The Wedding Veil(62)
Cornelia took a deep breath. “I can’t decide which party I’m more excited about. The one with the estate workers this afternoon or the ball tomorrow.”
Edith smiled. “I’m so thrilled that the Charles Freicher Orchestra will be able to join us.”
Cornelia always loved when her mother said things like that, as though the orchestra had simply taken it upon themselves to attend the party, not that they had been paid handily to be a part of the celebration.
“I think Guthrie’s Orchestra at this afternoon’s celebration will be lovely as well,” Cornelia countered. She still felt a bit strange about having one party with the employees and one with her society friends. But, with six hundred total guests, there wasn’t much choice but to spread the celebration over two affairs, and even though she felt equally comfortable in both worlds, she knew the same wasn’t true for her friends.
“I still wish we were having a fancy dress ball,” Edith said.
“That’s because you wear costumes so well, Mother,” Cornelia said, smiling.
But she didn’t want that kind of pageantry. She simply wanted to celebrate her birthday with the people she loved. Jack had asked her over and over what she might want for a gift. But she had already received the best gift this year: a son. And her true birthday gift was this magnificent estate. Asking for more seemed absurd.
The ice-cream cake the workers at Biltmore Dairy had presented her with at her first party was positively extravagant. Four feet tall and two feet wide, it took twenty-six gallons of ice cream to create the work of art, which was studded with roses, lilies, and the proclamation “May your joys be as many as the sands of the sea.”
It was a truly marvelous gift, and while the Cartier cigarette holders and carved figurines presented to her by her society friends were lovely, she had a special place in her heart for that cake.
What she did not have a special place for was it being written about, her outfits being commented on and guest lists being scrutinized. She didn’t mind so much when the Asheville Gazette did it. But then all the other papers picked it up, meaning that everyone in the country would be reading about her birthday by nightfall.
Now, at Cornelia’s birthday breakfast, Edith read the Gazette aloud. “?‘The beautiful array of summer gowns of the many dancers made a scene as beautiful as that of gay moths and fireflies in a fairy garden.’?” She paused and put the paper down. “Well, how positively lovely. I can’t think of a better description of a birthday party.”
Cornelia sighed. “It is lovely. But it still feels like an invasion of privacy.”
Edith nodded. “I understand. I very much do. But why now? This has been our whole lives, hasn’t it?”
Cornelia was glad that a pair of servers swept in then with silver trays of pastries and fruit right at that moment. She was grateful that this was a light breakfast. She felt as if she couldn’t eat another bite after the midnight buffet, but even still, she politely took a pastry and a few pieces of melon.
“I’m certain it’s one of your ‘friends’ on the estate who’s leaking these stories,” Jack said.
Mr. Noble silently refilled their coffee cups. Cornelia had grown used to the way his coat sleeve hung empty, dangling by his side—he had lost his arm in the Great War. Because of his sacrifice, the true cost of the battle was always top of mind. It made Cornelia proud that her mother, upon seeing Noble’s condition when he came home, had rehired him on the spot—and as head butler at that—without a second thought. And it astounded her that he was still, with one arm, the most talented and dedicated servant at Biltmore. He had relearned how to do everything, and maybe even do it better than he did before.
“Mr. Noble,” Jack asked. “Tell me, do you think one of the staff leaked the story to the press?” Jack and Noble had bonded instantly over their English heritage. They had a similar accent—and a similar distaste for anyone and everyone they believed had betrayed Cornelia.
Mr. Noble cleared his throat. “That is not for me to say, Mr. Cecil.” He paused, then continued, “But if I had to say…”
Jack smiled at Cornelia victoriously. Besides her smallest love, George Henry Vanderbilt Cecil, and the man for whom he was named, Cornelia perhaps loved Jack and Mr. Noble as much as any two men in the world. She knew they were trying to protect her. Even still, she wasn’t ready to concede this fight.
“No one on the estate would betray me. They are my friends, Jack. My real, true ones.”
He looked at her sadly. Jack believed that these people were kind to Cornelia because being in her good graces got them to the places they wanted to go. She resented him for feeling that way. But it did put a shadow of a doubt in her mind. Were the estate workers her friends for her, or for what she could offer them? It was a lonely thought.
Edith waved her hand, taking a sip of coffee. “It doesn’t matter how they get the stories. Much like charity balls and dress fittings, this is simply a part of our lives.”
“I don’t know how you handle it so well,” Cornelia replied.
Edith laughed. “My darling, when I was your age, the press was debating everything from my appearance to my assets, my suitability for Daddy to my wardrobe. They mostly talk about how wonderful you are. I do wish you would just accept it as fact and move on. They talk about you because they love you.”