10. Caroline

10

Caroline

C aroline never expected the first man she saw naked to be her husband’s father.

Even 18 hours later, she could barely believe it.

Sitting in the first-class ladies’ lounge, she stared out the window. The dark clouds above the ship were mirrored in the slate grey sea, until shades of greyness coloured the world around them. Furious winds whipped across the deck, launching salty spray at the few passengers who dared to venture outside. The Atlantic roiled with movement, as though it was incensed it couldn’t pull them into its icy grey depths.

Despite the weather, the only thing she could focus on was last night. She was, admittedly, an innocent when it came to matters of sexuality. She wasn’t as innocent as she had been when she’d arrived at Scarlett Castle, however.

Emmeline had explained what happened between a man and a woman, particularly when it came to what was acceptable and unacceptable behaviour. She knew that a man should pay attention to her pleasure as much as his own.

Emmeline had also given her a book on both feminine and reproductive care, as well as a pessary. Not that she’d ever used it, but it was the thought that counted, and Caroline had been genuinely touched that Emmeline had taken the trouble to explain what went where and what would happen when it did.

But hearing about such things was quite different from seeing them.

So much so that Caroline couldn’t stop thinking about them. She knew that some men and women touched each other for sexual satisfaction. She had explored her body, but she’d felt nothing but faint sensitivity.

Seeing David both naked and pleasuring himself was something very, very different.

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, her hands curling into confused fists. He had been magnificent . Her eyes had travelled over the powerful lines of his muscular shoulders, one tanned hand splayed on the wall while the other…

She cleared her throat, biting off the sigh that had been about to escape her.

Then there was the photograph…

She may have been na?ve, but she wasn’t completely brainless. David had been pleasuring himself while looking at a photograph of her.

She didn’t know what to do with the feelings that evoked. They raged over her, as restless as the sea on which the boat sailed. He’d been pleasuring himself over her…but why?

According to her mother, the worst thing someone could be was fat.

It didn’t matter if they were cruel or feckless, sadistic or miserly, misogynistic or corrupt. As far as Mama had been concerned, being fat was more undesirable than them all.

Caroline drew inwards, unconsciously making herself smaller. I’ve seen seals off Skegness with less blubber than that.

So how could David possibly be attracted to her ?

At the same time, he hadn’t been using anyone else’s photograph. It hadn’t been an actress like Clara Bow or Billie Dove, or even some nameless chorus girl. It had been Caroline.

For perhaps the hundredth time, Caroline regretted marrying Harry. This time, however, it wasn’t because he’d fled in the night after she’d thrown away her life for him.

It was because she couldn’t shake off her feelings for David, and after last night, Caroline thought David might be having the same issue.

Not that she could ask him, of course. She’d woken up to an empty suite and a note on the writing desk saying he would be back later. Caroline had no intention of hunting him down, not yet. As it was, she wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Was he really attracted to her? Didn’t he think she was too fat?

Her waistline had grown in the five years she’d lived at Scarlett Castle, but her confidence in her figure had plummeted at a commensurate rate—particularly during the Season, when her dearth of suitors became clear. It had hit rock bottom when she’d been compared to an animal, only to be dredged up by Harry’s supposed interest.

After his subsequent abandonment, Caroline had discovered that there was indeed an emotional state lower than rock bottom.

She hadn’t stayed there for long, though—because of David. He’d made her feel valued. He actually listened to what she said. But she’d never been so vain as to think he was attracted to her, not when she’d been taunted and discarded in the past.

Caroline knew better than to think a man like him would be interested in a woman like her.

“Rough night?”

Blinking out of her wool-gathering, she looked up to see Della, the American woman she’d been speaking to last night, a simple rose pink day dress outlining every curve on her body. “That’s one way of describing it.” She blushed, the image of a naked David treading the now-familiar path into her mind. “What about you?”

“We all like a rough night from time to time.” Della slid her shapely hips into the seat opposite Caroline, her dark hair cascading across her shoulders. “Although yours doesn’t seem to have had as much of a happy ending as mine did. You were sitting in that seat when I passed through here some four hours ago. Is everything okay?”

She almost laughed. “It’s…complicated.”

Della looked at her wristwatch. “We’ve got another 14 hours before we reach New York and I’ve always been a sucker for gossip.”

Caroline considered it. The woman she really wanted to talk to was Emmeline, but her cousin was currently on the other side of the Atlantic—and likely furious with Caroline for her foolish behaviour.

Plus, she didn’t know Della beyond their conversation last night. If she embarrassed herself, then it didn’t matter; she’d never have to see Della again.

To hell with it.

