“I know,” she said.
“Coming into my house, making friends with my children—what sort of man allows that?” he said. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but held back, his cheeks reddening. “I can’t,” he said, quite simply.
Thelma looked at him, pity and anger fighting for prominence in her mind. She could have apologized—it would have felt appropriate—but what, exactly, would she be apologizing for? Duke had won the prince’s friendship. Cigar boxes and club tables in London. She might have pitied him, but for his calculated approval of the arrangement in the first place.
She could hear Averill’s voice, defeated. He regrets it now.
Thelma turned the jewelry box over in her hands. “He’s the Prince of Wales,” she said quietly.
Duke turned to look out the window. “Yes,” he said. “He is.”
Thelma knew what Duke wanted her to say—that she wouldn’t see him again. That David had finally overstepped himself, encroaching on their family time. That she would refuse his calls.
That she’d fallen in love with Duke once more.
Thelma stood. “I want a separate apartment in London.”
“I think that would be best.”
She turned to leave, but lingered at the door, wishing she could say something to make right an impossible situation.
Duke continued to stare out the window. “Tell me one thing,” he said. “If he weren’t the Prince of Wales, would you still be in love with him?”
So he knew. She hadn’t said it before—she hadn’t admitted it to herself, even, before now.
She thought about lying to him. Tell him what he wants to hear, she could hear Mamma say. You’ll need him one day.
“Yes,” she said.
“I see,” Duke clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t sound particularly angry, nor particularly crushed. He’d retreated behind a veneer of civility, as though a promising business arrangement had fallen through. “I’ll speak to my solicitor after the New Year.”
It should have felt like a victory: a clearing of the ledger, a disentanglement that would make her life—David’s life—simpler. Perhaps she would feel triumphant, once it all sank in. For the moment, she felt empty.
“Happy Christmas, Thelma.”
Twenty-Eight
October 10, 1934
RMS Empress of Britain
Thelma paced her living quarters. She had left the ship’s dining room before the dessert course, ostensibly to prepare for her meeting with Harry and Nada’s lawyer, but in truth, she didn’t have much to do. She glanced at the secretary table, hoping to find a telegram from David. He liked to send notes at odd hours, but tonight she was unlucky: there was no new envelope waiting for her.
She picked up the silver-backed cigarette case and lighter she’d borrowed from David’s shaving kit. He always kept a few lighters handy, burrowing them away like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. He smoked too much. So did she, she knew, eyeing the ember at the end of her cigarette.
A knock came at the door and Thelma stood as Harry entered the room, followed by a man with a blond mustache.
“Good evening, Thelma,” said Harry. “Might I introduce Theobald Mathew? Mr. Mathew—my sister, Lady Furness.”
“Lady Furness,” said Mathew. He was tall and handsome, his face scored with deep lines that might have once been dimples. Like Harry, he was dressed in black tie, but where Harry’s suit fell loose across his shoulders Mathew looked impeccable, as though he lived in formal wear.
Thelma sat and Mathew followed suit, pulling a cigar from his breast pocket. Thelma handed him David’s lighter, watching as he studied the monogram briefly before snapping it open.
Thelma smiled as the sweet smell of cigar smoke plumed into the room. Nada’s vanguard, she thought.
Harry went to the liquor cabinet. “Thelma—Mathew—a drink?”
“Whiskey—neat,” said Mathew, in a clipped English accent.
“Sherry, thank you,” said Thelma. “My brother tells me you’ve come for the trial.”
“I have,” said Mathew. “Lady Furness, I represent the interests of Lady Milford Haven. A friend of yours, I understand.”
“Dear Nada,” said Thelma, accepting her glass from Harry. “How is she?”
Mathew set down his drink untouched. “Lady Milford Haven is very upset. For Mrs. Vanderbilt’s sake as well as her own.” He paused. “Lady Furness, we arrive in Montreal tomorrow, so I’ll not mince words. While your brother has apprised me of your resolve to defend your sister, I feel you underestimate how serious this case has become.”
