“For years I’ve devoted myself to helping him achieve his life’s ambitions,” Kate explained. “I can’t bring myself to abandon him, or his noble cause, not when he is closer than he has ever been to fulfilling his destiny.”
“When a young woman marries,” Mrs. Douglas said carefully, “her husband should come first in her life, not second to her father.”
“I know that,” Kate replied miserably. “And yet, these are unusual circumstances. My father should be president—not for his own self-aggrandizement, but for the good of the country.”
“I share your opinion.”
“Senator Sprague reveres my father,” Kate added. “I sincerely believe there is no reason why I cannot serve my husband’s interests as well as my father’s. Senator Sprague might agree that I should continue in my present role, for the good of all.”
“He might,” Mrs. Douglas admitted, with a little shrug and a wistful smile. “Your marriage might even help your father gain the White House, if Senator Sprague is as generous and devoted to your father as it seems. You can but ask him, and base your decision upon his reply.”
Suddenly Kate felt inordinately happy. “I shall do exactly that,” she vowed, and she thanked Mrs. Douglas profusely for her motherly advice. She knew what to do and say. The rest depended upon William.
A week after his third proposal, William called for Kate and they went riding together along the Potomac, and when they reached the secluded stand of willows, they dismounted and walked together in the shade, leading their horses. There Kate told him frankly that she would marry him, if he agreed that she need not relinquish the role she played in her father’s life.
William frowned, dubious. “I had thought when I married to be master of my own household.”
“My father will not command you,” Kate assured him, reaching for his hand. “That is not why I ask this of you. You must see how I cannot abandon my duty to my father. He needs me.” When William appeared unmoved, she quickly added, “If you prefer, we could have a long engagement. Perhaps we could marry in December after the presidential election.”
“That’s almost two years away.”
She attempted a teasing smile. “Do you think you’ll change your mind between now and then?”
“No, but I fear you might.”
“I will not,” Kate told him emphatically. “However, if you cannot abide my condition, I understand, and if you need more time to consider—”
“No.” Suddenly he took her in his arms, his voice a rough, warm caress close to her ear. “If that’s what I must do to have you, then that’s how it will be.”
Breathless, she tried to thank him, to tell him of her joy and gratitude, but his lips were upon hers, stealing the words from her mouth.
Afterward, they rode back to the Chase residence, happy and contented, and together they told Father that the matter was decided. With tears in his eyes, Father embraced Kate, and shook William’s hand vigorously, and declared that it was his most ardent wish that they make each other very happy.
“God bear me witness that it will be the object of my life to see that Kate receives no detriment in my hands,” William vowed solemnly. “If a life of devotion to her, and to yourself, can make me worthy of it all, I shall deem it well spent.”
Father smiled beneficently, clearly moved, and Kate welled up with joy to see them together, the two men she loved so dearly. She had never before felt so happy, so blessed, so certain of her future contentment.
William departed soon thereafter, parting from her with a discreet kiss at the door. Still glowing with delight, Kate hurried off to fetch pen and paper so that she could keep her promise to Nettie that no one else would learn of her engagement before her dear sister.
In the days that followed, Father, Kate, and William shared the happy news with their family and closest friends. While all congratulated the couple, many of Kate’s friends and acquaintances expressed surprise, if not outright shock. Worse yet, as Kate had expected, the friend whom she most dreaded to tell of her engagement proved to be the least happy to learn of it.
She had seen less of John Hay that spring as she had seen more of William, and John had noticed the difference, and had made halfhearted jokes about her neglect. She had hoped the news would not come as a complete surprise to him, but as she spoke, his expression became so thunderstruck and dejected that her announcement trailed off into silence.
“I hope you will be very happy together,” John said stiffly, guessing the rest. “Sprague is a very fortunate man. I suspect he has no idea how fortunate.”
“That is very kind of you to say.”
“Not at all.” He sounded almost angry. “Have you set a date yet?”
“No.” She managed a light laugh. “Father and I would prefer a long engagement. William would not.”
“I don’t blame him. Sprague would be mad to give you any time at all to change your mind.” Abruptly John rose. “Thank you for the honor of including me in the close circle of acquaintances to hear the news from you directly.”
“Of course.” She remained seated, studying him. “Are you leaving already?”
“Is there reason for me to stay?”
“I should say so,” said Kate tearfully. “You are still my very good friend, John, and I think I’m going to need friends in the years to come.”
In a moment he was by her side, holding her hands in his own as she bent her head to hide her tears. “Kate,” he said, astonished. “Are you quite all right? Why are you so unhappy?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry I was a brute. Please don’t weep on account of my careless cruelty.”
“I’m not weeping, and you weren’t a brute.” She took a deep breath. “I’m all right. Please don’t mention this to my father.”
John snorted. “Of course not, but Kate—you seem profoundly unhappy.”
She shook her head and tried to smile. “I’m merely overwrought. Making this decision, sharing the news, seeing the shock and worry on my loved ones’ faces—”
“Not shock and worry, surely,” said John. “Surprise, perhaps—”
“Perhaps. But I can’t help suspecting that people believe I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Well,” John said carefully, “if you think you have, it’s not too late. You’ve been engaged only a handful of days.”
