidentally, many second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers would be first cla.s.s on another ship, such as the Mauretania or the Olympic."

That was interesting. "I didn't know that. But I haven't crossed before and didn't pay my own pa.s.sage."

S. J. showed no surprise. He likely a.s.sumed Beaumont would have done that. "You must really be a genius."

"No," John said. "Just a dreamer."

"And sometimes," S. J. replied, "dreams come true."

Sometimes, crossed John's mind. A short while ago at dinner remarks were made about the wonders of the ship never ceasing to amaze even those accustomed to the world's best. He thought it was Daley who quipped, "This is almost too good to be true."

But it was true. John had found his dream wife. S. J. had lost his. He had her forever in a book, but that wouldn't keep him warm at night, wouldn't both hasten and still the beat of his heart.

Now, without questioning, John would savor the reality of love and happiness with the one who would make him complete, on this ship of dreams.

15.

Lydia didn't want to offend anyone by hurrying away from the a la Carte, and showed her ring to all who approached her. But there was so much to do.

Before Caroline left the a la Carte, she'd said, "Do you want help with anything? Like the invitation, music, order of the ceremony, anything particular in the vows, rice thrown at you?"

Lydia laughed. "I'll forego the rice." She sobered quickly. "I'd love your help."

Caroline nodded and said she wanted to get a breath of air and hoped her lungs didn't freeze in the process, and that she would then be on the promenade deck or in her room.

William had walked over. He nodded to Lydia and spoke to Caroline, "Let's take that walk, my dear. Seems many of the fellows are occupied with plans for an upcoming wedding."

"Oh, but you will have your brandy and cigars?" Caroline asked.

"To be sure," William said. "What's the end of a great evening without a visit to the smoking lounge?"

Caroline rolled her eyes for Lydia only, and they grinned. William offered his arm, and they left the a La Carte.

Lydia sought the Astors to thank them.

They were delighted about the wedding. "Lydia, you have made this crossing anything but boring." Madeleine's lips pursed slightly as she glanced coyly at her husband. "Rather wish I'd thought of it."

They laughed lightly, and after casting an adoring glance at his wife, John Jacob said, "Our staff and the ship's staff will handle everything about the reception. So don't give that a thought."

"Unless," Madeleine added, "you want anything in particular."

"I'm sure I couldn't think of anything more delightful than what you will do. Thank you so much."