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She exhaled. After months of planning and preparation, the ball had begun.

“You should be out there,” said Guy.

“Etiquette dictates that the hostess never dances,” she reminded him.

“I don’t see why you can’t,” he grumbled.

“Adele must greet people and arrange partners for those ladies who don’t know many gentlemen,” said Margot.

Guy’s eyes flashed to her cousin. “A man should be able to dance with his wife.”

Adele laid a placating hand on his arm. “There will be other balls and other opportunities to dance in the future.”

He took a step closer to her then, and she caught the strong scent of mint about him. It was almost strong enough to mask the smoky smell of whiskey on his breath.

Never a supporter of temperance herself, normally Adele would not begrudge him a drink, but she recalled all the wine he’d had at the intimate dinner they’d hosted for Margot and James, a few friends, and several of the Colorado Grand’s most important investors. They had begun with champagne before moving on to bottles of an excellent Chablis and then claret. The men had rounded everything off with port while the ladies had retired to fix their hair and make any last adjustments to their gowns before leaving for the ball.

“I trust you are being sensible tonight,” she whispered.

Guy’s face scrunched up. “Don’t henpeck me, Adele. Not tonight.”

Without another word, her husband stepped back and disappeared into the crowd.

She felt someone shift to her side, and Margot said in a low voice, “Do not fear, Adele. There are many a gentleman who have indulged a little too much before the dancing begins at a ball. Guy will remember his responsibilities. It is too important a night for him not to.”

Despite Guy’s initial flash of anger, he returned not ten minutes later transformed. He stood dutifully next to Adele, shaking hands and introducing her to those who, until this point, had been little more than names on a list. With the full force of his charm firmly in place, she wondered if perhaps she had been too hasty in her judgment of his drinking.

At one o’clock in the morning, Adele and Guy led their guests through to the supper that had been laid out in the hotel’s grand restaurant. With its frescoes on all four walls depicting the unspoiled beauty of Pasadena when it had been all roses and wildflowers and soaring mountains, it reminded her of some of the larger hotels in London where she had dined as a guest at any number of balls.

When she approached her seat, she found James standing behind his chair, waiting.

“I see we are seated next to one another,” said Margot’s husband, pulling her chair out for her.

“Consider it a hostess’s prerogative. I thought it might give us the opportunity to get to know one another better,” she said.

“We knew one another back in London.”

“That is true, but one can hardly appreciate the full scope of a person based on a handful of dances at a handful of balls years ago.”

“And yet that is how many couples secure an engagement,” he said.

She laughed. “Too true.”

“Might I make a confession?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“I have been tasked with being something of an emissary from my wife this evening. She misses you greatly.”

Adele glanced over to her cousin, who was sitting a little way away and engaged in conversation with Mr. Blythe, the artist who had once courted Adele with exuberant flowers and bad poetry.

“As I do her,” she said with a sigh.

“I believe she had once hoped that you might one day return to London—”

“I have tried to explain to Margot that Pasadena is now my home. With Guy’s work here, it would be impossible to live anywhere else.”

James offered her a little smile. “I suspected as much, but Margot is inclined to flights of fancy sometimes. I suspect she believes that if only she wishes for it enough she will be able to will you back to London.”