How to Please a Lady by Jane Goodger Page A

laughing a bit. “I’m Charlotte Browne. With an e. And this is my husband, Roger.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Mrs. Browne. We are Mr. and Mrs. Charles Avery of Cannock.” Rose gave Charlie a smile, proud that she’d handled the introductions so flawlessly.
    They all stepped forward, closer to the steward. “What takes you to America?” Roger asked. “We’re settling there with my brother and his wife. He has a haberdashery in Boston. Not buttons and such. Men’s clothing. It’s different in America. Don’t know why, but there it is. My brother is an excellent tailor and he has a very fine business and could use my help. They left two years ago and convinced us to join them.”
    â€œConvinced you to join them,” Charlotte pointed out good-naturedly. It was obviously something that had been pointed out before, because Roger took her jibe in stride.
    â€œShe was excited up until a few minutes ago,” Roger said. He draped his arm around his wife, an easy gesture that made Rose slightly self-conscious. She and Charlie were supposed to be married, but they were acting like virtual strangers. Then again, she’d never seen her parents touch one another unless it was absolutely necessary, such as for a dance or to disembark from a carriage, and they’d been married for thirty years.
    When Charlotte and Roger were busy with the steward, Charlie leaned in close and whispered, “Are you feeling better now?”
    â€œI’m quite fine, thank you. And but for a momentary lapse, I’ve been fine this entire trip. Thank you for your inquiry.”
    He chuckled, deep and low, and something about that laugh made her feel slightly off. “You ought to pay attention to Mrs. Browne. She acts the way a person in second class ought to act.”
    â€œI have no idea what you could mean,” she said, lifting her chin.
    â€œTicket, please,” the steward said. He was dressed in a smart navy uniform, his shoes polished to an impressive shine, which Rose found oddly reassuring.
    Charlie handed over his ticket and the steward directed them to their stateroom.
    Rose knew, of course, that their stateroom wouldn’t be as luxurious as she was used to, but she couldn’t stop a gasp of dismay when she saw it. It was hardly bigger than her wardrobe at home. Two narrow bunks with thin, straw-filled mattresses were crammed on one side, the floor space so limited, Rose had to turn sideways to walk from one end to the other. There were no blankets, no pillows, no window.
    â€œIt’s meant only for sleeping,” Charlie said loudly over the sound of the engines, which felt as if they were beneath her feet. He heaved his bag onto the top bunk, situated uncomfortably close to the wooden ceiling; he would not be able to sit up properly once in bed. He put her carpetbag at the foot of her own bunk. “I expect we’ll spend much of the day topside.”
    Rose felt as if she were slowly being torn apart, as if someone was pulling at the delicate thread of a seam, revealing more and more of her fear. Even Charlie, her dear friend, seemed like a stranger to her. This space was too small to share with a big man like Charlie. It was almost as if she were seeing him for the first time, his large size, his scent, which reminded her of home. In this cold cabin, she could even feel the heat from his body. It was downright uncomfortable and completely unwanted.
    She didn’t want to feel anything.
    â€œCharlie,” she said, sitting abruptly on the hard mattress. “I think I’m about to cry. Would you mind very much leaving?”
    She looked straight ahead, staring at the wall, and noticed then that someone had carved a small heart with two sets of initials. It was such a sweet gesture, one likely done by a man who was truly married to the love of his life. She could sense Charlie looking down at her, no doubt with a furrowed brow. She’d