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“You never know, madam. It might be a good idea to have one or two gowns that could be recut if needed,” said Maggie.

“Do you know, I think you might well be right,” she said. “If you could bring down my train case, I would be most appreciative.”

Maggie retreated to Adele’s dressing room, coming back bearing the leather train case with hammered nail edges that she had carried with her from London to Pasadena that first trip. While her maid went back to folding and packing, Adele opened the case, the scent of gardenia she used to wear as an unmarried lady drifting up to her. She remembered packing this case in her bedroom at Aunt Hyacinth’s house, resentful of her mother’s orders that she join her parents in America. Now she would pack it once again, preparing for another change in her life.

Adele worked swiftly, placing her ebony hairbrush and comb, silver mirror, and crystal scent bottle into the case. Then she began to go through the drawers of her vanity, gathering up pins and other bits and bobs. Her hand hesitated over the finely milled powder she sometimes secretly used. Knowing she would have little use for it in the foothills, she left it in its drawer.

Behind her, Maggie moved quickly, stopping only to ask Adele whether she preferred this hat or that skirt. When her traveling case was nearly full, Adele rose and went downstairs to first the morning room and then her study, retrieving bundles of Margot’s letters and her plans for the Rosewood House gardens.

Back in her room, she placed the papers in her case and closed it up.

“Madam, I thought you might have need of this,” said Maggie.

Adele twisted and found the maid holding Adele’s ebony jewelry box.

The box did not contain everything. Guy had given her countless pieces of jewelry over their short marriage, and many were kept safe in the bank. He particularly favored emeralds and diamonds, but she knew that nestled inside of that box would be rubies, aquamarines, topaz, and opals, too. Still, she did not know if the jewels were hers to take.

As though reading her hesitation, Maggie said, “I understand that there are several jewelers in town who would be happy to purchase any of the pieces from you should you decide you no longer need them in your new life.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the box. “I think I will.”

“I will see to it that the trunks are taken down straightaway,” said her maid.

“You need only write to Rosewood House, Maggie, and I would be happy to give you an excellent reference,” she said.

Maggie looked down, picked up the edges of her skirt, and curtseyed. “Thank you, madam.”

Downstairs in the entryway, Mrs. Jarrett fetched Adele’s gloves and handed them to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jarrett,” she said. “I have warned Mr. Whitley that he must correct his error in not paying the staff; however, I would recommend that you begin to look for alternative employment. I have no doubt that several ladies will be eager to have you in their households.”

Mrs. Jarrett bowed her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitley. That is most kind. Several have already approached me through their maids, but I did not feel it was right to entertain any offers of employment until I had seen you.”

“You are too good for us, Mrs. Jarrett,” said Adele before repeating the offer of a letter of reference she had extended to Maggie.

“That is very kind of you, madam,” said the housekeeper.

Adele closed the last button of her glove and looked around the entryway. Her traveling case sat on the large circular mahogany table where, every week, she had placed a new vase of flowers from the garden. She remembered ordering the gilt mirror that hung above the table and choosing the color of the paint for the walls above the half-height wood paneling.

She had poured so much of herself into this place, but the Gables had never been more than a stage upon which she performed the elaborate dance of being a society wife. It had never been home.

She took a deep breath and then smiled at her former housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Jarrett. I wish you well.”

In the drive, Adele climbed up onto the buggy as a pair of footmen finished strapping the two trunks Maggie had packed to the back. Then she took up the reins and drove away.

As she drove through Pasadena, she said a sort of quiet goodbye to the city she had once reigned over. She had lost her place, but she found that she did not care. Her friendships, such as they were, had been only so deep. In fact, the only woman whose company she truly cared for was Mrs. Barnes.

Almost without thinking, she guided her buggy to Mrs. Barnes’s home. It was still early, and no one would be calling until the afternoon. Perhaps her friend would be in her garden, and they might share a few moments of quiet conversation as they walked among the borders.

She drew her buggy to a stop and climbed down, taking her train case and jewelry box with her because she was loath to leave them in the vehicle. When she rang the doorbell, Mrs. Guthrie answered.

“Good day, Mrs. Whitley,” said Mrs. Barnes’s long-standing house-keeper.

“Good day. Is Mrs. Barnes at home?” she asked.

“I regret to say that she has been called away,” said Mrs. Guthrie.

“I see. Would you please tell her that I called?”