Prologue
She still remembers how their courtship had started.
It was in a crowded ballroom, full of fluttering fans and gossip and gowns. The center was full of eligible bachelors and new debutantes, while the sides were dominated by matrons plotting and gentlemen politicking.
She had just come back from Wellesley College, and after two idyllic years in Cambridge, she had felt as though the very world was at her feet… at least, until she had returned to Boston, her hometown. Within hours of her return, she had been told in no uncertain terms that she would not be returning, and that she was expected to make an appearance at the ball the Fitzgeralds would be hosting.
The gossip at the ball was more frantic than she must have remembered, but she was quickly assured that this was not the case, because among the guests was a gentleman from England- a Viscount, at that. Already, she could hear matchmaking mamas hissing instructions to their daughters to look their best and smile and somehow secure at least one dance with the Viscount Radcliffe.
Amy herself is gladly thinking how she wasn't going to be one of the unfortunate daughters pushed at the uninterested lord (I mean really, why would he be?).
But then, there's a whisper in her ear, and a nudge in his direction by her grandmother, far more subtle than any other matron has managed thus far, and suddenly, she's standing right in front of him.
She glances first behind her, where her grandmother is standing, a society smile firmly in place, but her eyes already looking calculatingly between her and Lord Radcliffe.
It isn't that Grace Cahill is a social climber. It was just that she always remembered the stench of poverty and later, new money that had lingered around their family for her entire life. Now, no one could deny that the Cahills were a wealthy family, but they were still very much ensconced in the nouveau riche, something she firmly intended to change.
And so when the Cahill matriarch caught wind of the fact that an English viscount was visiting his friends in Boston, she immediately set out to ensure Amy got to him before anybody else. If the Boston Brahmins couldn't accept her family as one of its own, then perhaps having a viscountess, and future countess in the family would change their mind.
Now, Amy has turned back around, feeling very much like a deer caught in the headlights, when her Uncle Fiske comes up to them.
"Ah! Amelia, dear," he booms jovially, "I just saw-" he pauses, as if noticing the viscount for the first time, and his eyes widen theatrically. "Well how fortuitous! Have you been introduced?" He asks her.
This must have all been planned, Amy realizes, taking care not to betray anything through her expression, and only wordlessly shakes her head.
"Then I shall do the honors," Uncle Fiske says agreeably. "Lord Radcliffe, may I introduce my grand-niece, Miss Amelia Cahill, the one I was telling you about-" he looks significantly at the viscount, "-and Amy, this, as you know, is Lord Rosenbloom, the Viscount Radcliffe."
She curtseys politely, and he bows, and when they straighten up, she notes his features: Tall, Dark hair and eyes, and an overall air that could have been seen as stern, perhaps even dour, had be not been what one would consider classically good-looking. Of course, even a lack of looks could be forgiven if one was a viscount, Amy thinks sardonically, noticing how his gaze lingers on her a touch longer than appropriate before he speaks.
"Miss Cahill, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," he pronounces upon judgement.
"And you as well, my Lord," she says, making sure to keep her eyes slightly downcast, and his smile widens, possibly because she's the most demure lady he's seen in this entire ballroom. Her peers are mostly giggly, fluttery things that don't have a care greater than their hair, or future marriage prospects. Amy has found out over time that simply by not behaving as such, it was far easier to receive serious male attention, namely, those interested in marriage. Of course, whatever intelligence or wit she possessed had to be hidden too, but that's a sacrifice she must make if she wants to play the game.
The question is, does she want to?
Just then, a lively song starts up, and the Viscount holds his hand out to her. "If you are free, Miss Cahill, may I have this next dance?"
She musters smile. "Of course, my Lord."
The dance has simple steps, leaving ample time for them to face each other and converse, but so far, he's made absolutely no effort. It's awkward at first, and Amy wonders if she'll have to be the lady and make some conversation, but he surprises her by speaking first.
"Your uncle was telling me you had recently arrived back from school. Where is it that you attend?
"I went to Wellesley, my Lord."
"Finishing school?"
"No, my Lord… college. I was studying literature," she says hesitantly. All of Boston society had wondered if her father had lost her mind when he allowed her to receive higher education that was not finishing school, and if that were the case, then what would the viscount think?
He doesn't express any outright disapproval- at first.
"But I suppose you are done?" He asks shrewdly, eying her expensive attire, a peach silk confection with lace overlay, and the family jewels her mother had forced on her for the evening. Young women didn't dress like this unless they were in the marriage market, and he certainly knew it.
