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“But, I hope you will agree with me, not wrong. I have known the man for nearly ten years and he has always been like this. His wife, Laura, was charming if a little quiet. Her company made him just about palatable, but when she died two years ago there was no one to keep him from regressing to his natural gloomy state,” said Mr. Whitley as he made a show of pulling her chair out for her.

“I had not realized he was a widower.”

“A widower with two little girls at home. I hope you don’t think any less of me for criticizing a man who has suffered a great loss, but I can’t stand people who try to ruin the fun of those around them.”

“On the contrary, I appreciate your candor, Mr. Whitley. I find myself at a disadvantage knowing so few people.”

He looked around at their fellow diners. “You’ll come to know them all soon enough, I suspect. I’m sure you’ll find polite society here rather small after your time in London.”

Mr. Whitley leaned into the gap between them, and the scent of bay rum enveloped her. “Now, I have to make a confession, Miss Pearce.”

“Oh?”

“I know we’ve only just met, but I must beg a favor,” he said.

“You may ask, Mr. Whitley, but whether I grant it depends on what the favor is,” she said.

He laughed. “I admire your wisdom. It is never a good idea to make a promise without fully understanding the terms.”

“Thank you. Now, how is it that you wish me to help you?” she asked.

“It’s about Miss Gorman. Would you think me a terrible coward if I asked you to keep me out of her grasp at all costs?”

It was Adele’s turn to laugh. “But Mr. Whitley, surely you cannot be afraid of a young woman such as Miss Gorman.”

“I can when she looks at me like I’m a tomahawk steak,” he muttered. “And that mother…”

“Imagine traveling a week with the pair of them,” she whispered.

“They were your companions? Well, in that case, you are far braver than I ever could be, Miss Pearce,” said Mr. Whitley with mock solemnity.

“Thank you.”

They sat back for a moment to allow one of Mrs. Barnes’s servants to fill their wineglasses. She knew it was dangerous to jest with a man she had only just met, but she believed that Mr. Whitley found the Gormans as ridiculous as she did, and she found she liked the easiness of his company. He might not have the polish of the London gentlemen she was used to, but he had an amusing roguishness that made him an appealing dinner party companion.

“Thank goodness for Mrs. Barnes’s cellar,” Mr. Whitley said, reaching for his glass of wine.

“Is our hostess known for keeping a particularly good cellar?”

“Yes, although I’m delighted by the fact that she serves wine at all.”

Adele frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, sir.”

“Pasadena is a dry city,” he said.

“Dry?”

“The sale of alcohol is not allowed within its limits.”

“Goodness. Why ever not?” she asked.

“The temperance ladies banded together and managed to convince enough people they should rid the city of the evils of alcohol.” Mr. Whitley reached for his glass again. “Now there are no saloons in Pasadena, but there are still private homes where one can find a good drink. I’m fortunate enough to count Mrs. Barnes as one of my acquaintances.”

“I see. Have you known Mrs. Barnes long?”

“We met not long after she came to Pasadena. About eight years ago,” he said.

“She seems to have a great many friends,” Adele said, glancing at the lady at the head of the table. Papa was seated on Mrs. Barnes’s right, and a distinguished man with a walrus mustache sat to her left. The lady was doing an admirable job of speaking to both men at once, with rollicks of laughter emanating from their end of the table at regular intervals.