today and forever to come.
CHAPTER 11
A BUDDING SOCIAL QUEEN?
—Special to Town Topics
August 1, 1911
Manhattan, Ny.
Col. J. J. Astor’s fiancée, seventeen-year-old Miss Madeleine Force, is convinced she can reign over the cream of society as well as her illustrious predecessors, Mrs. John Jacob Astor the first and Mrs. William Backhouse Astor, esteemed mother of the colonel.
Standing on the steps of her family’s modest brownstone and sporting a massive diamond engagement ring nearly too large for such a slender hand, Miss Force laughed away the thought that she might be too young, or too inexperienced, for the task. “I will do my best,” she said breezily, “and certainly that will be enough!”
Miss Force also appeared untroubled by the suggestion that the colonel’s previous divorce might cast an unsavory stain upon her upcoming union. “Nonsense! What’s done is done, and all of that business is firmly in the past. I am greatly happy to be wedding the colonel now. We shall be married as soon as possible.”
Miss Force has been described as a lithe horsewoman, an adequate pupil, and overall a handsome, jolly girl with an affinity for dancing and other sports. Fine qualities, certainly, for a future Queen of New York and Newport, but it is surely that rarefied society itself which will judge her fit or no.
Letters and cards began to arrive daily at her home address, which had been published too many times to count. At first it was only a few warm, congratulatory notes from family and friends.
In no time at all, however, it became a paper avalanche.
Miss Force,
Please excuse my presumption in writing you, as we have not met. I wish to congratulate you on your engagement to Colonel Astor. What gladdening news to read in these Troubled Times! Our Lord God has exalted you, among all women, with His Divine Favor. May your loins prove fertile, and may you have a long and satisfactory life together and be gifted with many sons. Best wishes.
Dear Miss Force,
My name is Ola Pounds, from Formoso, Kansas. I am writing to tell you what an inspiration you are to me and my bosom friends. We are all of us so happy that you are to marry Col. J. J. Astor. Would you please write me back, and thank you.
Miss Madaline T. Force,
Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials to Mr. John Jacob Astor the Fourth. Allow me the honor of introducing myself. I am the Rev. Scott V. Lurie, of the First Church of His Name in Reno, Nevada. A lady of your discriminating taste will no doubt be interested in our annual fundraiser . . .
Dearest Miss Force,
I am Winnie Yeats aged nine years of age and I wish to correspond with you because i admire you so. Please write me and tell me about you I wish to know every-thyng because you are pretty and my mother says you will be the wife of the President soon so that is important and i would like to be your friend.
Maddy,
How long has it been? I hope you can forgive my extended silence since our chummy days at Miss Spence’s School. How tragic we’ve fallen out of touch! But no doubt you are a very busy bee! I’ve just returned from the most tremendous tour, Algiers, Marseilles, Monte Carlo, with my new husband, Claud. You remember Claud, I trust? I believe the three of us did bump into each other once or twice after graduation. It’s the most terrific coincidence, but Claud also dabbles in hotels, just like your fiancé! Anyway, we would absolutely adore the chance to get together so we can tell you all about our trip. Do let me know when you and Colonel Astor might be free . . .
CHAPTER 12
Planning a wedding, even a simple one, takes time. Both your father and I were keen to proceed, but there were so many details to consider. Even with the masterly duo of Mr. Dobbyn and my mother helming the thing, matters seemed to be crawling along.
The thorniest problem to resolve （and really, the only complication that truly irritated Jack） was the difficulty finding a rector willing to preside over our union. The divorce had been that tricky and not even two years done. Episcopalian nerves were soundly rattled.
Clergyman after clergyman refused to wed us—and then flocked to the press to smugly explain why:
Divorce was reprehensible.
Remarriage after divorce was reprehensible.
Colonel Astor was reprehensible.
Miss Force was . . .
And on it went.
In the meanwhile, conjecture about the wedding date, the location, or anything at all to do with the ceremony, consumed the masses. Newspapers speculated about what I would wear, the color of my bouquet, who would be invited, what manner of exquisite foods would be served at the meal after. Yet for every inch of column space rapturously dedicated to the bride-elect or the service, there would immediately follow some dour, dire write-up by A Person of Virtue denouncing me, my parents, my education, your father, the entire world itself as corrupt and beyond redemption.