Where the Heart Chooses (21 page)

Albert’s had to return home, but he’s
promised to answer if I write to him.
If
I’ll write! The
silly dear! As if I could resist!

I’m so giddy, I could dance on the
ceiling!

Love from your

Mistress Mary

P.S. Have you and John set the date yet?

Less than two weeks later, she wrote
again.

Dearest Gibsy,

What a wonderful idea to wed on Valentine’s
Day! John is so romantic to have thought of it! Mother has approved
of the design for the dress you chose for me, and as soon as the
fittings are complete, we sail to Liverpool!

I can’t believe that within two months’
time, you’ll be a married lady! Indeed, that you’ll be a Lady!

Oh, Albert answered my letter! Perhaps I’ll
be able to see him while I’m in England!

Love,

Mistress Mary

* * * *

My very dear Lady Portia,

You’re married! I don’t expect you to answer
this, since you’re on your honeymoon, but I simply had to tell
you!

A few days after the wedding, Albert took
me for an outing to Gunter’s,
(of course Bessie, my maid,
accompanied us, so don’t frown at me!) and as I was dipping my
spoon into the ice cream, he asked if I would wait for him! There’s
something horrid happening across the Channel, and he fears there
may be War!

Of course I told him I’d wait! And on our
return home, he asked Father for my hand! Father insisted we wait
until my sixteenth birthday and my darling Albert agreed!

So in two years, six months, and twenty-five
days, I shall be a married woman too!

Love,

Mistress Mary (for even though I’m becoming
too mature for such a name, I’ll always be your Mistress Mary!)

* * * *

Certainly Lord John must return to his
properties in Africa, and you must go with him! How simply wizard,
as Albert would say! Ride an elephant and think of me!

P.S. I kissed Albert! Is kissing John as
wonderful?

* * * *

Albert has enlisted! I pray nightly to God
that He keep my darling out of harm’s way. I know that’s wrong.
Albert is an honorable man who’ll do his duty. I pleaded with him
to marry me before he received his orders, but he kissed me
tenderly and promised he’d return to me.

There was a gap in the letters, probably due
to difficulties in mail delivery, and they became sporadic.

This horrid, horrid, War! Mother insisted we
return home and Father agreed with her. We sailed on the Mauretania
on 11 August.

* * * *

I hear from Albert as often as he has time
to write. He tells me amusing tales, but I’ve taken to reading the
newspapers, and I understand what’s happening on the Western Front.
Oh, Gibsy, I’m terrified something will happen to him. Thank God
you and your John are out of harm’s way in Africa!

* * * *

The Huns are attempting to solidify their
hold in Africa. Gibsy, you must promise me you’ll be safe!

* * * *

Other letters spoke of Mother’s worry for
her friend; her sorrow for the loss of Lady Portia’s first child
when they were forced to abandon their homestead and little Mary
was bitten by a viper.

Father brought home a Mr. Sebring, who works
for the government. He must be Father’s age, and I didn’t like the
way he regarded me; I excused myself as soon as I could.

* * * *

She must be talking about
Grandfather
, I thought. Well, it made sense, since she wound up
marrying Father. I wondered if her letters would explain that.

* * * *

The next letter was dated January, 1919.

Forgive me for not writing, my dearest
Gibsy, but I’ve been filled with grief. Albert was killed on 11
November. That’s right, the very day of the Armistice. I cried and
cried, but my tears did no good. Nothing will bring my Albert back.
And I will never cry again.

What makes this even more painful was the
letter I received shortly before I was notified by his family of
his death. He wrote of his relief that the War would soon be
ending, and that we would be together before my next birthday.

It’s been made all the more difficult, in
that Mr. Sebring has come around more and more frequently. I’ve
realized he wants me, not for himself, since he’s married to one of
the most beautiful society women I have ever seen, but for his
son.

Anthony Sebring is as handsome as his mother
is beautiful, with blond hair and eyes the color of blue ice, but I
could see he had no interest in me. Rumor has it he’s enamored of a
Ziegfeld girl. Frankly, it matters little to me one way or the
other.

