She wished he was already here, and not even Chopin’s preludes could console her. Frau Gruber yelled at her in German more than once to pay attention, but her mind kept wandering past the walls of her house. Peter brought in her dinner tray, followed by her mother. Frau Gruber bowed and excused herself. Peter set the tray on the table before leaving the room.
“This has gone on for long enough,” her mother said through clenched teeth. “It has been nearly five months.”
It felt like an eternity.
“I will not marry without love.”
“Love,” she scoffed. “You know nothing of love. You think your childish infatuation with Stuyvesant Bradley is going to last?”
“Y-yes,” Cordelia said, but her stomach flip-flopped and she felt a flicker of doubt. Why had he not come for her already?
“He’s already forgotten you,” her mother said with a cruel laugh. “His newest love is sailing and his father bought him a yacht. He left this morning for a trip to the Middle East and will be gone for the rest of the year. Mrs. Bradley called yesterday to tell me how he’s taking a year off from university.”
“You’re lying,” Cordelia said, swallowing heavily. But the expression on her mother’s face was not one of deceit but of triumph. Her mother smiled like a cat licking cream from a bowl. Cordelia’s insides crumpled as she sat down. Her heart and lungs seemed to have fallen to the bottom of her stomach. Still, she did not want to believe it: her handsome prince was not coming to save her.
“Men are such changeable creatures. You of all people should know that. Your father’s proclivities with females of a certain class…”
“Stuyvesant isn’t like Father.”
Or is he?a small voice said from the back of her head. He had abandoned her just like her father had. Was his love for her so weak that it could not withstand five months? Had he met someone new?
“Then, why hasn’t he come to visit you?” her mother pressed. “Why haven’t any of your friends come to visit you?”
Her friendshadvisited, but her mother had turned them all away. She wondered how many mornings Lucy had walked by at precisely ten o’clock before she realized that Cordelia was no longer able to come out onto the balcony and wave to her. A week? Two?
Cordelia stood and walked over to the locked door that led to the balcony. “It’s not my fault if they haven’t visited. It’s yours and Father’s. You have disgraced our family. Made us all figures for public ridicule. You’ve dragged our family name through the courts and the papers, and if I am friendless, it is your fault.”
“I know it is and I am giving you a chance to make it right again, for all of us. For yourself. Your sister. For me. Even for your father… Please, my darling daughter. Trust me once more.”
For eighteen years Cordelia had tried to please her mother, but it had never been enough. She was never pretty enough. Smart enough. Or good enough. Cordelia used to believe that her mother was hard on her because she wanted her to be strong like her. But she finally realized, after her many months of incarceration, that her mother did not want her to be strong. She wanted to subjugate Cordelia to her own will.
Cordelia looked down at the locked doors in front of her. She couldn’t live like this any longer. She couldn’t be a prisoner in her own home. If she pretended to be willing, her mother would let her leave her room. The house. She could get help from her father. Or perhaps an aunt or an uncle. Surely her mother hadn’t found an English lord already. And even if she had, their engagement would be for at least a year, possibly two or three.
“All right,” she whispered.
“My darling girl,” her mother said, and embraced her. Cordelia felt as stiff as a stone column. Her body refused to respond. Her mother stepped away.
“May I leave my room now?”
“Yes, of course.”
Cordelia sprinted to the door of the room, opened it, and ran into the footman, Peter, who was standing in front of the door. He turned toward her but did not stop blocking her way.
“Peter, Miss Cordelia is now allowed to leave her room,” her mother said from behind her.
The footman stepped aside and apologized. Cordelia ran down the hall, out of breath after only a few hobbled steps. Her broken ankle was slow to heal. She carefully walked down each stair. She twirled around in the great entry and was about to leap into the ballroom, when she saw an enormous stack of letters. They were small envelopes that appeared to be acceptance cards. Was her mother having a party? Perhaps a come-out ball for Cordelia?
Her curiosity overcame her and she walked over and picked one up. She wasn’t surprised to see Mr. Jacob Astor’s letter on top. The seal was already broken. Cordelia took out the small card and read:
Mr. Jacob Astor and his wife would be delighted to attend your daughter’s wedding...
Shocked, she dropped the letter. She fell down to her knees to pick it back up and continued to read:
…in New York Grace Church on November 9, 1893.
She was to be married in less than three weeks to a complete stranger. Her mother had outmaneuvered her again. All hopes of going to university faded.
“So, you’ve seen your wedding invitation,” her mother said. “They turned out rather well.”
