“You know your husband has challenged Borrowe to a duel,” said William. “You’re about to have blood on your hands, young lady.”
Charlotte was impenetrable. Even when the newspapers were shoved under her nose—which William had done after reading each headline aloud—Charlotte stared straight ahead, unapologetic. Barely blinking.
“You should know that I’ve paid your husband—quite handsomely—to stay in this sham of a marriage.” William raised his voice, and Caroline wasn’t sure if that was out of sheer frustration or in order to compete with the hammering next door. “You have your children to think about.”
“And what am I to do?” Charlotte said, finally, matter-of-factly, as if the situation were out of her control. “I’m in love. Don’t I deserve to be happy?”
It seemed like such a simple request. She asked as if it were her birthright, and maybe it was, but Caroline had never felt entitled to happiness. Happiness was something you worked toward achieving, it wasn’t a given.
“Happy at what cost?” Caroline asked, thinking of her grandchildren. Charlotte had three children, ages four to twelve. “Think of those who will suffer over your pursuit of this selfish love.”
“Charlie, I’m not going to say this again. This affair with Borrowe will come to an end, and it will come to an end right this minute.”
Charlotte looked at her father, and in an act of sheer defiance, she said, “I’ll end my affair, Father, if you’ll end yours.”
“That’s it.” William threw his arms up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “You shan’t receive another penny from me. Do you hear me? Not one penny.”
“I don’t care. Go ahead, disinherit me.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that,” Caroline said. She couldn’t possibly mean that. The threat of losing her inheritance had always been their ultimate point of leverage. Caroline couldn’t think of anything to counter with as Charlotte stormed out of the library. Watching her leave, Caroline felt another part of her soul break away. The money—Charlotte’s inheritance—was the last tether they had to her. Caroline simply couldn’t bear the thought of losing another daughter, and all because of a man.
One week later, Caroline opened her newspaper and there it was: Mrs. Astor Paid Mr. J. Coleman Drayton $7000 to Halt Divorce Proceedings. Caroline was horrified. She reached for the New York Sun only to see Astor Girl Disowned Over Illicit Affair.
* * *
—
The following day, after William escaped it all and had left for the Everglades, Coleman came to see Caroline. As soon as Thomas showed him into her sitting room, she could tell that something new had developed.
“That good-for-nothing coward, Borrowe, left town,” he said, handing her a newspaper he’d been angrily rolling and twisting into a cylinder.
She let the paper flop open and saw another headline: Cowardly Borrowe Backs Out of Duel and Flees for Europe.
“He’s gone abroad,” said Coleman. “They say he’s gone to Europe just to dodge my challenge to a duel.”
Caroline couldn’t say she was surprised by this and wondered why Coleman was. His vigorous pacing was making her anxious. “Would you like some tea?”
“And that’s not the half of it,” said Coleman, ignoring her.
“Why don’t you have a seat? Let me ask Thomas to bring you some tea. Or perhaps coffee?”
But Coleman continued to babble, explaining that he’d attended a Giants game at the Polo Grounds earlier that day, and when he’d returned home Charlotte was gone.
“What do you mean gone?”
“Gone—gone! She’s run away.”
“Run away?” Caroline nearly dropped her teacup.
“She’s gone. She’s left me.” He shook his head as if he himself could not believe it. “And she’s left her children, too.”
This time Caroline used both hands to set her cup aside. It was impossible to fathom. Her daughter wouldn’t do that—a wife and mother simply did not do such a thing. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. “I know my daughter isn’t perfect, but Charlotte would never leave you and her children. This is beyond—”
“I tell you she’s gone to chase after her lover, that coward.”
“No, no, you must be mistaken. Perhaps she’s gone to Newport early.” Yes, that was it. “Charlotte’s always enjoyed the peace and quiet up—”
“I have proof.” He grimly reached inside his pocket and handed Caroline a letter.
Caroline looked at it, which was really more of a note. Just a few words in her daughter’s hand:
Dear Coleman,
I’ve gone to find Hallett. Do not follow me.
Charlotte
“As if that weren’t enough—”
“Oh, dear lord, there’s more?” Caroline felt her heart seize up.
“You might want to take a look at today’s edition of the New York Sun.”
Caroline’s stomach dropped as she clutched Charlotte’s note. No more press. Please, let there be nothing more in the press.
“I’ve been alerted that the Sun obtained Charlotte’s love letters—”
“Love letters?”
“Apparently, Hallett Borrowe’s valet found love letters that Charlotte wrote to Borrowe, and he sold them to the New York Sun. They’ve already published one of them in today’s paper.” He winced. “It’s a good thing Charlotte’s run off. What she’s written to that philanderer is disgusting. Disgraceful. No lady of her upbringing should ever embrace such salacious thoughts.”
Caroline wasn’t a fainter, but the last thing she remembered before the world went blank was Charlotte’s note to Coleman slipping from her fingers.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Society
Every newspaper in town has published Charlotte Astor Drayton’s love letters—word for titillating word. The intimacies described make us blush as we read them again and again. How Charlotte aches for the feel of him, how she craves the taste of him, how he makes her body do and feel things she didn’t know were possible. She claims her entire body purrs for hours after he’s left her bed.
Purrs? Our bodies most definitely do not purr. In fact, we didn’t know our bodies could purr. We are on tenterhooks to see what happens next in The Astor Girl Scandal. Lydia gobbles it up just like she would one of her romance novels. To be honest, we all do, though admittedly, we have no idea what Charlotte Astor Drayton is referring to—this aching for the feel of a man? Craving his taste?