American Duchess

by Karen Harper

  My legs gave way. My defiance fled. I sat right down on the floor amid the billowing poof of my skirts. My youth and my life were over. Could I even believe Mama’s life was truly endangered—and that Win’s could be? If I became Duchess of Marlborough, a stranger to myself, whatever would become of me?

  “Tell her I understand,” I told Miss Harper.

  “Oh, and she says your father has agreed too, and will be proud to give you away to the duke, should His Grace ask for your hand.”

  “And the rest of me,” I murmured with a sigh as I bowed my head and tears ran down my flushed face and spattered my satin skirt. “Please, tell her to keep calm and rest well. Tell her to get better soon, so we can plan for the duke’s arrival.”

  She stepped closer and bent over to squeeze my shoulder. “I will tell her. And I will send Brooks in to help you undress so you, too, can get some rest. There is a lot of life coming, Consuelo, and I am sure it will be grand. It will be what you make of it.”

  I nodded and punched both fists into the pillow my skirts had made. At least, did not this all mean that I was soon going to see my father?

  But I must write Win that I would not see him again. And I made another momentous decision that night. I would never call Alva Vanderbilt Mama again. That was a word of trust, love, and affection. From now on, to me, she would bear only the biological name of Mother.

  Chapter Six

  You would think the duke’s arrival in New York today is the second coming of the Lord, the way they are looking forward to it,” Mother said to me over the breakfast table as she skimmed the day-old New York papers she had delivered to Newport. She didn’t look upset at that but rather smug. “They even printed the time he is expected on the Cunard steamer Campania. My, but these journalists are stirring everyone up.”

  I twisted my linen napkin in my lap. “I hope the Newporters will be calm and quiet about it when he arrives later today.”

  “I would not bet on it,” she said, trying to hide a little smile.

  I had been aware that someone close to us was leaking news of Marlborough’s coming visit to the States, and especially what galas awaited him here in Newport. Mother had remarked on it too, but had not seemed a bit put out with what I saw as an invasion of the duke’s and our family’s privacy. Granted, I should have been over that idea by now. Like the name Astor and the old Knickerbocker names like Roosevelt, the mere mention of Vanderbilt attracted publicity and rumors like flies.

  Ah, but that little smile and the avid way Mother skimmed the papers . . . For the first time it crossed my mind that some of the details were known by such a few—not even me usually, so could it be . . .

  That thought chilled me. I put my spoonful of coddled egg back in its cup. Suddenly, I was not hungry anymore. And here I had been making an effort to be at least polite, however distraught I still was over what I was coming to believe was Alva Vanderbilt’s counterfeit heart attack. It seemed, as she snatched up another paper, this one local, that she was even proud of the wording, let alone the import of the articles laying out the duke’s schedule. But I had not the strength to accuse her or argue again.

  “It says here,” she interrupted my thoughts, “that the duke is bringing his cousin with him and—”

  “That Winston Churchill they all talk about?”

  “No, my dear. Do not interrupt. Another Churchill, Ivor.”

  “Ivor,” I whispered. “Winston and Ivor. Such unique names, and the duke’s is merely a run-of-the-mill Charles.”

  She glared at me but went on, “When they disembark, the Herald says, they will be met by numerous members of the press, many of whom will follow the duke to Newport where he will be visiting at the Vanderbilt estate of Marble House.”

  “I am sorry if he has a raucous greeting. He already thinks most Americans carry on like crude cowboys or a band of whooping Indians. I do hope whoever is giving the New York press all this information will not live to regret it when it lowers the duke’s esteem of America even more or, heaven forbid, frightens him away.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, crumpling that newspaper and snatching up the last one. “It is reported that he and Ivor are supposed to go to the Waldorf to refresh themselves, then catch the five P.M. train—a parlor car has been reserved—for here. Well, enough of this, as we have our own planning to do. You are still looking peaked. You must eat, Consuelo.”

  “It seems I must do lots of things I do not wish to,” I said, keeping my voice in check, though I still threw my napkin on the table.

