Chapter 59. The Angel

As has been previously mentioned, the Cavendish family always seemed to possess a talent for something. Joe's was for science, while Vicky – well, she was a musical prodigy. She adored the arts; she played the pianoforte, danced ballet, and her life coincided, quite remarkably, with the passionate fervor of the Romantic era. She basked in the brilliance of Vienna and Paris, studying under a constellation of masters: Chopin, Liszt, Schumann – the very jewels that comprised the treasure of Romantic music. Alicia held a particular fondness for Chopin's piano compositions, which was, in fact, a significant reason for their frequent sojourns in Paris, when time permitted. Vicky, even in her early teens, boldly ventured into public performance and composition. She sang in operas, danced, and, quite remarkably, championed the legitimacy of acting as a profession for women. It was almost inconceivable that her parents, of all people, would lend their support to such endeavors, allowing her to be so… public. She became, after 1840, one of the most unconventional, rebellious, and legendary women of her time. Vicky was, without a doubt, a beauty. Her raven-black hair, so fashionable at the time – after about 1820, the vogue for blonde hair had faded, and dark hair was considered to better highlight a woman's elegant pallor – was perfectly in keeping with the fashion. But Vicky was never one for quiet elegance. She laughed with an abandon that somehow never detracted from her grace. Tall and striking, with a certain boldness in her brow, and possessing legs that seemed to stretch on for days – when she performed Shakespearean plays, she would, scandalously, don trousers. Her Hamlet possessed a most solemn and tragic beauty. Her image graced countless academic paintings, surrounded by a throng of admirers and suitors. She never concealed her allure, not in the least bit modest, but proud and utterly free. She followed her own whims, welcoming a prince no more readily than a penniless wanderer. Her eyes were a cool, clear green, reminiscent of the vast, windswept pine forests of the North. When she was eighteen, Prince William, Queen Charlotte's second son, became quite besotted with her. Under the Royal Marriages Act, the marriages of members of the royal family required the monarch's consent. Princes were typically expected to marry princesses of equal standing, and even more so for William, who held the position of second in line to the throne. Queen Charlotte showed signs of relenting. Vicky, or rather, Lady Georgiana, enjoyed considerable popular support, and there was, after all, the precedent of a German princess within the family already. It was simply that her occasional… indiscretions… were not precisely conducive to maintaining the dignified image of the Royal Family. Newspapers buzzed with speculation about the potential union, with the voices advocating for a British noblewoman far outweighing those supporting a European princess. Vicky, however, refused. Her declaration was, "I need not marry a prince to prove anything." She held no romantic feelings for Prince William, viewing him merely as a friend of the family. The number of hearts she broke was, to put it mildly, considerable; some joked that they stretched across the entirety of Europe. Vicky always maintained a certain youthful disdain, a cool detachment. Even at twenty-six, long after her youngest sister had married, she remained unattached. She delighted in travel, completely unfazed. She developed a passion for archaeology, lingering amidst historical ruins, meticulously recording her observations with her brush and paints. Then, Vicky did something that truly astonished everyone: she married an American. How could a woman of such noble birth possibly marry into that… that utterly uncivilized wilderness? He possessed no peerage, no title, not even descent from French nobility; at best, he was a descendant of those who had arrived on the Mayflower. But compared to the rebellious acts of her earlier life, this was, perhaps, not so surprising. They shared a deep intellectual connection, and she became a fervent advocate for the abolition of slavery across the ocean. Her travels took her to the Far East, to India, to North America, and even to the distant lands of the Orient. She married three times in her life. The first was to that American, a scion of a prominent New York family. He was a Whig, of course – an American Whig, that is, a staunch Republican. Shortly after the end of the American Civil War, her husband passed away. She grieved, but not for an extended period. Returning to Europe, she remarried, this time to a German prince. He was strikingly handsome, with classic Germanic features. An art collector, a lover of music, possessing impeccable taste, he was some ten years her junior, and had perhaps once admired the celebrated Lady Vicky from afar. Her close relationship with King Ludwig II of Bavaria, though entirely platonic, caused her husband considerable distress. The Franco-Prussian War led to the couple's separation. The prince died of illness, leaving her all his possessions. Later, she took up residence in Russia, drawn to its folk music and classical ballet – the likes of Tchaikovsky and others. She accepted a proposal of marriage from a young Russian Grand Duke, who was, in fact, a distant relative through her brother's marriage. Their marriage, of course, was a secret one; she did not convert to Orthodox Christianity. After her death, he spent, it seems, the remainder of his life in remembrance of her. Her first marriage produced children. Vicky remained remarkably energetic throughout her life, much like her father. She seemed to value affection, yet she was not entirely consumed by it. She was a musician, an archaeologist, a historian, a journalist. She championed the passage of numerous laws promoting women's rights. She passed away at the venerable age of eighty-something, having lived to witness British women gaining the right to vote for the first time. "I have, for my mother, with my own eyes, seen the world a hundred years hence," she wrote near the end of her life. After Vicky's birth, Alicia and William Cavendish experienced a series of profound losses. In 1825, Lady Burlington, Cavendish's grandmother, passed away in Paris at the age of seventy-four. Her numerous children and grandchildren, having married and produced offspring of their own, gathered around her bedside. The seventy-six-year-old Lord Burlington clasped her hand tightly. He rested his head on the bed, their