Jack told me to give his people some time. “They’ll come around,” he said. “They must.”
But I didn’t see why they should. They were his set, not my own. I had nothing to offer them beyond myself, and they had already made their feelings about that resoundingly clear.
The jewelry safe in my boudoir still holds nearly forty stickpins of solid gold, untouched, each engraved with our initials, J&M, lovingly intertwined.
I suppose I can always sell them for scrap.
December 1911
Manhattan
The fire was tall and blazing in the south morning room, lending the brèche blanche marble hearth an ambered, shifting glow. Even with the logs burning so hot, even with the winter sun outside shining so bright, the chamber remained shivery, the heat lost to the immense corners and lofty ceiling, or eaten up, perhaps, by all the cuivre doré, gold and gleaming, that seemed to decorate every last inch of space.
Gold-leafed sconces, pilasters, cherubs, medallions. Gold-leafed tables and chairs, cabinets and commodes. There were still rooms in this hulking home that Madeleine had barely explored, but it seemed to her that Lina Astor had not spared her hand at gilding every lily she’d ever seen.
Sometimes, some mornings （like this one）， it hurt her eyes to try to take it all in.
She sank deeper into her cushioned chair by the fire, gathering her cardigan tighter around her waist. Dug her heels into the nap of the rug （woven with little identical birds, wings spread, beaks agape）， as if that might help. She wore opals this morning, maybe to counter all of that unrelenting gold. Black opals, eldritch and fiery, stone rainbows captured on her fingers and wrists.
“It’s so kind of you to have me over,” said Margaret Brown, seated in the easy chair opposite hers. She leaned back, looking completely at home, her legs scissored at the ankles, her toes pointed, like a ballet dancer’s. “As I mentioned over the telephone, I could have saved you the trouble and stayed at the Ritz.”
“Oh, no,” Madeleine said, rousing. “I’m so happy to see you again. It’s lucky for us you were on your way through to Newport and the train was delayed. We’re glad for the company, honestly.”
She heard the tremble in her voice, just barely noticeable, and closed her lips tight to swallow it down.
Margaret lifted her cup of tea, examined the spiral of steam that rose from its surface. “It’s a big house, Mrs. Astor.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Madeleine dropped her gaze to her lap. The wind outside quickened, rotated, became a gust that groaned against the windowpanes.
Margaret uncrossed her ankles. “Don’t worry. The place will grow on you, I’m sure. It can be rough sliding into someone else’s territory at first, even if they’re long gone. Ghosts in the walls, I guess. The artwork, the furniture, even the pattern of the china.” She cocked her head, smiled at the old-fashioned peonies circling her cup. “Someone else’s ideas about living, sleeping, entertaining, manifested all around you. But you’re tough, Madeleine. Bright and tough. You wouldn’t be where you are right now if you weren’t. You’ll make this place your own.”
“I hope so.”
“Hire a decorator,” Margaret suggested. “Spread some of your own soul across these rooms. This isn’t Europe, after all. We’re allowed to stir things up here. In fact, we’re expected to. Not everything in America is chiseled in eternal stone.”
“A decorator?” Madeleine looked up, around. There was so much gilt. “I hadn’t thought . . .”
“Well, think it. Change things, invite people over, all those four hundred lovely, lovely people, and show them what you can do. Show them who you are.”
“We were considering a luncheon.” Madeleine pinched at the cuff of her thick plum sweater, rolling the wool between her fingers. Why was she always so cold now? It seemed this winter in New York was the coldest of her life so far, and it had hardly even snowed. Just day after day of bitter blue sky, anemic thin sun. That wind. “Nothing too elaborate, of course. Only something close enough to Christmas to be festive, but not enough to intrude on anyone’s plans, but . . .”
“Yes?”
“Not many have responded favorably. Quite a few people are already so busy with the holidays.”
Margaret raised both eyebrows, said nothing. Tasted her Ceylon.
Madeleine rushed on. “And doubtless many will be traveling, like you. Visiting family near and far. It was all very last minute, anyway. Jack and I have hardly been in town long enough to catch our breath.”