Leopold’s uncle had grown tired of his nephew’s frivolousness. He was well past the age where any good duke would have already secured a spouse and fortune. Ideally, there would also be children. Successors. But Leopold’s uncle could have dealt with the absence of children if Leopold had at least taken a spouse already. He had not, and therefore he was a 33-year-old man with no prospects other than the ones his uncle supplied him with. For all intents and purposes, he was a disgrace.

So his uncle gave him an ultimatum: marry, or be disowned. Of course Leopold did not want to lose his fortune and what little family he had left. So he agreed to a marriage arranged by his uncle. This did not make Leopold nearly as happy as it made his uncle and the other standing members of his family, however, he had long since learned how to put on a brave face and accept the world’s unfairness for what it was.

The time for the procession came. A priest stood at the front of the great hall, Bible in his hands. Leopold stands just a few feet away, near the altar, dressed in the finest attire for the finest procession in New York’s short history. The hall is full of people he knows and people he doesn’t know. Practically everyone has come to witness this unhappy union.

The priest makes an announcement. The spouse has arrived. Everybody quiets immediately. After the most tense few moments of everybody’s life, the doors to the hall open, and two right-hand-men of Leopold’s uncle are bringing in the arranged spouse. With each step they take, Leopold can feel bile crawling up his throat, his fate coming closer and closer to being sealed.

He takes his spouse’s hands; it is the first time they have ever met. The union is officiated. Traditional vows are recited. The priest asks Leopold if he will take his arranged partner to be his lawfully wedded spouse. Of course, Leopold hesitates. Then, finally he says:

“I do.”