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“That a married woman’s entire life should not be dedicated to the care and keeping of her house, husband, and children. Instead, she should have something that is entirely her own. For some, that is singing or charitable work. For me, that is gardening and the acquisition of property. I relish nothing more than the thrill of striking a business deal.”

“Then you suggest I should take up a hobby should I marry?” Adele asked.

“Not a hobby. A purpose,” Mrs. Barnes clarified. “Take my advice, Miss Pearce, and marry a man who will not resent your finding satisfaction in something other than the business of being a wife. Then claim something as your own and hold it close.”

chapter eleven ADELE

All her life, Mama had taught Adele that her purpose would come from serving her husband’s needs, as well as fulfilling her duty in providing him with children. In exchange, Adele could expect to be provided for. It was why marriage was vital to securing a good future. It was an exchange, a transaction.

Never before had someone challenged her to think that, by marrying, Adele might gain something for herself. That she might have a part of her life that was entirely her own.

“I’ve upset you,” said Mrs. Barnes, no doubt misreading Adele’s frown.

“No, no,” she quickly reassured her hostess. “Quite the contrary. You have given me a great deal to think about.”

“I am glad of it. A young woman should understand her options, even when her circumstances might not be what she once imagined,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.”

Mrs. Barnes offered her a soft smile. “It does not take a great leap of logic to understand that an unmarried Englishwoman is not called from London, where she has ample social connections, to Pasadena without reason.”

“My father is ill, and we have been apart for so long—”

“I have no doubt that is true, Miss Pearce, just as I have no doubt that all your parents’ friends accept this as a perfectly good reason for you to join them. However, you must flatter me that, when your mother approached me to inquire about the lease of one of my properties at a favorable rent, I understood what was left unsaid. Shall we walk again?”

Adele rose to her feet, even as shame spread through her like dye dripped in water.

“I suppose you find this all rather vulgar,” she said as Mrs. Barnes led her through the garden room with the fountain and into an altogether more arid area filled with grasses and sandy ground.

“I do not find it vulgar at all. Mrs. Pearce is simply doing what any mother would do and seeking to protect her child. Rest assured, no one else in Pasadena will have any inkling of what your parents must be enduring. They have been very discreet and have proven rather popular since they arrived. After all, we do love nothing more than a British accent and the manners that accompany it.”

Mrs. Barnes stopped in front of a large shrub. “I do think this ceanothus may be at the end of its life. How disappointing. I shall have to speak to Mr. George about replacing it. Now, if I were in your position, Miss Pearce, I should wish to arm myself with as much knowledge as possible. If choice is what you seek, it would not do to marry the wrong sort of man.”

It should have been mortifying that this older woman whom Adele had only just met was so openly offering her help in assessing potential husbands, but Adele could not help but feel a strange gratitude toward Mrs. Barnes and her open nature. After all, Mama’s primary concern would no doubt be the ability and willingness of any future son-in-law to take on the duty of supporting his wife’s parents. Adele did not see why she could not try to find a man who might also suit her and offer her some of that freedom Mrs. Barnes had extolled.

“I would appreciate any assistance you might give me,” she said.

“Excellent. Now, several men have just come into town this week. Would you like to hear about them or leave it to chance?” asked Mrs. Barnes.

“I suppose I should,” she said slowly, “although I cannot help but feel a bit like a horse being put up for auction.”

“It’s the men who should feel like the livestock, Miss Pearce. Tell me, what do you know of Mr. Cecil Henry?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“The Henrys are originally from Pittsburgh, although they moved to St. Louis when Mr. Henry’s grandfather began to invest in railroads. Mr. Henry went to Harvard for his degree and then joined the family business. Mad for the hunt, his father was one of the founding members of the Valley Hunt Club. I have it on good authority that Mr. Henry arrived on the train yesterday.

“Then there is Mr. Timothy Lochery, whom you met at my dinner party,” Mrs. Barnes continued. “He lives in Pasadena all year round with his two daughters. His wife, Laura, died two years ago—she always did have a weak heart. A great tragedy. Now that he is well out of his mourning, I imagine he will be quite eager to marry again and find a mother for the girls.”

“I must confess, I did not leave my conversation with Mr. Lochery with the impression that he was anxious to wed,” she said.

“That is because Mr. Lochery, steady, solid man though he is, is the very definition of dour,” said Mrs. Barnes with a sigh. “It is for poor Laura’s sake and that of her girls that I continue to maintain the friendship. Let us instead speak of Mr. Sterling Blythe. An artist.”

“I should hope so, with a name like Sterling Blythe,” Adele said with a laugh.

“His mother was a Sterling and apparently couldn’t let the family name go. The Blythes hail from Charlotte, but Mr. Blythe came to California in search of the light.”

“The light?” she asked.