I stepped forward dutifully, as I had been trained, and offered a delicate curtsy. “How do you do, Lady Paget?”
“My,” the lady said, “she’s as beautiful as I’ve been told.”
My cheeks warmed under her praise.
“And I’ve heard you go by Libby?” Lady Paget asked.
I liked her immediately. “Yes, my lady.”
“How very charming.”
We were offered tea and enjoyed several minutes of talk about New York. Lady Paget had not been home in some time and seemed to crave our stories. I was having a surprisingly good time when Lady Paget finally landed on the purpose of our call.
“Your mother tells me you’re eager to enter London society.”
I lowered my teacup but didn’t say a word. I was not eager to be here at all. Mother had torn me from the work I was doing for the suffragette movement in New York City. It was one of the only things I truly cared about in this path—not tea parties and balls in London. I had barely tolerated them in New York the past two seasons as Mother paraded me about. But I could not say these things to my hostess.
“I’ve secured several invitations for you, Libby.” Lady Paget looked very pleased with herself. “In no time at all, you’ll be meeting the most eligible bachelors that England has to offer.”
“What a lovely thought,” Mother said.
“You know,” Lady Paget continued, “you’re not the first American heiress searching to purchase a title.” She smiled, as if it were our little secret. “Dozens and dozens of young ladies have successfully integrated into the English aristocracy. Dollarprincesses, they’re called.” She laughed. “One would think the nobility would frown upon such things, but the truth is that our kind have saved the crumbling façades of countless manor houses throughout the commonwealth.”
My heart began to pound as she continued to talk about marriages between American women and English lords. To gain social standing, American families had been marrying their daughters into the English aristocracy, while providing their new sons-in-law with lavish dowries to save their estates from ruin. I had no wish to save anything in England. My patriotic heart was fighting a war against this very empire in 1774. These two women were in pursuit of the very thing their ancestors had fought against.
“You need not worry,” Lady Paget said to Mother. “With Libby’s grace and beauty, plus her father’s fortune, she will have no trouble finding an earl or a viscount in need of a wife.” She chuckled. “Perhaps even a duke.”
I wanted to cry out that she was wrong, that I had no wish to marry anyone in 1914. I was simply biding my time until my twenty-first birthday, and then I would be gone from here forever.
But at the look of triumph in Mother Wells’s eyes, the words stuck in my throat. She desired social status, and what better way to achieve it than to have her daughter marry a duke?
I didn’t speak to Mother as we made our way back to Berkeley Square to change for a luncheon, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed outside the automobile as we maneuvered toward our townhouse, and I was certain her mind was concocting elaborate plans.
When we entered the house and the butler had left with ourwraps, I finally turned to her. “Is this why you’ve brought me here?”
“Of course.” She scoffed as if I were an imbecile.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mother had planned this trip for months, and not once had she mentioned that it would be a husband-hunting adventure.
“So you could moan and sulk about?” She walked toward the stairs. “Really, Elizabeth, do you think I’m stupid? You’ve made it very clear that you have no interest in getting married. If I had told you my intent for this trip, you would have whined to your father, and he would have been weak enough to give in to you.”
“I have a right to choose my own fate.”
Mother stopped, her hand on the marble railing. She turned to me, pity and condescension on her face. “I find it humorous that you think so. What woman has the right to choose her own fate? Do you think I like to play these games? Grapple for social status, when I know I deserve it and so much more? This is the hand you have been dealt, and I refuse to let you fold now.”
Frustration welled up in my gut, and I balled my gloved hands into fists. In moments like this, I wanted to tell her the truth—that I did have control, and that in thirteen months I would wield that control and never return.
But she would think me mad and send me to an asylum, I was sure of it.
“Why did you make me endure two seasons in New York before coming here?” It had all been a waste of time. There had been wealthy and influential men interested in pursuing me, but she turned her back on all of them. If she was intent on marrying me off, why not stay in America?
“It was an opportunity for you to learn everything you’d need to know for this one glorious London season. The one that truly matters. For it is here that you will receive the title that will open doors for us in New York. It’s as simple as that.”
Without another word, she ascended the stairs and disappeared into her bedchamber.
Slowly, my anger receded, but it did not disappear completely. No matter what she said, I did have control. I could play the cards she set before me. But this was one game I would not let her win. When she realized I was serious, we would board a ship and return to New York. Perhaps, if I did a good job of frustrating her plans, we could return in time for the end of the Newport season. It was the one bright spot in my otherwise tedious existence in 1914.
I went up to my room and found Edith already laying out my afternoon gown, another tune on her lips. She smiled at me, her hazel eyes as jolly as ever. Tight ginger curls peeked out from under her white cap and made the matching freckles across her nose appear brighter than usual. I marveled that she was always so cheerful when her existence was more tedious than mine. It challenged me to be a better person, though at the moment I struggled.