"Yes, my lord."
"Good," he says approvingly, and she feels her insides curl up at that pronouncement. "I find that young ladies learn the best from being out in society, rather being inside a schoolroom learning things of no real value."
Amy bites back a retort about all the useless knowledge he must have picked up in his public school and Oxbridge career, and instead asks, "And you, my lord- what did you study in university?"
"Political science in Cambridge-" called it, Amy thinks, "-as well as the classics. I am quite active in Parliament now."
Politics! There is a topic she knows very well. Being the daughter and granddaughter of Boston politicians has its perks, and she's seen campaigns up close since she was born.
"How fascinating," she smiles, "My father and grandfather both served in the House of Representatives, and I am quite familiar with all the machinations employed in the business."
She looks up at him, hoping that perhaps they can find some common ground… perhaps discuss the politics of the day. She enjoys reading newspapers from Boston, New York, as well as across the pond, and maybe he can offer her more insight than the papers can.
"Yes well, the House of Representatives, and House of Lords are two very different things."
Well.
You earn the seat in one, and just inherit in the other, Amy wants to say, but keeps her mouth shut, well aware that he completely dismissed her with one remark.
But nonetheless, he asks her to dance with him twice more by the end of the night.
Before the final dance, a waltz, Dan corners her under the guise of giving her a glass of punch, and mutters, "How's Lord Snob-cliffe?"
Amy rolls her eyes at his juvenile insult. Sometimes, it was hard to imagine that he would be headed for Harvard come fall.
"He's perfectly fine, thank you," Amy sniffs, to which Dan scoffs.
"You'll have to find him more than fine, what with all the grand plans grandmother has for you."
"What plans?" Amy asks dismissively. "I hardly think she's basing my entire life off of two- well now three- dances with the same man, no matter how eligible he might be."
And with that, the man in question himself comes up to her and sweeps her back onto the dance floor, leaving Dan to murmur only so Amy could hear, "just you wait."
At the end of the night, her grandmother looks particularly proud as her glowering brother escorts her out of the ballroom.
They see each other twice more, once at a picnic, and another time at a party in her own home. Both times, he pays her marked attention, far more than any other young lady.
This garners the surprise, and even scorn, of the other ladies. She's always been known as a bit of a blue-stocking, and the fact that her father had let her attend college was seen as a poor choice on his part- after all, how did she expect to find a husband if she always had her nose buried in a book?
The viscount was lucky that he didn't know about her reputation, many a matron had snickered.
Amy herself is not really sure of the all the attention she's been receiving.
It's certainly a compliment to be singled out by an English aristocrat, especially an unmarried one.
Lord Radcliffe is a perfectly nice man, and clearly an intelligent one at that, and although he makes no attempt to stop her from expressing her own intelligent opinion, he never does take it seriously, dismissing it, or quashing it with some condescending remark.
It's all done very elegantly, of course, but what did that say about him as a person? But then again, who was she to question any of it? He was a lord, and she was a plain, old Miss Cahill.
This is not her first courtship (she thinks with a pang of Evan, who is still abroad, and the gathering letters she has not replied to, not at the risk of being caught and jeopardizing her reputation and her family's), but there is something different about this… she can't quite put her finger about it, but there is something unsettling about the whole affair, and she hopes it will all be forgotten when he progresses south to New York City.
"Lord Radcliffe has written to me," her father announces at the breakfast table, about a week after the man in question had left to visit friends in New York.
Amy looks up from her spoonful of porridge, and notes that her mother and grandmother immediately stop what they're doing to listen as well.
"He has asked me- formally," her father adds, "to court you, Amy. He has assured me that he is very much in love with you."
The table bursts with delight and excitement at that proclamation, her mother gasping in awe and her father giving her one of his rare smiles as Uncle Fiske, who is breakfasting with them this morning, goes into raptures about how he was the one to make the introduction, and that he'd known from the moment they met how perfect they were for each other etc. etc.
In between it all, her grandmother leans in and kisses her cheek, murmuring "congratulations, dear." When she pulls away, Amy can see a calculating gleam in her eye, as though she is plotting Amy's next ten steps in ten seconds.
"I've barely met him three times," Amy says to the table at large in wonderment, and if she's being honest, shock.
"It doesn't take that long for a man to fall," her mother says sagely. "You are, after all, a lovely young lady, Amy."
"I doubt it was the loveliness," Dan mutters into his cup, and their mother glares at him.
