How to Please a Lady by Jane Goodger Page B

seen that look a hundred times when he was caring for one of the horses that had taken ill.
    â€œOf course, my lady.” And he made for the door.
    â€œDo not call me that,” she shouted, standing so abruptly, she smacked her head—hard—on the top bunk. “Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.” She rubbed her smarting head and glared at Charlie as if it were his fault her head was hurting. “I’m not your lady. I’m no one’s lady anymore.” She took a breath, horrified that she’d shouted and cursed, horrified that Charlie was now looking at her as if he had, indeed, bludgeoned her. “I’m sorry, Charlie. My nerves are frayed and . . . and . . . you’ve been so kind and I’m just a horrid person who is breaking her parents’ hearts and who is going to America to marry a man who probably doesn’t even remember who I am.”
    â€œI’m sure he remembers you, my l—” He shook his head hard. “Rose. I’m sure he remembers you. Hell, I can’t do it, my lady. It’s wrong.”
    She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Say my name, Charlie.”
    He looked down, his cheeks ruddy. “Rose.”
    Rose placed her hands on his face and gently lifted to make him look at her, and he met her gaze, his eyes holding some strong emotion—likely anger—before he took a step back and she dropped her hands. “Rose,” she said.
    â€œIt’s a boundary I don’t want to cross,” he said, sounding slightly put out. Ah, so he was angry.
    Rose let out a small laugh. “My goodness, Charlie, we’re unmarried and sharing a cabin. I think we’ve crossed the biggest boundary already.”
    He smiled slightly and finally gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Rose it is.”
    â€œOr Mrs. Avery, if you will.” She grinned at him, expecting him to smile, but he became even more grim-faced.
    â€œDo you still need that cry?”
    Rose thought a moment and shook her head. “Perhaps later. What about you, Charlie? You’ve left behind your father, and I know you have friends back in Cannock.”
    â€œDad understands.” He looked away, and Rose knew it must have been difficult saying good-bye to his father.
    Rose hadn’t said good-bye at all. Guilt came flooding back, making her almost ill. She would write her family when she reached New York and pray everyone forgave her.
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    While he waited for Rose to join him in the dining hall, Charlie made fast friends with half a dozen shipmates and saved one young mother by fashioning a rattle out of two spoons for her cranky baby, who was happily banging the contraption against the wooden table where they sat. The fare was edible, if not especially flavorful. But it was plentiful.
    The dining area was large enough to accommodate the fifty second-class couples. Already, Charlie felt himself in rather good company, having met a law clerk, a secretary, and a man who claimed he was the finest butler in all of Britain. His wife, a patient woman with a ready smile, rolled her eyes in good humor. “He has a position already,” she said, patting his arm. “The son of our master set up house there with his new bride and we’ve accepted the position. He paid for our ticket, don’t you know.”
    â€œCould have paid for first class,” her husband muttered.
    â€œAnd have us think we’re better than we are? Oh, no, I’m quite happy in second and thankful we’re not in steerage.” She shuddered.
    â€œYes, but I can smell it,” the banker said, and they all laughed. Charlie laughed, too, but only to be polite. He was only one wealthy lady away from being in steerage, which was where he really belonged.
    Mr. and Mrs. Browne came to dinner a bit late, and Charlie wondered if the glow in Mrs. Browne’s cheeks told the reason why. He envied them their easy love for one another and he wondered if