To Marry an English Lord

by gail maccoll

  * * *

  Nanny occupied an elevated position in the servants’ hierarchy, ruling over her own staff of nursery maids and subsidiary baby-nurses, ordering all the nursery meals, and deeply resenting maternal interference.

  * * *

  Starting so late, May failed to provide the backup younger son, but it was usual to try for at least two boys—”the heir and the spare,” as Consuelo Marlborough phrased it. Thus the title wouldn’t fall into the hands of some distant cousin in the Colonies or (heaven forbid) die out altogether. “You are a little brick!” said her mother-in-law when Consuelo gave birth to Lord Ivor (the spare). “American women seem to have boys more easily than we do!”

  Producing an heir made everyone happy. When the little Marquess of Bowmont was born in London, the Roxburghe tenants lit bonfires, rang bells and made merry all over the Borders of Scotland. More inhibited but no less sincere was the rejoicing on the part of parents and grandparents. When a son was born to Alberta Sturges, Mrs. George Montagu (later Countess of Sandwich), her mother wrote to her stepfather: “A stream of carriages has been here all day. All the Montagus came to lunch. Lady Agneta writing from here to the Queen, Princess Christian and the Queen of Greece. It is touching to see their joy. It is a very great event for them all. When we telephoned Agneta to notify her she wept aloud through the telephone saying: ‘Dear Berta how grateful we are for a boy, it is so like her!’”

  NANNY DEAREST

  Once the nursery was well populated, the pressure was off, yet the satisfaction of being a mother might be diminished by the English system of childrearing. America, with its emphasis on youth and its constant awareness of children as the hope of the future, made much of its offspring. Alva Vanderbilt’s elaborate involvement in her children’s education was not unusual. In contrast, Consuelo remarks wistfully about her sons that “what between the governess, the head nurse, and the groom with whom they rode their ponies, there seemed little time left for mother.” Her children were swept up into the English system. The nursery wing, in a separate corner of the house, was an independent establishment run by Nanny. (How different from her own bedroom at 660 Fifth Avenue, separated from her mother’s only by a spiral staircase.)

  Mary Curzon with the Hon. Cynthia Blanche (in her lap) and the Hon. Mary Irene. She had another daughter, the Hon. Alexandra Naldera, in 1904.

  * * *

  “My sister and I were brought up like European royalty.”

  CORNELIUS VANDERBILT IV, in Queen of the Gilded Age

  * * *

  Alva Vanderbilt’s idea of a ducal cradle was a gilded baroque specimen that she’d seen in an Italian palazzo; she had it copied for Consuelo’s offspring.

  Nanny ordered the nursery meals, bossed the nursery maid, and periodically delivered the children, on their best behavior, for parental inspection. “Children in my early days,” remembers George Cornwallis-West, Jennie Jerome’s second husband, “were looked upon partly as a nuisance and partly as a kind of animate toy, to be shown, if they were sufficiently attractive, to callers.” The young rarely accompanied their parents to London for the season, and never on country-house visits. They stayed at home with Nanny. Children were taught their letters and their numbers; more important, they would learn to ride (Sir William Gordon-Cumming’s children had their first full-size horses at age five) and shoot. The heir might be gradually introduced to the ways of the estate that would be his one day: the ninth Duke of Manchester had to earn his allowance by working for the estate mason, carpenter and stud-groom.

  Jennie and Winston, whom many considered spoiled by his mother’s American liberalism. Inset: Jennie with both sons (Jack is at left).

  Further training inculcated further values—sportsmanship, chivalry, self-control. Individuality was sacrificed to teamwork, intellectual curiosity to physical prowess. For boys, these processes frequently took place on the playing fields of Eton or Harrow, where they were sent as early as age six. Here they spent twenty hours a week at games like cricket and football, sparing scanty attention to the large doses of Latin and Greek that dominated the curriculum. (George Curzon, whose bad back exempted him from games, was one of the rare few who actually developed intellectual discipline.)

