The American Heiress (17 page)

‘Dear Mrs Van Der Leyden, what an unexpected pleasure. I have hardly seen a soul since we returned from Europe, we have been so busy with the preparations with the wedding. I hope you received your invitation. It is quite the wrong time of year to get married, as everyone is so busy with the season, but Cora and Wareham are so impatient, dear things, that they would not wait. I am sure that dear Isobel would not be as inconsiderate as my headstrong girl!’

Both women knew, of course, that Isobel Van Der Leyden’s matrimonial prospects looked increasingly remote with each passing year.

‘I must congratulate you, Mrs Cash. Tell me about the Duke, I am so ignorant of the English aristocracy. I don’t recall seeing him here.’ Mrs Van Der Leyden lowered her gaze.

‘Oh no, Wareham has never been to America. Cora and he had a notion to be married in the chapel at Lulworth, which is the Maltravers country seat, but I was determined that Wareham should see something of his bride’s country. Sometimes I believe that the English think we still live behind stockades.’

Mrs Van Der Leyden nodded gravely, not by a flicker did she betray her understanding of just how much the wedding of her daughter to a duke meant to Mrs Cash.

‘It is only fitting that Cora should be married from her family home.’

Mrs Cash smiled gratefully. If Mrs Van Der Leyden thought it was fitting then all was well.

‘But forgive me for all this wedding talk. How is dear Mr Van Der Leyden? Is he still bicycling in the park? Such youthful vigour. I would be quite alarmed if Winthrop took up anything so energetic.’

‘Cornelius has always been the first to try things. I believe we were the first house in the square to have electric light. Personally I see nothing wrong with the way things are, but the Van Der Leyden men are all for Progress. When Teddy returns from Paris next month I shall be quite outnumbered.’ Having introduced the real reason for her visit into the conversation, Mrs Van Der Leyden observed her hostess closely, but Mrs Cash did not seem perturbed.

‘You must be so happy that he is coming back. Cora, I know, will be delighted. And of course I owe your son so much.’ Mrs Cash gestured poignantly towards the veiled side of her face. ‘I hope he will be back in time for the wedding.’

‘Yes, his ship gets in on the fourteenth.’

‘The
Berengaria
? Why, that is the vessel that the Duke and his party are on. The Duke is bringing his mother, who is Duchess of Buckingham now. I am so looking forward to showing her New York.’

But Mrs Van Der Leyden had no interest in duchesses, her business with Mrs Cash was finished: she had warned the other woman of her son’s return. She pulled on her gloves and made to leave.

‘Do give my regards to Cora. I am sorry not to see her today, but I shall look forward to seeing her as a bride.’ And Mrs Van Der Leyden walked the length of the Aubusson, reassured that Mrs Cash, who surely had the most to lose, had not shown even a flicker of concern over the imminent arrival of Teddy.

As she walked down the wide marble steps, she saw Cora coming in with her maid, followed by a footman bestrewn with parcels. Even to Martha Van Der Leyden’s disapproving eye, the girl looked radiant. She was wearing a brown tailor-made costume of such severe cut that on another girl it would have looked quite forbidding, but on Cora with her conker-coloured hair and shiny eyes it was simply a frame. The older woman understood why Mrs Cash had not been concerned by Teddy’s arrival. For the first time in many years, Mrs Van Der Leyden, who had seen everything, was surprised: Cora Cash was clearly in love. That look was unmistakable. Mrs Van Der Leyden was so used to seeing it in unbecoming places that she was almost touched at the idea that a girl of such beauty and wealth might actually be marrying a Duke because she loved him.

Cora looked up and saw her.

‘Mrs Van Der Leyden, I am so glad to see you. Now I know I am really in New York. Everyone else tries so hard to be European, I hardly know where I am, but now I have seen you, I know exactly which country I’m in. How are Isobel and Teddy?’ Cora could not help but smile when she said Teddy’s name and for a moment Mrs Van Der Leyden felt her misgivings return.