"Well," he father says, "I'm inclined to give my agreement to this, if Amy has no objections, of course," he says, looking at her.
"Of course," Amy repeats numbly.
"It is settled then," he says, "I shall write to him immediately after breakfast."
"Oh Amy," her mother says in raptures, "Just think, you could be a Viscountess! Think about the jewels and pin-money and-"
"Calm yourself, dear," Grace says. "Amy still needs to get engaged to him, and there are the papers and the settlement-"
"Pish-posh," Uncle Fiske booms, "Mark my words, the girl will be married to him by summer's end."
"A lord doesn't come-" Grace coughs delicately, "-cheaply."
"We have the means, mother," Hope replies. "And my daughter becoming a member of the English aristocracy is a price we are willing to pay."
It's not even the fact that she's being discussed like a commodity- something to be bought and sold- but the way her mother says it, it's as though her and her father have already spoken of this at length, and came to one sole conclusion: she must be married to the Viscount.
Later that day, Amy is passing the parlor when she overhears conversation in the room. The door is closed, which is curious, and she can't help but lean against the wall to listen, especially when her name is mentioned.
"-Must be sure of the chances of him proposing to her," she hears her mother tell the other person in the parlor.
"From what I have seen, he seems to be considering her seriously," her grandmother replies.
Amy's face falls. They're still discussing her and Lord Radcliffe. To be honest, she herself isn't sure if there is a "her and Lord Radcliffe", but society, and more importantly her family, has deemed it as such, and she has no power to convince them otherwise.
"And the marriage and move to England isn't our biggest problem. If Amy were to marry him, of course she would eventually become a Countess, but if she doesn't secure her husband an heir…"
"Does the viscount have any siblings?" Her mother asks worriedly.
"A younger brother-" Grace says, and then adds pointedly, "-who could inherit."
"She would have to have a son," Hope says, a note of tension in her voice. "But mother, our family isn't exactly known for their ability to have many children, let alone sons."
"Nonsense," Grace waves her hand, "you managed it perfectly all right."
"But it was a painful ordeal, one I nearly didn't recover from."
"Amy is a strong girl, Hope. She will be fine." Grace's tone has an edge of finality in it, effectively ending the conversation.
Amy's heart is still racing when she makes her way up the stairs and into her bedroom.
As he said in his letter, the Viscount is back in three weeks, and the courtship begins, mostly consisting of him escorting her to various social events, and calling on her every few days.
After nearly a month of this, Amy can see no discernible difference in the way he treats her- perfunctory at best, and completely ignoring her at worst. She is beginning to wonder if this is all going to lead to something more (and scarcely hoping to believe otherwise, because she's been disappointed in the past), when one morning, mid-July, when calling hour has just begun, Amy's mother bursts into her room, where she is reading.
"Amy," she whispers, her eyes wide, and Amy looks around to see if anyone is behind her, and they aren't, so why is she whispering? But she barely has time to pose the question, because her mother is dragging her out of her seat, and pushing her in front of her vanity, frantically calling for a maid to help her with Amy's hair. Her dress is deemed acceptable, and her mother pinches her cheeks "to give it a bloom", and then finally composes herself before escorting Amy downstairs.
"I don't understand," Amy hisses, "what is happening?"
"You are to go to the formal drawing room, and await Lord Radcliffe," her mother tells her, to which she only nods, still confused as to what is occurring.
She's about to make her way to the room as instructed, when her mother grabs her arm not harshly, and speaks, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.
"And Amy?" Amy notices tears gleaming in her eyes, eyes that shine with pride in a way they have never done, at least, when concerning her. "Good luck." Her mother clumsily kisses her cheek, sniffing and wiping away tears, and then walks away.
When Amy enters the room, she scarcely has time to walk in before the doors open once more, and the Viscount is announced.
Amy whirls around, and at his presence, everything is put in place.
The hair, her mother's sudden burst of pride, being left alone in a room with the one man she has been courting recently…
"Lord Radcliffe," she says breathlessly. "To what…" she flounders for a moment, "do I owe the pleasure?"
He advances forward, the usual perfunctory expression on his face. When he speaks, however, they convey anything but.
"Miss Cahill, It would please me if you could address me by my given name- Jacob."
"My Lord, I'm not sure that's proper," Amy says in half-protest, her mind going at a mile a minute, because oh God, is he really about to do this?
