All of this was deemed socially acceptable in Cecilia’s world.
However, as soon as Jack had become enamoured with a young socialite named Madeleine Force, disobeying societal rules about what an established person should do, whether or not they could do it. After all, it was no great secret that Lady Duff Gordon refused to spend the night with her husband; the pair had booked separate suites, and had done so for years. Lucille had once lamented to Cecilia’s mother that Cosmo “was the dullest man God ever created”. And while everyone knew the Guggenheims had a happy marriage, everyone also knew Benjamin Guggenheim had a mistress. The current rumour was he was boarding at Cherbourg with her, and if the passenger manifest located in her room was anything to go by, the stories were true. Cecilia wondered how so many could bear the shame; to have their lives strewn across the papers, cannon fodder for tabloids and the ilk. It confused her as to why so many people seemed to relish in the misfortune of others.
Regardless of Cecilia’s personal feelings, it was perfectly socially acceptable for men to spend time openly with their mistresses (though not for their wives, unless they wanted to fall from grace, forever shunned from the community to which they once belonged), or couples who lived solitary lives, only meeting a few times a year for the sake of appearances (though what ‘appearance’ needed maintaining when everyone knew the reality of your marriage was beyond Cecilia). Jack and Madeleine had defied society’s expectations: The pair’s soiree of events – country rides in Astor’s automobiles, yacht adventures, horse riding – had hit every tabloid, and the scrutiny had increased tenfold after the engagement. According to the papers, Astor had to pay a pastor to marry the pair, with most churches refusing to marry the couple, deeming it a slight against God. Cecilia was confident that those priests weren’t so fearful of God’s wrath, but man’s. Any man who dared to marry such a tainted couple would be smeared forever, a notoriety most priests did not elect to seek.
The coverage of the whirlwind romance had been anything but kind, including the press, frequently sensationalised Madeleine’s age. She was young, that was sure, but Cecilia knew of younger brides. Some still married at fourteen, though that practice was rare now, and usually reserved for less cultured foreigners.
“And how do you feel about that news?”
“What news?” This time, it was Cecilia’s turn to move forward. She resisted the temptation to rest her elbow on the table.
“That you’re arranged to be married shortly after making your American debut into society. I’m guessing the reason for the travel is because the arrangement is rather finalised, and you are simply going through the formalities.”
Cecilia flushed again, her silence her answer.
“It’s okay,” he said, this time, his voice was softer. “I understand, better than most, than the demanding constraints society forces upon us. Especially those of us accustomed to high society. It is hard to make a man’s way in the world, and it’s respectable the Vanderbilts could do so.”
Cecilia looked at him quizzically; if he was of worth, her parents would have been delighted by Cecilia’s serendipitous meeting. However, if Henry was of value, he’d have long since mentioned his title, and would have used it to persuade her further. Cecilia was accurate in her assessment; he was a common man, yet educated. If it hadn’t been for his aesthetic, he would easily pass with any of the young men that floated in Cecilia’s friendship circle.
“Thomas is lovely. Are you deliberately trying to vex me?”
“Vex you? No, of course not. Why would I? Especially when Thomas is lovely? Well, you can be by and sure that is the foundation of every happy, successful marriage.”
“I don’t care for your tone,” snapped Cecilia. She hadn’t intended to sound defensive, but it wasn’t fair on Thomas. He was lovely, and while she found him to be a kind friend, she had never thought of kissing him, his face still child-like to her. She hadn’t even yet been able to picture her wedding; the idea always seemed too preposterous to her. Cecilia herself was younger than Madeleine Astor, and she was all too aware of the scandal that surrounded her for marrying so young. Society seemed to find Madeleine’s engagement absurd; why were her parents so insistent on forcing her into a life of sure unhappiness?
He raised his right eyebrow again; she could tell by his smirk that he was aware he was angering her, which only vexed her further.
Indignation began to build within Cecilia: Had this been his plan the entire time, to humiliate her, to pass judgement? Had he realised who she was, and whom she was arranged to marry, and thus sought to try and ruin her? Was that why he hadn’t seemed too surprised to learn of her arrangement? Is that why he didn’t appear to be angry that she hadn’t confessed the truth to him earlier, effectively deceiving him? Perhaps he’d asked after her, and had heard of her looming engagement. The letter wasn’t for a romantic meeting. It was to humiliate me.
“I mean it sincerely,” he professed, though his smirk implied he did not mean his words. “Many happy marriages are built on ‘lovely’.”
“You are mocking me.”
“Perhaps, then, it’s because there’s something in your statement to be mocked.”
