by Renée Rosen
After everything she’d suffered through—telling herself and others that she’d endured the disgrace of divorce on behalf of women everywhere. Women everywhere—but not her own daughter. How could she have let things get this far? She’d stood up for women—nameless, faceless women—and turned around and sold her daughter off.
“Listen to me,” she said, taking Consuelo’s hands, “I love you more than anything in this world. I want you to be happy.”
Consuelo blinked, releasing a trickle of tears.
“If you feel that strongly,” said Alva, “if you really think you can’t go through with it, we’ll call off the wedding. But—”
Consuelo’s mouth had dropped open.
“But if we break this off, you cannot marry Winthrop. That would be the greatest mistake you could ever make, and I can’t sit back and let that happen. And,” she said, “you need to know that it won’t be easy on you. There will be gossip. There will be ridicule. You can be sure the press will run stories about it. It could make things much harder for you to marry well in the future. Are you prepared for that?”
Consuelo’s shoulders were shaking as she wept into her hands. “I’m so confused. I’m so scared, Mamma. I don’t know what to do.”
Alva pulled her into her arms and let her cry, tears soaking her shoulder. All she could think was, Dear God, forgive me for what I’ve done to this poor child!
“It’s not as though I’m not fond of Sunny,” said Consuelo, trying to compose herself. “I am fond of him, but I don’t actually love him.”
“Sometimes love is not enough. I was madly in love with your father,” she said, recalling when she and Willie met, when she’d first set eyes on him. “Love just wasn’t enough for us. At least with Sunny you’ll have a chance for happiness,” said Alva. “And children—you’ll be such a wonderful mother. You’d have a title, and your future and your children’s futures will be set for life. That’s why I’ve been pushing so hard for this.”
Consuelo dried her eyes and sniffled. “Sunny and I do get on well,” she said as if trying to talk herself into it.
“That’s a strong foundation,” said Alva. “Love can always come later.”
Consuelo let fresh tears roll down her cheeks. “Mamma, if you were me, what would you do?”
Alva paused. This wasn’t a simple question to answer. Alva was as different from her daughter as anyone could be. She thought about what she’d gone through to divorce Willie. The press had torn her apart. There were days she’d found them camped out on her front lawn, waiting to attack. There were days Alva couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t eat, couldn’t keep from crying. If her daughter left the groom—who happened to be a duke, no less—at the altar, Consuelo’s name and character would be dragged through the mud. Consuelo wasn’t as tough as Alva. She feared her daughter would never be able to survive that sort of criticism and scrutiny.
Alva drew a deep breath, cupped Consuelo’s face in her hands and said, “Honestly, if I were you, even though I’d have doubts, even though I’d be scared, if I were you, I would marry the duke.”
* * *
—
And she did. The next day, Consuelo Vanderbilt married His Grace, Charles Richard John Spencer-Churchill, the ninth Duke of Marlborough.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Caroline
NEWPORT AND NEW YORK, 1896
With her townhouse demolished to make way for the new Astoria Hotel and her future home still weeks away from completion, Caroline was cottaging in Newport. It was good to be away from the city, to take in the sea air, and after years of mourning, the more leisurely pace helped her ease back into the social scene.
One afternoon she accepted an invitation to the McVickars’ lawn party. Delighted to have her there, the hostess, Maud McVickar, sat with Caroline in the wicker chairs beneath a large umbrella overlooking a robust game of croquet. While the two made idle conversation, a croquet ball rolled their way. Maud stopped the ball with her foot, and as soon as she got up to return it, a handsome young man stepped in to take her place.
Removing his straw boater, he bowed gallantly and said, “Where oh where have you been all my life, Lina?”
Caroline’s eyes opened wide in shock. No one had called her Lina in ages.
Then he winked.
She was secretly tickled when he leaned forward, kissed her hand and helped himself to Mrs. McVickar’s chair without having been invited to do so. His name was Harry Lehr. He was twenty-seven, gorgeous to look at, charming and witty; a man who didn’t take himself or society too seriously. Even before Ward McAllister passed away, everyone sensed that he had fallen out of favor with Caroline, and a number of gentlemen had come forward, eager to take his place. Caroline had been unimpressed. But there was something about this Harry Lehr. Unlike the others, he was not a tad bit intimidated by the Grande Dame. He stayed at her side the rest of the party, showering her with attention. After mourning William and Helen, Caroline found Harry’s company as refreshing as Newport’s sea breeze.
The following week he paid a social call to her at her Beechwood cottage, and the two of them had tea and chocolate biscuits in the solarium. Thomas was lurking around, fussing with plants and straightening picture frames, keeping a fatherly watch on things. As she and Harry sat talking, and drinking their tea, Caroline wasn’t sure if she was more appalled or charmed when Harry shamelessly licked his fingers.
He caught her eyeing him and smiled. “It’s a crime to waste even a morsel of chocolate. Isn’t it? Go on, give it a try.”
Much to her astonishment, she did.