I told Mother and Father to leave me in
peace.

* * * *

Dear Lady Portia,

I’m so pleased to learn you’ll be able to
return to England shortly and that Lord John has possession of his
lands in Africa once again.

I’m writing to ask that you alter your
journey slightly to make a stop in Baltimore. On 23 May, 1920, I
will be marrying Anthony Sebring. He’s a cold man, but not a bad
one. He’s explained he doesn’t love me—

Well…well, couldn’t he have lied?

—
but I don’t need love from him. I need
peace from my parents, who won’t stop hounding me about the
necessity of me being married and providing them with
grandchildren.

At any rate, this won’t be the marriage I
dreamed of, but perhaps the wedding shall. Please consider being my
matron of honor, my dearest Gibsy.

Love,

Mary

The remaining letters lost the spark of the
earlier ones. Mother wrote of their move to the nation’s capital
and the births of my first two brothers. She congratulated Gibsy on
the arrival of a healthy son, and then announced the move to Shadow
Brook. From the date on that letter, I knew it was after
Grandmother Sebring had suffered a stroke and been forced to retire
from society, and she and Grandfather had moved to the guest
cottage on the property.

There was a brief note that a third son had
been born, and a longer letter when I arrived, in which she
described her pleasure that she finally had a daughter she could
name after her friend.

She went into detail about the functions and
inaugurations she attended, but little about Father beyond the fact
that he wore a tuxedo well.

She wrote most frequently of my middle
brother, of how his coloring reminded her of someone, but how he
was always getting into mischief. And as he grew older, sometimes
more than mischief.

One of Jefferson’s young ladies—and believe
me I use that term loosely—sent me a note informing me she’d caught
Jefferson in a compromising position. She tried to be coy, but I
was aware of what she was trying to allude to, and I dealt with
her. Jefferson’s shenanigans are not something I care to discuss in
a letter, but one day when we’re together, we must have a
conversation about our sons.

* * * *

Tony’s engagement had been called off. I
knew he didn’t love the girl, but apparently she’d been under the
misapprehension that he did. When she discovered otherwise she had
a tantrum. I have no idea what she thought that would be in aid of,
but the upshot was she threw the ring in Tony’s face.

I don’t believe I told you of what my
husband deems the “Sebring Curse.” Sebrings love once, and only
once, and either my oldest son has yet to meet his love, or like
his father, he loves someone utterly inappropriate.

The Ziegfeld girl? Mother had taken me aside
shortly before I’d married Nigel the second time. “You’re not going
to tell me about the birds and the bees, are you, Mother?”

“Portia, if you’re not aware by now, then I
have no hope for you. No, the thing is, you’re an excellent
horsewoman, so I’m simply going to say, keep a light hand on the
reins when it comes to your husband. He may look elsewhere
for…amusement…but he’ll return to you as long as you don’t make a
huge fuss that he’s strayed.”

I’d do more than make a fuss. I’d make him
regret he’d ever chosen to go to another woman. However, I trusted
Nigel not to do something that would break my heart.

“Forgive me for asking, but is that what
you’ve done with Father?”

Her lips tightened. “Your father and I have
an agreement, which isn’t any of your concern.”

“I beg your pardon, Mother.”

And the subject was never brought up
again.

I’m sorry putting my Portia and your Jack
together didn’t work as we planned, but at least they seem to like
each other.

I must ask you, Gibsy—did Portia strike you
as frigid?

Oh God, was there anything more embarrassing
than having a parent discuss a child’s sex life?

I know she’s had boyfriends while she was
away at Tidewater and then at Wellesley, but lately she’s been
refusing to go out on a date unless it’s with a group of her
friends. Tony mentioned something about her having to slap down a
young man. Anthony would do well to leave her alone to work through
the matter, but he’s arranging for a young man to be transferred to
Tony’s office. I have no idea what his motivation is.

I could have told her. Apparently, word had
been going around the Capitol that not only was I the ice princess,
but I was a lesbian as well. So Nigel was to prove to the world
that while I might be cold, I still preferred men?

