Soon after Consuelo Vanderbilt, who married the ninth Duke of Marlborough in 1895, met her husband’s imperious grandmother, the old woman told the young American bride, “Your first duty is to have a child, and it must be a son, because it would be intolerable to have that little upstart Winston become Duke.”
Consuelo did as she was told, and Winston Churchill, freed of the possibility of a dukedom, went on to a distinguished political career.
“Britain ought to be grateful to Consuelo for this if nothing else,” writes Amanda Mackenzie Stuart in “Consuelo and Alva Vanderbilt.” In fact, Britain was grateful to Consuelo for much more. In an age in which rich women were expected to be glittering appendages of their husbands, Consuelo was active in philanthropic causes, especially those that benefited women and children, and she worked for women’s suffrage in England. But that was later, after she had produced an heir and a spare (she originated that phrase) with the duke.
It was a marriage neither of them wanted and both grew to hate. The duke was after the Vanderbilt money to restore his ancestral home. Consuelo was under the thumb of her mother, Alva, who had arranged the marriage. Consuelo caved in, although guests noticed the bride was red-eyed and arrived so late for her wedding that some wondered if it had been called off.
In a perceptive book with many new details about the relationship between Alva and Consuelo, Stuart sets her story against the rigid social structure of the Gilded Age. The book is filled with tales of the rich, some amusing, some appalling. Alva was part of a respectable if impoverished family when she snared William K. Vanderbilt, whose father, the Commodore, had created a fortune, mainly in railroads. The couple took Mrs. Astor’s 400, as New York’s upper crust was called, by storm, throwing costly parties, and Alva realized her dream of becoming the queen of New York society.
She also controlled her children. Her two sons escaped to boarding schools, but Consuelo spent her girlhood preparing to marry well. Steel rods were sewn into the backs of her dresses so that she would sit up straight.
Alva chose her daughter’s clothes, her friends and eventually her husband. With no training and no help from the duke, Consuelo was ill-prepared to manage the huge staff at Blenheim, which had its own tight social structure. When a servant told her it was not his responsibility to light the fire in her bedroom grate but offered to call the proper person, Consuelo told him never mind; she would do it.
Consuelo developed her social conscience as a little girl, watching poor children. Today, we would sneer at her as a Lady Bountiful, but her kindness was unusual for her time. While leftover food went to the poor, the entire meal was mixed together in pails. Consuelo insisted that each course be put into separate tins. She visited villagers, providing the needy with fuel and food. At the same time, she lived the regal life of a duchess, once comparing the quality of her sables with those worn by the Duke of Abercorn. Consuelo won.
After a decade of marriage, the Marlboroughs separated, and Consuelo began her philanthropic work in earnest. Meanwhile, Alva, who had divorced Vanderbilt, married the equally wealthy Oliver Belmont. When he died, the restless widow, by now bored with society, embraced the American suffrage movement. Unlike the more conservative Consuelo, Alva was a militant, insisting that being ladylike would do nothing to get the vote for women.
Alva came to Consuelo’s aid in 1921, when the duke and duchess applied to the pope for an annulment to their marriage – he to become a Catholic and remarry, and she to marry a Frenchman in the Catholic church. Alva swore she had forced Consuelo into the marriage, and Consuelo got her annulment.
After her second marriage, Consuelo continued her philanthropic work in France. But after Hitler invaded the country, Consuelo was alerted that the Germans wanted to hold her for ransom, so she and her husband fled to the United States.
The marriage was a happy one, which doesn’t lead to exciting biography, and the second half of Consuelo’s life is fairly conventional – that is, if you’re one of the richest women in the world.
Alva, on the other hand, fought and feuded and stirred up trouble until the day she died.
Sandra Dallas is a Denver novelist.
Consuelo and Alva Vanderbilt: The Story of a Daughter and a Mother in the Gilded Age
By Amanda Mackenzie Stuart
HarperCollins, 608 pages, $27.95