In the weeks and months to come, Harry continued to call on Caroline, both in Newport and back in New York. With each passing day, her stiff joints, her sore back and aching feet reminded Caroline of her own mortality. Time was precious, and with two daughters whose lives had been cut short, she felt she owed it to them, as well as to herself, to ease up and enjoy herself while she still could. She believed that Harry had come into her life for that very reason. And so, at the age of sixty-six, Caroline Astor discovered something new and novel: it was called fun.
Harry was the only one who could get away with saying things to her that no one had ever dared. He told her she was stiff and accused her of behaving like a snob, to which she laughed. When he said, “You have elevated rudeness to a fine art,” she giggled like a schoolgirl and playfully slapped his hand.
It was Harry Lehr who finally persuaded Caroline to attend the Metropolitan Opera House. Still bitter over the collapse of her beloved Academy of Music, she had never stepped foot inside the new opera house, despite having purchased a box years before. As was her usual style, she’d arrived late, during the second act of Tannhäuser. With Harry at her side, she was more carefree than she’d felt in ages. She’d had an immensely fine evening.
Harry Lehr had also escorted Caroline to the opening of the Astoria Hotel on the site of her former townhouse, next to the Waldorf. That night, while on Harry’s arm, she remembered looking across the room and seeing Thomas with not one, but two lovely ladies at his side: his daughters. Seeing those girls with Thomas made her think of William with Emily and Helen.
When they were preparing the hotel’s opening party, she had told Thomas she wanted him to attend. “And bring your daughters, too,” she’d said. “After all, this hotel was your idea to begin with.”
He had respectfully declined.
“I insist.”
“But I’m afraid neither my girls nor I would have the appropriate attire for such an affair,” he said.
Well, Caroline had remedied that. After much protesting on Thomas’s part, she paid for not only a fine tailored suit for him but two extraordinary gowns for his daughters embellished with gemstones and beading, along with a string of pearls for each. Thomas did look dashing, and she noticed several women wondering who this mysterious gentleman was. Caroline
had been most amused by that and couldn’t wait to tell Thomas that he’d made such a fine impression on society. She also realized that his daughters had never been introduced to society, had never been exposed to such an opulent atmosphere before. If they were at all nervous, no one would have known. They seemed graceful and just as poised as any other guests. It was all just further proof that there was more room inside polite society than she’d once thought.
* * *
—
One evening, while visiting Caroline in her new home, Harry sat in her parlor with a mischievous grin on his face. “Come,” he said, summoning her with his index finger. “We’re going out for dinner.”
Caroline looked at him, bewildered.
Thomas, who had been standing off to the side, spoke up. “I’m afraid Mrs. Astor does not engage in social activities on Sunday evenings.”
“Oh, come now, Lina,” said Harry, crossing his legs, bobbing his foot up and down. “It’s 1896. Stop acting like an old biddy.”
“Well”—she could feel Thomas’s eyes on her while she looked at Harry—“I suppose I could make an exception. But just this once.”
“Marvelous.” Harry clapped, springing to his feet. “Let’s go. My new carriage is right out front. Just wait till you see it. And please, don’t wear that silly veil. Let people see you in all your glory.”
The next thing she knew, she was standing out front before his carriage, or at least something that looked like the body of one. “What happened to your horses?” she asked, thinking they’d been stolen.
“This is a Schloemer Wagon. It doesn’t need horses. It’s motorized, Lina. Imagine that!”
“Motorized?” She was aghast.
“Word is that this machine right here is going to replace the horse.”
“Impossible. I don’t believe it. Not for a second.”
She was skeptical as he helped her inside, and after a series of cranks, the carriage let out an atrocious noise and started to move, on its own, as if some invisible force were pulling it forward. She was terrified. “Where are we going?” she asked, holding tightly to Harry’s arm.
“To Sherry’s. We’re going to dine. In the restaurant. Just like regular ordinary folks.”
Caroline was stunned. The only time she’d eaten at Sherry’s was at a ball or private affair. She’d seen people dine in public but had never done so herself. She wasn’t even sure how to go about doing it.
The maître d’ showed them to a fine table, elegantly appointed. Caroline felt everyone in the restaurant taking notice of her. Or perhaps they were looking at how very handsome Harry Lehr was. Either way, she supposed she was easily recognized, especially without her veil and with all her diamonds and oversize wig. Caroline was quite taken with the notion of a quaint table for two and a waiter who tended to their needs just as a footman would have done.
After their waiter presented her with a leather-bound menu, Caroline glanced inside and said, “Oh my. Did you see this? They have prices next to every item. How very odd.”
Except for the motorized wagon ride, the whole experience was unfamiliar but wholly enjoyable. Caroline loved everything and decided she would take to dining out more often. The next day, news of Caroline’s restaurant debut made nearly every paper: Mrs. Astor Visits a Public Dining Room. For once she was tickled by the press’s attention.
As her friendship with Harry continued, Thomas seemed to be more protective of Caroline, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was jealous. And while Thomas had become a loyal confidant, Harry was a most refreshing companion and always full of surprises.
* * *
—
The one drawback to Caroline’s friendship with Harry was that it did put her in frequent contact with Mamie Fish. He enjoyed Mamie’s sense of humor, and amazingly enough, the woman’s laugh didn’t give him a headache. When Caroline received an invitation to attend Mamie’s ball honoring Prince Del Drago of Corsica, she told Harry she wasn’t interested.
