Behind a Lady's Smile (19 page)

Tillie lay back with exuberance on her bed. “I’m not nearly as nervous as I was, and these are posh accommodations. Did you see the sink? Hot and cold running water! I don’t even have that in my flat. Do you know I’ve never even been out of New York? Now I’m sailing to England. Maybe I can see the queen. You’re probably going to meet her.”

It did seem likely from what she’d learned about dukes and duchesses. She wished she felt half the enthusiasm that Tillie seemed to grab from thin air. Genny knew she’d be acting far more eager if she weren’t feeling quite so awful about saying good-bye to Mitch. She was in love for the first time in her life with a man she would say good-bye to in just a handful of days. A man, she reminded herself cruelly, who likely hadn’t given their good-bye a second thought.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked Tillie, who took the rather random question without pause.

“No. Well, I thought I was, but no.”

“What happened?”

“Remember I was telling out about mashers? How they’ll kiss you and make you feel like you’re the center of the world, and the next thing you know, you see them walking about with another girl on their arm, looking at her the same way the bounder looked at you?”

Genny nodded.

“I was a lot younger then. Maybe eighteen. And he was the first boy who ever kissed me. I was stupid and naïve and thought when a boy kissed you, it meant he loved you. And I thought I loved him right back. Maybe I did,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m not so stupid and naïve anymore. I know a kiss don’t mean a thing to a man.”

Tillie sat up and studied Genny for a long moment. “You ever been in love? With that gent who kissed you?”

Genny flushed, but shook her head. “No. I haven’t really had that much opportunity to be with men, so I was just wondering. I’m going to be meeting a lot of men in England and I suppose I just want to be prepared.”

Tillie nodded, accepting Genny’s lie without argument, then said, “I thought maybe you liked Mitch a bit.”

Genny schooled her features as best she could. “I do like Mitch and I’m very grateful for all his help. But, goodness, I don’t think about him
that
way. He’s a friend.”

“Really?” Tillie asked, raising one eyebrow. “He’s awfully good looking.”

“I suppose some would find him so.”

Tillie laughed. “Anyone with eyes, you mean.”

Genny allowed herself a laugh, but her heart hurt more than she could ever admit. She felt a wash of humiliation and embarrassment, thinking about how she’d sought Mitch out and asked him to dance, all the while hoping he’d kiss her again.

How stupid of her to read more into his kisses than was there. He’d only kissed her on the train and again outside the restaurant, just that. He’d teased her about kissing her, acted as if he wanted to kiss her, but when she’d given him the chance, he’d reminded her he needed to do the right thing.

Now she understood. He’d been trying to protect her, trying to let her know that nothing could ever come of their kissing. He was no doubt mortified by her awkward attempt to seduce him. No wonder he’d been so distant over the past few days—he was trying to avoid her. When he’d rebuffed her, she’d been hurt and angry, but now all she felt was a hot shame, remembering how he’d gently pushed her away. Now that she thought of it, she was certain that had been pity in his eyes, not the regret she’d originally thought she’d seen.

Oh, God
.

Despite everything, she knew she was still in love with him, knew if he tried to kiss her, she’d let him.

 

Two days into their trip, Genny was still looking at land on the port side, wondering if they were ever going to start heading toward England. She and Tillie were walking on the promenade deck, enjoying a sunny afternoon, when she spied Captain Spencer leaning on the railing and surveying the passengers. He was an imposing man, tall and with a back so straight it looked as if a plank was tied to his spine. His salt-and-pepper beard, thick and wind resistant, dropped to the top of his chest. He wore a uniform of dark blue with insignia that marked him as a man of command—though given his stern countenance, it was doubtful he’d ever be taken as anything but the captain.

Genny held up her hand, shielding her eyes from the sun, and called up to him, ignoring Tillie’s urgent shushing next to her.

“Hello, Captain.”

He looked down as if surprised to be addressed. “Yes, miss?”

“May I have a word with you?”

Tillie let out a low groan, but Genny walked toward a set of stairs that led up to where the captain stood, now looking faintly put out that a passenger was venturing toward the wheelhouse.