eyes met, and she closed hers. The Earl appeared to be holding up well; at his age, he seemed to understand that parting was inevitable. Cavendish, having been largely raised by his grandparents, had always been somewhat of a scamp, yet he possessed the utmost patience and love for his family. Alicia's hand clasped his. "The first time I saw your grandmother," Lord Burlington began, his voice a low rumble, "I overheard everyone saying, 'Ah, there she is, Miss Elizabeth Compton.'" She was the only daughter of the Earl of Northampton, orphaned and heiress to a considerable fortune. Everyone speculated about what advantageous match her uncle would arrange for her, perhaps to the newly appointed Duke of Devonshire. Lord Burlington, also orphaned at a young age, had grown up with his uncle's children. "I couldn't resist taking a look," he continued, "to see what this girl, who was destined to become my brother's wife, was like. And at first glance, I fell in love with her." She was seventeen, he was nineteen. Their eyes met, and these two young people fell instantly and irrevocably in love. His brother, Alicia's great-grandfather, approved of the match. He was thankful that he possessed a title and sufficient wealth, and her uncle, after some deliberation, finally consented. They married with astonishing speed. "It was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me." William Cavendish's oft-repeated phrase, it turned out, had its origins here. Four months later, the old Earl passed away. The loss of those closest to us is the most agonizing. Their children and grandchildren bowed their heads in mourning. Lady Burlington bequeathed her property to her second son and daughter. She was content to have lived to see her beloved eldest grandson marry and have children. For those eight years, she had sat in her cushioned chair, wrapped in a blanket, watching the two children frolic on the lawn. The old Earl stood beside her. She and he had been companions throughout their lives, and they had always been happy. "We shall be together for just as long," William Cavendish declared, his voice filled with an almost unshakeable certainty. He was thirty-nine years old, and Alicia had reached thirty; he felt the passage of time keenly. Cavendish's father inherited the title and lands, becoming Lord Burlington, and he himself transitioned from Mr. Cavendish to Lord Cavendish. Alicia's great-grandfather and Lord Burlington were old friends. He attended the funeral, seeming to sense his own time was near. That day, inevitably, arrived. In 1827, the Marquess of Stafford, at the age of seventy-five, reached the end of his life. Alicia wept so intensely that she nearly fainted; the successive blows were almost more than she could bear. All the memories – her grandparents, Queen Charlotte, her great-aunt, Lady Salisbury – their passing had dissipated the past, leaving behind an unbearable, lingering ache. "Don't grieve for me, child," he whispered, reaching out to brush away her tears, but his hand could no longer rise. The two wedding rings, stacked on his little finger, had lost their final gleam. These would be buried with him; his wife, forty-some years earlier, had been laid to rest, alone, in the family vault. Eight years later, their eldest son had joined them. He had waited far too long. "You must live, Granville, promise me. Swear it to me, and for our children." Her face was pale, her lips trembled, and she closed his hand. "Papa," the Duchess of Devonshire cried, grasping her father's hand. She wept, remembering how, thirty-two years before, she had bid farewell to her dying brother. "It's not your fault, Anne. Live well, don't do anything foolish, sister," he had urged her before he died. It was all too painful. The Marquess of Stafford passed away with a smile on his face. With the consent of Parliament and the approval of King George IV, the Marquess was granted the additional title of Duke of Sutherland – using the title and lands of his wife. As the first Duke of the new creation, according to custom, the title, along with all the estates, could be inherited by a daughter. That vast fortune could thus be passed down through the female line, and everyone marveled at the prospect of such a Duchess. But the Duchess of Devonshire deferred the title, deciding not to use it for her generation. This meant that after her death, her only daughter, Lady Alicia, would be invested as the second Duchess of Sutherland. In a Britain where aristocratic titles were generally only inherited by the eldest son, her descendants would not only inherit the Duke of Devonshire title from their father's side but also the Duke of Sutherland title from their mother's side. This would be passed to the second son, who, with royal permission, would change his surname to Sutherland-Levison-Gower-Cavendish. In short, this generation of the Cavendish family would possess two Dukedoms. At this moment, when the family's power and status were gradually ascending, destined to remain at their peak for the next century, the youngest girl was born. She was the product of her mother's profound grief. Alicia's feelings for her great-grandfather were particularly deep; he was a close relative who had been with her since childhood. His death, twenty years after her grandmother's, was like adding frost to snow. Although she was already thirty-two years old, it happened to be at a time when the carefree days of youth were fading, and the elders who had provided shelter and protection were also departing. She and her mother leaned on each other, grieving the loss of their dearest one. The Duchess of Devonshire maintained her usual fortitude, but memories of her youth inevitably overwhelmed her. The Duke and William Cavendish felt their pain deeply. They planned to accompany their wives on a trip to the Scottish Highlands. They wanted to escape familiar surroundings, yet they couldn't help but reminisce. And so, after attending the funeral, Alicia discovered she was pregnant. Shortly after the passing of her great-grandfather, a new life arrived. Anne Elizabeth Granville – this name carried so much longing and remembrance. She was a blonde-haired girl, with deep blue eyes – eyes that resembled her great-great-grandfather, whom she had never met. They called her Angel. She was premature, her cries were faint, so fragile; her family worried that she would leave them, that she would return to Heaven. But she survived. She was always the greatest comfort to her parents and grandparents. She wrote the final chapter in the story of this family.