Thelma glanced at Harry. Doubt settled, fetid, in the pit of her stomach.
“Enlighten me, then,” she said.
“Lord and Lady Milford Haven are extremely concerned,” Mathew said. “Naturally, Lady Milford Haven denies all allegations made against her in the strongest possible terms—”
“She’ll come?” said Thelma.
Mathew smiled thinly. “I have advised against that particular course of action.”
“But she must,” said Thelma. “She has to defend herself, to testify...” She faltered into silence at Mathew’s patient, professional disapproval.
“Let me make myself clear, Lady Furness,” he said. “I have been retained to defend the interests of my client, insofar as they pertain to the case against your sister. In this, our objectives will generally coincide—in a perfect world, your sister’s lawyers would refute the allegations made against Mrs. Vanderbilt and the stain on Lady Milford Haven’s reputation would, naturally, clear. However, given the breadth of evidence given against your sister—”
“False evidence,” said Harry.
“—I count it a rare chance that she will succeed in regaining custody of her child. A rare chance indeed.”
His words fell heavily on the room and Thelma glanced at Harry. Neither of them, it seemed, had the conviction to disagree.
“I have not been sent to argue Mrs. Vanderbilt’s case, nor to attest to her abilities as a mother,” said Mathew. He set down his cigar and leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I am only concerned with the allegations levied against Mrs. Vanderbilt as they pertain to Lady Milford Haven.”
“But surely Nada ought to defend herself,” Thelma repeated. “She would clear her name by testifying.”
“Lady Milford Haven is not on trial,” said Mathew, “and it is my belief that to interject herself further into this case would be of no benefit to her, nor anyone else.”
Thelma stiffened. “It would be to Gloria’s benefit.”
Mathew raised his eyebrows. “Would it?”
Thelma hesitated. Nada was unpredictable at the best of times. She thought of Nada, swimming at midnight in Cannes; Nada holding court while soaking her feet in a bathtub of champagne.
“All right,” she said. “So why send you at all?”
“Lady Furness,” he said slowly, “I hope you’ll forgive my candor, but there is some concern that your—friendship—with the Prince of Wales might be raised in the courtroom. The connection between Mrs. Vanderbilt and His Royal Highness appears, as yet, to have escaped notice in the American papers...”
“Why shouldn’t he be called upon to testify on Gloria’s behalf?” said Thelma. She could picture it now: David, coming to America, putting the judge at ease with a personal assurance of Gloria’s good character. He had offered his help. Why had Thelma told him to stay behind? “Surely a word from David could settle the matter? A degree of respectability, surely—”
“Under normal circumstances, your sister’s friendship with His Royal Highness would be inconsequential,” said Mathew. “Perhaps his name would arise on a list of guests to Mrs. Vanderbilt’s home—His Royal Highness, after all, has many friends—but the allegations concerning Lady Milford Haven... Should His Royal Highness�
��s name arise in connection to such scandal, it would cause a great deal of embarrassment to the Royal Family. A great deal of embarrassment indeed.”
“Friedel is coming,” Harry pointed out. “His family doesn’t seem to have an issue defending Gloria’s reputation.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but Prince Gottfried zu Hohenlohe is not the Prince of Wales, nor is he the future Head of the Church of England. For His Royal Highness to be called to testify on behalf a woman with Mrs. Vanderbilt’s alleged proclivities—”
“I see,” said Thelma, her cheeks starting to burn. “And the fact that the prince’s cousin-in-law is the woman with whom my sister is accused of indulging these alleged proclivities is beside the point.”
Mathew conceded with a shrug, spreading his hands wide across the arms of his chair. “Should the press realize the connection between Lady Milford Haven and the Prince of Wales...that is what I am attempting to prevent. The Royal Family must remain above reproach.”
Thelma stood. “So Nada will hide behind a lawyer.”
