The Cold Gaze That Passes By
The cold gaze lingered for a brief moment, then drifted away as though indifferent.
Carlyle's partner had been Lavinia, as expected. Their waltz had been flawless, yet an undercurrent of something denser, more charged, hung in the air.
*Even when I danced with him, he always kept such a wide distance that I could have slipped another person between us.*
To Mabel, the pair seemed far too intimate, their bodies pressed together in a manner that was almost scandalous.
Lavinia leaned her head against Carlyle's shoulder, tilting it upward with her chin lifted. At the same time, she wrapped one arm fully around him, encompassing his shoulder.
Mabel drew in a sharp, quick breath.
It was an openly seductive provocation, the sort that could ignite rumors. Yet Carlyle kept his distance from Lavinia no more than he would have from any other woman; he continued the dance with an utterly expressionless face.
Mabel turned her gaze away, pretending not to have seen. Suddenly her chest tightened sharply.
*He told me that if I ever stepped on his feet when he partnered me, I should do so without hesitation.*
Carlyle's blunt dismissal of her as a child left her pride stinging. She could hardly object; after all, he was significantly older than she was. That much was an undeniable truth.
Carlyle and Lavinia suited each other perfectly.
Both were strikingly tall, of a similar age… and, like her, they carried reputations that left much to be desired.
She had been biting her tongue at their petty barbs, and now she let out a heavy sigh of self-reproach.
*This is the worst.*
Carlyle. And herself.
She could not tell whose criticism she had been receiving.
***
Wednesday, September 12, 1923
The Social Diary of Cholly Knickerbocker (Cholly Knickerbocker Observes)
1923 Debutante Rating — Seeking the Only ‘White Rose’ Amidst the Chaos By CHOLLY KNICKERBOCKER
Every September, pen in hand and ink at the ready, I undertake a painful but essential ritual: sifting through the fresh debutantes of society, grading them from A to D.
Some society mothers may scream in protest at this cruel classification, but, dear readers, someone must separate the wheat from the chaff, mustn’t they?
As I compiled this year’s list, a profound despair settled over me.
The Jazz Age had driven the waltz aside. Instead of corsets, women now wore loose, sack-like dresses, and the era when knees were once considered scandalous had arrived.
Most debutantes had fallen to C or, worse, the embarrassingly mundane D—flappers in name only. They puffed cigarettes, sipped cocktails, and swung their hips to the Charleston. They mistook elegance for snobbery and freedom for vulgarity.
Yet, within this murky age, I had discovered a noble white rose blooming like a miracle.
From this moment forward, I introduce the sole ‘Prestige’-rated debutante of the year on this exacting scale.
Miss Cornelia Mabel Darlington
If you were to ask what New York in 1923 needed most, I would name Cornelia Mabel Darlington without hesitation.
The crown had already found its owner. This beautiful lady glided alone among the flock of chattering geese like a swan of elegance.
The Darlington bloodline is impeccable.
Her grandfather, Frederick Darlington, had been a skilled diplomat who traversed Washington and Europe in the service of national interests; her father, James Darlington, the youngest Federal judge, had passed away in a tragic carriage accident that plunged New York into mourning. Her current guardian is Walter Darlington, the collector at the New York Port.
But the decisive reason Miss Darlington earned the ‘Prestige’ rating was far more than family prestige.
She had formally debuted before King George V last season.
Perhaps the king himself had been moved by her mysterious violet eyes. Miss Darlington was also the only American debutante to have exchanged words with him directly in the Court.
She had not shorn her hair (Heaven forbid!), used no low slang, and her skirts still swayed around her ankles.
I declare it boldly.
Miss Darlington is the true debutante our age has lost. The last pride of the crumbling Old Guard, the living symbol of the elegance we must preserve in the face of the coming barbarian era.
Every unmarried gentleman in New York will have her dance card filled to the brim by now.
But heed this warning.
Whoever seeks to claim this noble white rose must possess the dignity and status worthy of her.
The fortunate soul who wins her will not merely gain a wife; he will inherit the glory of owning the elegance that defines an entire era.
—
***
Mabel felt like a living trophy.
After Cholly Knickerbocker’s column appeared, similar articles followed one after another.
Letters and marriage proposals poured into the Darlington home—men she had never met before. She received dozens of fan letters from young girls.
Dragging herself to social events had become increasingly exhausting. Wherever she went, a swarm of admirers hovered, praising her endlessly.
The colder the looks from the women grew. Whenever she detected the hostility once aimed at Lavinia now turned toward her, it twisted like a knife in her gut.
*At least Lavinia still lives her chosen life.*
Mabel had been swept along by the currents of others’ decisions, struggling desperately. The thought of herself made her feel utterly pathetic.
After much deliberation, Mabel knocked on her uncle’s study door. Her aunt and uncle had been locked inside every night lately, sorting through marriage proposals and arguing in hushed tones.
“Uncle, Aunt… it’s Mabel. May I come in?”
Conversation halted abruptly inside, followed by the frantic rustling of papers.
“Just a moment.”
Mildred’s voice followed, and shortly after, Walter cleared his throat and summoned her in.
“Come in.”
A banker’s lamp with a green shade cast a bright glow on the desk. Urgent letters peeked out from beneath a carelessly closed folder.
Mildred, seated in the chair beside the desk, asked, “What brings you here at this hour?”
Walter pulled a cigar from the drawer, bit the end, and lit it.
Mabel spoke in a trembling voice, “I… I have something important to tell you both.”
“What is it? Speak quickly. We’re busy right now.”
Mildred urged.
“I want to return to Barnard College next spring. Please allow it. And the marriage… shouldn’t it wait until after I graduate from university?”
Mildred let out a dismissive laugh.
“What nonsense….”
Mabel could not hold back.
“I should choose my own husband. My future, my life—!”
A silence descended over the study.
Walter stared at her with parted lips, cigar smoke curling from his mouth.
Mabel bit her lip and lowered her head. She had never intended to say that much.
She had never defied him like this before. Fear settled cold in her chest.
Walter and Mildred regarded her with expressions of utter disbelief.
“Cornelia Mabel Darlington! If you intend to spout such ungrateful and arrogant words, leave this house at once!”
Walter bellowed, nostrils flaring. The curled tip of his mustache trembled.
Mildred clicked her tongue in scolding.
“Why is she suddenly doing something she’s never done in her life….”
Mabel’s face drained of color. Her large eyes filled with unshed tears.
Mildred softened at the sight, restraining her husband.
“Walter, don’t be so harsh. Every woman feels that way once before marriage. When she’s about to leave home, she gets scared and throws a fit. Be understanding.”
Walter, who had been stroking his mustache out of habit, cleared his throat loudly. Then, in a slightly softened tone, he added, “The university matter is no longer in my hands. That is for the man you will marry to decide. So, return to your room. If you insist on choosing your own husband or talking nonsense about my life, pack your things and leave this house at once!”
He concluded with an ultimatum.
“Mabel, quickly tell your uncle you’re sorry!”
Mildred gave her a look that said not to make a scene.
Mabel bit back her tears and bowed her head.
*This house was given to me by my parents. Why must I leave?*
She swallowed the words rising to her throat.
“…I’m sorry, Uncle.”
“Yes, yes. Now go. Calm down as well.”
Mildred waved her out quickly.
Alone in the hallway, Mabel leaned weakly against the wall and wiped her tears.
There seemed to be no way to escape this situation. Having depended on others’ choices for twenty years, she felt bitter that she could do nothing on her own.
At that moment, Walter’s voice leaked through the crack of the closed study door.
“How far did we get?”