“You stay here, Tillie, if you’d like, but I’m going to talk to the captain.”

Tillie let out another small sound of protest, but followed Genny as she climbed the metal stairs, her shoes sounding like dull bells against the steps.

“Miss, I don’t let passengers on the bridge,” the captain said, in what Genny suspected was his attempt at being polite. But with a voice as subtle as a foghorn, it rather sounded as if he were shouting at her.

“Of course you don’t,” Genny said, smiling. “You’ve more important things to do than talk about navigation to your passengers.”

A young sailor stepped out of the wheelhouse. “Sir?” That one word spoke volumes, such as “should I escort the ladies down to the promenade deck or throw them overboard?”

“Thank you, sir,” Genny said to the young officer. “But I think Captain Spencer can answer my questions adequately.”

Five minutes later, Genny was in the wheelhouse, holding the wheel as Captain Spencer explained why the ship followed the shore for so long before heading out to the open ocean. Genny was completely oblivious to the sensation she was creating until after she bade the Captain a good day and was walking down the stairs with Tillie. She was stepping down from the stairs onto the promenade deck when Tillie, just in front of her, turned and with hands on hips said, “How do you
do
that?”

“What?”

“How do you manage to charm every person you meet into doing anything you want? I was there. I watched it happen, and I still don’t know what you did. One of the officers told me that no one had ever touched the wheel of Captain Spencer’s ship without years of training, and there you were, your hands on the wheel, making the old curmudgeon laugh. You didn’t only make him smile, which apparently they’ve never seen him do, he actually laughed.”

Genny shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“While you were talking to the captain, I was talking to the crew. No one has ever,
ever
, been invited into the wheel house, never mind put their hands on his wheel, and certainly not a woman.” Tillie studied her a moment. “You are pretty, but I’m sure the captain’s seen plenty of pretty women in his day.” Tillie looked at her, exasperated and confused. “How do you do it?”

“I’m still not certain what you mean. I suppose I was genuinely interested in what he had to say.”

Tillie grinned. “That’s the secret. Pretend everything a man says is fascinating.”

“But I wasn’t pretending,” Genny protested. “I
was
interested. Imagine, setting out into a vast ocean with no road, no paths, just water and the sun and stars. It’s amazing to me these ships can navigate so accurately.”

Genny looked at Tillie, who seemed momentarily distracted by a pair of gentlemen walking by, and Genny couldn’t help but notice Tillie’s sudden interest. The younger man caught Tillie’s eye and winked.

“Do you know those men?” Genny asked.

Tillie’s cheeks turned pink. “I met the younger one last night. Figure he’s a real masher, but he has the sweetest smile.”

Genny watched as the two men disappeared. “You should stay away from him then.”

Tillie looked at the shore and hugged herself as if she were cold. “Yes,” she said, “I really should.”

 

“I can’t find Tillie.”

Mitch, trying to shield Genny from the view of the other three men in his tiny cabin, stepped out into the narrow corridor, snapping his watch closed as he did. It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and the passages were only dimly lit by lamps, but Mitch knew his roommates would take one look at Genny and know she didn’t belong in third class.

“Come on, let’s go up to the deck to talk.” Mitch hadn’t seen Genny except from a distance since they went their separate ways after boarding the ship, and he wasn’t all that happy to see her now. Just ten more days and he would deliver her safely to her grandparents, collect his reward, and be on his way. Over the past few days, he’d nearly convinced himself that saying good-bye was the right thing—the only thing—he could do. The gut-wrenching ache that kept him awake at night would go away eventually. It had to, for he wasn’t certain he could continue to go on feeling the way he was, day after day, for the rest of his life. No one had ever died from just loving someone too much, but damn it, sometimes it felt as if he just might.

Like now, with her looking up at him as if he could save the world and smelling like a bit of spring sunshine in this shadowy, rather unpleasantly scented place.

The deck was dark, holding only a few crewmembers on watch. No passengers were in sight, likely because the temperature had grown quite cool. Genny stood, her feet slightly braced, for with the cool air had come a bit of a wind and an unsettled sea. Her hair whipped about her head, her dress flapped like a signal flag, revealing the slim outline of her legs. And she was smiling.

