Hello everyone! This is my new fic, written in the POV of Thomas Andrews' wife, Helen. This story is fiction! I do not own Thomas Andrews or anyone related to him. The only person I own in this chapter is Jane. I hope you enjoy, and please rate/review! =)

Chapter One

Spring, 1904

"Helen! Make sure you look your very best!" Mother insisted, calling up the stairs. I sighed before answering a muttered "Yes, Mother." My parents' long-time friends, the Andrews', were coming round for a visit. Apparently, I had known them as a young girl, yet I had no living memory of them. Father had died when I was 20, and I was now 23. For a while, my older brother, John Milne Barbour, had looked after us, before leaving with his wife Elise to look after and maintain the family linen business.
Mother was looking for a husband on every occasion for me.
I combed through my long, curly red hair and, with the help of Jane Vale (my maid), pinned the front and sides back in a jewelled clip, letting the rest flow down my back like a waterfall. I clipped the gold locket that Father had given me round my neck, and admired it as it sparkled in the sunlight. That way, I thought, he would still be with me. I heard the front door open, and a flurry of unfamiliar voices and footsteps coming form the hallway. I stood up and brushed the creases out of the long skirt of my emerald green dress. I left my bedroom and tip-toed down the wooden staircase. There stood two men and a woman. One man, I presumed, was the son of the other two. I walked down the last few stairs. "And this is my youngest, Helen." Mother smiled at my entrance. I gave a polite smile to the trio. I waited on the bottom step as they stood and talked for a few minutes.

"Well, Elizabeth, shall we go and talk more privately? I think we must be boring the younger ones to bits. I'm sure Thomas will behave himself with Helen." Mrs Andrews joked.
"Yes, I think that would be a wonderful idea. This way." Mother led them through the hallway. Mr Andrews stood, looking me over for a few long moments, before actually conversing with me.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Barbour. I think I remember you from a gathering at some point in the past." He took my hand and kissed it. He had a strong Northern Irish accent.
"Yes, it's lovely to meet you too. But I must confess, I'm not quite sure I remember you." I smiled like a bashful love-struck 16-year-old. I especially did when he smiled at me warmly. "I doubt you do. You were only a wee slip of a girl then." I smiled again. I hopped down the stair and walked into the open hallway that was flooded with light. The door was still open, showing the front garden and the gravelled drive. Suddenly, a glint of shiny metal caught my eye. A motorcar. "Is that your car?" I asked, walking outside. He followed behind. "Yes. Why?" He replied.

I reached the vehicle, and circled it like a vulture. "It's a rather good-looking motorcar, sir." I complimented. He half-smiled at me, and rested his hand on the paintwork. "She's good-looking, I agree. But she's a right pain when it comes to starting her up." He laughed, rubbing his hand on the metal.
"May I?" I didn't really ask; I was already opening the door.
"If you really want to…"
Mr Andrews stood in the open doorway while I sat down. Oooo, I liked this. "So where are we goin'?" I demanded. Mr Andrews let out a sarcastic laugh. "And what compels you to think that I'm taking you anywhere?" He asked, leaning on the doorframe.
"Well, you must be doing something with me. That's why you came, isn't it?" I folded my arms. His dark brown eyes were creased in a slight frown.
"Hahaha. You're funny." He told me, looking back towards the house.
"I know." I replied, stepping out of the car. I looked straight into his face; and he looked straight back into mine.
"Who said anything about the reason I came here?" He challenged, stepping closer to me. Blimey, he was tall.
"No one. I'm just guessing." I said, trying to beat him in the battle.
"Well, stop guessing." He won the fight, practically all of the warmth in his voice gone. His words struck me like a blow to the head. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. "Well, I…I…." I had not the slightest idea of what to say.
"Tommie!" A voice called out from behind Mr Andrews. "I hope you're not intimidating our lovely Miss Helen here, are you, Thomas?" It was his father.
"No, why would I do that?" He replied. They walked away until they were out of earshot. I closed the car door.

As I approached the doorway of our home, I heard 'Thomas' remark, "Is she interested in the car or me?" Ha. As if. Why would I be interested in HIM?