The whole time her parents and grandmother had schemed, she had kept silent, because she couldn't bring herself to disappoint them by telling them that he would never go as far as to offer for her, but what if they were right all along?
What did he see in her?
In public, she hardly dared to stand out, knowing that she came off awkward and bookish to those who thought they knew her, and shy and demure to those who didn't-
Unless, he wanted her to play the demure housewife, cooped up in some ancient ancestral home while he gallivanted about in Parliament-
Her heart is racing as she looks up at him.
"It is," he assures her, and then to her horror, he goes down on one knee before her. "Especially if…" he inhales deeply, as if nervous, but the previous statement tells Amy that he is anything but unsure at this point. "Before I say anything, I assure you that I have asked your father for permission, and he has given his blessing and consented to me asking you this: Miss Cahill, since the moment I met you, I knew that you were the woman I wanted to spend my life with, the sort of woman that would fit in well in my circles in England, and in my family. Your accomplishments do you credit, but it is your modesty and simplicity that I found most becoming, which is why, Miss Cahill- Amelia- will you marry me?
"Marry you?" She echoes back, and though his face falls slightly at her reaction, he continues, evidently emboldened by the lack of outright rejection.
"Yes," he says, "And move to England with me. You would be a viscountess, and in time, a countess-" Amy internally snorts; of course he has to bring his title into this, "-and we would spend most of the year in London, and some time Westborough Hall- that is, the family estate- and," he adds as an afterthought, "I like you very much."
It would be so easy to dismiss this man and his plain-spoken, rather ridiculous (to her) speech, until one realized that he was not just a man, but an English viscount who had offered her, a mere Boston Miss, marriage. If she accepted, she would rise above the social strata, far above the place afforded to her at birth, and if she refused, she would be shunned likely by not only her parents, but the rest of society, and no one would ever propose to her again.
In short, he had nothing to lose by proposing to her, and she had everything to lose if she did not accept.
For the her entire life, she had liked to pretend that perhaps their world was moving forward, and marriage was a choice, not an absolute. Her time at Wellesley had shown her that this was indeed possible, but now… it all seems so black and white.
But maybe England will be different. She has so often heard about how London was the world leader of fashion, art, philosophy, and this surely must apply to women's rights as well- not just for things like owning property or the ability to vote, but the freedom to have opinions, to express them and speak out- in short, all Amy's ever wanted.
Perhaps this is her future- her destiny in some way. She will be the pioneer that changes pushes the boundaries of what is acceptable, towards what is right, and all while having a husband by her side.
"Yes Lord Ra- Jacob," she says, finally meeting his eyes with as much strength as she can muster, "I will marry you."
And that's the prologue, folks!
*This is for Star and Addict's Summer Contest*
(Figured I'd put that in somewhere)
So I figure I should probably give historical context of some variety, and here it is.
1) This is taking place in the late-ish Victorian era, and this chapter is all set in Boston. Amy is from a wealthy Boston family, and Jake is an English peer, his full title being "Lord Jacob Rosenbloom, the Viscount Radcliffe", and thus he is referred to as simply "Lord Radcliffe".
During this time, a lot of newly-wealthy American women were married off to titled members of the European nobility, often English peers. The families of these women couldn't get a lot of social acceptance because they were still considered "new money", so it was hard for these young women to find the most eligible matches in America, because though they were filthy rich, they lacked pedigree, like Amy does. But many of their families figured that getting their daughter married into European nobility would ensure their own social acceptances, and they could rub it in the faces of the "old money" people.
European nobles went along with this, and had a lot to gain from marrying wealthy American women. By this time, the cost of living was increasing faster and faster, and it was getting harder to fund their lavish lifestyles and huge estates. Marrying a rich woman would get them a large dowry they could spend on maintaining their lifestyles.
So basically, the women got the title, and the men got the money.
2) Wellesley College is one of the first women's colleges, and is located in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was a closely connected Harvard early on. Notable alumni include Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright.
3) "Boston Brahmins" was a term coined to refer to old, prominent Massachusetts families that had been around since the Revolution, or before. They were all WASPs (White Anglo-Saxon Protestants), the key distinction between them and people like the Cahills being that the Cahills weren't Protestant, and were Catholic. "Brahmin" families included the Adams', Coolidges, Delanos, Forbes', and the Quincys. The two most famous people I can think of that came from these families are probably FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt) and John Forbes Kerry, a former Secretary of State, although three other presidents, John Adams, John Quincy Adams, and Calvin Coolidge, did come from the same stock.