New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [291]
When Sean had first told Mary about the business, she hadn’t been that surprised. Everyone knew about the British aristocracy’s new interest in American heiresses; Sean himself had described it very well.
“They’re just trying to get some of their money back from the place it went to,” he’d said. For since the canals and railroads had opened up the American Midwest, the cheap imports of American grain and meat to England had undercut all the local producers. The value of England’s mighty, historic harvests had plummeted, and the lordly incomes which had supported the aristocracy’s huge houses were only a fraction of what they had been. You could hardly blame them, then, if they looked across the Atlantic where there was now a plentiful supply of heiresses whose mothers were eager to trade them. And the heiresses usually had more education and were livelier company than the English country girls.
“But what’s in it for the Americans?” Mary had asked her brother.
He’d shrugged. “When a man’s made a fortune, and bought all the things he wants in America, he looks around for other worlds to conquer. So what’s left? He turns to Europe and sees things that can’t be had in America. Centuries of art, ancient manners, titles. So he buys them. It’s something to do. And of course, for the mothers, it becomes a social competition.”
Mary wondered whether the girls themselves were always happy. She remembered reading about the marriage of Consuelo Vanderbilt to the Duke of Marlborough. It had been a great society event, a triumph for Consuelo’s mother. And the bridegroom had received some Vanderbilt millions, so that he could keep his great palace up. But she remembered hearing the other side of the story from Hetty Master.
“Poor Consuelo’s entirely in love with Winthrop Rutherfurd, you know. He’s from fine old American stock, but her mother was just determined to have a title in the family—she actually locked the poor girl up, and forced her to marry the duke. Consuelo was weeping during the wedding ceremony. It was really shameful.”
Clarissa wasn’t in love with anybody else, anyway. Indeed, she’d taken a great liking to Lord Rivers’s second son. He was a handsome young fellow, an officer in a good regiment, who liked the outdoor life. Not a bad prospect, if he had some money to go with it. Sean, who had three granddaughters, seemed to find it amusing.
“But she’s Catholic,” Mary had pointed out, “and he’s sure to be Church of England.”
“That’s up to Clarissa,” said Sean. “Her father says he don’t care.”
“And her mother?”
“Her mother,” Sean said quietly, “would like her to marry the son of a lord.”
It had come as rather a surprise when Lord and Lady Rivers had announced their intention to visit America themselves. But Sean had quickly made arrangements that suited them admirably. A few days in New York, followed by a steamer up the Hudson, some days in Saratoga, and then across to Boston, which they had expressed a wish to see.
While Lord Rivers was in New York, Sean intended to play his part, which was to make the O’Donnells look respectable. Of course, the British usually assumed—quite incorrectly—that all American money must be new. Nevertheless, the presence of Clarissa’s rich old grandfather and his entirely respectable sister would do much to ease Clarissa’s way into her new life.
So when Sean had remarked the day before, “We’ll put our best foot forward here, sis, if you know what I mean,” Mary had felt a little sinking of the heart.
“I can’t lie, Sean,” she’d said. “I’m never any good at it.”
“Of course not,” he’d said.
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Just be yourself.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Nothing much.” He smiled. “I may let them think we’ve had money a