Chapter Seven
Cassian
Dinner was about to begin, and Cassian was still reeling from the events that had transpired that afternoon in the First-Class Lounge.
He just couldn’t make sense of them. One moment, Cassian and James had been bantering with each other, having fun, and then, once the conversation had become somewhat serious, Cassian had lost complete control of his senses, both physical and otherwise.
And then Cassian had forced James to leave, if only to prevent something unsavory from happening between them. Or at least to prevent James from seeing his erection.
Now, Cassian was left to contemplate not only the reasons for what had happened but the importance of romantic love, too, specifically in regard to its potential role in Ethel’s ongoing melancholy.
Did Ethel want to marry for love? If so, could Cassian somehow fall in love with her?
Cassian’s stomach roiled, his body protesting the mere notion of it, though he couldn’t even begin to know why that might be.
After all, Ethel was a lovely person. Cassian liked her.
Truly. And if he needed to fall in love with her to make her happy, then surely he could manage it, no matter whether or not James thought that such a thing could be controlled.
If romantic love indeed existed, then it was Cassian’s to have, simple as that.
And James had, in fact, insisted that romantic love was both real and possible.
He had even claimed to have experienced it himself.
Cassian shut his eyes as a wave of nausea suddenly overtook him.
“Cassian?” Ethel asked. “Do you think Mr. Quinn will be here soon?”
“He won’t be coming,” Cassian replied, straining to keep his voice level, even though he still felt sick. He fluttered his eyes open. “He informed me that he wanted to eat in the mess hall or whatever it is on C-Deck this evening.”
Probably the man was perturbed about the whole ordeal at breakfast. And Cassian couldn’t really blame him.
“Oh,” Ethel said simply, her mood noticeably withering a little.
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Cassian promised. “Encourage him to come to breakfast. Otherwise, it might be a problem with the inquiry office. I paid extra for him to eat first-class.”
“Thank you. I . . . well, I hope he comes back. I can’t imagine that the food there is on par with ours.”
“Don’t worry so much. Mr. Quinn will be fine either way,” Cassian reassured her. “He’s treated far better than most other valets in other respects, even if he continues to eat with the other servants on board.”
Ethel rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“You’re right,” she finally said.
Cassian nodded. Of course he was.
Over the next few minutes, the pair continued to wait for Ethel’s mother. It seemed as though the woman must have become lost in her conversation with the Calbots in the reception area. Ethel began playing with her necklace. Cassian tried to ignore it.
If only he could bring up the topic of romantic love with Ethel. But having that kind of conversation with her . . . no. Cassian couldn’t simply speak openly about the topics of romance and intimacy with his fiancée. He couldn’t broach either without it being seen as improper.
Besides, there was no point in talking about either of those things, really, from a practical perspective.
After all, he and Ethel were already engaged.
Nothing could change that now. Their marriage was inevitable.
Regardless of whether Ethel either believed in or wanted to experience something so fantastical and irrational as romantic love.
Ethel continued to move her pendant back and forth on its chain. Her eyes were fixed on the empty plate in front of her, while Cassian’s insides were busy working themselves into a knot. And the constant, irritating noise of Ethel’s necklace fiddling was only compounding his nausea and unease.
Cassian barely held back a sigh. He needed to improve things between them somehow. Or, barring that, he at least needed to unburden himself from this increasing, incessant worry that his fiancée might be melancholy because she’d been hoping to marry for love.
And so, while bringing up the idea of romantic love and of romance overall was not the least bit proper, Cassian wondered what other choice he even had.
“Ethel,” he began, “there’s something that you and I need to discuss.
And I know it’s not the most . . . proper subject for the two of us to be talking about, but .
. .” He trailed off and clamped his mouth shut, running his tongue over his teeth as he considered how best to continue, as though he could taste the words before even saying them aloud.
“Ethel, if someone were to ask you what purpose marriage serves, how would you respond?”
Ethel stopped moving the pendant.
“Uhm, well, I suppose I’d wonder why someone might be asking me such a thing.”
Cassian let out a fast breath through his nose, close to a laugh. Yes, that was a logical response.
“Alright, then, what if I asked you what marriage meant, or . . . or what marriage entailed, rather, and I . . . I commanded you to answer, then what would you say?”
Ethel’s hands fell from her necklace, and her cheeks turned pink.
