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maids carried a dog who yapped at the gathering crowd, as if warning them to keep back. It was as if the small creature realized those who watched weren’t worthy to wait in the shadows of those who walked aboard.
    “Serving girls, aren’t they lucky?” Amelia murmured. She lowered her head and turned away.
    A strange emotion stirred her—a longing for her mother. Being here, on this ship, made her feel closer to her mother than she had in years. Perhaps because she now experienced all the things her mother spoke of. How many nights had Amelia fallen asleep to the gossip from her mother’s past, juicy revelations the serving girls had shared with the stewardess from journeys long ago? More than she could count. Those stories had been to her like tales of knights and dragons, godmothers and queens, but being here on the
Titanic
made it all real. She sucked in a breath of salty air and clutched her hands before her. Her lips straightened into a thin line. Her chin quivered and the tendons in her neck tightened as she held back the tears.
    Ethel touched her arm. “Are you feeling ill?”
    Amelia forced a smile. “Just thinking of my mother.”
    “Come …” Ethel swept her arm as if offering the deck—all of the
Titanic
—to Amelia. “Let’s go listen to the orchestra. That will surely lift your spirits!”
    Amelia walked beside Ethel. She tightened her stomach muscles and held a pent-up breath, willing the engines to roar to life and the ship to slide out into the channel. Maybe, if the shore disappeared behind them, the memories would fade into the horizon, too. That would make all things easier.
    It seemed only right that she should launch a new life without the old one dragging her back as an anchor.

     
    Damien stepped onto the polished wooden deck, and a chief steward hurried forward. “Welcome, sir, welcome. We are glad to have you upon the
Ship of Dreams.”
    He craned his neck and brushed the man aside. The woman was gone. He let out a disappointed breath and balled his fists at his sides. If only they’d had a chance to make eye contact. Then again, they were on the same ship, with almost a week to run into each other.
Unless.
    He shook his head.
Unless
the woman wasn’t a first-class passenger.
    “Of course she is,” he mumbled to himself. She had to be. If she wasn’t—that would be the end of that.
    As much as Damien wanted to know the beautiful woman, he also had a standard to uphold. People watched him. They had expectations. He not only represented himself, but his father, too. His brother had done enough damage to the family name. It was his job to rectify all that his brother had tarnished.
    Damien remained one step behind his father. Their head butler, Arnold, strode by his father’s side, as if creating a buffer between his boss and any commoners who happened to cross his path. Damien followed as another steward led the way to their first-class stateroom, located on the promenade deck. It was almost directly below the bridge near the first smokestack—one of the finest rooms on the ship, he’d been told. Ocean air followed him, filling the corridor with a delightful breeze.
    Inside the stateroom, the room’s mirrors were trimmed with gold. Real gold. He’d been around it enough to know the difference. Instead of the usual bunks, his and his father’s rooms had full bedsteads, a telephone for shipboard communication, and a washstand with hot and cold running water. Hand-carved oak, teak, and maple wood paneling decorated the room in modern style. He eyed the rich velvet drapes and luxurious bedding. There was a sofa and a desk with a lamp. The dressing table looked to be hand-carved as well. If he hadn’t known better, he would have guessed they were in a luxury hotel, not on a ship. It was the finest passenger room he’d ever seen.
    “Your room has electric lights and heat, sir,” the steward said, pushing the switch on and off. “Please let me know if you have any