“I’m fat,” Caroline whispered, barely daring to say the words out loud.

Della pursed her lips, giving Caroline’s figure a once-over as she lit a cigarette and gave it a deep drag. “I’d say you’re pleasantly curvaceous.”

“Regardless of how pleasantly it’s phrased, I’m not attractive to men.”

Coughing out a lungful of smoke, Della waved it away with a laugh. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Aside from having it drilled into my skull by my mother, I spent five London Seasons without a single suitor.” She decided not to mention Harry; she still hadn’t worked out why he married her, but it clearly wasn’t out of love .

“Well then how did you ensnare your beau from last night?” Della cocked an eyebrow, albeit not unsympathetically.

She could almost feel her cheeks reddening. “He’s not my beau.”

For a long moment, Della looked at her, her expression a picture of scrutiny. “How old are you?”

“I’m 21.”

“Sweetheart,” Della began, drawing a breath in through the cigarette. “Sure, larger women like us might find it slightly more difficult to find a man, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. That man couldn’t keep his eyes off you last night—or his hands. Don’t let your insecurities cheat you out of your own happiness.”

Caroline didn’t answer immediately, her thoughts tumbling over one another. “So you think he’s attracted to me?”

“I think if you gave him a chance to crawl beneath your skirts, he’d never leave.” Della stood, stubbing out the cigarette on the table’s ashtray and giving her a sly grin. “When your beau comes knocking on your door—and he will—take the chance that’s offered to you.” She walked away, stopping to throw some final words of wisdom over her shoulder. “And stop listening to shrews like your mother!”

Caroline stood in front of the mirror in their suite, regretting her decision immensely .

The ship’s porters had arrived to take their luggage early this morning, and so they’d been advised to set aside the clothes they’d be wearing for the day, plus any possessions they’d be carrying on their person.

Last night, confidence and determination had pushed her to choose a dress well outside her usual comfort zone. David hadn’t returned to the cabin until she was in bed, and she’d grown frustrated with his absence.

In the cold light of day, her confidence from last night had abandoned her—but the dress remained.

In fact, it was the only item of clothing that remained. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

At first glance, the dress didn’t seem to be too at odds with her everyday choices. It was a simple cream tea dress with elegant butterfly sleeves and a square neck. Caroline had even had the foresight to set aside a matching hat and gloves. She would look very tidy indeed.

Mid-thigh. It ended at mid-thigh.

Had she lost her sodding mind ?

It wasn’t only David who was going to see her in this. Had she forgotten she was going to be introduced to David’s sister and husband whilst wearing this dress? They were going to think she was a harlot.

Caroline looked at the clock on the wall, and then back to the note David had left on the writing desk. Another one. Today’s note simply said he’d meet her outside the ladies’ lounge at ten o’clock.

A hint of last night’s determination uncurled within her. This was the second morning in a row he’d disappeared. Yes, she’d walked in on him naked and pleasuring himself over a photograph of her. Yes, she understood he was embarrassed. But honestly.

Caroline grabbed that frustration like her life depended on it, harnessing it before it disappeared into the aether. She turned away from the full-length mirror, instead using the one in the bathroom to deftly arrange her curls into some semblance of a coiffure before hiding them beneath the cream hat and securing it to her head with a hat pin.

Swallowing her nerves and throttling her frustration, she shoved her hands into the gloves, picked up her handbag, and left the safety of the suite to unveil her ensemble to the outside world.

She kept her eyes on the plush carpet beneath her cream heels, travelling along the gold foliage laced between the scarlet strands. Her reticence to leave the suite meant that she was among the last to travel down the central corridor towards the ladies’ lounge.

Her heart skipped as she sighted David, standing a few feet from the entrance to the ladies’ lounge, exactly as promised, checking his pocket watch. He cut a stern figure, his finely-tailored suit outlining the muscular figure she now knew lurked beneath. However, there was a tension in his jaw she hadn’t seen before, in addition to a rigidity in his shoulders.

Nervous. He was nervous.

That made two of them.

His gaze swept over her figure, his broad shoulders rising as he inhaled. “Caroline,” he murmured, making her realise just how much she’d missed the sound of his dark, soothing voice.

Caroline resisted the urge to get her fan out of her handbag and start frantically flapping it towards herself. “Bore da, David.”

Porters were ushing them towards the exit, but he remained immobile. “You look…”

“I didn’t have any other clothes left,” she mumbled, fire beginning to burn at her cheeks as she looked down, her eyes firmly on the carpet. “I’ll change as soon as I get my suitcase ba—”

David’s large, strong hand lifted her chin, until they were eye-to-eye, and she could see every golden striation in his irises. “Breath-taking,” he finished, the word shivering down her spine. “You look breath-taking, Starling. And...” He sent her a self-deprecating grin weighed down with boyish charm. “I think we both know I approve.”