Cecilia felt as if he’d slapped her, and she recoiled from him. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he realised, too late, that he’d pushed her too far, that this time, he’d hurt her feelings. Whatever his intentions may have been, Cecilia no longer cared to find out. She had no interest in being belittled and condescended by a man who did not know her, her plights, nor her struggles; nor did she wish to be a lectured by a man who did not understand the complexities women faced. They had no real agency; Cecilia knew she was used as her father’s pawn; a fact he always reminded her and her sisters of.
“I believe this was a mistake,” Cecilia said, standing up, her tone quiet so as not to grab the attention of the neighbouring passengers, either lost in conversation, letter writing, or lavishing one of the novels they’d taken from the vast lending library. “I should not have come to meet you. Especially not alone. It is distasteful.”
“Lady Cecilia, I’m –”
“Good evening, Mr Hamilton.” This time, Cecilia raised her voice ever-so-slightly, a trace of venom warning him. If need be, she would cause a scene. She gathered her white tea dress in her left palm, turning on her heel sharply, so that he couldn’t see the tears that were stinging her own eyes, the pain etched on her face, the acuity of his steely denunciation, the blows of his humiliation.
“Good evening, Lady Cecilia. Say hello to Colonel Gracie for me.”
It was all Cecilia could do not to run from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Georgiana
Georgiana grasped her husband’s hand as they boarded the tender ship, the SS Nomadic. She could see the Titanic docked off Cherbourg’s coast, her lights glistening like a million small fireflies in the distance, and the miniature replica of the ship in front of her only increased her anticipation. She and William were boarding with several people that they were acquainted with, though they’d spent last night dining with Jack and Madeleine Astor, as well as their travelling companion who had joined them in Cairo while travelling with her daughter, Maggie Brown, a delightful middling lady, with ugly, crooked teeth, and a healthy appetite for food and politics. While Georgiana sometimes found Americans garish, she’d found herself frequently laughing at Maggie Brown’s firm opinions – of which she had many, and she shared unabashedly. She found herself admiring the fact that Maggie encouraged even her daughters to further their education. Georgiana wondered what it must be like growing up in such a household.
What attracted Georgiana most to Maggie, however, was her loyalty, and her ability to shrug off the disapproving glances she often received. Many of their mutual acquaintances had shunned Jack for remarrying someone so young, though Georgiana felt that it was cruel. When Georgiana and William had first spied Madeleine and Jack, unaccompanied by
Maggie, who was galivanting with her daughter at the Sorbonne, Georgiana had felt a kinship with Madeleine. It had been nice for her to meet someone similar in age, who had also experienced hardships when it came to marrying the man she loved.
No matter where they had travelled, the Astors had not been able to escape the persecution the married couple had befallen, with many of their peers ostracising them for their perceived crime. Even now, as they travelled to board the Titanic, Georgiana could hear the whispers as people pointed to Madeleine’s growing belly. Georgiana felt them hypocritical; they hadn’t shunned him when he’d divorced his first wife; in fact, many of upper society had been sympathetic, as Jack Astor had been able to divorce his wife on the grounds of her confirmed infidelity. It was certainly no one’s secret that the Astor marriage had never been a happy one; but now that Jack was happily married, people had a lot of opinions on his marriage that they felt were of the upmost importance for him and his young bride to know.
Maggie, likely due to her independence and her distaste for rules she felt entrapped women and enabled women, had felt a desire to protect Madeleine, in particular. She seemed to make to her like another daughter, and Georgiana felt a warmth from Maggie Brown then she ever had from her own family.
Like the Astors, Georgiana and William had had an extended honeymoon – they’d visited the crypts of Cairo, the Colosseum in Rome, strolled through Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, enjoyed Verde’s Aida at Teatro Alla Scala, explored the catastrophe wrought by Mount Vesuvius, and wined and dined in Greece, nights filled with lust and liquor, before returning to Paris, where they stayed only a few nights, before travelling reluctantly to Cherbourg.
Georgiana, already dressed to make an entrance, was currently wearing one of the new, delicate dresses she’d bought in Paris. It was made mostly of silk and velvet; a blood-red, it was embroidered with handcrafted flowers. While the bust was square, the dress accentuated a V-neck by having a darker, red velvet wrap drape across the front of her dress. Her sleeves were light and fluttery, stopping short at her shoulders, with a cut in both sides, and a thick, red silk sash was wrapped tightly around her narrow waist. She had paired with it her long, above-the-elbow black silk evening gloves; a beautiful, golden flower necklace adorned her neck, with matching earrings, and a large, brand-new Mink coat – a gift, bought from the designers of Milan – kept her from shivering to death. While her dress was too long to reveal her feet when standing, she was wearing red stockings, dyed to match her dress, and red satin shoes. Georgiana tried not to think of William, running his hand up her legs, revealing her stockings, which he would likely passionately take off with his mouth – as he’d done every night of their honeymoon – before his body found hers, after they retired to their suite later that night.