  * * *

  “To have a grandson heir to a dukedom is considered a greater distinction than to be President of the United States.”

  JUVENAL

  * * *

  SPARE THE ROD

  But American mothers didn’t necessarily want English children with English values. They didn’t want their daughters turning into those unfashionable, tongue-tied sticks whom they’d bested in the marriage stakes. They didn’t want their boys, for that matter, to be just like their husbands. They loved their children, and the remoteness—or worse—of the English upbringing seemed criminal. Mrs. Goelet, lunching with the architect Edwin Lutyens, was “shocked” by a discussion of spanking boys at school. Though Jennie Churchill has often been accused of neglecting Winston, she was, from the English point of view, a hugely indulgent mother. Daisy, Countess of Warwick, relates with some surprise how Jennie, “true to her American training. . . did not check Winston when he asked questions or argued with her.”

  Leonie Leslie’s first photographic effort produced a portrait of Jack Churchill’s posterior.

  Americans, in fact, were thought to spoil their children. Sir Michael Culme-Seymour, Alberta Sturges’ son-in-law, remembers the American Lady Hood visiting her son Alexander at school. She would swoop down on him, all warm hats and extra blankets and pressing concern about his health. When she left, the other boys would taunt him: “Oh, darling Alexander, oh, darling, darling . . .” Seymour Leslie writes how his mother (née Leonie Jerome) would greet him: “Why you Dear Thing! How perfectly lovely to see you back from school! I can’t wait to hear your news of it! Tell me all about it, sit on the sofa there and don’t leave anything out!” Leslie, to be fair, characterizes this as a “Jerome impulsive demonstration” and adds that his mother would instantly return to her correspondence.

  “I Baptize Thee Albert Edward”

  Having produced a child, one had to have him or her baptized with due pomp. Ostensibly religious occasions, baptisms also provided an opportunity to confirm some temporal ties. In the Anglican Church, children customarily have at least three godparents, who promise to take responsibility for their spiritual upbringing. In effect, they act as auxiliary parents, so marshaling an impressive group at the baptismal font is wholly desirable.

  In England, of course, nothing was more desirable than having royalty in that lineup. And though it was an honor one would never dare request, His Royal Highness (later His Majesty) quite enjoyed being a godparent and tendered this signal favor to a number of Anglo-American offspring.

  Viscount Mandeville, son of Helena Zimmerman and the 9th Duke of Manchester.

  This was often a peak experience for the American parents of the bride: to think of being so intimately linked with royalty! For the heiresses, their husbands, their parents both English and American, the baptism might be their finest hour. The American wife’s money and charm had, more often than not, secured this mark of royal esteem; her American health and vitality had produced the much wanted baby boy. The heiress might never be more popular or happier than at that very moment when her duty was done. In fact, the only fly in the ointment was that, if Edward was a godfather, one had to name the child after him, which meant (until 1901, when he dropped it) calling the child Albert. The 10th Duke of Marlborough went through life as “Bert.”

  ROYAL GODCHILDREN

  Albert Edward Stanley Paget, b. 1879 to Minnie Stevens and Capt. Arthur Paget; godson of Edward VII.

  Albert Edward Naylor-Leyland, b. 1890 to Jeannie Chamberlain and Capt. Herbert Naylor-Leyland; godson of Edward VII.

  George Vyvyan Naylor-Leyland, b. 1892 to same parents; godson of George V.

  Albert Edward William John Spencer-Churchill, 10th Duke of Marlborough, b. 1897 to Consuelo Vanderbilt and 9
th Duke of Marlborough; godson of Edward VII.

  Alexander George Francis Drogo Montagu. 10th Duke of Manchester, b. 1902 to Helena Zimmerman and 9th Duke of Manhester; godson of Queen Alexandra.

  Lord Edward Eugene Fernando Montagu, b. 1906 10 same parents; godson of Edward VII.

  The Chapel Royal in St. James’s Palace, venue of truly privileged christenings.

