Chapter 2 #2
Just then, the nearby crew began to welcome people into the saloon. Mr. Quinn bowed his head.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave. I believe I’m meant to eat on C-Deck with the other servants.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Ethel replied.
“It’s fine, miss.” Mr. Quinn smiled an obviously false smile. “I love meeting new people. It’ll be fun, I think, to chat with some other valets.”
Cassian looked back and forth between Mr. Quinn and Ethel, who now looked a bit forlorn.
He wanted Ethel to be happy. And Ethel very much liked Mr. Quinn.
Cassian liked the man plenty himself, so much so that he often invited Mr. Quinn to eat with him at restaurants when they were traveling, especially if business matters weren’t expected to be a main topic of conversation.
Perhaps Cassian could bend Titanic’s rules a bit on their voyage.
If only to make Ethel happy. Besides, having Mr. Quinn nearby would mean that Cassian’s personal needs would never not be taken care of with the sort of immediacy he craved.
“Come sit with us,” Cassian said. “I’ll settle the finances with the inquiry office later.
After all, I paid a large sum for our tickets, yours included.
If I prefer to have you with me while I’m in the saloon, then I believe it’s simply within my rights as a first-class passenger here on the ship. ”
Mr. Quinn’s mouth began to move, but no words escaped for the first few seconds, and then, finally, he swallowed and shook his head.
“Are you sure, Mr. Livingston?”
“Of course.” Cassian chuckled. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Quinn covered his heart with his hand. “That’s . . . oh, that’s incredibly generous.”
“Yes, it really is,” Ethel said, beaming up at Cassian. “How kind of you, Cassian.”
Her eyes were sparkling with such wonderful warmth that Cassian’s face began to warm, too. He knew for certain, then, that he had made the right choice.
He winked at her. “Let’s find our table.”
The four of them moved farther into the saloon and then took their seats.
For the next few minutes, while other passengers were finding their way to their tables as well, Cassian finished his cocktail and looked over the menu.
He was familiar with the type of cream-based soup they were offering.
He liked it well enough. And there was a fish with lobster sauce listed, which looked interesting as well.
Unfortunately, though, the main courses weren’t to his particular tastes.
Cassian was wrinkling his nose at the menu when someone—one of the saloon stewards, most likely—came up beside him. Cassian held up his hand to signal that he was busy reading the night’s offerings.
“I’ll have a Bordeaux for now.” Cassian’s eyes scanned the text some more, though of course the menu hadn’t changed. “Come back to me once everyone else has finished ordering.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
Cassian’s brain barely registered his words.
He continued to look over the menu, pondering his choices.
Should he have the sirloin of beef, which would come with potatoes, or the roasted duckling, which would be served with apple sauce?
He liked chateau potatoes, but he was choosy about his cuts of beef (rightfully so, in his opinion).
Cassian much preferred having a meal from his own kitchen so that he could have things exactly as he liked them.
After a moment more, he looked over at Ethel, only to see that faraway look in her eyes, her expression perhaps a bit less melancholic than before, but her sorrow still somewhat evident. His mouth set to a frown as he looked back down at his menu.
While Cassian was rereading the menu for the fourth or fifth time, the background of calm conversation and soft piano suddenly became overlaid with the zzzpp-zzzpp-zzzpp of Ethel’s necklace chain. Cassian clenched his teeth.
“Ethel,” he whisper-scolded.
Her hands fell to her lap. “Sorry.”
Heaving a sigh, Cassian touched his fingertips to his forehead and closed his eyes.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” the steward asked, only this time, Cassian vaguely recognized the man’s voice.
When Cassian looked up, he was confronted with those damned pinchable cheeks from the boat train, and it took him an extra second to find his words, his tongue suddenly feeling leaden in his mouth.
“Sir?”
Cassian shook his head.
“Yes, right,” he spluttered. “I’ll have the roasted duckling. But I’d like both the chateau potatoes and the apple sauce with it. Assuming that’s possible.”
It had better be with the money I’m paying to eat here.
“I’m certain that it is,” the man said. “And, even if it isn’t, I’ll make it so.”
Cassian rather liked the man’s response. He bit the inside of his cheek to better contain his burgeoning smile. Contrary to his previous presumptions, the steward seemed to have some prior experience providing satisfactory service.
“Good,” Cassian said, picking his menu up off of the table.
The man responded with a bow and small smile, one that was so strangely perfect, it made him look a little statuesque.
Cassian’s stomach fluttered. He moved to hand the man the cardstock, but at the last second, he pulled his hand back a bit, right before the other man could take it from him, and the two locked eyes.
Cassian couldn’t help but relish those extra couple of moments of enjoying the man’s smile, no matter how performative and practiced it might have been.
Once the man finally took Cassian’s menu from him, he left to relay their orders to the kitchen.
Soon enough, Cassian had his Bordeaux, and once the effects of his second glass began to take hold, some of the tension he’d been feeling finally eased, enabling him to better enjoy his bread and soup.
Lucky for him, Helena and Mr. Quinn kept the conversation flowing, and Ethel seemed to be in happy spirits throughout.
Cassian himself was feeling much better, his worries over his and Ethel’s relationship momentarily tempered.
After a half hour or so, his main course came out. Mr. Cheeks (as Cassian had so lovingly named his new favorite steward in the privacy of his head) placed Cassian’s plate in front of him. But there were no potatoes.
Irritation spiked in Cassian’s blood, and he opened his mouth to complain, but then the steward set a large silver platter on the table next to his main meal—one containing only potatoes.
Much too many of them for Cassian to eat.
Cassian reeled back a bit, staring at the massive heap on the platter.
Over at the next table, Jacob Calbot laughed heartily.
“Did you order a week’s worth of potatoes, Mr. Livingston?”
Cassian’s cheeks warmed. “I ordered the exact normal amount.”
Everyone at both tables chuckled.
Cassian looked up at the steward, intending to chastise him, but then he caught sight of the man’s eager smile and paused. Mr. Cheeks seemed proud of himself, somehow.
“I . . .” Cassian’s voice faltered. “Why are there so many?”
“I had to sneak them,” the man said with a somewhat playful lilt in his voice.
He huffed a soft laugh before shrugging one of his shoulders innocently.
“Apparently, it’s not in the chef’s vision to have the chateau potatoes served with the roasted duckling.
But I knew you’d still want them. So, I took one of the platters. ”
Cassian crooked an eyebrow. He looked back at the potatoes and then at the steward.
“Oh.”
He honestly had no idea how to respond.
“Enjoy your meal, sir,” the man said with a nod. “Call for me if you need anything.”
Narrowing his eyes, Cassian folded his hands together in his lap as he continued to stare at the surprisingly competent steward. His stomach fluttered for a second time.
Lowering his voice to a whisper, Cassian said, “And what name should I call you when I’m calling for you?”
He’d been unable to keep the hint of flirtatiousness from his voice thanks to the wine. Why couldn’t he seem to help himself around this man?
After a pause, the steward’s mouth curled to form a small, crooked smile.
“James.”