“I can’t break off the engagement now, nor do I wish to,” said Kate. “I love William. I’m just . . . anxious. I’m sure all brides feel this way, don’t you suppose?”
John looked skeptical. “I know very little about the temperament of brides, but I do think you should insist upon a long engagement.”
Kate agreed. She had seen so much of William lately that she was beginning to yearn for solitude, and that too contributed to her unusual bouts of nervous strain. So it was with mixed feelings that Kate bade farewell to William when the special session of the Senate ended and he returned to Rhode Island to look after his business. “I wish you were coming with me,” he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I wish I were too, but I have obligations here.” She gave him a teasing smile. “And you know we can’t travel together unchaperoned.”
“Of course not,” he said, feigning alarm. “Who knows what sort of mischief we would get into?”
“I think you know, and that’s precisely why a chaperone is required.”
“But at the end of the summer, you’re coming to Rhode Island to visit. If I have to do without you any longer than that I’ll go mad.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” she promised. “Nettie and Father too.”
“Are we never to be alone?”
“On our wedding night.”
“Then let us be married tomorrow.”
“You know that isn’t possible,” she scolded teasi
ngly. “I must have a new gown, and flowers, and I must plan the party—”
“You shall have everything you want. I swear it. Your wedding day must be as perfect as you desire. Fulfill your every wish. Spare no expense.”
“You know I can’t do that,” said Kate, as startled by his vehemence as she was touched by his generosity. “I must be frugal. The bills will go to my father.”
“Why should they, when I can easily pay them?”
“Darling William,” said Kate tenderly. “He claims a father’s right. Remember, that will be the last day he provides for me.” She smiled mischievously. “After we are married, however, I give you permission to spoil me with as many trinkets and treasures as you wish.”
“You will have them all,” he vowed, kissing her cheek, and her neck, and the hollow of her throat. “And I will have you.”
“Not quite yet,” she said breathlessly, prying herself free from his embrace.
“Such exquisite torture,” he lamented, but he let her go.
William’s departure brought Kate a curious sensation of painful relief. She missed him, but in his absence she felt as if she could finally catch her breath and think. They wrote to each other every day, and as the early weeks of summer passed, their letters grew more affectionate, more passionate, more full of longing to be reunited. Father still had not agreed to set a wedding date—in fact, he would not even settle upon a time to travel to Rhode Island to meet William’s family. Even after Nettie returned to Washington from school for her long summer holiday, brightening the home with her sweet ebullience, Father was often grumpy and petulant, and the more he insisted that he expected Kate to bestow the greatest measure of her loyalty upon her husband, the more she doubted his sincerity. As the days grew more sweltering, Kate showered her father in attention and affection, reassuring him whenever he made sorrowful asides about his impending loneliness, which he seemed to believe would descend like a shroud upon him the moment Kate and William exchanged vows.
As if to prove his willingness to relinquish the most prominent place in her heart, at the end of June, Father reluctantly agreed to allow Kate and William to meet for a brief, well-chaperoned visit with Mrs. McDowell at Buttermilk Falls in Upstate New York. It was an idyllic respite from the stifling heat of Washington and the grim miasma of war—and Father’s exasperating, exhausting complaints. Although Mrs. McDowell rarely left them alone, the couple found that their separation had inflamed their desire, and they took sweet pleasure in stolen kisses and caresses whenever they could.
Kate returned home to find Father more peevish and gloomy than when she had left. It was then that she proposed the idea she had mulled over for weeks, awaiting the most opportune occasion to present it. As William had no permanent residence in Washington—like many bachelors in Congress, he had simply taken a suite of rooms at the Willard—it was impractical for Kate to give up her beloved home for her bridegroom’s. After they married, the newlyweds could instead reside with Father in the mansion at Sixth and E streets, which was more than large enough to accommodate them all, as well as Nettie when she was home from school and their ever-shifting company of houseguests. At first William expressed some reluctance, but after Kate reassured him that he would not be subject to Father’s commands, William satisfied another point of pride by purchasing the mansion from their landlord, for he insisted he could not make his home in another man’s house. He and Father, who had his own pride to satisfy, worked out a scheme whereby Father would pay a certain amount of rent depending upon whether he was in residence or traveling, and they arranged to divide the other household expenses equitably. Kate’s heart soared to see how cheerfully her gentlemen agreed to the arrangements, once she and William convinced Father that they truly would miss him if he moved elsewhere.
Resolving that troublesome matter made Father more amenable to setting a wedding date, and before long they chose November 12. Much relieved, Kate happily threw herself into the delightful toil of planning the ceremony and reception, ordering invitation cards from Tiffany, and choosing the menu, the flowers, and the guests with scrupulous care. She arranged for the Marine Band to serenade the guests, and it was with great pleasure that she accepted the talented Frederick Kroell’s request to compose a new wedding march in her honor.
