Those fond of the smell of money will adore this book, crammed with photographs of Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, a never-ending train of evening dress and sprawling grounds of New England castles. In chronicling the rise of the Vanderbilts, Patterson ( Living It Up ) traces the ever-interesting story of American-style getting and spending. As devotees of Edith Wharton--and others practiced at distinguishing ``old'' from merely ``big'' money--may be surprised to learn, the first ``van der Bilt'' of record was a resident, ca. 1650, in Flatbush, N.Y. The family never had much money until, in the 19th century, Cornelius parlayed a $100 investment into America's greatest fortune. Railroads entered Vanderbilt holdings relatively late: Cornelius, the man whose statue scowls over Manhattan's Grand Central Station, had no use for the locomotive until, in his old age, a son showed him he could turn a profit with railroads. Publishers Weekly

In 1895, on the eve of Consuelo Vanderbilt’s marriage to the ninth Duke of Marlborough, the New York World published a concise reference chart: the bride, at eighteen years old, weighed a hundred and sixteen and a half pounds, had “delicately arched” eyebrows and a nose that was “rather slightly retroussé,” and was heir to a twenty-five-million-dollar estate. She had no interest in the groom, but a British aristocrat, albeit a poor one, held irresistible appeal for Alva, her socially ambitious mother. Stuart’s history marshals an impressive trove of primary documents, from newspaper accounts (the Times had a reporter assigned to cover bridesmaids) to letters and autobiographical writings. But her account, while impeccably researched, lacks psychological acumen. We learn that Consuelo—who gave the Duke the descendants he needed, divorced, and remarried—is credited with coining the phrase “an heir and a spare,” but it’s hard to tell what it might have meant to her. The New Yorker