The late-afternoon light slanted across the promenade deck, warm and honey-soft, catching on the polished brass railings and the crisp white of steward uniforms. Passengers strolled in languid clusters, teacups in hand, while the steady hum of the engines pulsed beneath the boards.
Rose and Michael walked side by side, slow and unhurried, the world narrowing comfortably to just the two of them.
Rose's voice carried a girlish excitement as she said, "You know… my secret dream has always been to cast off society entirely and become an artist. To live in a tiny garret—poor, but gloriously free."
Michael allowed himself a small, amused smile. "Rose, forgive me, but I daresay you would not last two days. Garrets are notoriously devoid of hot water… and nearly always devoid of caviar."
She halted, affronted. "Listen here, sir… I despise caviar! And I am quite weary of everyone treating my aspirations as though they were trifles—fit only to be brushed aside with a fond pat and a laugh."
He lifted both hands in surrender. "My apologies. Truly. I meant no insult."
Some of the irritation melted from her features.
Rose's gaze drifted dreamily toward the horizon. "There is something within me, Michael… something restless. I cannot name it. I do not know if I am meant to paint, or perhaps dance like Isadora Duncan. A wild, unbound spirit…"
She spun lightly, skirts twirling, before suddenly lighting up at some distant thought.
"…or perhaps I shall become a moving-picture actress!"
She seized his hand impulsively and ran, pulling him a few steps along the deck in a burst of laughter before slowing again.
Time blurred.
The shifting gold of the afternoon settled around them like a warm cloak.
They stood together with Nathaniel's journal open between them, the wind ruffling its pages. Conversation flowed easily— about art, literature, cities Michael had seen, worlds Rose wished she could escape to.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
Until—
Tap... Tap... Tap...
The soft rustle of skirts and the purposeful click of heeled shoes broke the spell.
Rose straightened instinctively.
Her mother, Ruth, approached with a practiced majesty, accompanied by Countess Noël Leslie of Rothes, and Margaret Brown. Their shadows fell across Rose and Michael before their voices reached them.
Rose's posture snapped into poise as Michael closed the journal gently.
Ruth's eyes moved to him, not cold, not disapproving, but... assessing.
"Mother," Rose said with carefully measured grace, "may I Introduce Doctor Michael Morbius."
"Hmmm... "
Before Ruth could inquire further, Countess Noël's eyes widened.
"Morbius?" she echoed with delighted recognition. "My husband speaks of you often. The London Academy holds your papers in the utmost regard. They say your brilliance is… rather remarkable for your age."
Michael inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. "Not at all"
Ruth's entire demeanor shifted, cool propriety easing into warm approval.
"A physician," she murmured with interest. "How very fortunate."
She smiled at him a small, courteous, genuinely respectful smile Rose had never seen her give any young man who was not titled.
Ruth added lightly, "You must join us for tea one afternoon. Men of your standing rarely travel without a considerable entourage."
"I will"
Rose wanted the deck to open beneath her but before embarrassment could bloom further—
A trumpet blast sounded far too close to their ears.
Margaret jumped. "For heaven's sake! Must they announce dinner as though we are riding into a cavalry charge?"
Rose seized the opportunity.
"Mother, shall we go dress?"
She turned to Michael as she moved past. Her voice softened. "I shall see you at dinner, Michael."
She paused just a heartbeat. "And… I meant what I said earlier. You truly do look better today." Her eyes searched his face quietly. "I hope you will tell me, one day, what troubled you so deeply last night."
They disappeared in a swirl of silk and perfume.
Michael remained still for a moment, watching the last glint of Rose's copper hair vanish into the grand staircase doors.
A voice drawled behind him. "Beautiful girl, isn't she?"
Michael turned.
Nathaniel lounged against the rail, arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man who had seen far too much and enjoyed judging all of it.
"You should dress," Nathaniel added, flicking a glance toward the First-Class entrance. "The nobles are already gathering."
Michael raised a brow. "The nobles?"
Nathaniel's smirk darkened with meaning.