Mathew picked up his cigar. “You know, Lady Furness, as well as I do, what the Royal Family is. The Prince of Wales is an invaluable asset to the institution, to Great Britain—”
Thelma knew, now, she was arguing for argument’s sake, but she couldn’t help it. She bristled at the thought of David, trapped within the confines of his crown. “He’s a symbol, is that it? Nothing more?”
“He’s a symbol because he has to be,” said Mathew sharply. “The Commonwealth has survived over generations because the Royal Family is a uniting force. Surely you can see that his duty to his people comes before his friendship with Mrs. Vanderbilt?”
Though he didn’t say it, Thelma and Mathew both knew the words that he left unsaid. His friendship with you, Lady Furness.
“So you’ve not come for Nada,” she said, sinking back into her chair. “You’ve come to keep David’s name out of the trial.”
“I’ve come on behalf of the Royal Family,” said Mathew. “To repudiate the charges against Lady Milford Haven—and to keep scandal from staining the House of Windsor.”
“I see.” Thelma felt an overwhelming sadness. She never expected David to come—she herself had advised against it. But to know that Gloria would receive no support from Nada...
And that one word from David might make the difference.
Thelma stood, avoiding Mathew’s eye.
“Mr. Mathew, I’m afraid you must excuse me,” she said. “I’m very tired.”
Mathew and Harry rose. “Of course,” said Mathew. “I’ll come to you in the morning before the ship docks to discuss particulars—suggest a few suitable words for the reporters in Montreal.”
Thelma nodded and Harry escorted Mathew out. She leaned across the table and stubbed out Mathew’s cigar, which he’d left burning on the edge of the ashtray: the smoke would linger in the fabric of the chairs like a bad perfume.
She rang for Elise and moved to the bedroom, patting her cheeks dry before the maid walked in.
Twenty-Nine
May 1930
London
After Christmas, Duke had been quick to find Thelma an apartment in Mayfair. Her new flat was near the American embassy where Benny was now an attaché to the Court of St. James.
“Among your own people once more,” Duke said, smiling tightly as he and Thelma reviewed the lease in his study at Arlington Place.
“Lady Furness, you’ll notice that your husband is providing you with an additional stipend to hire household staff,” said Duke’s lawyer, passing her a sheet of paper. “You’ll be taking your lady’s maid with you, I presume—”
“Yes.”
“...but I’ve taken the liberty of having my office arrange the services of a domestic search agency to help you find the other staff you’ll require. Cook, butler, so forth.”
“Thank you,” said Thelma, scanning the document without reading it. She had been outraged when Duke’s lawyer had made her sign a settlement before her wedding to Duke, to provide a stipend for her in the case of a separation; now, she was grateful for his foresight.
“You will, of course, retain full rights to Lord Furness’s other estates, Burrough Court and Affric Lodge, subject to Lord Furness’s approval—a simple telephone call, I’m sure, will suffice.” The lawyer smiled, cheeks pouching under bagged eyes.
“Of course it will, it’s not a bloody divorce.” Duke signed the lease, a spot of ink pooling in a glossy stain at the end of his signature before it dried flat. “Is that it, then?”
The lawyer picked up the sheets and shuffled them back into his briefcase and slipped out of the room as Duke moved to the window.
Thelma stood beside him. “We’ll still see each other,” she said, knowing how contrived she sounded. “I’ll come to dinners—we’ll go dancing. You’re still my husband.”
Duke snorted. “I’m something, all right,” he said. He planted his hands on the windowsill. “No,” he said, more softly. “I understand. Truly, I do. Just—promise you won’t lose sight of me.” He paused, and Thelma looked away. “You’ve still got a home here, if you ever want it.”
The apartment was more than Thelma deserved: spacious and light, with large windows that overlooked Grosvenor Square, a spare bedroom and a dining room large enough to seat ten. Thelma found a decent cook and a housemaid, as well as a stately butler and a chauffeur for the new Daimler that Duke had purchased—not without a sense of humor. The immense car matched David’s exactly.
