The Astors paused for a moment at the wide foot of the grand staircase, allowing themselves to be noticed, and when she looked up at her husband, Madeleine honestly thought there could not be a more attractive man in the room, White House anecdotes or no. Certainly there could be no man more compelling.
Jack’s right, she thought. Everything will be fine.
The orchestra leapt into a tune from The Tales of Hoffmann. They recognized it at the same time, their eyes locking.
That summer night. The paper firefly lanterns, the heady flowers. The moment she’d realized there existed a lovely, tenuous spark between them, unlikely as it might have been.
Jack lowered his gilt lashes, lifted her hand to his lips. Beneath the warm lights, his hair was sandy gold and dark.
“Am I the most fortunate of men?”
She rested her other hand on his upper arm, her glove stark against his sleeve. The music flowed, and they were the only two people in the world.
“You’ve made me the most fortunate of women. So I’m going to be immodest and say yes.”
“Lucky us,” he whispered against her hand.
“Yes,” she said. “Lucky us.”
Dinner awaited.
*
She made it through, laughing when she should, listening when she should, always remembering the proper fork or knife or glass for each course, because the lessons of her youth were hammered into her, no matter the circumstances, and in the back of her mind was a small, worried voice always reminding her to be correct, be the public wife he needs.
In addition to Margaret, Jack had invited a few of the brighter luminaries of his circle: the Wideners from Philadelphia, Eleanor and George, along with practically the entire Fortune family from Winnipeg, which included three lively daughters and a son not much older than Madeleine. Mr. Mark Fortune, like Jack, was involved in real estate. They had a few interests intermingled.
The conversation remained anodyne, consisting mostly of comments about the meal, the accommodations, and had anyone yet ventured into the gymnasium or the Turkish baths?
Despite the voice in her head, despite her many, many lessons in etiquette, by the seventh course （salmon mousse with dilled carrots, lightly roasted）， Madeleine’s energy was waning. Her attention began to wander.
“I don’t care what anyone else says,” declared Mabel Fortune, the second （third?） daughter, her voice cutting sharp through Madeleine’s stray thoughts. “I think your story is fiercely romantic.”
She looked up. From her chair three places down, Mabel was leaning toward her, her eyes shining.
“Oh,” said Madeleine, putting down her knife and fork.
“We should all be able to wed whomever we wish.” Mabel threw a fuming glance at her father, who took a bite of carrot off his fork without responding.
“Not this again.” Charles Fortune, her younger brother, blond and athletic, covered his mouth on a sham yawn.
“Yes, this again. Look at the colonel and Mrs. Astor, after all they had to endure to be together. Clearly marriage has worked out beautifully for them.”
“For them,” enunciated the eldest sister, Ethel. She pursed her lips over her glass of wine. “You, my girl, are not them. And neither is that jazz player fellow from Minnesota.”
“Mrs. Astor! Won’t you speak for me? Tell them how it is.”
“I . . .”
Margaret came to her rescue. “Love is a powerful force, Miss Fortune. There’s no denying it. But love and common sense don’t always go hand in hand.”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” agreed Mrs. Widener. “Hearts may be easily broken, young lady, just as promises made in the heat of the moment may be. It pays to keep a cool head in courtship.”
“But my heart is broken now,” protested Mabel. She shook her head, the tortoiseshell combs in her hair gleaming. “It feels like I’ll die without him.”
“Mabel,” interrupted Mrs. Fortune in a granite voice, “you will bore our companions. No one desires to hear about your heart, broken or not.”
Mabel ignored her, leaning forward once more, fervent. “Mrs. Astor! Please! Tell them.”
Madeleine glanced at Jack, who had observed the entire exchange with a dispassionate expression. But beneath the table, he took her hand.
“I will say this,” she offered cautiously. “I genuinely cannot imagine my life ahead without my husband by my side. He is my rock and my true north and my whole heart. I’m not afraid to say it.”
“There!” breathed Mabel.