‘They are both quite well and looking forward to seeing you married. Your mother has been telling me all about the wedding. It will be quite the spectacle.’

‘Oh, you know Mother, everything has to be the best. But did you say that Teddy would be coming to the wedding? I thought he was in Europe. I was planning to look him up on our wedding trip. Why has he come back so soon? I thought he was going to study in Paris.’

Mrs Van Der Leyden smiled faintly. ‘Who knows what makes young men change their plans? Perhaps he has lost his heart to a French marquise and has come back to ask for my blessing. You young people seem to find Europe so romantic.’

She was rewarded by seeing Cora flush and the wide smile falter.

‘When is Teddy coming back? I would so like to see him. Ivo and I are leaving directly after the wedding. I hope I don’t miss him as I really don’t know when I will be back.’ For a moment she looked a little forlorn as she felt the width of the Atlantic between Fifth Avenue and her destiny.

Mrs Van Der Leyden patted her on the arm. ‘I received Teddy’s letter this morning, I’m sure he will be here for your wedding.’ She saw no reason to mention that Teddy was travelling on the same boat as Cora’s fiancé. She would leave that to Mrs Cash. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’ Mrs Van Der Leyden pecked her on the cheek. She could feel the heat of Cora’s skin against hers. The girl was burning up. It was high time she was married.

In Cora’s bedroom, Bertha was unpacking one of the thirty trunks that had arrived yesterday from Maison Worth in Paris. After the engagement, Mrs Cash had not lingered in Lulworth even though Cora would have liked to stay longer. Mother and daughter had gone to Paris where they spent a month having fittings at Maison Worth and buying shoes, hats, gloves and jewels. Mrs Cash had been planning for this moment for years. A year ago she had had Worth take Cora’s measurements so that he could start creating her trousseau. When Cora had found out just how far her mother had been planning in advance, she asked her how she could have been so sure that she would marry within the year. ‘Because that had always been my intention,’ said Mrs Cash.

Bertha picked up a tissue-wrapped parcel and opened it carefully. It was a corset. As she held it out, Cora walked in carrying a magazine.

‘Bring that here, Bertha. Is that the one Mrs Redding writes about in
Vogue
? “The bridal corset is made of pink satin, embroidered with tiny white carnations and trimmed at the upper edge with a deep pointed border of Valenciennes lace. The clasps, the large hook, and the buckles on the attached stocking supporters are all made of solid gold studded with diamonds.” All correct except for the diamonds of course. Why would anyone put diamonds on their corset? I am embarrassed that anyone would think me so foolish.’

Bertha said nothing. It was not her place to point out that Cora’s corset even without the diamonds would pay her salary for the next twenty years. The clasps were fashioned from twenty-one-carat gold and the silk from the corset had been woven to order in Lyons. And this corset was only one of five in Cora’s trousseau. The lace alone on the numerous nightgowns, peignoirs, wrappers, bedjackets, and petticoats was probably worth more than diamonds, as all of it was handmade, some of it worn by the French queen who had had her head cut off.

And then there were the dresses, all ninety of them. Each dress packed in yards of tissue paper and suspended over a tape frame so that it would not be crushed. There were plain day dresses for writing letters in the morning, riding habits in dark blue and bottle green, visiting dresses with the widest of leg-of-mutton sleeves and passementerie fringing around the hem, strict tailor-mades for yachting with no ornament but braid, tea gowns frothing with lace and with such a forgiving silhouette that they could be worn without a corset; there were theatre dresses with high necklines and long sleeves, and opera dresses with lower necklines and short sleeves, dinner dresses with half high necklines and elbow-length sleeves, and ball dresses with full décolletage and trains; and of course the wedding dress itself which had so many pearls sewn on to its train that when it swept along the floor it made a faint crunching noise like fairies walking across gravel. Not to mention the furs: Mrs Cash had ordered a sable cloak for Cora modelled on one the Grand Duchess Sophia had worn in Paris. It was so heavy that it could really only be worn sitting down. Bertha remembered the damp chill of Lulworth and thought that Cora might be grateful for the cloak, and for all the other stoles and fur-trimmed dolmans, muffs and mantles that Mrs Cash had thought necessary for a duchess.