Georgiana wanted to ask her mother, or even Eliana – though she wasn’t as close with Eliana, and wished she could ask her younger sister, Cecilia – if her lust for her husband was usual. Little had been spoken to her; her Granny, when alive, had told her she “must do what she must do”, and Eleonora had told her to “try not to be too nervous, and it’s okay if it hurts” but that had not been the case for Georgiana at all. While she’d certainly been skittish about the entire routine – it was hard knowing what to do, and what was right and what was wrong when no one had really informed you before – but all of Georgiana’s anxiety had quickly dissipated when she’d seen William’s warm, loving face. Instead of worry, desire had seized her entire body, and she moved to him, entranced.
He had looked at her as if every single wish he’d ever hoped for had come true; like he could not bear ever to be parted from her, that she was everything he wanted and more. He wore a look of adoration and love, as if he could not hope to be happier. He had not changed out of his clothes, and had made no movement toward the bed, as if waiting for Georgiana’s permission.
She knew, just by William’s face, that it wouldn’t matter if she said she were tired or scared; he would not force her wifely duties upon her.
He respected her too much. More than that, he adored her; it was written plainly on his face.
Georgiana had been overwhelmed, and perhaps in a way that was not suitable for ladies of her status (though, how was she to know? None of the ladies of her social standing would ever be so uncouth as to discuss their sexual activities), but her mouth had met William’s with a fiery passion that they had never yet shared. They had kissed, of course, even before the betrothal was considered; but not like this.
William’s warm tongue had found Georgiana’s eagerly, and his hands cupped Georgiana’s face, bringing her closer to him. William, a towering man who stood at least a foot above his wife, had begun to fiddle with his wife’s corset, her long, dark hair falling in curls, down to her pale breasts. Georgiana’s hands, sweaty with anticipation, had fumbled over her new husband’s gold buttons, desperate to have him, to have his seed inside her. Even though her mind did not seem to know what to do, her body did, guiding her every step of the way.
Once Georgiana was undressed, she’d held her hands across her body, protectively, as naught but her mother and her lady’s maid had seen her naked so; and William, whose arousal was unmistakable, held her gently in his arms, wrapping himself around her, whispering sweet nothings until his new bride regained confidence and certainty, her hands reaching for William’s broad chest, pulling him down, upon her, upon their bed.
William, who had followed Georgiana’s lead the entire time, pushed her slightly backward, and her legs, as if her body was acutely aware of exactly how to make love to her husband, even if her conscious mind did not, arched up, wrapping around her husband, as he slipped inside her.
It did not hurt, as she’d been so warned. Instead, it felt as if she were complete, almost whole; and she dug her nails into William’s back so harshly, they had left half-moon marks, even come morning. The first time had ended more quickly than Georgiana had hoped – the pleasure had mounted inside of her, with each thrust of William’s hips, and she had cried out in earnest when she felt his seed spill inside her, warm and sticky against her thighs. It had been the first time they had made love that night, but it was not the last, each time satiating her growing desire for her husband.
With William, she hadn’t just met her match; she’d met her equal. He matched her in intelligence and wit, and he was more than her husband, but rather her best friend, her most trusted confidante. She had never expected that she would feel the urge to confide in her husband the way she did her dearest sister, or her lady’s maid, Jessop, who’d been with her since she was but thirteen.
While Georgiana was aware that her sister, Eliana, hadn’t quite forgiven her for following her heart, instead of their parents’ desire, and their relationship had suffered as a result of Georgiana’s decision, she could not bring herself to regret her decision. Georgiana could not quite understand the core of her sister’s ire: Eliana had periodically reminded Georgiana that she hadn’t wished to marry George, that she had fallen in love with him as time passed, and that she was very happy now, though Georgiana didn’t quite buy her sister’s claim to happiness; she could not imagine a more distinguished love story than the one she was currently embroiled in. The passion between her and William reminded her of Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies, where star-crossed lovers could not be without the other, where they wouldn’t be whole without the other. She understood the desperation in the ballet of Swan Lake as the beautiful Odette and the handsome Prince Siegfried clasped their hands together as they jumped to their deaths, the Prince refusing to marry Odile, stating he would rather die.
She understood those who were willing to sacrifice for the man they loved, because it was a different kind of love. Few managed ever to find their soulmate, but Georgiana knew, just like Madeleine had confessed, that she had found hers. Without William, she would be but an empty skeleton, hollow and without meaning.
Eliana did not have that kind of love with George, of that Georgiana was certain.
As the Nomadic docked alongside the Titanic, and the crew began to install the gangways, Georgiana reached up, standing on her tiptoes – he was far taller than she was, by a considerable difference – to kiss him. If he didn’t bend, and she didn’t rise to the balls of her feet, their mouths would likely never reach. “Together?”
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