  Lady Alexandra Naldera Curzon, b. 1904 to Mary Leiter and 1st Lord Curzon; god-daughter of Queen Alexandra.

  Alexander Victor Edward Paulet Montagu, b. 1906 to Alberta Sturges and George Montagu (later 9th Earl of Sandwich); godson of Queen Alexandra.

  William Edward Harcourt, 2nd Viscount Harcourt, b. 1908 to Mary Ethel Burns and 1st Viscount Harcourt; godson of Edward VII.

  Edward John Sutton Ward, b. 1909 to Jean Reid and Hon. John Ward; godson of Edward VII.

  George Victor Robert John Innes-Ker, 9th Duke of Roxburghe, b. 1913 to May Goelet and 8th Duke of Roxburghe; godson of George V and Queen Mary.

  Some mothers, like the widowed Belle Wilson Herbert, took such exception to the English childrearing practices that they had their children raised in the States. Belle’s twin boys were much admired at Newport for their looks and their polished “English” manners. Another pair of twins, the Burke-Roche boys, were also brought up in the States, at the wish of their grandfather, Frank Work. Indeed, their American education was a term of his will: their mother, Frances Burke-Roche, would inherit none of Work’s money if the children even visited England.

  * * *

  It was the fashion for London matrons to bring a child along for the afternoon drive, but only one—and only if he or she was extremely presentable.

  * * *

  CHTELAINE, OR WHERE THE MONEY WENT

  We had an Indian tent set up under the cedars on the lawn where I used to sit with our guests. We always brought out the Times and the Morning Post and a book or two, but the papers were soon discarded for conversation. . . .Sometimes we played tennis or rowed on the lake, and in the afternoon the household played cricket on the lawn. The tea table was set up under the trees. It was a lovely sight, with masses of luscious apricots and peaches to adorn it. There were also pyramids of strawberries and raspberries; bowls brimful of Devonshire cream; pitchers of iced coffee; scones to be eaten with various jams, and cakes with sugared icing.” And, because the writer is Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, the table was set with porcelain and silver and heavy monogrammed damask. White-wigged footmen in knee breeches stood at a discreet distance, waiting for a command, and the golden stone of Blenheim Palace loomed like a fantastic overscaled backdrop. Blenheim Palace, seven acres under one roof, the only non-royal palace in England, seat of the dukes of Marlborough. Whose châtelaine, in 1896, was a nineteen-year-old American heiress.

  The Marlborough coat of arms, various parts of which appeared on household objects from the silver to the horse blankets in the stable.

  Consuelo, having married a man who had come into his title, was spared the strain (to be blunt) of waiting for a papa-in-law to die. For the girl who wed the heir to a peerage, rather than a peer, marriage offered a curiously hybrid state. She was called Lady Acheson, for example, but was not a peeress since the title she bore was a courtesy title on loan, as it were, from her father-in-law’s selection of titles. If her husband was in Parliament, he was in the House of Commons (to which he had to be elected, not always a simple matter). And though she might go to the family’s seat in the country, it was only as a guest.

  Blenheim’s west front, with the two levels of water terraces installed under Sunny’s discerning eye.

  But eventually Papa-in-law died. And suddenly the world opened up for the heiress. She was no longer the understudy, learning the role by observation; now she was the principal! It wasn’t just the title, or remembering to sign oneself, for example, “Consuelo Manchester” instead of “Consuelo Mandeville.” Moving up in rank, the heiress got to see a whole new group of faces at the dinner table. She would get her hands on the coronation robes; she would get her hands on the family jewels. And the keys of the house, finally, would be hers.

  * * *

  “There are uses for American heiresses and their money after all.” Lord “M” to Lord and Lady “G,” on approaching Blenheim Palace through its renowned park, in Consuelo Vanderbilt Balsan’s The Glitter and the Gold

  * * *

  WHO’S THE BOSS?

