As the book says, "Leonard Jerome was born in 1818 on a farm at Pompey Hill, near Syracuse in Western New York State." That farm is around the corner from the house where I grew up. Many times I rode my bike past "the Jerome house" on "Jerome Road." Because of that, I like to think of all the Jeromes as local kids who "done good." That is really stretching the connection, though, because once Leonard left the farm, he never looked back. He went to New York City and made a few million in the stock market, not enough to be fabulously wealthy, just enough to launch his three daughters into society. This book is about those three daughters, Clara, Jennie, and Leonie, and how it worked out for them. Which is, not quite like they had hoped.
The girls were intended to marry wealthy dukes and earls, emphasis on "wealthy." Instead they all fell in love with men from noble families, but seriously strapped for cash. In most cases the love fizzled, too. The three sisters shared a life of balls, parties, gowns, servants, vacations on the continent, and visits with princes, without ever knowing how they were going to pay for it.
Clara's marriage was the most pathetic, as her husband Moreton Frewen (nicknamed Mortal Ruin) poured every penny he could scrounge into get-rich-quick schemes, all of which failed him. Leonie's life was the most stable, but that stability included having an estate in Ireland during a time of political upheaval, when English landowners were being murdered and their houses burned, a fate which she escaped. Jennie was the most famous, a society darling, famed for beauty and wit. But her husband, Lord Randolph Churchill, contracted syphilis, which ended their sex life, and made him impossible to live with as his behavior became erratic and abusive.
The author admires all three women for always making the best of things, and always helping each other. And indeed the sisters were models of pluck and dignity, and devotion to each other, but I admire them a little less than the author, because there seems an element of shallowness in their determination to keep up the appearances of wealth, no matter the circumstances. In fact, one of the things that amazes me is that out of this self-indulgent lifestyle would emerge Jennie's son Winston Churchill, a great thinker, a great writer, a great leader. How did that happen? But if the lives of the Jerome sisters were shallow, it is not entirely the fault of the three women, but of "the British Aristocratic World into Which They Married" (to quote the subtitle).
At at time and place where getting a job was just not done, how were people, especially women, to find meaning in life? Jennie tried valiantly. She organized (successfully) a hospital ship, wrote a play, and (not quite so successfully) edited a literary magazine. But if her accomplishments mostly fell in the realm of planning dances and decorating houses, well, that's what was available. It was fun to read about the balls, the satins and jewels, the yacht races, and carriages, and operas, but I am happier being a regular Joe in Syracuse, New York. But would the Jerome sisters think it was worth it, the financial worry and proscribed personal freedom that were the price they paid for their status in life? I think they would, every one of them.