Georgiana remembered that when she watched Titanic, there had been a male viewer sitting behind her who could not understand why Rose would abandon the wealthy Carl and become the wife of the impoverished painter Jack Dawson.
Perhaps it was because he was merely a commoner. If he bought a ticket from Liverpool to New York, he would only travel second or third class. To him, first-class passengers were all well dressed, free from worries over food and clothing, and dazzling to behold.
But Rose felt only suffocation. It was not caused by the corset she wore, but by her husband—a steel magnate from America, who claimed to come from high society and the land of freedom.
After seeing off the two American guests, Georgiana called Matilda, Fiegel, and Bailier and headed for the Louvre Museum.
Carl did not understand art. His mind was like a clattering machine, calculating profit at every moment.
Women enjoyed comfortable lives thanks to their husbands' hard work. Their husbands left warm, comfortable homes to compete in that filthy, chaotic, freezing world outside, and women ought to have been grateful. But Carl clearly enjoyed that kind of life. He did not care about Rose; her noble status merely made him appear more distinguished.
That was not why Georgiana had wanted to develop the steel industry.
She wandered through the Louvre Museum, looking over the famous paintings on its walls. At that moment, its collection was far richer than when she had come here in the twenty-first century, yet some masterpieces were not on display, such as The Raft of the Medusa. She seemed to see someone waving a red cloth in distress again, except this time it was not sailors from France calling for help, but British ones.
The people carrying out the blockade at