“You feel alright with the sea getting rough?”

“Perfectly fine. But I am worried about Tillie. She was feeling a bit poorly and the seas were still fairly calm.”

He’d felt only the slightest effects of the motion, but two of his cabin mates had complained of feeling ill.

“When did you see her last?”

“This afternoon. She—” Her mouth snapped shut.

“She?” Mitch prompted.

“She was with a man who winked at her. I think he might have been a masher.” She said this last on a whisper.

Mitch smiled at her use of the slang she’d no doubt learned from Tillie. “And how do you know that?”

Genny shook her head and slumped a bit. “I’ve no idea,” she admitted. “I only know that she was worried he might be.”

“I doubt she’s fallen overboard. Wherever she is, I’m sure Tillie can handle herself. She has that way about her. But let’s take a look in the saloon. I doubt this time of night anyone would mind my being there.”

Genny gave him a look of exasperation. “I doubt very much that anyone would mind at any time of the day if you went into the saloon. And if they did, I’d . . . well, I’d shoot them.”

Mitch let out a burst of laughter. “I’ve no doubt you would. But these folks, you’ve seen them, they might take exception to my stepping into their world.”

Genny stopped dead and turned, pointing a finger into his chest. It actually hurt. “The only thing separating you from the toffs on this ship is the cut of your clothes. If you’d spent a dime on yourself instead of buying me all these fancy things”—she fluffed up her skirt—“then they’d accept you as one of their own.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a toff,” Mitch said, leaning in close.

“And maybe I don’t want to be one either,” Genny said, leaning in even closer.

Mitch jerked back, irritated by how much he’d wanted to kiss her. It came on him like a wave he couldn’t stop. “Let’s just go find Tillie,” he said, knowing he sounded annoyed. He hated this feeling of being out of control every time he was near her.

In the end, Tillie was pretty darn easy to find. She and her masher were both in the saloon, suffering by varying degrees from seasickness. Of the two, Tillie was much the worse off.

“I want to die,” she moaned, clutching the young man’s sleeve. He was valiantly trying to appear stalwart, even though his complexion had taken on a bit of a green tone.

“You’re sick?” Genny asked, perplexed, even as the ship took a rather nauseating plunge.

Tillie’s answer was only to nod. “A crewmember said the best way to avoid seasickness . . .” She swallowed heavily, as if just saying the word made her ill. “. . . was to look at the horizon. But it’s dark now and there is no horizon.” She moaned and her masher hugged her tightly.

Mitch introduced himself.

“Nathan Paulings,” the young man responded. He was perhaps twenty-two and trying to grow a mustache that looked a bit sparse. And he didn’t look at all like a masher, at least not to Mitch’s eyes. He looked more like a young man who was smitten for the first time in his life.

Genny stepped up and looked at the pair of them. “Mr. Paulings,” she said in a tone Mitch had never before heard. For the first time since he’d known her, she showed just a bit of the blue blood in her veins. “Do you think it’s appropriate for you to be here in the saloon by yourselves?”

To his credit, the young man blushed and said, “No, ma’am. But Tillie’s sick and I’m just trying to comfort her. I’ve already asked if I could court her.”

Mitch suppressed a laugh as Genny’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. Clearly, Nathan Paulings was no masher, just a young man falling for a lively girl.

“Do you think it’s all right to leave them alone?” Genny asked Mitch.

Mitch glared at Mr. Paulings for good measure, then nodded. “I think he’ll behave.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“I’m glad you’re in good hands, then, Tillie,” Genny said. “I do hope you feel better. If it gives you any comfort, I’m sure you’re not the only one on the ship bothered by the rough seas.”

“You’re not ill?” Tillie asked, clearly envious of Genny’s iron stomach.

“Not yet, at any rate.”

The ship took another dive into a trough, and Tillie clutched her stomach. “Oh God, I think I’m going to . . .” And Nathan produced a small spittoon just at the right moment, saving the fine carpet on the floor of the saloon.