She Was “Unmarriageable”: A Forbidden Love Story in 19th Century Virginia

In August 1856, a wealthy planter in Virginia made a shocking decision that would alter the course of his daughter’s life forever. Elanor Whitmore, a young woman rejected by every suitable man in Virginia society, was to be given to an enslaved man known only as “the brute.” This choice, unthinkable in the brutal world of slavery, set the stage for one of the most forbidden love stories buried by history. My name is Elanor Whitmore, and this is the truth they never wanted you to know.

The Whitmore Estate, located twenty miles west of Charlottesville, was a sprawling plantation where tobacco fields stretched toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, fortunes built upon the backs of over one hundred enslaved souls. Born in 1834, I was the only child of Colonel Richard Whitmore, raised in luxury behind white columns and crystal chandeliers imported from France. However, my life took a dramatic turn when I was eight years old.

While riding a spirited horse, I fell and landed on a fallen log, resulting in permanent spinal damage. Doctors from Richmond and Philadelphia examined me and delivered the devastating news: my legs would never function normally again. I would require a wheelchair for life. My father commissioned the finest wheelchair money could buy—mahogany frame, leather seat, and wheels that rolled smoothly across polished floors—but he could not accept my fate in Virginia society.

By the age of eighteen, while other girls were getting engaged, I watched life unfold through the windows. At twenty, my father began his desperate campaign to find me a husband. He was 51 years old and terrified of what would happen to me after his death. The first proposal came from Thomas Aldrich, a tobacco planter from Lynchburg.

My father introduced me in the parlor, and I watched Thomas’s eyes travel from my face to my wheelchair and then to the floor. “May I speak with you in private, Colonel?” I could hear their hushed voices in the study. Thomas emerged minutes later, avoiding eye contact. “The situation is not suitable,” he said.

The second rejection came three months later, followed by the third and fourth. Each rejection was laced with cruelty. “I need a wife who can stand by my side at social functions. The wedding would be embarrassing. How would she process down the aisle? I’ve heard she cannot have children. What’s the point?” That last rumor spread like wildfire, and I was suddenly not only disabled but also labeled infertile.

Once branded as unable to bear children, I might as well have been marked with the plague. By 1855, my father had approached men from North Carolina, Maryland, and Kentucky, lowering his standards and offering increasingly generous dowries, but the answer was always “no.” Rejection number twelve arrived in February 1856 from William Foster, a fifty-year-old, twice-widowed man known for his drinking. My father offered him $5,000 and a third of the profits from our farms.

After touring our property and examining the financial arrangements, Foster met me. “Can you do your duties?” he asked. “No, sir. My hands have limited dexterity. We have kitchen staff and servants to manage cooking. I can oversee operations from my chair.” He turned to my father. “Colonel, your daughter is lovely, but I need a wife who can perform her duties well. This is unsustainable.”

After Foster left, I found my father in his study, staring into space, bourbon in hand. “Father, you can stop. I don’t need twelve proposals in four years.” His voice was hollow. “Every man has said, ‘She is not worth marrying.’” The words struck me like physical blows. “Then I won’t marry. I will stay here. I’ll help manage.”

“I’m fifty-five years old. When I die, what will happen to you?” he asked. “Our male relatives will inherit.” The thought of being left to the whims of distant relatives who would see me as a burden chilled me. “I will fight for my place here, Father. I will not let them take everything from us.”

Desperate, my father considered options that no respectable man would entertain. “I have an idea,” he said one evening, his voice low. “There is a strong man among the enslaved, known as ‘the brute.’ I could arrange for you to be given to him.”

The words struck me like a thunderclap. “Father, you cannot be serious! He is a slave!”

“He is strong, capable, and will ensure your safety. You would be cared for, and it would keep our estate intact. It’s a practical solution.”

Horrified, I initially rejected the idea. The thought of being given to a man who was enslaved and seen as a brute was unfathomable. Yet, as days passed, I found myself contemplating the possibility. I was tired of being rejected and burdened. If I could not have a life of my own, perhaps I could forge a different path, one that defied societal norms.

When I first met him, I was struck by his presence. His name was Elijah, tall and muscular, with a strength that was both intimidating and strangely comforting. He had been forced into servitude at a young age, and I could see the weariness in his eyes, the weight of oppression that hung over him like a dark cloud.

“Why would you agree to this?” I asked him one evening as we sat beneath the stars, the air thick with the scent of tobacco and earth.

“I want to protect you,” he replied simply. “In this world, we must find ways to survive. If being with you means I can keep you safe, then I will do it.”

His words stirred something within me. Perhaps this was not just a transaction; it could be a partnership forged in the fires of adversity. Together, we could defy the expectations placed upon us and create a bond that transcended the limitations of our circumstances.

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself drawn to Elijah in ways I had never anticipated. He treated me with kindness and respect, never once making me feel like a burden. In his presence, I felt a sense of belonging that I had longed for my entire life. What began as a desperate arrangement blossomed into a profound connection, challenging the very foundations of our society and the roles we were expected to play.