awe. “He scared you, too?”
“Not exactly.” His lips thinned. “I meant it when I said I’d drag him into court.” His hand slid up her arm in a caress. “But he does use that roar of his to get his way, doesn’t he.”
“Among other methods.” She shivered.
His hand dropped from her arm, leaving her oddly bereft. “I think I’ll go explore the ship for a bit.”
Diantha bit her lip, wondering what she was supposed to do in her cabin by herself. “May I come with you?”
A smile lit up his handsome face. “I would appreciate the company.”
“Really?” In answer he held the door open and bowed her into the mahogany-paneled passageway.
* * *
They walked the decks and passages until late afternoon. Diantha told him what she had gleaned about the
Columbia
from listening to her father and brothers talk. Kieran freely confessed that he knew next to nothing about shipbuilding, and listened attentively to her.
When the ship slipped out of its berth, they took their place at the rail to witness its passage down the Hudson. She hoped a few photographers had stayed at the dock. Pictures of the two of them mixing with the rest of the passengers would infuriate her parents.
Although she enjoyed the anonymity of the crowd, she appreciated her tall husband’s bulk as he protected her from the inevitable shoving and pushing. They stayed at the rail as the buildings and bustle of Manhattan dwindled behind them, while the sun lowered in the west.
By the time they returned to the suite, a quarrel had erupted between the lady’s maid hired by Mrs. Quinn and his lordship’s valet as to who should use the single dressing room first.
“Ladies first, of course, Davison.” His lordship tossed a loose strand of hair off his forehead impatiently.
“I think it would be best if his lordship dressed first.” The dark windblown locks waving about her husband’s face riveted Diantha’s attention. They looked so soft and thick. Her fingers twitched involuntarily. “Ladies tend to require more time, and we are expected to be late.”
And so she washed her face and Florette brushedout her hair to the accompaniment of her groom’s baritone rumbling through the closed door to the dressing room. After a quick knock, he announced that he would await her in the saloon.
As she brought out the gown she had pressed earlier in the day, the Frenchwoman apologized. “I tried to find a suitable gown for this evening, milady, but this is the best I could come up with.”
“I’m sure it will do very well, thank you.” Diantha sighed at the yards of coral pink taffeta.
It looked better than her traveling dress, she decided as she surveyed her final appearance in the full-length mirror bolted on the dressing room wall. Full evening dress would not suit the confines of a ship, so Florette had selected a dinner dress instead.
Although long-sleeved, it possessed the plunging neckline considered de rigueur for evenings, outlined in bisque-colored lace. A deep flounce of more lace trimmed the pointed bottom of the bodice where it flared over her hips, and formed three wide chevrons down the smooth front of the skirt.
Twisting to see the back, she noticed still more of the pale lace in the softly puffed bustle. “I’m still not sure about the color, but it’s so stylish! Thank you, Florette. You chose very well.”
“It’s difficult to make a poor choice from a wardrobe by Monsieur Worth. Although perhaps milady should avoid warm tones in the future.” The maid offered her opinion cautiously, as though expecting a reprimand.
“I suppose.” Diantha picked up a silk shawl that matched the trim of her gown. “I’ve always likedblues myself. Or even red.” She sighed wistfully as she left her cabin. Decent women, according to Mama, did not wear any shade of red.
Feeling very self-conscious walking alone, she made her way down the hall to the first-class saloon, which doubled as the dining room. To her irritation,
“Not exactly.” His lips thinned. “I meant it when I said I’d drag him into court.” His hand slid up her arm in a caress. “But he does use that roar of his to get his way, doesn’t he.”
“Among other methods.” She shivered.
His hand dropped from her arm, leaving her oddly bereft. “I think I’ll go explore the ship for a bit.”
Diantha bit her lip, wondering what she was supposed to do in her cabin by herself. “May I come with you?”
A smile lit up his handsome face. “I would appreciate the company.”
“Really?” In answer he held the door open and bowed her into the mahogany-paneled passageway.
* * *
They walked the decks and passages until late afternoon. Diantha told him what she had gleaned about the
Columbia
from listening to her father and brothers talk. Kieran freely confessed that he knew next to nothing about shipbuilding, and listened attentively to her.
When the ship slipped out of its berth, they took their place at the rail to witness its passage down the Hudson. She hoped a few photographers had stayed at the dock. Pictures of the two of them mixing with the rest of the passengers would infuriate her parents.
Although she enjoyed the anonymity of the crowd, she appreciated her tall husband’s bulk as he protected her from the inevitable shoving and pushing. They stayed at the rail as the buildings and bustle of Manhattan dwindled behind them, while the sun lowered in the west.
By the time they returned to the suite, a quarrel had erupted between the lady’s maid hired by Mrs. Quinn and his lordship’s valet as to who should use the single dressing room first.
“Ladies first, of course, Davison.” His lordship tossed a loose strand of hair off his forehead impatiently.
“I think it would be best if his lordship dressed first.” The dark windblown locks waving about her husband’s face riveted Diantha’s attention. They looked so soft and thick. Her fingers twitched involuntarily. “Ladies tend to require more time, and we are expected to be late.”
And so she washed her face and Florette brushedout her hair to the accompaniment of her groom’s baritone rumbling through the closed door to the dressing room. After a quick knock, he announced that he would await her in the saloon.
As she brought out the gown she had pressed earlier in the day, the Frenchwoman apologized. “I tried to find a suitable gown for this evening, milady, but this is the best I could come up with.”
“I’m sure it will do very well, thank you.” Diantha sighed at the yards of coral pink taffeta.
It looked better than her traveling dress, she decided as she surveyed her final appearance in the full-length mirror bolted on the dressing room wall. Full evening dress would not suit the confines of a ship, so Florette had selected a dinner dress instead.
Although long-sleeved, it possessed the plunging neckline considered de rigueur for evenings, outlined in bisque-colored lace. A deep flounce of more lace trimmed the pointed bottom of the bodice where it flared over her hips, and formed three wide chevrons down the smooth front of the skirt.
Twisting to see the back, she noticed still more of the pale lace in the softly puffed bustle. “I’m still not sure about the color, but it’s so stylish! Thank you, Florette. You chose very well.”
“It’s difficult to make a poor choice from a wardrobe by Monsieur Worth. Although perhaps milady should avoid warm tones in the future.” The maid offered her opinion cautiously, as though expecting a reprimand.
“I suppose.” Diantha picked up a silk shawl that matched the trim of her gown. “I’ve always likedblues myself. Or even red.” She sighed wistfully as she left her cabin. Decent women, according to Mama, did not wear any shade of red.
Feeling very self-conscious walking alone, she made her way down the hall to the first-class saloon, which doubled as the dining room. To her irritation,
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