  “I will see to all the details here,” she called after me as I murmured “excuse me, please,” and headed for the door. “But you just be certain you are ready for his arrival. We will be his shelter here from the publicity and fervor.”

  I could not even bear to respond or look back at her as I walked past the breakfast buffet and out the door. How I wished I could just keep going.

  UNFORTUNATELY FOR ME and for the duke—again, I was constantly reminded I was to call him Sunny—Newport, too, was soon in the throes of rapture over his visit. I swear, someone had been watching our house when he and Ivor arrived in their stiff summer white flannel suits and bowler hats late that Saturday, August 23, because a crowd had gathered outside the ornate iron gate.

  I concentrated on introductions to Ivor. He was about the duke’s age but with a much more open—and sunny—demeanor. My reunion with Sunny consisted of him holding my hands in his while he skimmed my face and person, then turned away to concentrate on talking to Mother. The five of us—her dear friend Oliver Belmont joined us—dined late that evening in our formal dining room that could almost have matched Blenheim in ornate grandeur, except Mother had been obsessed with copying French Versailles.

  The next day, the social whirl began. After our family—my brothers included—attended Trinity Church, Mother held an afternoon open house for Newport society to meet the duke, and we were swarmed. “Have you met the duke?” I heard over and over in the crowd as people were presented to him across the room. Thank heavens, Mama—I mean Mother—did not make me stand at his side. I had heard her say to Mr. Belmont “not until the engagement could be announced.” The whole thing made me feel not only dizzy but nauseous.

  “Oh,” a man whispered behind me, “is he the one over there who looks young—almost frail?”

  “Yes, the pale, quiet one,” a woman said. “Of course, in the eyes of most of our countrymen and women he is six feet tall and dashing as a fairy-tale prince.”

  I realized I knew that woman, Mother’s new acquaintance Edith Wharton, who seemed to be on the fringe of her friends.

  “Yes, there,” Mrs. Wharton said, pointing. “The one who turns his head to look at all the pretty girls. But isn’t he supposed to be promised to Consuelo, or at least the other way around? Oh, Consuelo, my dear,” she said, beginning a blush as she recognized me. “We did not see you there. My, you look lovely this evening. And how tall you have grown. I mean I only see you in a carriage with your mother and the duke lately along Bellevue. I am sure you are so excited, absolutely on pins and needles.”

  I could hardly argue with her astute observations. And so the social swirl went on and on.

  ON MONDAY, THE duke and Ivor played tennis at the Newport Casino courts, and a party was given for him at the so-called Gold Club where three hundred attended, but, thankfully, not me. On Tuesday nearly five thousand people crowded the Casino hoping to see him play, but he did not return until Wednesday, so he outfoxed them there.

  He spent little time with me alone, though I had no doubt Mother would have permitted that, even promoted it. I was so grateful he was kept busy elsewhere on his so-called East Coast tour. Was he giving himself time to get used to the idea that everyone thought he was here to propose marriage to me? I could not imagine he was kind enough to give me time, or to find just the perfect romantic moment. He seemed not to have a romantic bone in his trim body, but I kept myself from gazing again at the American Beauty rose Win had g
iven me, which I had pressed in my Bible. Or was the duke playing a cat-and-mouse game with Mama to up his bargaining power? If so, I wondered if he realized he was not the cat, but the mouse.

  EVEN I, WHO was used to my mother’s lofty level of entertaining, was awed by the fabulous decorations and display for the ball honoring the Duke of Marlborough at Marble House. She had so much to oversee that she let Papa help her in the preparations, though he had to promise to leave before the festivities began. Before he disappeared again, I had an opportunity to stroll the grounds with him.

  “My dearest, how are you holding up? Sorry about Win, but think of all that lies ahead for you,” he said in his usual effort to buck me up.

  “What lies ahead is why you cannot console me.”

  “I daresay you think I should have stood up to your mother for you and Win, but the best-laid plans do not work out sometimes. I know you will do well as a duchess, my darling, use well that position and sphere of influence, so to speak.”

