Edith knew from all Cornelia’s obsessive chatter about numerology that the life-path number—derived from a formula based on one’s month, day, and year of birth—was the most important one. But it wasn’t until this moment that she realized just how much her daughter was letting this nonsense control her life.
“And now, at almost thirty-four, you no longer need me, I assume,” Jack chimed in. Edith could tell he was aiming for an angry tone but he barely managed sad—he sounded resigned. He had to be tired from facing down the hurricane that was her daughter day after day, explaining her absences to her children, running a behemoth of an estate with far too little staff.
“I need some time to pursue my goals,” Cornelia said. “Not forever. But this is my year. It is my time.”
“Cornelia—” Jack said.
Edith needed to say something, but she didn’t know what, so she went with something simple. “Darling, you can’t really believe that numbers define your fate. Are you okay?”
Cornelia sighed. “Yes, Mother. I do indeed believe that. Plus, I have spent my entire life surrounded by the press and prying eyes. I don’t want the same for my children. This way, I can escape, just for a few months. I can work on my art; I can find my way.”
“I know you weren’t sure about boarding school. I didn’t mean to push you into making a decision so quickly. I can keep the boys here while you work on your art, and plan what will be best for their education,” Jack said. “You’ve been gone so much these past couple of years that we’ve managed quite well without you.”
Edith waited for the hurt to register in her daughter’s eyes. But it didn’t. Perhaps because it was simply the truth.
“The schooling I received here wasn’t adequate,” said Cornelia. “I feel it has held me back. I’d like the boys to not face that same hurdle.”
Edith could barely contain her scoff. Cornelia had had the most wonderful education at the village school, some of the best tutors in the world, and she would put the education at Miss Madeira’s against any school anywhere. To blame her unhappiness on her education seemed off base. Edith wanted to scream at her daughter, shake her, tell her to snap out of it, grow up. But she was a lady, not to mention a mother who felt like her hands were tied.
Jack looked pleadingly at Edith. “Why don’t we all go look at schools, make some decisions together?” she suggested. “Maybe even find something in America.”
“I’ve already enrolled them,” Cornelia said matter-of-factly.
Edith shared Jack’s look of horror. Cornelia, as the mother, held all the legal rights, could make all the decisions about her children’s lives without the input or permission of anyone else—including her husband and mother. And, with the way George had left his estate, it was Cornelia who held the purse strings. When George had planned for his eventual demise, neither he nor Edith could have imagined a scenario in which their bright, loving daughter wouldn’t have been the best person to control her family’s financial welfare. But they had clearly made a mistake. And now it was too late.
“Cornelia,” Jack said, “you don’t get to make decisions like this about our children without even consulting me. That isn’t how this works.” Edith could see how angry he was, how he was trying to hide it.
“Jack,” Cornelia said. “I have enrolled them. There is nothing else to say. I thought you of all people would be thrilled. It was your idea in the first place.”
“I think you know the boarding school part is not what I’m upset about. But, fine, fine, you win. Let’s try it while you’re on your journey. Then we can reassess.” He cleared his throat and said firmly, “But the children will spend their summers at Biltmore.”
Cornelia hesitated, but then agreed. “The children will spend their summers at Biltmore.”
Edith felt sick at the idea of the boys going away. “Cornelia, I don’t think you’re being sensible. I understand that you need some time away. But the boys can stay here with us.”
Cornelia gave her mother a look so cold it chilled her. “Mother, they are my children. I will do what I feel is best for them.”
Her icy stare broke something inside Edith. When had this happened? When had her daughter, her best friend, begun to see her as a person whose opinion didn’t count?
Edith took a deep breath. This was a fight she wasn’t going to win. The boys were leaving. And, in all honesty, how often did she even see them now anyway? Three, four times a year? Plus, summer was right around the corner. If, God forbid, Cornelia didn’t come back to Asheville, Edith could arrange to spend her summers at the Frith, her Asheville house, to help Jack and the nanny with the boys’ care. The nanny was wonderful, of course, but Edith and George had both been close with their families and believed that familial influence was key.
She looked at her pink-haired daughter and soothed herself that Cornelia would probably change her mind shortly—perhaps before they even left. This was, she was sure, a phase. It would wear off. She would come back home.
“I’ll go with you,” Jack said. “To England, to drop them off.”
“Or I can,” Edith said.
“I think it will only make the separation harder for them,” Cornelia said. “I can go alone.”
“I’ll go,” Judge Adams said, shocking Edith. “I can help you find a new place to live and make sure the boys are seen to properly.”
What shocked Edith more was when Cornelia replied, “Fine. That’s just fine.”
She didn’t even like Judge Adams.
“All right, then,” Cornelia said. “It’s all settled. Should we move on to matters of the estate?”
But all Edith could think of while her daughter talked was that she had never imagined that the girl who loved Biltmore so much would leave it. She was sick with shock and worry, shaking with… Was it anger? Fear? Perhaps both. She couldn’t bring herself to say a single word the rest of the meeting.
When Edith and Jack were finally alone in the banquet hall, after Cornelia and Judge Adams left to discuss matters of the move, Jack turned to her. “What do we do?”
Edith had been thinking the same thing. Her instinct was to tie Cornelia to a chair and never let her leave. But it wasn’t realistic. And maybe it wasn’t even right. As much as she would love to fight and protest, to take her grandsons away, that wasn’t possible. She and Peter lived a life of constant travel; she couldn’t spare the time she’d need to be at Biltmore. “How do you feel about the boys leaving?” she asked.
“While I wish I had been consulted on this, I do feel it’s the right thing.” He paused. “Not only for the education. For many reasons.” Edith could tell he didn’t want to say that her daughter’s unstable habits and moods weren’t the best thing for their children. But she already knew.
“Edith?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve tried so hard to make her happy. I need you to know that.”
Edith smiled sadly at him. “I know, Jack. So have I. But I think we both know that happiness is something we have to find for ourselves.” She took a deep breath. “If we love her, Jack, I think we have to let her go.”