Page 23 of The Queen of Roses

“What did it do to you?”

“I was raised to believe that my highest achievement would be that of wife and mother. The status of my husband would determine my own,” said Miss Pearce, ignoring her question. “But first, I had to find a husband.”

“Were you never tempted to tell your parents you didn’t want any part of their plan to marry you off here in Pasadena?”

Miss Pearce laughed. “Of course I was. I thought about doing so every day, but how? I had no money and no way to return to London because well-bred young ladies did not travel by themselves. I would have ruined my reputation if I had attempted it, and that would have been a fate worse than being forced into marrying a man for the sake of my family.”

“I can’t imagine feeling so trapped.”

“I was trapped, but I was also practical.” Miss Pearce hinged forward, bracing her hands on the arms of her chair. “Have you never felt as though you had to make a difficult choice and stand by it?”

She thought of how, during the most difficult days of journalism school, surrounded by men, she’d had to fight for the attention of her professors. When she got it, she’d learned that she often received far harsher scrutiny than her male classmates. After classes, she would go back home to the little studio apartment in Morningside Heights she shared with a nurse on the night shift and sit alone on the single bed. Momentarily tempted to throw it all in and go back home to marry Eddie like her mother wanted, she’d cry until her tears dried up. Then she’d force herself to pull out her viciously marked-up articles and write them again and again until, slowly but surely, the pages no longer bled quite as much when her professors finished with them.

“I suppose I have,” she said quietly.

“But now you are here,” said Miss Pearce.

Theresa nodded.

“You must understand, Miss Johnson, that in my day most young ladies had very few resources at their disposal. The only jobs available to a woman of my social class would be that of governess or teacher—roles that were an embarrassing indication that she was living in reduced circumstances. Perhaps if a lady had talent, she might preserve her standing in society by writing novels. Most of us, however, were not yet able to make our own money. I admire that about your generation.”

Theresa blushed and tried not to remember that, despite earning her own money, she’d still suffered the humiliation of having to wire her uncle Wally to act as guarantor on her studio apartment’s lease.

She cleared her throat and checked her watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock. “I should probably be going. Would you like any help bringing the lemonade glasses in?”

Miss Pearce looked as though she was about to protest, but then her shoulders slumped a little. “That would be most appreciated, Miss Johnson. I injured my shoulder recently and I find carrying things difficult. On your way out, you will find an envelope on the entryway table waiting for you.”

Theresa stacked the glasses on the tray Matt had brought out and carried them into the kitchen. The room was generous for a bungalow, with a huge wooden island in the middle of it and wood cabinets lining two walls. A large black stove dominated the wall across from a deep sink set against a white-tiled backsplash. Moving carefully, she slid the tray onto the counter and began unloading the dishes into the sink.

A sound at the back door made her turn, and she smiled as Matt walked in.

“Still here?” he asked.

“I’m just on my way out. Miss Pearce asked me to bring these things in. I thought you were going to the nursery.”

“I’m on lunch duty,” he said, opening one of the tall wooden cabinet doors and revealing a refrigerator tucked away.

“It’s kind of you to help her out,” she said.

“Miss Pearce has been looking out for me since I was a kid. I started working at Rosewood Nursery when I was fourteen.”

“That young?”

He nodded as he pulled a wax paper packet out of the fridge. “Miss Pearce knew some people who knew my mom, and when she found out that I was spending most of my afternoons at home by myself, she gave me a job. Picked me up in her car from school and everything. I’d stay here until Mom came and collected me.”

“And now you’re managing the place,” she said.

He chuckled. “Don’t make any mistake, Miss Pearce is the boss in every sense of the word. She just lets me feel good about myself by saying I’m the manager.”

There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she glanced at her watch again. “I really should get going.”

“Will I see you around?” he asked.

“I’ll be back next Saturday.”

“More reporting?”

She smiled. “Something like that.”