  “Some of his family studies me as if I am a brood mare.”

  “But I am sure you would like children. You would be an excellent mother.”

  “Since I have seen what not to do, you mean?”

  Out on the back lawn where workmen were still stringing hundreds of lanterns, he took my shoulders to turn me to him. “Please, my girl, do not let this—or her—make you bitter. Look for the good as you always have. You have at least seen how to be strong from your mother,” he added with a quick glance around. “Not a bit good for me to be here when everyone arrives, and you need to prepare. Consuelo, listen to me. Your Mama said you are wearing your grandmother Phoebe’s gown tonight, one from a ball in Mobile before the war.”

  “Yes. I agreed. It means something to her.”

  “You know she lost her mother quite young and tried to bolster the family in their loss, tried to keep things together when their business collapsed and her father . . . well, fell apart. That is partly the reason she is the way she is, strong and determined.”

  “Good traits, I guess. In that regard I shall try to emulate her, but not with browbeating my children or selling one off for a title or—”

  “Shhh. Here she comes. I had best be going. Did you hear the duke is coming to the yacht next week for luncheon with me? Just leaving, Alva,” he said as Mama approached. “Things look as if . . . well, as if they have the special Vanderbilt touch,” he added. He pecked a kiss on my cheek and hurried off.

  THE HOUSE AND grounds did look amazing, as I stood there in my grandmother’s gown of white satin and tulle with its full skirts. The papers had declared this fancy dress ball the highlight of the Newport season. Every single person who received an invitation had accepted. Crowds stood at the gate to see who arrived and had their invitations carefully checked. Once inside, guests were served by a vast parade of servants all dressed in the ornate style of the French king Louis XIV. Mother had also imported seven French chefs to add to the two who usually commanded the huge kitchen.

  Three orchestras, two inside and one on the back lawn, played, not to mention the Hungarian band that picked up the dance tempo from time to time. Arrayed in white satin with a court-length train and dripping Vanderbilt diamonds, Mother greeted guests as they came in while the duke planted himself with Ivor where she had suggested—under my portrait painted in Paris now hanging in the Gold Ballroom. I supposed there was some symbolism there, but I was simply wishing Win would materialize among the crowd and whisk me away.

  Fragrant flowers were everywhere, and water hyacinths filled hanging glass globes. The tables both indoors and out displayed artfully arranged orchids, ferns, and pink hollyhocks tied with pink ribbons. And a typical Alva amazing touch: scores of tiny, real hummingbirds buzzed among the flowers like iridescent jewels.

  As was tradition with Newport balls, we began late because of the heat. Supper was served at midnight and breakfast was coming at three A.M. before people took their leave. And the coup de grâce of the night were the favors Mother had purchased in Paris and were meant to awe as well as please: tiny bagpipes that really worked, silk sashes, engraved lanterns, scrolled and scripted watch cases, fancy fans and fobs. I knew Mother had spent nearly five thousand dollars on those “trifling gifts” and was both amused and appalled to see how some guests traded for what they wanted and how some tried to make off with more than one hidden under a tailcoat or even a skirt.

  As the festivities wound down, finally, the duke appeared at my side. “A grand evening. Interesting people-watching. Are you feeling quite well, Consuelo?”

  “It has been a long evening.”

  “If you were a hostess in England, the outlay might not be so grand, but the planning, the balancing of people, the customs—all that—would be demanding, even daunting, I suppose.”

  “Different customs and people—a new country and life.”

  “Could you and would you do it?”

  Was this his idea of a proposal? With people all about still and servants clearing the tables? The music had stopped. He had asked me to dance but once, and I had turned down other offers, which were few, since everyone probably thought I was permanently spoken for.

  “As you can imagine, it would depend on who is asking. And from what country. I do favor France, but I am American, through and through.”

  His eyes widened at that careful rebuff. His nostrils flared, but he only studied me longer, closer. “Then we shall see,” he said and lifted my gloved hand to bring it to his mustached mouth. He nodded as if in a half bow, turned on his heel, and left me.