  Not that taking possession was always easy. Even if the heiress married a man in possession of his title, somebody had already been keeping house for him. Somebody (a sister, an aunt) had been hostess for his parties, had given the servants their orders. And that somebody might not like being displaced. Consuelo Marlborough recalled a tussle she had with her husband’s aunt, Lady Sarah Wilson, who had acted as Sunny’s hostess during his bachelorhood. At one of the first dinner parties given by the young couple, Lady Sarah, as had been her custom, gave the other ladies at the table the signal to rise and leave the gentlemen to their port. Consuelo’s neighbor, Lord Chesterfield, exclaimed, “Never have I seen anything so rude; don’t move!” But Consuelo gently put Lady Sarah in her place, by asking if she were ill—“There surely was no other excuse for your hasty exit.” After that genteel but public rebuke, Consuelo had no more trouble from Lady Sarah.

  Left: Marriage to a duke did give Consuelo a measure of self-possession.

  Right: Lady Sarah Wilson, Sunny’s aunt and Consuelo’s nemesis, was bested with a few soft words.

  Along with establishing social dominance, a young peeress had to establish her command over the servants, over the atmosphere—even, in a way, over the past and generations of predecessors. In Edith Wharton’s The Buccaneers, the young Duchess of Tintagel has a daunting mother-in-law who quietly but deeply resents her relegation to dowager status. And “she had the awful gift of omnipresence, of exercising her influence from a distance; so that while the old family friends and visitors at Longlands said: ‘It’s wonderful, how tactful Blanche is—how she keeps out of the young people’s way,’ every member of the house-hold, from its master to the last boots and scullion and gardener’s boy, knew that her Grace’s eye was on them all, and the machinery of the tremendous establishment still moving in obedience to the pace and pattern she had set.”

  But what if the old pace and pattern were distasteful or, more likely, simply too slow for thef American châtelaine? What if she wanted her dinners served in an hour instead of in two? What if she wanted to have luncheon in the Sèvres Room when only she and her husband were at home? What if she wanted to ride before breakfast? “Her Ladyship”—meaning her mother-in-law—“always rode in the afternoon” might well be the answer. And one would have to stare down the relevant servant and say, “Just so. But I will ride in the morning.”

  The cost of Sunny’s costume for the Devonshire House ball appalled even Worth, but the Duke knew exactly what he wanted and insisted on it—to the last stitch of embroidery. As a poor bachelor, he could never have afforded it.

  Some of the struggles for the upper hand were fueled by inertia or the English habit of adherence to routine. The Dowager Duchess of Tintagel, in The Buccaneers, is deeply disturbed by her daughter-in-law’s habit of “asking the reason of things that have nothing to do with reasons—such as why the housekeeper doesn’t take her meals with the upper servants but only comes in for dessert. What would happen next, as I said to her, in a house where the housekeeper did take her meals with the upper servants?”

  * * *

  “They have their pride, their rules of precedence, their code; they are fixed, immovable, unconcerned about other careers, undisturbed by hazy ambitions, and insistent upon their privileges, as are all other Englishmen. . . .To the average American these distinctions may be merely laughable. Let him come to England and keep house for a year and he will find them adamant.”

  PRICE COLLIER, on English servants

  * * *

  That was just the kind of practice so d
eeply mystifying to Americans and so deeply ingrained in the English. And it was one manifestation of a fact that the heiress, if she was going to be a successful châtelaine, must grasp: English servants had a culture all their own. As a young bride running her London house, an American heiress had skirmished with the phenomenon of the English servant. But the staff assembled to manage a town house was only an adumbration of the large, loyal staff required in a noble family’s country seat.

  THROUGH GREEN BAIZE DOORS

  The great country houses, indeed any of the prosperous houses in England, were split in two. The front of the house, all high ceilings and lustrous silver, a profusion of flowers and a well-bred hush, brocade and Turkey carpets, ironed newspapers, and out the window a splendid view, was occupied by the master and his family. They were like the actors on a stage. At the ends of corridors, in a corner by the dining room, up near the fifth-best bedroom, were swing doors covered with green baize or felt and studded with upholstery nails. These were the doors to the backstage area, the servants’ quarters.