Oh heavens. She hadn’t expected him to boldly reference that night, giving a faint squeak in lieu of an answer.

“Now that I’ve shown you more of myself than I ever intended.” Another embarrassed smile curved his lips as he held out his arm. “Let me show you New York.”

Caroline let herself be led off the ship, joining their fellow stragglers leaving the Berengaria. She’d expected to be able to take her first glimpse of the city the moment she stepped off the ship, but they were guided into an enclosed building reminiscent of a train station.

She supposed it must be handy in the snow, but she couldn’t deny she was impatient to look at her destination.

“Pier 54,” David murmured, nodding to the sign above their heads. “This is where survivors of the Titanic were brought after being picked up.”

Her blood chilled, and suddenly she felt ungrateful for wanting a view of the city. “Those poor people must have been so relieved to be back on dry land.”

David’s throat jumped, his jaw clenching so tightly she feared it would break. “They were. The whole of New York swarmed to Pier 54 to await their arrival, gawping at them like monkeys in a zoo.”

As they made their way up the pier-turned-station, Caroline missed a step. “Were you on it?” she asked, her voice hushed. The hatred in his voice was too sharp to overlook.

“Sian and Roscoe were.”

Oh goodness, how awful for them.

David passed their tickets over to a gentleman waiting at the exit, their interaction cutting off her shock. A few moments later, a smartly-dressed porter wheeled their suitcases over on a trolley .

“We have cabs waiting for our first-class passengers, sir,” the porter began, “or do you already have transport arranged?”

“I already have transport arranged.” David nodded. “A chauffeur should be waiting just outside.”

“Very well,” the porter replied. “I’ll follow with your luggage.”

“Speaking of my sister and her husband,” David continued calmly, guiding them towards a car he apparently recognised, “I sent her a telegram to say you were coming, but I neglected to mention the issue of Harry—morning, Montefiore.” He inclined his head at a chauffeur standing next to a white Mercedes car.

“Your Lordship,” Montefiore greeted him, opening the rear door of the vehicle. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“We did, thank you,” he replied.

David held her hand as she climbed in first, feeling the cool New York breeze worryingly high up her legs. The leather seat was so cold against the back of her thighs that it forced out a squawk, although Caroline tried to pass it off as a hideous-sounding cough.

“Why would Harry be an issue?” she asked quietly, as the porter and Montefiore loaded their suitcases into the boot.

He cleared his throat. “Sian has never met Harry. She doesn’t know of his drinking problem. Or his gambling one.”

Caroline turned so quickly her neck cricked. “Harry has a drinking and gambling problem?”

The sad look David gave her almost resembled pity. “I…yes, he does. Apologies. I didn’t realise you didn’t know or I would have broken the news more gently.”

“I expect most wives would be devastated to learn such a thing about their husbands, but I cannot in good conscience say we have a normal marriage. ”

David let out a small, humourless laugh, rubbing his brow. “No, I would agree with you there.”

For a moment, she wanted to tell him that she’d asked Harry for a divorce. But then what would his reaction be? Harry would always be David’s priority; she wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking otherwise. David was being hospitable to her for Harry’s sake.

And what would happen if she told him she wanted to divorce Harry? Would he send her away? Would he cast her out and order her back onto the ship?

She swallowed. The last thing she wanted was to have David turn his back on her. She liked him far too much to say goodbye, for reasons far too embarrassing to name.

“I thought for now it would be best to say that Harry is simply busy with work,” he carried on, as though Caroline wasn’t doubting the very footing on which she teetered.

A job? That was news to her. “I didn’t know he worked.”

“He doesn’t.” David waved a hand. “But it’s an easy explanation that doesn’t invite further questioning.”

“Is your sister very strict in that way?” she asked, worrying at her lip.

He surprised her with a bold laugh. “Sian? No. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t be surprised to find she was running half of the bootlegging operations in New York. Her husband Roscoe is her polar opposite. How they get on, I’ll never know. But I’d rather not have his opinion of Harry sullied before they’ve even met. Roscoe is high up in the Bureau of Prohibition for New York, and he wouldn’t take kindly to having a…having someone with Harry’s issues in the family.”

“I understand.” Her acceptance was soft. She couldn’t help wondering what Roscoe would think of divorce, if he was that much of a puritan.

Besides, what would she do if she divorced Harry ?

Like him or not, Caroline had rolled the dice when she’d fled from Scarlett Castle in the night.

This was her life now. These people were the only family she had left.