  Mother appeared as if from behind a potted palm. “Has he gone up for the night?” she asked me. “Whatever did he say?”

  May the Lord forgive me, but on this night of nights for her, I was glad he had not said something romantic or promising or definite.

  “He said naught of a proposal of marriage but he did say ‘We shall see.’ He and I are in agreement there, at least. We shall see.”

  Tonight, I thought, as I excused myself and walked into the house, I had managed a little victory, besting a Marlborough duke and a Vanderbilt general.

  Chapter Seven

  No proposal from the duke. Nothing. I felt as if a big clock were ticking in my head, louder, louder. I knew Mother was panicked. Could it be I would escape this fate?

  The day was coming closer when he and Ivor would continue their East Coast tour. Other events came and went: Oliver Belmont’s so-called Bachelor Ball, which simply meant he received guests alone, for he was long divorced from his wife. Since Mr. Belmont was mad for horse racing, the favors at this event honoring the duke were riding whips.

  “I’d like to use one on the duke to make him cross the finish line,” I overheard my mother tell Mr. Belmont.

  All of Newport society decamped to New York City for the America’s Cup yachting races. The duke spent some time with us there on the Astor yacht Nourmahal. We even sat alone on deck for a while. Nothing. Tick tock.

  Back to Newport on Sunday, September 18. Daily drives down Bellevue Avenue together or sometimes with Mother. Talk of Blenheim. No proposal, tick tock.

  Conversation became awkward. I felt the duke was watching me like the proverbial hawk. For what? A declaration of love or loyalty from me? He did remark one day, “Your brothers are fine lads. Boy children seem to run in your family, an admirable trait.”

  Did I have no admirable traits? He was leaving on the morrow. Mother was distraught but hiding it. It was whispered everywhere, bandied about in the newspapers on two continents, that the duke was visiting Newport to propose marriage, to make Consuelo Vanderbilt the American duchess of Marlborough. If not, what joy for me. What shame for Mother.

  “Mrs. Vanderbilt,” he said after dinner the last night he would be staying with us, “would you mind if I took Consuelo off for a walk and a chat. Just to the Gothic Room, not far.”

  Mother managed a calm, almost sweet face. “Of course. Ivor and I will do just fine here. He has been telling me that anot
her cousin of yours, Winston Churchill, is your heir unless you have heirs of your own. Consuelo and I should like to meet him. Is he married?”

  “Looking,” Sunny said. “Always looking at every opportunity is our Winston.”

  He gestured me toward the door and out we went. You might know, instead of outside on this starlit night, he’d picked the Gothic Room. That chamber had always frightened me with its medieval miniatures and collection of crucifixes. At least it did have a murmuring fountain, though that was decorated with the three stone masks of Greek tragedy. If I had not been so nervous—Was what he had to say farewell or forever?—I would have said the setting was perfect.

  We sat on a needlepoint settee. He took my hand in his. His was cold but so was mine, and shaking.

  “Consuelo, my dear, we are very different people from different realms, but I believe you will make a fine duchess for Blenheim and for me. You are beautiful and accomplished. I would like to do you the honor of asking you to be my wife. I will try to make you happy, and I am sure you will endeavor to do the same.”

  There it was. The clock in my head stopped ticking. Mother would be ecstatic. The newspapers would have copy for weeks. I would leave my family and home and be an American duchess.

  “Yes. Yes, I would be honored” was all I could manage.

  He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. The deal was done.

  BUT ACTUALLY THE deal was not done until the duke’s lawyer came from England to negotiate with my father’s lawyer about my marriage settlement. Now I really felt I was on the auction block. I had to wheedle information about the negotiations from Mr. Belmont because Mother would not discuss it.

  The duke’s settlement was $2.5 million in massive shares of stock in the railway company and annual payments of around one hundred thousand dollars. It was his for life, even if we did not stay married. Papa also settled a huge sum on me, independent of what went to the duke. All of it made me feel absolutely ill.