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Other publications were still speculating on a matchup with Annie Van Vechten or Emma Folsom (“a handsome matron with a gentle, amiable countenance”). Congressman John Weber, who had lost the race for sheriff when he ran against Cleveland in 1870, had this to say: “I have no reason to believe that Mr. Cleveland is about to be married, but if it should happen, then I say, God bless them both!”

Cleveland could have done without the public support of Frances’s uncle, H. F. Harmon, a Boston flour dealer, who said Cleveland’s “acquaintance with the lady began when she was hardly knee high. She used to climb up on his knee and call him ‘Uncle Cleve.’ Mr. Cleveland was very fond of her as a child.”

When one reporter had the temerity to corner Lamont and straight-out ask him about Frances Folsom, the president’s secretary responded with a voice that oozed disdain, “What is the matter with that story? Isn’t that sensation good enough for a week’s run at least? I’d keep it going for a while.” Was it a denial or sarcasm or confirmation? No one could tell. Lamont bristled when another reporter wondered how President Cleveland could consider marrying Frances Folsom. Wasn’t she just a schoolgirl?

“Ms. Folsom is considerably more than a schoolgirl, I can assure you,” he growled.

In Paris, Frances carried on with her shopping spree. She had to be fitted for outfits for travel, balls, dinners, walking excursions, and of course the most important event of all, her wedding. For this, she settled on a simple ivory satin gown with a long train and a bridal veil nearly seven yards in length that was to be worn high on the head and fall gracefully over the train. Frances was also getting a taste of what was awaiting her back home. Reporters from America and the European newspapers were staking out her hotel and following her everywhere, and Ben Folsom found himself running interference. Before he became a lawyer, Ben had worked as a cub reporter for the New York World, but nothing in his experience as a journalist had prepared him for this blitz of attention. It galled him to read that President Cleveland had paid for the Folsoms’ European tour, and he called these reports “rubbish and nonsense.”

The time came to commence the long voyage home. The itinerary called for Frances, Emma, and Ben to sail the English Channel and make their way across England to the port city of Liverpool where they had booked passage on the transatlantic ship Servia. But at the last minute they rerouted to Belgium and booked passage on the Red Star Line’s SS Noordland out of Antwerp. Six Saratoga trunks went with them while eleven more, filled with Frances’s trousseau, continued on to the Servia.

The Noordland was set to sail at 11:00 a.m. on May 15, a raw and rainy day. Just before the clock struck ten, two carriages swung around the crooked streets of Antwerp and came to a stop in front of the great steamship. Out stepped a statuesque beauty wearing a straw hat. It was the American princess Frances Folsom. She strode up the gangplank followed by her mother, her cousin Ben, and a dachshund named Miss Vollopoo that Ben had purchased from a kennel in Brussels. A team of porters and stewards trailed the party, bearing their luggage. The local manager of the Red Star Line was there to make certain that all the needs of the First Lady-in-waiting were taken care of. Precisely at eleven, Frances and her companions stood on deck as the lines were cast off and the Noordland moved away from the dock and steamed up the Scheldt River to the North Sea and homeward.

The Noordland was a four-mast vessel with one funnel and accommodations for sixty-three passengers in first class, fifty-six passengers in second, and five hundred in steerage. Frances and Emma were assigned cabin no. 20, the bridal chamber. Mother and daughter suffered seasickness during the first day of the crossing, but when the waves settled, Frances was finally able to enjoy the passage. All eyes were fixed on her when she strode into the dining hall,