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Grandmother didn't move. She looked up from the flowers and scanned the crowd of black-cloaked mourners as if searching for someone. "I wish my other son could be here," she murmured.

Adelaide's skin prickled. "Who do you mean, Mimi?"

"My other son...." Her hand fluttered as if trying to stir a pot of dusty memories and draw out a name. "You know...."

Adelaide swallowed. "You don't have another son, Mimi. Only my father. He was your only child." Grandmother stared at Adelaide for a long moment, then shook her head.

 

"No, he wasn't." She shielded her eyes from the sun and gazed into the distance for another long moment as if searching for him before finally allowing Adelaide to lead her to the waiting carriage. Grandmother was obviously confused. She didn't really have a secret son—did she?

Adelaide shook her head, quickly discarding the outrageous idea, not only because it was an affront to Grandmother's character, but because such a scandal never would have remained hidden in their tightly knit social world. Fear of family disgrace kept Adelaide, her sisters, and all their peers virtuous.

The carriage swayed as Mimi's driver, Henry, closed the door and climbed onto his seat. They rode in dignified silence. Yet Mimi Junie's puzzling words left Adelaide shaken. Had she lost a son through miscarriage or stillbirth or an early death? Wouldn't there be a marker in the family cemetery plot if she had? And she surely would have mentioned such a tragedy before today, wouldn't she? The questions nibbled into Adelaide's thoughts as she stood with Grandmother, Mother, and Cordelia in their mansion's enormous dining room for the funeral luncheon, accepting condolences from streams of people. After a long, wearying hour, Grandmother turned to her.

"I've had enough, Adelaide. Would you kindly help me to my room?" Dark clouds were erasing the brilliant summer sky, and thunder rumbled in the distance as Adelaide helped Mimi Junie to her bedroom suite and to her chair by the window.

But before leaving, Adelaide crouched in front of her. She needed to know. "Mimi Junie, at the funeral you mentioned another son."

"Did I?" She stared into her lap, idly pulling off her lace gloves.

"Yes. And it was the first time I've ever heard of him. Can you tell me more about him?"

Grandmother dropped the gloves and gathered Adelaide's hands in hers, holding them with surprising strength. She met Adelaide's gaze, her faded eyes bright and brimming with love. "You're named after me, Adelaide Junietta Stanhope."

"Yes, I—"

"What plans are they making for you?"

 

"What do you mean?"

"Have they chosen a husband for you? Decided your future?"

The change in topics confused her, but she answered dutifully. "Mother thought there were several promising gentlemen in Newport, but with Father gone so suddenly, we'll have to observe a period of mourning before—"

"It's your life, not your mother's. Do you have the courage it takes to break free from the mold that society will try to cast for you? You don't have to do things their way, you know."

"I-I don't understand."

"Your father's death means that everything is going to change for you and your mother. And for me too, undoubtedly. As we start all over again, we'll have a chance to make a new life for ourselves and decide how we want to live from now on. Change can be difficult, but it can also be very good for us."

Adelaide's heart picked up speed. "I don't want anything to change. I want to live the way I always have."

"Nevertheless, change is coming, you can be sure of that. But that means you're free to make new choices. To love a man of your own choosing and discover the joy of being loved in return. But it will require courage."

Adelaide couldn't reply. Might Mimi's questions have something to do with her mysterious lost son after all? But no, her beloved Mimi Junie, the upright, formidable grande dame of New York society, would never live a secret, scandalous life, much less urge her granddaughter to live one.

Would she?

There was a soft knock on the door, and a maid entered with a tea tray. The silver teapot was small, and the tray held only one cup and saucer. "Your mother would like you to return to your guests downstairs, Miss Adelaide," the maid said. There would be no more questions or revelations today.

Grandmother squeezed Adelaide's hands tightly before releasing them. "Give me a kiss before you go, Addy dear," she said.

Adelaide did as she was told. She always did as she was told.