On her first night in the new flat, Thelma walked through the rooms, running her hands along the sleek buffet in the dining room, admiring the palm-frond chandelier and gleaming Wedgwood china. For the first time in her life, Thelma had a place entirely her own, along with the income required to furnish it. She’d taken complete advantage of the opportunity, rejecting Duke’s stately, antiques-filled aesthetic and David’s comfortable, homey chintz in favor of a clean, modern look: chrome and brushed metal and glass, sleek and expensive.
* * *
Two weeks later, David came to Thelma’s flat unannounced.
“I just came back from the Fort. It’s a marvel, darling, an absolute marvel,” he said, striding through the front door. He allowed Thelma’s butler to help him with his overcoat, then leaned forward to kiss Thelma’s cheek. “They finished two weeks ahead of schedule. Entirely state-of-the-art, top to bottom. Mind if I telephone Freddie?”
“Not at all,” said Thelma, though David was already halfway to the study. She followed, stepping into the room as he picked up the receiver. Loosening the knot of his tie, David put Thelma in mind of a child freed from church. “Freddie? I just got back from the Fort. You’ll be thrilled...”
Thelma shut the door and moved into the drawing room, pouring tea as she waited for David to finish. He entered a few minutes later, still beaming.
“Freddie’s so pleased,” he said, taking a cup. “Told her she’ll have to bring her daughters along to see it—after you, of course.”
David took Thelma’s hand in his, absently twisting her wedding ring around the base of her finger. Thelma could tell he was thinking about the Fort: the tennis court, strung up with a white net; the octagonal drawing room, finally filled with furniture.
“I’ve asked my brothers to come Friday. Piers, too—Piers Legh, my equerry. You’ll enjoy him immensely if I can pull him away from work. You’ll organize it for me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” said Thelma. “It sounds like quite the boys’ trip.”
David unbuttoned his jacket. “Actually, I was rather hoping you’d come and organize the menus, spend time with Elizabeth when I take the boys shooting. I doubt even she has the constitution to handle us all on her own.”
“Bertie’s wife?” said Thelma. Though she’d become friendly with George and Harry, David’s two youngest brothers, she hadn’t yet met the D
uke and Duchess of York. She’d seen them before at court presentations, the tall prince and his apple-cheeked wife, standing in long receiving lines next to wizened lords and ladies with close-lipped smiles.
David pulled Thelma into his lap. “I think you two will get along, as a matter of fact. You don’t think I’d plan my first party at the Fort without you? What do you imagine I’d do all night, play checkers?”
Thelma batted David’s hand away. “David, I can’t possibly host a weekend for your family.” Nada had once told Thelma that the Duchess of York had a warm friendship with the king: Thelma could only imagine what she might think of being asked to spend time in the company of her brother-in-law’s married mistress. “What would your parents say?”
“It’s not their house—not their decision,” said David. He kissed Thelma’s neck, the chain of her necklace brushing against his lips. “You’ll do it, won’t you? I’m rubbish at organizing these things.” He slid his hand beneath the collar of her jacket, nudging it off her shoulder; she ran her fingers up David’s back, playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
He could be so obtuse. It was one thing for Thelma to host parties for their friends—a casual, glittering crowd that barely batted an eyelid at infidelity. She could even wrap her head around the idea of hosting a dinner for David’s brothers in London, where she could retreat to a respectable distance at the end of the night—but to spend the weekend with his family in the country? Without her husband?
“I’m sorry, darling, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. If the newspapers caught wind...”
David nudged Thelma off his lap. “The newspapers won’t print a damn thing if I don’t want them to,” he said.
Thelma pictured herself and the Duchess of York, trading icy pleasantries across the dining table. “I don’t know, I really don’t.”
“I see.” David straightened, the thin lines of his face drawn tight as he buttoned his jacket. “Fine—I’ll cancel it.”
The Woman Before Wallis Page 19
