Page 35 of The Queen of Roses

She had to admit that there was something exciting and vital that drew her to him. There was even an attraction there, with his square jaw and penetrating blue eyes. So why had he not called upon her or taken her riding or sent her flowers or done anything except send her parents a perfectly acceptable, polite invitation to supper before the Gills’ ball?

“Tonight is your chance to change that,” said Mama. “I have no doubt that Mr. Whitley will ask you to dance. See that you save a waltz for him. You dance it beautifully.”

The compliment should not mean so much to her, but Mama’s praise was such a rarity that it was difficult not to want to wrap it up and cherish it.

“Naturally, you should dance with the other eligible men, too,” Mama continued. “A little bit of jealousy never did anyone any harm.”

“Why, after all the men who have called on me, pin your hopes on Mr. Whitley? Why not Mr. Henry or Mr. Lochery?”

“Mr. Lochery has his children to consider, and that lessens the likelihood that he will be willing to take a bride who does not bring a dowry.” Mama’s tone was matter-of-fact. “And it has recently come to my attention that Mr. Henry may not be entirely at liberty to choose his wife.”

“He is promised to another?” she asked.

Mama shook her head. “Mrs. Lydgate kindly informed me that she has discouraged her own daughter from Mr. Henry because he has a mother in St. Louis who will undoubtedly have a great deal of sway with any wife he chooses. This Mrs. Henry will want to have a look at whichever girl he ultimately chooses.”

“Do you doubt my ability to charm a Midwestern mother?” Adele asked.

Mama looked away. “It is a matter of timing more than anything else.”

“How long do we have until the money runs out?”

Mama’s lips thinned. “A letter arrived from your father’s banker today. It appears that, if we accept Mrs. Barnes’s offer to rent one of her properties, we will have enough to live on for three months.”

Adele twisted in her seat to stare at her mother. “I have three months to find a man who wishes to marry me, have him propose, work out a marriage settlement, and then wed?”

It was unfair—so very unfair—yet what could she do? While she was unmarried, her fate was tied to that of her parents. The only way to help them all out of this impossibility was to secure enough money to support them. No governess or paid companion’s salary would suffice. Adele had to marry.

The line of Mama’s lips practically vanished at the impossibility of it all.

“Well, this is a tall task indeed,” said Adele.

“I did not say—”

“Fear not, Mama,” Adele said, turning back to her reflection. “I will see that it is done.”

A long line of carriages crept up the drive before the white stone facade of the Andalusian Hotel, its central tower topped in a red tile roof still visible thanks to the glow of light from the windows of its many rooms. Adele had driven by the building that stretched the length of a Pasadena city block before, but never had she turned up the hotel’s sweeping, palm tree–lined drive.

“Pinch your cheeks, Adele,” Mama instructed from where she sat across the carriage. “Put some color back into them.”

“My cheeks are rosy enough, Mama,” Adele replied, still gazing out of the window at the flaming torches mounted on either side of the hotel’s huge oak doors that marked the entrance.

“It would be best if you could secure a dance with Mr. Whitley before supper finishes. He will have to act as something of a host, given that the ball is being held in his hotel, and it wouldn’t do to lose his attention.”

“And make sure that the first dance we share is a waltz. You have already reminded me.” When she glanced over at Mama, she saw how tightly her mother was clasping the handle of a fine ivory fan in her hands. “I understand the importance of this evening.”

Mama gave a curt nod before adjusting her fur wrap around her shoulders as the carriage finally rolled to a stop at the hotel’s entrance.

“Well, this should be a merry evening for all,” said Papa cheerfully from his seat across the carriage.

The door opened, and it was not the hotel’s doorman who appeared but Mr. Whitley himself in beautiful, inky black evening dress.

“Good evening,” he said brightly as Papa climbed down with the assistance of his stick.

“Mr. Whitley, how good of you to greet us,” said Mama, although Adele was certain her mother would have frowned disapprovingly of their host opening their carriage door himself if they were back at home.

“I could not wait for the guests of the hour to arrive,” he said, holding his hand out to Mama.

When her mother was safely on solid ground, Mr. Whitley finally turned his attention to Adele.