Most sincerely yours,
Consuelo Montagu
Caroline sat with the letter, unable to shake the thought of Charlotte all alone and penniless in London, too afraid to return home where she belonged. Caroline had to go get her, but she couldn’t do it alone. When William returned later that day from the matches at the Polo Club, she showed him the letter.
“I’m going to London and I need you to come with me,” she said before he’d spoken a word. “That’s the only way Charlotte will come back and you know it. She was always your favorite, and she needs to know you’ll forgive her. She needs to hear that from you.”
* * *
—
The next day Caroline and William set sail for England. It was the first time in more than a decade that Caroline had stepped foot on William’s yacht, the Ambassadress. William had built the 235-foot schooner in 1877, and the press had aptly called it a “floating palace.” Her husband had spared no expense, importing teakwood for the upper and lower decks, French walnut for the grand staircase, gold and marble fireplace mantels for the smoking room and library.
The weather was bad that day but Caroline, who had always publicly claimed that seasickness kept her from joining William on the Ambassadress, wasn’t fazed by the choppy waters. Instead, she stood on the promenade deck, her chamois gloves gripping the brass railing, looking out at the whitecaps. The sky was overcast, heavy with a thick band of clouds as far as she could see. She was thinking of Charlotte as the wind gusts toyed with her hat, salt water misting her face.
She heard footsteps coming up behind her on the deck. She looked over her shoulder and saw that it was Thomas. He gazed at the horizon, squinting as if he were looking directly at the sun even as the sky darkened.
“Mrs. Astor, perhaps you should come in from the deck.”
“I’ll be in shortly,” she said.
Something about the sea, even a rough one, gave her a new perspective, a humbling one. Her world wasn’t all that significant when compared to the ocean’s vastness, its constant motion and sheer power. A few minutes later, a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance as a bolt of lightning branched out across the sky, unleashing a torrent of rain, quarter-size drops bouncing on the deck. Thomas raced over with an umbrella and hurried her inside.
The storm intensified over the next few hours, raging on, and later that night, Caroline listened to the violent waves lashing out, pounding against the hull. The sea rocked the yacht, causing the lamps in her cabin to flicker, making it nearly impossible to read. She’d thought about asking Thomas to read with her, but doubted he’d have any better luck, so she marked her place and set the book aside. She hadn’t been able to concentrate anyway and not because of the weather. She rested her hands on the upholstered arms of her chair and glanced about the bedroom, admiring the ivory-and-gold Louis XV furnishings, trying not to think of William’s various lady friends who had stayed there before her.
Someone knocked on her door and she assumed it was Thomas or maybe one of the stewards, checking in on her.
Instead it was William, looking a bit sallow. “May I come in?”
“Is everything all right?”
He didn’t answer and instead stood there, leaning against the doorjamb for balance as the yacht bobbed back and forth. He’d been in his library most of the day and well into the evening. She’d expected him to be full of whiskey by now but couldn’t detect even the slightest smell of liquor coming off him. He seemed perfectly sober.
“I thought I should check in on you. In case you’re frightened or—”
“Oh, I’m not frightened.”
“You never are, are you?”
She looked at him and paused. Was that a smile she detected?
“You are fearless,” he said. “Not afraid of anything. You really are as strong as they say, aren’t you?”
Caroline was taken aback. She didn’t know what to do with his compliment. For years she’d been starved for his attention, and here he was giving it to her, and she couldn’t take it in. She was about to change the subject, when he did it for her.
“Lina, I’m afraid I’ve failed our girls.”
“Failed them?” Her voice ticked up a notch. “What has gotten into you tonight?” She realized he had inched his way inside her cabin without her having noticed it and was standing now just a few feet from her. She thought about asking him to have a seat but that seemed presumptuous, as if she thought he was planning on staying when perhaps he’d only wanted to say his piece and leave. She couldn’t decide what to do, so she did nothing and he continued standing before her, talking.
“As a man gets older,” he was saying now, “he’s bound to have regrets. Let’s face it, I haven’t been much of a father. Or a husband for that matter.”
She couldn’t have agreed with him more. “You’ve been a good provider,” she offered, trying to be kind.
“A provider, huh?” He laughed, but his eyes were sad. “You have every right to be angry with me.”
This time she was the one with the sad laugh. The lamps flickered so, they nearly went out but then recovered to full strength.
He brought a hand to his mouth and smoothed down his horseshoe mustache. “Lord knows you deserved better than I’ve given you.”
“Oh pish-posh,” she said. “No point in going over that now.”
They lapsed into silence just as a massive wave hit them starboard. The tea in her cup sloshed overboard into the saucer.
“You did the right thing,” he said.
“About what?”
“You were right about letting Emily and Carrie marry the men they loved. We’ve seen what happens when the families arrange the marriages, haven’t we? We shouldn’t have forced Charlie to marry Coleman.”
“We didn’t force her,” said Caroline. “I forced her.”
He bobbed his head, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. After a long pause he said, “Maybe the heart doesn’t make a perfect match for society, but in the long run, the heart knows best.” She wasn’t certain, but thought his eyes were misting up. “If I had it to do over again with Charlie . . . with Emily . . .” He shook his head, unable to get the words out.
She stood up, reached over and touched his hand, suddenly feeling the need to comfort him. She’d never seen him so vulnerable, and it stirred something inside her. Another wave rocked the yacht, and Caroline stumbled forward, falling against his chest. The awkwardness was nearly unbearable. It was as if she were pressed up against a stranger. They both mumbled apologies, and as she stepped back, he came forward. She saw her own surprise mirrored in his eyes, and the next thing she knew, he had his arms around her and was kissing her. She was startled at first. Long ago she’d dreamed of kissing him again, and now she was. It took a moment to find the pleasure in it and accept the reassurance she’d so desperately needed. He wanted her again. When he removed her dressing gown, she turned shy as a schoolgirl. She didn’t dare speak or question why—why now—for fear he’d stop.