Part 7 (1/2)

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 fas.h.i.+on 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 s.h.i.+p was outdoing it all. She was on the greatest s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 outs.h.i.+ned the Cunard Line in luxury. Now, with this s.h.i.+p, 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.”