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“Yes, painters are mad for it. There’s quite a collection of them here, but most of them are as poor as church mice. Mr. Blythe has the good fortune of having a shipping line underwriting his artistic efforts.”

Adele might have been raised to balk at money being spoken of so openly, but she had to admit that such candor was useful in its own way.

“And then there is Mr. Whitley, whom you are already acquainted with.” Mrs. Barnes paused. “He’s quite handsome.”

Adele slid a look at her hostess, sensing mischief might be afoot. “I suppose he is.”

Mrs. Barnes laughed. “Oh, that will never do. He is far too puffed up to tolerate you only supposing him handsome. Tell me what other objectionable qualities you have found in his character. You wouldn’t be frowning quite so deeply if you hadn’t.”

She sighed. “I suppose you will think me a great snob.”

“No more than I did before this afternoon,” said Mrs. Barnes in a teasing tone as they turned a corner in a garden filled with white flowers.

Despite herself, Adele couldn’t help but smile. “His conversation was enjoyable, and he certainly is charming. That is, until he began to speak of his hotel and his ambitions. He seems uninterested in looking for a wife,” she finished, recalling the way Mr. Whitley had chafed against the idea of Miss Gorman’s attentions.

“Mr. Whitley is a complicated sort. He more than any of the men we have discussed comes from a modest, although thoroughly respectable, background. There is no tycoon grandfather seeding his wealth. Instead, his father worked as a manager in a Chicago bank. When Mr. Whitley turned eighteen, he managed to convince his father to give him the money to purchase a building. He turned that building into apartments, and then, with the income from the rental of those apartments, he purchased another building and then another. In four years, Mr. Whitley had managed to create a little real estate empire. His father died quite unexpectedly, and Mr. Whitley inherited everything.

“As I understand it, there was no longer anything holding Mr. Whitley to Chicago, as his mother had died some years before. He sold up and moved to California eight years ago. When he proposed building the Andalusian, there were not quite so many grand hotels in Pasadena as there are now. It was a risk, but a calculated one. Now Mr. Whitley has designs on building a new hotel on East Colorado Street if he can convince his investors about the idea. The Colorado Grand Hotel, I believe he plans to call it.”

“And he is amenable to marriage?” Adele asked.

“I believe Mr. Whitley is coming to understand that it is one thing to win over Pasadena’s businessmen, but conquering society is an entirely different proposition. He has done what he can on his own, but he will never be fully accepted in Pasadena by those who do not dabble in business unless he marries and marries well,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“Then he is ambitious in more than just business,” she said.

“I believe he sees his bachelorhood as a detriment rather than an asset.”

Adele had to begrudgingly admit that the idea that Mr. Whitley might have just as much need for a wife as she had need for a husband intrigued her.

“There are merits to all the men we have spoken about—and others who will begin arriving soon,” said Mrs. Barnes. “If you marry a man like Mr. Lochery, you will immediately become a mother to two darling girls. If you marry an artist like Mr. Blythe, you will be cherished as a muse. If you marry Mr. Henry, you will have the comfort of a railway fortune to keep you and your children. And if you marry a hotelier like Mr. Whitley—well, I suspect his ambition is to secure his wife’s position as one of the first ladies of Pasadena.”

Like Mrs. Barnes herself.

Was that what she wanted? To be the lady other women looked up to? To set fashions and mold society to suit her? To be the one of whom other women were envious?

No longer would she be yet another unmarried lady suffering with humiliating hope at every party that someone might single her out as worthy of a proposal.

“I must thank you, Mrs. Barnes,” said Adele, a new resolve growing in her. “This has been a very instructive afternoon.”

“It is my pleasure, my dear. I can only hope that you and I shall be fast friends for many years to come.”

October 27, 1903

Hotel Green, Pasadena

My dear Cousin Margot,

I suppose I should start with the most difficult news first. Mama and Papa have made the decision that we should not travel back to London after the winter but instead should take a house and remain in Pasadena indefinitely.

I know you will wonder what this means for your wedding. Unfortunately, I will have to give up that very great responsibility. It breaks my heart, the thought of not standing up with you on this most important day, but my duty is to my parents and I cannot leave then.

Yours faithfully,

Adele

P.S. I have included the dried roses I promised you. I think they turned out rather well for my first attempt! I hope they can give you a little comfort after my news.

chapter twelve ADELE