The Dollar Princess of Mexico

Funding the Empire

As I look outside of my carriage window, the world seems gray and dull. Going to New York always feels that way. Leaving the quiet of Western Massachusetts to go back to busy Manhattan is depressing. In this city, solitude was a luxury rarely granted. Today, however, the world seemed even darker, mirroring the heaviness within me. Today marked the day I would meet my fiancé.

Despite only being in my second year of studying, my father wrote me to share the news of my own engagement. An engagement to a man I had never laid eyes upon was now my predetermined path. Though the inevitability of this day loomed before me, the weight of bidding farewell to a part of myself would never be easy. The journey to New York felt as if I was traveling to my own funeral. Today is the day I meet the man I must live in the shadow of for the rest of my life. No longer am I a woman but a captive.

While I do not know who I will be marrying or where I must be sent off to, it seems no matter where I go it will all be the same. It is 1864, and while the days of the American War of Independence are now something of history books, another war for freedom is occurring. The states have become divided on the topic of slavery, making the slave-owning Southern states leave the Union and form their own nation. This has led to war and hardship throughout the region. Meanwhile, Europe is facing uprisings and riots at every corner. Many peasants have taken inspiration from the French and want to start a revolution of their own. On top of it all, wars are devastating much of Europe, especially towards the East. The world that I have come to maturity in is one of disorder and now I must face it. No longer can I hide my face in books, I must be a wife and, even more begrudgingly, a mother. I must play a part in this chaos.

As we approach my father's home, I notice unfamiliar faces outside. Clothed in peculiar red and black vests, they stood guard like sentinels, as if my carriage would explode if they blinked. They watched closely as if I was a prisoner looking to escape. In a way, I was. Guards and soldiers only meant one thing, it was evident that I was not marrying merely an Astor or a Vanderbilt.

Like clockwork, my mother quickly emerged from our home as the carriage parked outside. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, she was nervous. My mother, a woman of traditional Portuguese upbringing, seldom displayed open happiness. "Isabel! Como vai, como vai!" She greeted, with an almost theatrical display of happiness in her voice.

 My sadness turned into pure fear. Who am I marrying?

"Mother!" I exclaimed, reaching in for a hug. The embrace was awkward and stiff, and after an appropriate amount of time, my mother stepped to the side to let me fully out of the carriage. "Who?" I asked plainly, hoping for a morsel of comfort. In response, she elbowed me, the smile still plastered on her face.

As we walked, our home sprawled before us, a testament to my father's relentless pursuit of societal acclaim. We had no shortage of rooms or housekeepers. My father owned hundreds of acres around our property and much more in Lisbon and Newport. Despite this, it was never enough for him. High society broke his spirits. No event could just be for enjoyment, everything was a part of a competition. Lavish parties, acquiring land, marrying off his daughters; all of it was to continue climbing the ladder of American success. A ladder that would continue to grow as the Vanderbilt family rose to the top of society and wealth. As I walked into my home which I found to be much too large and extravagant, I could almost feel the embarrassment of my father. No amount of rooms, decoration, or additions would ever be grand enough for him. "It is not even half the size of the Rothschild's summer home," he would say. As his eldest daughter, marrying me off was just another step toward his ascent.

"Isabel!" My father exclaimed, drawing all eyes on me. By his side stood a towering figure, several inches over six feet, with dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was handsome, but his confidence did not seem to be intact, he stood even stiffer than the guards as he looked toward me. He didn't look like he was delighted for our marriage either.

Despite being unaware of who this man could be, I automatically curtsied when we met eyes. From his lavish suit and excess of guards, I knew he was far above our station.

"Isabel, this is His Majesty, Maximilian of Mexico," my father proclaimed proudly. His eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction, reveling in his daughter's elevation. Naturally, the feelings of a young woman on the matter were null and void.

Time seemed to slow as the weight of the revelation settled upon me. Out of all places, my father sends me off to Mexico?  A land of breathtaking beauty, yes, but one plagued by political instability throughout both my lifetime and my father's. The constant tug-of-war between traditionalist conservatives and democratic liberals loomed over the nation, causing incessant instability. Despite being discouraged from paying attention to politics, I knew enough to know that my family would be funding the new Mexican Empire in exchange for a title.

"Just call me Maximilian," the tower of a man smirked, breaking free from an invisible bind. The nervousness had dissipated, replaced by a surge of arrogant confidence upon hearing his own title. If only I could reach up and smack the devilish smirk off of his face. All I looked like to him was a dowry.

"It is a pleasure," I uttered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Sensing the tension, my father swiftly interjected himself between us. Despite this being my engagement, it is his moment. He would not let anyone ruin that, not even me. "We were just talking out the details of the wedding. I'm sure your sisters would love to see you before you depart."

My heart sank. This no longer would be my family or my home. I was being sent away without a moment's respite.

"Of course," I replied.