Well, I preferred Nigel.

* * * *

Portia has married that young man with
whom Anthony was at such pains to see she became involved. Now he’s
unhappy about it. I told him to leave well enough alone, but of
course he wouldn’t listen. Portia has gone with her husband to tour
Europe…
Of course she’d say nothing of our real destination and
purpose for going there…
and I made her promise to introduce you
to Nigel if the opportunity should arise. He’s quite a charming
man, but I’ll be interested in your opinion.

The wedding was a quick affair, just a drive
to a South Carolina justice of the peace. I was so disappointed,
but she’s promised that I may plan their official wedding, so
expect an invitation as soon as I have the details firmed up.

We’d managed a flying visit, and Lady Portia
had invited us to stay in the room she’d given me during my season
in London. Making love on that soft, thick mattress had been a
lovely experience, although I’d had to bite Nigel’s shoulder to
muffle my cries, and he’d buried his face against my breast to do
the same.

Lady Portia had seemed captivated by him,
and Jack, who’d returned from Africa for a brief stay, had shaken
Nigel’s hand, kissed my cheek, and informed his mother he’d be
staying at his club.

* * * *

Dearest Gibsy,

I wish you could be here. Your goddaughter
has given birth to the most delightful baby boy, who’ll be
christened Quinton Anthony. At the moment his eyes are blue, but
Portia has told us her doctor said most likely they’d change to
hazel, which, as you know, is the color of Nigel’s eyes. As for his
hair—I’ve never seen a baby with such platinum locks. Already he’s
sleeping through the night and he’s able to focus!

Bryan is engaged to a young widow with two
small children. Of course Anthony is pleased, and Bryan seems
happier than I can remember him being in too many years.

Frankly, Gibsy, what do I know of my
children? They’re more Anthony’s than they were ever mine.

She was right in that. I felt so bad for
Mother. She was married to a man who didn’t love her and her
children afforded her respect but not much else.

I took out the next letter.

* * * *

Portia’s husband Nigel was killed on New
Year’s Day when the jet he was in crashed…

I didn’t need to look at the date on this
letter. It was 1978, nine years ago. Would the pain ever get
better? I folded the letter and put it into its envelope, unable to
continue reading.

“Portia?” How long had Jack been sitting
there?

“I’m sorry. I…” I took a handkerchief from
the pocket of my riding habit and dried my cheeks. “I think I’d
better return home.”

“Of course. But have your tea first.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

“I appreciate your presence here more than I
can say.”

“Lady Portia was always so kind to me.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been
like if we’d fallen in love?”

I raised the teacup to avoid responding,
because frankly, I’d never wondered.

Apparently Jack had. “We’d have had a half
dozen children, boys with black hair and gray eyes, girls who were
blue-eyed and blonde—”

“How is it you never married?” I didn’t want
to think of all the children that Nigel and I never had. “Didn’t
you ever find the right woman?”

“The right woman chose someone else.”

“Jack—”

“Do you know why I never made a push to
engage your affections when you were staying with Mother? You were
so ethereal. You looked as if a strong wind would knock you right
over. Mother could never help Father as much as he’d have wanted,
and I…I didn’t want to make that mistake. By the time I realized
that I’d succeeded in making an ever bigger mistake, you’d returned
home. Before you return home this time, I want to make sure you
know how I feel. It’s been almost ten years since you lost your
husband. I’m not asking that you forget you were ever married to
Nigel Mann—well, you couldn’t, considering you have his son to
remind you of him—but perhaps one day?”

“Jack…when I was five years old, I asked my
nanny why my mother and father never kissed each other. She said it
was because Sebrings love once, and only once. For the longest time
I thought that meant if you loved someone, you didn’t kiss
them.”

Jack laughed. “But obviously you realized
otherwise.”

“Yes. My father didn’t love my mother. After
reading these letters, I understand why she never made the effort
to obtain his love. She was a beautiful woman, you know.” I was
dismayed to realize I was talking about her as if she were dead. I
cleared my throat. “Any man would have been lucky to have her.”