"Oh yes. Tonight you meet the most vexing of your kind. Vampires who masquerade as aristocrats…" He pushed off the rail. "…and the aristocrats who pretend to be something more."
The sun dipped toward the horizon and the night, with all its hidden creatures and truths, began to unfold.
_____
Michael stepped out of his cabin freshly washed, hair neatly brushed, the tailored suit shaping him into a man far more handsome than he ever allowed himself to believe. Nathaniel was waiting just outside, leaning on his cane with an amused tilt to his head.
"My word," he said with a chuckle. "You look positively dashing."
Michael offered a modest smile. "It feels strange to wear something this fine."
"Strange suits you. Now come, let us make you unforgettable."
Nathaniel led the way through the corridors and into the sweep of the first-class dining saloon. Golden light pooled from crystal lamps, dancing across the carved ceiling and polished columns. The soft waltz played by the string ensemble filled the chamber, elegant and warm. At the far end, the great gilded clock presided over the room like a watchful monarch.
They descended the grand staircase, its carved wooden rail shining under the glow of the lamps.
Halfway down, Nathaniel's attention drifted toward a tall woman in black accompanied by a perfectly composed butler. With a pleased smile, he motioned for Michael to follow. "Ah, there she is. Come along, Michael."
"Hester," he greeted, bowing slightly. "A vision of midnight, as always."
"Professor Faulkner," she replied with a faint, knowing smile. Her voice was smooth and cool, like velvet drawn over steel. "You remain as punctual as ever."
"Not at all,"
"Ahh right" Nathaniel gestured, "this is Dr. Michael Morbius."
Michael stepped forward, took her hand gently, and pressed a respectful kiss to the back of her glove. When he lifted his eyes, he caught a glimmer a silver sheen, quick as the flick of a blade. He almost wondered if he imagined it.
"My lady," Michael said politely.
"Hester here," Nathaniel continued, "is one of the students from my school. Quite gifted. She may prove helpful in your… peculiar situation. However, we are still awaiting another individual who might further assist."
Michael blinked. "You… have a school?"
Nathaniel smirked lightly. "Oh? Did I neglect to mention that?"
Before Michael could ask again, the soft hum of the room shifted, a subtle change in atmosphere that caught his attention.
Cal Hockley appeared at the top of the staircase, descending with Ruth in deliberate pride, gliding on his arm. She shimmered beneath her jewels, every facet of her attire chosen to display wealth and authority. They passed Michael without a flicker of acknowledgment as though he were merely another ornament in the room.
But behind them…
Rose stepped into view.
A vision in red and black.
The silk clung elegantly to her figure, the low neckline revealing the graceful line of her throat and shoulders. Her long white gloves, reaching well above the elbow, made her appear even more refined, almost ethereal beneath the warm glow of the chandeliers.
Michael froze.
She began her descent with practiced poise, unaware for a moment of the effect she had on the room.
Then her eyes found his.
That single glance struck him with the quiet force of a revelation. Her lips parted in the faintest breath, as though she, too, had forgotten her surroundings for an instant. A soft, blooming joy lit her features, delicate, unmistakable.
Michael straightened instinctively, adopting the gentleman's stance: one hand folded neatly behind his back, posture immaculate, gaze respectful but warm.
Rose reached the foot of the stairs. She extended her gloved hand toward him, hesitant only in the most endearing way.
Michael stepped forward, took her fingers lightly, and bent to kiss the back of her glove. His lips brushed the silk with reverent gentleness.
Color rose to her cheeks at once, blooming like soft rose petals. She smiled, radiant, unguarded, unable to pull her gaze away from him.
"You are quite beautiful this evening, my lady," Michael said quietly, his voice smooth yet sincere.
Rose swallowed, dazzled by him, and for a moment the entire saloon, the nobles, the chandeliers, the music, faded into a soft blur around just the two of them.
She had been admired many times in her life but never like this. Never by someone who looked at her as though she were not a trophy, but a wonder.
Her voice trembled the slightest bit when she finally answered:
"And you, Michael… look remarkably well."
_______
[ A/N: You can check the auxiliary chapters for character images. Thank you for reading!]