“Are you sincerely asking me that?”
“Yes.” Cassian lifted his chin higher in hopes of making himself look more confident than he felt. “I am.”
After a pause, Ethel whispered, “Cassian, why are you being cruel?”
Immediately, Cassian began to chuckle and then let out a sigh. Oh, God, this was hopeless. He and Ethel could barely talk about their favorite hymns. How silly of him to think that he could have a conversation about the purpose of marriage.
Before Cassian could tell Ethel to leave the conversation where it was, Ethel leaned in closer.
In a whispered tone, she said, “Are you trying to trick me into talking about something obscene? Right here in the saloon?”
Cassian’s eyes widened with realization.
“Lord, no, Ethel. I was not referring to the bedroom.”
Ethel’s face reddened. Cassian shut his eyes, his cheeks warming, too. No wonder Ethel had thought that he was being cruel.
“I meant more from a logistical perspective,” he clarified. “Or a practical one. Or—or an emotional one, even. I simply want to know what you believe marriage is.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Marriage is a religious union, is it not?”
“Beyond that.”
“Hm.” Ethel touched her index finger to her lips. “It’s a promise of companionship, maybe. Of safety and stability. For some, at least.”
“Anything else?”
“It’s . . . how families are made.” Quietly, she cleared her throat. “Children, I mean.”
Interesting. Ethel hadn’t brought up love.
And Cassian felt certain that he shouldn’t be the one to bring it up himself.
Good God, a man of his stature being the one to be chattering about emotions like that?
How peculiar that would seem to Ethel. Such a thing would be both strange enough and unexpected enough that she might even start to think that Cassian was losing his mind.
“And what about our marriage?” he asked instead.
“What about it?”
“Will it be about those things?”
Ethel’s brows pinched together. “Of course.”
“Because I will provide them for you,” Cassian swore. “Safety, stability, companionship. Children, too.” His stomach churned from the thought of intimacy with her. Cassian let the sensation wane before continuing. “You know that, right?”
Ethel lifted her hand to her chest.
“Of course, Cassian. Of course I know that. Really, I was so thrilled when you proposed. Cassian Livingston proposing to me?! Goodness, I knew our fathers were friends, but still, I was rather surprised by it.”
“Well, I knew we’d make a fine match,” Cassian boasted, a smile creeping across his face. He took a pause and passed his tongue over his lips, his smile faltering a little. “Don’t you think so?”
Ethel smiled back. “Yes.”
“And so, you’re satisfied, then, with our arrangement?”
“I am,” she said. “Truly.”
Cassian let out a long breath as relief washed over him. Oh, thank God. Perhaps Ethel’s melancholy had nothing to do with their marriage, then. Or, well . . .
Humming, Cassian began to strum his fingers.
When he then locked eyes with Ethel, she smiled at him a little, and he tried to smile back.
But . . . oh, hell, there was still something missing.
He knew there was. Her beautiful eyes held such sorrow, even now.
He’d swear to it. Regardless of what Ethel had said, Cassian still felt like something was wrong.
God Almighty, maybe he really was losing his mind.
“You’re certain that you feel content with our engagement?” he asked for a second time.
“I’m certain, Cassian. I’m perfectly content to be marrying you.”
Cassian clenched his teeth. Dammit, what was this strange feeling he still had? And why, oh why, couldn’t he manage to shake it? No matter what Ethel said?
Light laughter from behind them reached Cassian ears. He recognized it as belonging to Ethel’s mother, Helena, and he knew, then, that their unconventional conversation had come to an end. For now.
Cassian pushed himself to stand.
“Good evening, Helena,” he said with a small bow of his head.
“Good evening, Cassian. Apologies for making you wait.”
Ingrid Calbot spoke up as she came over to the table. “Yes, it was our fault, Cassian. You see, Jacob and I were talking to Helena about the nursery that we set up back in New York.” Stopping in front of her chair, one of her hands found her stomach, and she smiled. “We’ve been so blessed.”
“Congratulations, Ingrid,” Cassian said.
It was the first time that the woman had acknowledged her pregnancy to them since the start of the voyage. Perhaps she was feeling more comfortable now, socially, thanks to the blossoming friendship between their families.
“Yes, congratulations, Ingrid. I’m thrilled for you,” Ethel echoed.
“Thank you,” Ingrid replied warmly.