“I’ve never even heard of Prince Del Drago,” she said, but Harry had insisted Caroline attend, and when he set his lovely eyes on her and flashed that devilish smile, she could not say no.
So she went to Mamie’s ball, and since Harry was sociable with everyone, Caroline found herself engaged in conversation with Alva and her new husband, Oliver Belmont. Caroline had to admit that this second marriage seemed to agree with Alva. The hot-tempered redhead appeared to have mellowed, or perhaps it was Caroline who had become more genial.
Alva asked about Charlotte. “How is she getting on in London?”
“She’s delighted to be back in Europe,” said Caroline. Her voice had a queer ring to it, as she was unaccustomed to making small talk in general, let alone discussing her children—especially Charlotte, who had recently met that one man she truly could not live without. She and George Ogilvy Haig were to be married later that year.
Alva smiled. “I’m sure you must miss her dearly, as I miss my Consuelo.”
Of course, Caroline missed Charlotte, but she took comfort in knowing that her daughter had left New York with her head held high. And that was in great part due to Alva.
Meanwhile, Mamie was holding court, receiving her guests. The line moved along quickly and soon Caroline and Harry were behind a gentleman whom Mamie looked at and said, “Oh, how do you do? I had quite forgotten I’d invited you.” She laughed and added, “Well, do make yourself at home, and believe me, there’s no one here who wishes you were at home more than I.”
“Hasn’t she got a marvelous wit?” said Harry.
They were next, and when she shook Caroline’s hand, Mamie said, “We were taking bets on whether or not you’d show.”
“There’s still no telling how long I’ll stay,” said Caroline.
Mamie laughed and turned her attention to Harry, who took both her hands in his. “You look positively beautiful tonight,” he said.
Beautiful? Mamie was many things but beautiful was not one of them. Caroline felt a jealous stab to her heart. Heaven help her. Jealous of Mamie Fish! It was absurd. Besides, Harry Lehr was impossibly too young for her—and for Mamie, too. Caroline had heard the rumors about his having that portrait of a nude man in his bedroom, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t romantic. It was simply that Caroline had never had such fun ever before in her life. He made her feel young and free-spirited, lively again. She also suspected that it did something for Harry to be the only person who could bring such playfulness out of The Mrs. Astor.
Playfulness was one thing, but when it was time to meet the guest of honor, the mysterious Prince Del Drago, Caroline was not expecting to be introduced to a chimpanzee. A chimpanzee! Dressed in a red bow tie, a tiny suit with tails and a top hat. Caroline was speechless. Everyone was laughing and looking, waiting to see what the Grande Dame would do. Well, she would do nothing. Caroline stood there, horrified, and frankly terrified of the little beast who stared at her, cocking his head from side to side. When Caroline started to back away, the chimpanzee let out a high-pitched squeaking protest and threw his top hat across the drawing room.
Caroline yelped and nearly tripped over her gown trying to take cover. Her heart was racing. “I think perhaps I should leave,” she said to Harry.
“Oh, nonsense, Lina. I won’t hear of it. Come now, you’re safe with me. I shall protect you.”
But as the ball continued, Caroline watched the guests taking turns petting the furry prince and offering him sips of champagne. Mamie laughed the entire evening, especially when the monkey leaped up into the chandelier. He was swinging from the fixture, and Stuyvesant climbed up on the table, tiptoeing about the stemware and china settings, trying to get the little fellow down. The prince shrieked and retaliated by throwing crystals and lightbulbs all over the room. Guests were jumping and vaulting about, trying to catch them, as if they were prizes.
When a bulb landed in Caroline’s wig, she yelped for the second time that evening, perhaps the second time in her life. She nearly fell off her chair and was quite shaken, though no one seemed to notice. Everyone, including Harry, was too fixated on their game of catch with the chimp.
It was only Alva who came over to Caroline’s side. “Here,” she said, gently helping Caroline to her feet, “why don’t we go freshen up a bit.”
Caroline was only too grateful to escape the ruckus and allowed Alva to escort her to one of Mamie’s dressing rooms. Caroline could still hear the commotion, screams and laughter coming from the ballroom, when she sat down and looked in the mirror. She was mortified to see that a sprig of white hair had escaped from beneath her wig, and hadn’t even noticed the bulb still stuck in her hair until Alva began untangling it with her fingertips.
“I do declare that little chimp has got a strong pitching arm,” she laughed softly, gingerly tucking Caroline’s white locks back underneath her wig. “There,” she said, squeezing Caroline’s shoulder, both their faces framed in the mirror, “good as new.”
Caroline realized that it was simply impossible to go on hating this woman who had been so good to Emily and Charlotte. And now to her. She wanted to apologize for how she’d treated her in the past, but the words refused to come. The best she could do was reach up for Alva’s hand and offer a squeeze, thinking if only Alva had known all those years ago that it would have been her kindness, and not her money, her fancy houses or balls, that would have impressed The Mrs. Astor.