After a lifetime of worrying about extravagance and debt, she often veered from the path of sensible frugality in purchasing her trousseau, most of which she ordered from Paris. Of all the dresses and linens and lingerie she selected, she lavished the most care and attention to the design of her wedding costume—a splendid gown from Madame Hermantine du Riez of the Place Vendôme, fashioned of white velvet trimmed in white point lace, with a snug bodice and a long, elegant train. Her rich lace veil would be held in place by a dazzling parure of diamonds and pearls in an orange blossom pattern, a magnificent piece of jewelry William had commissioned for her wedding gift.
It was too important that the jewels be absolutely perfect for them to remain a surprise, William explained, and so he had asked General and Mrs. McDowell to accompany him to Tiffany in New York City to advise him on the design. It was Mrs. McDowell who suggested certain alterations so that parts of the tiara could be worn separately as a brooch and a necklace. William encouraged Kate to visit the jewelers to see how it was coming along, which Kate eventually did. The lavish beauty of the piece rendered her breathless and enchanted, but she nevertheless worried about the exorbitant expense and wrote to William to assure him she would be perfectly content with something less extravagant. “It is not extravagant in the general sense,” he replied, although it certainly was, and he begged her to allow him to indulge her. “You know I am but gratifying my own desires when I contribute to your pleasure. I have earned the right to do this.”
Secretly she was pleased he insisted, and she refused to feel even the slightest twinge of chagrin when newspapers ran sketches and descriptions of the jewelry—including the price, often wildly exaggerated as much as ten times its value. The days of reluctantly settling for linen and flowers were behind her.
Her bridegroom’s generous gift was far from the only aspect of the wedding that fascinated the press, and in turn, their readers. Newspapers throughout the North and even some in the Confederacy eagerly reported new details as they emerged, often without bothering to confirm their veracity. Kate found their accounts amusing, but she turned away from the other, uglier stories carried in whispers throughout Washington. She knew that a few cynical, ignorant, envious gossips insisted that she cared nothing for the unworthy William, but craved only his millions; other, more offensive tales claimed that her father had arranged the match, sacrificing his dutiful daughter on the altar of his ambition so that his new son-in-law would bankroll his next bid for the presidency. For his part, the gossips said, the former Boy Governor enjoyed the ladies too much to devote himself faithfully to any particular one, even so great a prize as the Belle of Washington, and he had sought the alliance only in order to further his own political ambitions. It was all utter nonsense, and Kate disliked hearing the men she loved so unfairly vilified, but she had long ago learned not to allow the spiteful grumblings of the jealous throng to influence her.
William, ever more frustrated by their separation, continued to urge Kate to come to Rhode Island. The fresh sea air and sunshine would invigorate her, he insisted, and his family was eager to meet his bride and her illustrious father. Kate and Nettie prevailed upon Father to take a holiday from Washington, which was suffering its hottest summer in years. “Even the New York Times thinks you’ve earned a few days off,” Kate reminded him, referring to a laudatory article they had printed in early May. In two months, the reporter noted, Father had persuaded the American people to purchase more than forty-five million dollars’ worth of bonds to support the war effort, with demand for such investments ever increasing. In such favorable circumstances, the reporter declared, “Mr. CHASE may well spend a few leisure days away from hi
s Department. Never before did the finances of any nation, in the midst of a great war, work so admirably as do ours.”
At last, near the end of July, Father managed to extricate himself from his innumerable duties to make the trip north to Providence with Kate, Nettie, and their cousin Alice Skinner. Along the way they stopped in Newport and Boston, where the secretary of the treasury was appropriately received by local dignitaries, and where he and Kate renewed friendships with prominent gentlemen whose support Father would need at the Republican National Convention, now less than a year away.
From there they traveled to Providence, where William welcomed them enthusiastically. There too they were honored with a reception at City Hall and received by the first families of Rhode Island. Kate was well pleased to observe the influential gentlemen’s keen interest in Father’s potential candidacy, and her heart warmed to see William basking in his reflected glow. With Father’s wise guidance, William could become a truly great man. When she regarded them together, she was struck by their differences—Father tall, fair, and dignified; William lithe, dark, and passionate—but within both men was the spark of greatness, and her ardent pride soared to think that she could be looking upon not one but two future presidents.
Naturally, as the daughter of the secretary of the treasury and the celebrated Belle of Washington, Kate received an abundant share of the dignitaries’ attention, but in Providence she drew particular interest as the bride-to-be of their former governor. She received many warm regards and polite good wishes for her future happiness, but one spindly, white-haired grandmother leaned on her cane, peered at her curiously, and said, “So, you have a mind to become Mrs. William Sprague.”
“Yes, I do,” Kate replied.
Instead of offering the usual congratulatory remarks, the elderly woman nodded knowingly. “Have you met the family, then?”
“That great pleasure yet awaits me.”
“Great pleasure?” The woman’s eyebrows, two thin slashes of frost above cloudy blue eyes, rose in her wrinkled brow. “I see you’ve set your expectations high.”
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