undignified, and did not look at Craven, "to visit with him and his family in the reception room before lunch."
"How delightful," Lydia said. "I've read his books and my parents were acquainted with the Stanton-Joneses, but I've never formally met them."
Lydia's shining blue eyes darkened with doubt. "Oh, I hope we hear something soon from the captain. My trunks will need to be brought up. I must find something suitable for the—" her glance moved to Craven as her chin lifted, "the wedding."
He scoffed, "Is that not getting the cart before the horse?"
Lydia's euphoria wasn't daunted. "Like John, I am a dreamer."
John wondered, if they were not expecting a child, could they resist Craven's displeasure? Having this secret, however, emboldened them. He would try to have a civil relationship with Craven. "Would you stand up with us, Craven? Be my best man?"
Craven's dark eyes were steel beneath raised eyebrows. "I would not displease nor dishonor Lydia's father by agreeing to something that would be expressly against his wishes and my better judgment."
"I understand. But you are invited."
John had often heard his father say, Keep a stiff upper lip, ol' chap, but it didn't apply here. Craven was wearing his quite well.
Craven turned without another word. Marcella had the door open by the time he reached it, and she closed it after him.
"Congratulations," Marcella said softly, her eyes dark as the dress she wore but the twinkle in them as bright as her white apron and cap. She put a finger on her lips as if keeping them mum.
Lydia laughed, apparently knowing her maid well. "You may tell, Marcella." She smiled and John nodded. He felt that made at least three on the ship who were pleased about a possible wedding.
"Go, John." Lydia pushed him from the room. "I must dress for lunch in anticipation of speaking with the distinguished captain, who just might be as excited about a wedding as we are."
"Impossible." John drew her to him for a tender touching of their lips. Although many people spoke as if servants couldn't hear, he mimed, "I love you."
"I love you too," she said aloud. "Now go."
He went, and within the half-hour rang her room. "The steward has delivered a message from a most important person aboard this ship." He laughed at his own words. "Perhaps in this case I should say the most important person, since he is the one in charge of this ship of dreams."
9
Saturday, April 13, 1912
C aroline , who apparently waited on the promenade deck for Lydia to appear, exclaimed, "I heard a juicy bit of gossip."
That's what Lydia had expected. The night they were in Southampton, Marcella had become friends with Caroline's maid, Bess. And Lydia had said Marcella could tell.
Lydia brought her hand up to the throat of her lace-trimmed dress, displaying her ring finger.
Caroline's delighted squeal pleased Lydia. Her eyes questioned. "John?"
Confused by the question, Lydia simply nodded.
Caroline grinned. "I wondered which one you would choose, your being pursued by two such eligible men."
Lydia wouldn't exactly call it "pursued." Craven suffocated her. John liberated her. "I love John."
The wistfulness in Caroline's reply of, "I know," took Lydia aback for a moment. But only a moment. Choices weren't always made according to one's heart. Many conformed to the expected, or what one's family had decided long ago, or what or who was acceptable. The wrong choice could result in the loss of position and favor.
Lydia wondered about Caroline's reason for marrying Sir William. She hoped they'd become good friends. Caroline seemed the kind in whom she could confide and trust.
"It's lovely." Her soft hazel eyes held warmth. Lydia had the impression Caroline wouldn't sneer even if she were wearing the carnival ring.
Soon John joined her, and William joined Caroline. They walked onto the deck that surrounded the ship, then down the staircase to the reception room.
"The band's ragtime was especially enjoyable