Though the most eligible of our bachelors may balk at wooing a lady who is already their senior (and in Gotham terms on the shelf), in the event that she wishes to ally herself more closely with her adopted home, her noble birth must ensure that she has her pick of any number of wealthy widowers. The Herald bids Lady Margaret a wholehearted welcome, and will closely monitor her progress.

Lady Margaret is currently residing at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where she has been allocated one of that luxurious establishment’s premium suites.

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Wednesday, 8 January 1868

THE FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL was a huge white marble edifice six stories high, made fashionable by the Prince of Wales, who had occupied the most lavish suite during his visit eight years previously. The main saloons were sumptuously decorated; every bedroom equipped with its own fireplace; and many, Margaret and Marion’s suite included, even had their own bathrooms.

After the excitement of their arrival in the city, Margaret’s mind was preoccupied with practical matters. How did one summon a maid? Was she to unpack her belongings herself? Dress herself? How did one order meals? Did one eat in private or in the public dining room? If a female guest sat in one of the saloons alone, did she risk being accosted? All the conventions she took for granted might not apply now she was on the other side of the Atlantic. The gulf between her old life and this new one seemed too vast to digest.

But even as she sank wearily onto the gilded sofa in their shared sitting room, Marion was at hand. “Tea is the order of the day,” she said, ringing the bell by the fireplace, “and then bed for you, I think. Leave everything else to me for now—it’s why I’m here. Trust me, my dear, a good night’s rest, and tomorrow you will be ready for anything New York can throw at you.”

And Marion had, once again, been right. Despite the fact that the pounding of Scotia’s paddles was replaced by the endless rattling and clopping of carriages and horses outside her window, Margaret had her first sound night’s sleep in a very long time.

IN THEIR SITTING ROOM THE next morning, she found Marion seated resplendent in her husband’s red-and-gold Oriental dressing gown, while a waiter set out a bewildering array of covered dishes.

“I was just about to call you. I took the liberty of ordering us a light breakfast. We could eat in the dining room, of course, but apparently one cannot reserve a table for that particular repast, and I do not wish to risk having to share. I am not at my best until I’ve had at least one pot of coffee.”