Mrs Cash had wanted to order Cora’s state robes as well, but when she wrote to the Double Duchess about this, Her Grace had replied that ‘robes were never bought, but inherited’. Mrs Cash, who suspected that robes inherited at Lulworth would be as musty and damp-smelling as everything else there, had tried to protest but Mrs Wyndham had taken her aside and told her that damp and mustiness were much prized among the aristocracy as they showed that the title was of an old creation. Only new titles had freshly made robes. Mrs Cash had allowed herself to be overruled but she still could not understand why the British liked things to be shabby. It had taken weeks before she could persuade Wareham to install a proper bathroom for Cora at Lulworth. He had seemed to think there was nothing wrong with a duchess having to wash herself in a copper hip bath in front of the fire. Bertha had heard the whole story as Mrs Cash had unburdened herself to Cora. Cora had laughed at her mother for her American passion for progress but underneath Bertha knew that her mistress was secretly relieved. Cora loved the romance of Lulworth, but Bertha had seen her shiver as she went down for dinner in a low-cut evening dress and her look when she had found ice on the inside of the mullioned window of her bedroom.

Here in Cora’s bedroom it was pleasantly warm. The Cash house had had the latest steam heating system installed when it was built. Even the servants’ bedrooms were heated. Bertha thought of the draughty attic she had slept in at Lulworth and wondered not for the first time whether her destiny really lay in England, but then she thought of Jim and that night in the stables at Sutton Veney. He had written to her once at Lulworth. It had not been much of a letter, but it was the first letter of a sentimental nature that Bertha had ever received and she carried it with her everywhere tucked round the black pearl.

Cora was reading aloud again. She was fascinated by all the stories about her wedding in the newspapers. In public it was very bad form to admit that you had read any of the scandal rags but in private Cora devoured them.

‘
Town Topics
has pages about the wedding. It says my departure for Europe broke hearts all over New York and that my marriage will deprive New York society of one of its brightest-stars. “What a pity that one of the greatest heiresses that we have ever produced should take her talents and her fortune abroad to the benefit of some dilapidated English castle, instead of bestowing her beauty and wealth on one of her fellow countrymen.
Town Topics
has heard that Newport last summer had fully expected Miss Cash to announce a more patriotic match. We can only assume that the ever ambitious Mrs Cash is responsible for her daughter’s change of direction. Mrs Cash has long sought to become the pre-eminent hostess of her day, and having a duchess for a daughter can only bring that day closer.” They couldn’t be more wrong, of course, Mother had nothing to do with my marriage. Why don’t people realise that I have a mind of my own?’

Again Bertha said nothing. Cora tossed the paper on the floor. Bertha was counting kid gloves, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, there should be fifty pairs. Cora’s gloves never lasted longer than an evening. Skin-tight and so thin that the fingernails were visible through the translucent leather, they took an age to get on and off and Cora would quiver with impatience as Bertha tried to roll them off without damaging them. Most evenings Cora would push her away and rip the gloves off with her teeth. Bertha was used to it but it always pained her, as used kid gloves of this quality fetched 25c a pair at the dress exchange where Bertha went to sell Cora’s cast-offs. Mrs Cash always demanded receipts for the dresses, but the gloves were beneath her notice. Bertha wondered whether there was a trade in kid gloves in London.

The door opened and Mrs Cash came in carrying a large blue leather box in both hands. Cora did not get up. Since the engagement, Bertha had noticed that Cora was far less in awe of her mother. But Mrs Cash did not appear to notice.

‘I am delighted you are back, Cora. I have something to show you.’

She sat down on the sofa next to Cora and touched the clasp of the blue leather box. It sprang open with a heavy click and from the other side of the room Bertha could see thousands of points of light dance across the ceiling as a ray of light hit the contents.