An Unsinkable Love - By Terri Benson Page 0,2

I am. But my mother and I worked up at the manor, and Lady Rothberry didn't like Irish accents. She said it made us sound coarse and stupid. We needed the work."

Bree shrugged. "There was a tutor at the manor until we learned to speak 'proper' English."

"What brought you to the wharf today?"

"Well, you see, I intended to purchase a ticket for the ship when I overheard you."

"I suppose I've done White Star out of a few pounds then."

He smiled and Bree allowed her shoulders to relax. He wasn't going to change his mind.

They arrived barely in time to catch the paddle-wheeled tender America on its last run. Mr. Barton set her trunk down on deck and moved off to the tender's bridge to speak with the same man she'd seen him talking to on shore.

Alone on deck, Bree looked around nervously, unable to shake the fear her brothers or the Rothberrys would catch her at the last minute and drag her off. The tender gave a shrill whistle and pulled away from the dock at a snail's pace.

"Hurry, oh please, hurry," she whispered as she grasped the railing in a white-knuckled grip. No angry shouts rang out. No boots ran thudding down the dock. In a few moments she would be free. She would be on the most magnificent ship on the ocean, and it would be too late to stop her.

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An Unsinkable Love

by Terri Benson

Once on board, she'd be beyond her family's reach. Now that mother was gone, she was absolved of any allegiance to the rest. Bree felt a sense of sadness, knowing her father and brothers wouldn't miss her nearly as much as her hard-earned wages they quickly spent at the pub. She inhaled the salty air and brightened a bit at the thought of never having to duck another backhand blow from her father, or clean up after her slovenly brothers, or beg the grocer to give her a piece of nearly turned meat at a discount so none would go hungry.

The demanding Lady Rothberry and her husband, who had recently started making unseemly demands of his own, would be easily forgotten. She'd never again have to beg Mrs.

O'Malley to take back fabric her ladyship decided wasn't to her liking. She wouldn't be shut up in the drafty sewing room at the castle for days at a time either. The Rothberrys would search high and low for a new seamstress willing to put up with their calculated cruelty.

"How long will they all wonder what became of me?" she murmured. Her shoulders slumped as she realized they might not even care.

Bree stared up at the ship, its massive dark side filling her vision. Sunlight winked off hundreds of round windows dotting the ship's flank. Which would she be looking out? Her hand crept back to the cross at her neck. Dear God. The Titanic!

This grand ship would be her home for the next several days.

All the city of Queensland, and probably all of Ireland, was chattering about how lucky they were to be one of only two 17

An Unsinkable Love

by Terri Benson

stops between Southampton and New York—and now she, herself, would be part of the maiden voyage.

She craned her neck as she surveyed the highest decks.

Four immense smokestacks angled back, giving an impression the ship moved at high speed, even though it sat at anchor.

Two tall masts bracketed each end of the long, dark hull—the upper superstructure bright white. The bow appeared knife-sharp from a distance and the delicately curved stern, which the newspapers called a "champagne glass" shape, almost seemed out of place.

She jumped as a crate dropped heavily to the deck behind her. Whirling around, she gaped in awe at the huge mountains of trunks and bags piled on almost every square foot of the tender. The deckhand sidled up, greedily eyeing her body. Bree drew back and said, "Excuse me, what are all those bags for?" in an attempt to distract him.

"Oi, thems mailbags, ducky. Hun'erds of 'em."

Bree stepped back as his pungent scent—unwashed body mingled with old fish and cabbage—wafted toward her. He followed, gap-toothed mouth leering, a dribble of black juice trailing down his stubbled chin. She peered uneasily around his tightly stretched wool jersey to see what had become of Mr. Barton, but he was nowhere in sight.

"I'll let you get back to work. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble, since the purser is on board. I'm sure Mr. Barton would want to see everyone working hard." Bree