Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
A/N: This chapter is more gasoline thrown on a simmering flame. And we may have an inferno soon ;)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Once inside the dining saloon, Corrine looked up at Harry, troubled, but he studiously avoided her eyes. "Er... perhaps it might be better to stop in here for a bit, Corrine. It's... crowded out there."
She glanced around the room to which they had escaped, confused. Like the third-class dining room below, this space, too, was a sort of gathering area for survivors - the small steamer was, after all, bursting at the seams with the addition of over seven hundred extra people - only the population in this area was decidedly more upper-crust. And it was certainly busier than the deck had been. So his argument that it was less crowded didn't hold water; he obviously had other motives for coming in here.
What had happened out there, anyway? She had a feeling she had missed something important. And she hadn't even had time to process that he had called her his fiancee. That was the second time he had done so; he had also called her his betrothed on Titanic, when they had the altercation with that couple on the boat deck. What did he mean by it? Was he serious? He did seem to bandy the idea around quite a bit...
But before she could question him about either their odd encounter with Miss Ryerson outside or his decidedly unexpected endearment, his eyes lit up. "There is one person I want you to meet here, Corrine." He took her hand and led her to a woman almost as tiny as Corrine herself. Her arm was in a sling, and she wore an evening gown, incongruous in this setting - and yet, she appeared totally comfortable and at ease in it. Although not conventionally pretty, she had a vibrancy and charm to her that was apparent even when obscured by an obvious shroud of grief.
As they approached, the woman's eyes widened. Without waiting for an introduction, she blurted, "My goodness... you're the waif that he pulled off the sinking boat, aren't you?" She gave Corrine the once-over, but it didn't feel judgmental; instead, she was gazing at her with frank admiration. "Harold very nearly fell apart when he found you, you know."
Harry blushed deeply at that. "Corrine, I want to introduce you to Mrs. Harris," he said, turning to her. "She was in the collapsible I was towing. Mrs. Harris, this is Corrine Donnelly, my best girl."
Well, that answers that question, thought Corrine tartly. Now I'm back to being his girl.
"Please, call me Rene," she said, and reached out a hand to shake Corrine's. "Your young man is quite the hero, you know," she said effusively.
Beside her, Harry looked uncomfortable. "I wish you would stop saying that, Mrs. Harris."
"And I wish you would call me Rene," she reminded him none too gently. Corrine decided that she liked this formidable, sassy woman quite a lot. "Harold is too modest," she stage-whispered at Corrine. "He was very brave, and most definitely saved our boat from capsizing and sinking."
