Cordelia glanced up at her mother in disbelief. “You can’t make me marry him. I won’t say yes.”
“You already promised to marry the man of my choice.”
She crushed the invitation in her hand like her mother had crushed her dreams. “How can I marry someone that I haven’t even met?”
Her mother folded her arms. “Easily. If you met him, you would only beg him to end the engagement, which I will not have.”
“But what will I have?” she asked, her voice close to tears.
“A second chance,” her mother said. “You had better take it, for society will not give you a third.”
Cordelia had escaped one jailer only to be consigned to another.
8
The morning of her wedding arrived and Cordelia could not stop crying. She curled up in a ball on her bed and refused to allow Mabel to dress her. She wished she could hold Stuyvesant’s hand and that he would comfort and protect her; but he had not come.
“Please, Miss Cordelia,” Mabel pleaded. “Mr. Jones has arrived. It’s time for you to go to the church. You’re going to be late for your own wedding.”
“I don’t care.”
Mabel muttered something that Cordelia couldn’t understand and she left her room. A few minutes later her mother arrived.
“Cordelia, get up this instant!”
Her body responded out of habit.
“Come, Mrs. Rinkhart, bring the dress in,” her mother commanded. “Mabel, take off her nightdress and help her into new underclothes. Cordelia, if you will not help, you can at least hold still.”
They stripped off her clothes and put on her new lace lingerie. Then they tied her corset so tightly that Cordelia gasped for air. The maids took the wedding dress from Mrs. Rinkhart and carefully put it on her. The sleeves were puffed and tightened at her wrists. The neck was high and choked her. Cordelia could barely breathe. The gown’s bodice was made from Brussels lace and there was a full satin skirt. The train was over five feet long and embellished with real silver and seed pearls. The dress was exquisite. If only it didn’t mean that her life would be over.
Her mother directed her to sit down, then clasped her five-strand pearls around her neck. Mabel plaited her hair and twisted it up into a bun on the top of her head, leaving only a few short curls around Cordelia’s face. Mrs. Rinkhart brought in a wreath of orange blossoms and carefully placed it on Cordelia’s head. She smiled at Cordelia, with tears in her eyes as she patted her hands.
“I always knew you’d be a beautiful bride, Miss Cordelia.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rinkhart,” she said with a choked voice. The housekeeper was the only person who had ever told Cordelia that she was beautiful. The only person who had ever shown any affection for Cordelia without expecting something in return.
When Cordelia was a little girl, she’d called her “Rink” and Mr. Winkworth “Wink.” She would miss both Rink and Wink more than she’d miss her own mother and father. They had been the only constants in her life.
“Don’t dawdle, Mrs. Rinkhart,” her mother snapped. “Help me put on the tulle veil. We are unconscionably late already. I only hope that Lord Farnham doesn’t leave before we get there.”
Cordelia sincerely wished that he would.
Mrs. Rinkhart and her mother carefully arranged her long white veil, while Mabel and Cynthia each took a hand and pulled on the tight white gloves. They then put on her stockings, attaching them with golden garters, and then her slippers. It seemed like everyone in the room was pulling and tugging at her from different directions.
Her mother took her elbow and helped her to her feet. “Your father is waiting outside. Edith and I will follow in the carriage behind you.”
Cordelia took one step and then another. Even walking felt surreal. As if it was all some elaborate nightmare and she was her mother’s puppet. They walked out of her room. Peter was still standing guard by her door; her mother wanted to make sure she didn’t run. But Cordelia had nowhere to run to. Mrs. Rinkhart followed behind them, holding the bottom of her long train as they stepped down the grand staircase.
Edith stood waiting in the entry, tapping her little boot impatiently, her golden curls surrounding her angelic face. She wore a peach-colored dress with a high lacy neck. The shade should not have suited her, but it did. In her gloved hands, she held flowers. She gave Cordelia the bouquet of orchids and whispered, “My friends say that he’s only marrying you for your money. Is that true, Cordy?”
Cordelia swallowed painfully. “You look very beautiful, Edith.”
“Your dress is very pretty, too, but your face is all red and puffy,” she said in brutal, childish honesty.
“Quiet, Edith!” their mother commanded. “Cynthia, get a sponge for her eyes, and Mabel, bring some more powder for Miss Cordelia’s face. Immediately!”
Mrs. Rinkhart carefully raised Cordelia’s veil. She took the sponge from Cynthia and gently wiped away Cordelia’s tears. Next, Mabel brushed the white powder underneath Cordelia’s blood-shot eyes.
