The Life She Wanted: A Novel
Anita Abriel
Chapter One
July 1926, Hyde Park, New York
Tonight was the night that twenty-year-old Pandora Carmichael would be asked to become the future Mrs. Owen Winthrop, she was sure of it.
Pandora couldn’t recall a time when she didn’t have a crush on Owen. Owen had been coming to Riverview, the Van Luyens’ estate, where Pandora’s father was the private tennis instructor, every summer for ages. Pandora always loved sneaking glances at Owen on the court when he played tennis with Archie, the Van Luyens’ son and her close friend. How could Pandora not develop feelings for Owen? He was good looking and charming and had always been so kind to her.
This weekend, Owen’s parents were hosting their annual July Fourth weekend party at Rosecliff, and Pandora was thrilled to be invited.
Archie, sitting in the driver’s seat, glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “If Pandora’s jaw drops any lower, she’ll swallow a butterfly,” he joked.
As the car inched closer to Rosecliff, Pandora allowed herself to be swept up by its grandeur. The house was built in the neoclassical style with arched French windows and pink marble pilasters. The forecourt was adorned with a bronze statue and manicured hedges. Gardeners must have had to prune them every day. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and to the side of the house there was a greenhouse, a tennis court, and a swimming pool.
“Don’t make fun of Pandora,” Archie’s sister, Virginia, chided from the front passenger seat. “The first time I saw Rosecliff, even I was impressed. At least the Winthrops were smart enough to invite Pandora to the party. She’s more interesting than any of the other young women who’ll be there. All they care about is finishing their season with a diamond ring on their left hand and an appointment to view the bridal suite at the Plaza.”
“Most girls aren’t like you; they want to get married,” Archie reminded her. “Even Pandora. Why shouldn’t she? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a husband and family.”
“That’s easy for you to say; you’re a man. No one’s going to stop you from doing anything,” Virginia replied darkly. “You weren’t thrown out of Princeton simply for hosting a literary discussion.”
Virginia had been asked to leave Smith College last April for using the dormitory as a literary salon. If she had asked permission, the college president, William Neilson, explained to Virginia’s parents, it might have been different. Instead, Virginia bought up all the copies of The Awakening by Kate Chopin at the bookstore and distributed them to the girls on her floor. Her roommate was so upset by the novel’s themes of female sexual awakening and women’s discontent with becoming only wives and mothers, that she called her mother and insisted she pick her up and take her home.
After Virginia was expelled, she spent the next month applying to other colleges. Vassar in Poughkeepsie agreed to let her take a few classes in the fall, as did Barnard in New York. But neither school would let her attend full time or live in a dormitory.
“I envy Pandora,” Virginia continued, resting her elbow on the car window. “She gets to live in New York by herself in the fall. I’ll be cooped up at Riverview or under Mother’s strict supervision at the townhouse on Fifth Avenue.”
Pandora listened quietly from the back seat. She was supposed to attend secretarial school in New York in the fall, although it was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t imagine spending her life taking dictation and fending off unwanted advances. Instead, she dreamed of being a fashion designer—of opening a dress boutique in Hyde Park and one day having a larger boutique on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Being married to Owen would not only mean marrying the love of her life, it would also give her the status and resources to pursue her goals. The doors that had never been open to her, the life she had merely caught glimpses of in the years that her father worked for the Van Luyens, would be hers.
Their conversation was interrupted by a flock of chickens coming close to the car.
“Don’t tell me the Winthrops have become chicken farmers like the Vanderbilts and Roosevelts,” Archie said, slamming on the brakes to avoid running over a chicken. “As long as the chickens don’t wander onto the tennis courts. I’m only here for the tennis. I can do without the dinner that will drag on for hours or the obligatory games of poker.”
Archie pulled up behind a royal-blue roadster and turned off the ignition.
“Will I be sent away because my car’s a Model T Ford instead of a Winthrop GT?” Archie joked. He jumped out and lifted his overnight bag from the back seat.
“Explain it was a birthday present from a great-aunt.” Virginia climbed out after him. “As long as you praise Clarence Winthrop’s whiskey, you’ll be fine.”
Prohibition had hardly affected people like the Winthrops. They could find every kind of liquor on the black market, and rumor had it Clarence Winthrop had bought out the inventory of two liquor stores and housed the whole in his wine cellar.
Pandora followed Archie and Virginia up the steps. This was her first house party, besides the ones that the Van Luyens held at Riverview. At those parties, Pandora usually helped Esther, the cook, in the kitchen. When Archie and Virginia invited her to play croquet on the lawn or go boating on the river, Pandora knew it was because they felt so close to her. But she was the daughter of one of their staff; she didn’t really belong with the Van Luyens’ friends. Even though Pandora was used to the house parties at Riverview, she was still nervous. At Rosecliff, she couldn’t slip into the kitchen and watch the festivities on the lawn from the window. She wondered if the Winthrops’ other guests would welcome her or if they would question who she was and why she was invited.
But Archie and Virginia were her best friends, and she was thrilled to be joining them. If it weren’t for them, she would never have met Owen. They had always been so caring and accepting. One day, she hoped to return the favor when her dreams had come true and she had her own family and parties to throw.
A butler stood at the front door, escorting guests into the reception rooms.
The ceilings were painted with a fresco as rich and detailed as the Persian rugs that covered the parquet floors. Gilt mirrors graced the walls, and silk sofas were upholstered in a color that was new to Pandora: not quite pink and not quite white, like the pale lipstick Virginia hid from her mother in her dressing table. Chandeliers hung so low Pandora could see the glass prisms, and white columns topped with plaster rosettes reached the ceiling.
The French doors to the garden opened, and Owen entered the reception room, trailed by a few of the younger guests. Owen wasn’t classically handsome like Archie. Archie had blue eyes that were so light they were almost violet. His hair was blond, and he had a strong physique that made girls stop and stare, even when he left the house without brushing his hair, wearing his father’s gardening clothes. But Owen had his own unique appeal. His light brown hair was styled by the best barber, and his clothes came from his father’s tailor in London. Today Owen wore tennis whites set off by a Piaget watch that made the light hair on his wrist stand out.
“Pandora, there you are,” Owen said as he greeted her. His smile widened, and he looked delighted to see her. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.” He turned to Archie and Virginia. “I should have known these two made you late. Archie probably only got up an hour ago. At Princeton, I have to drag him out of bed on the weekends.”