He’d put her in a terrible position. If Pandora and Harley didn’t get married, she would lose Adele. Pandora adored Adele; she was almost like a mother. They had grown so close. And there was Willie. Willie would eventually live with them when his arthritis grew worse and he could no longer teach tennis. Lately, he had to cancel more lessons because of the pain in his shoulder. In a few years, he might not be able to teach at all.
“How would it work?” she asked doubtfully.
“Nothing would be different. My parents must never know. They’ve endured so much with my brothers dying in the war. It would destroy them.” He took her hand. “And you’re right. I’ll be so busy with the bank and entertaining friends I won’t have time to think about anything else.”
Pandora sat back and looked around. It was a perfect summer day. The sun glinted on the river, and the air smelled of hyacinths. In three days, the lawn would be transformed for the reception: round tables set with huge vases of scarlet and white roses, a platform filled with musical instruments, a separate table with an ice sculpture and a six-tier wedding cake with chocolate fondant icing.
She and Harley had promised themselves to each other. She couldn’t flee at the first obstacle she encountered. But she needed time to think.
“I need some time,” she said. “We can talk about it later.”
“Of course.” He nodded.
Later that same afternoon, Pandora sat at a table in the public library in Hyde Park. She’d spent the last two hours reading everything she could about homosexuality. The only treatments were terrifying. In Austria, doctors administered something called aversion therapy, where the patient was given electric shocks and chemicals to make them vomit. She could never subject Harley to such terrible things.
She read newspaper clippings about homosexuals congregating at public bath houses and gathering at nightclubs in Greenwich Village. The February before, fifteen hundred people attended a masquerade ball at the Renaissance Casino in Harlem, and the newspaper reported that you couldn’t tell the men, in their elaborate evening gowns and painted faces, from the women.
She wished she could confide in Virginia, but then Virginia would have to keep Harley’s secret too. She had to make the decision by herself.
The door to the library opened, and Vivian Clarkson entered. She wore a green chemise dress. A small hat was perched on her head, and she wore white gloves.
“Pandora,” Vivian said when she recognized her. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Pandora hastily covered the newspaper. She didn’t want Vivian to see what she was reading.
“Vivian,” Pandora responded. “It’s nice to see you.”
“I came in to pick up the new Dorothy Sayers mystery book,” Vivian said brightly. “Why don’t I get it, and then we can have coffee?”
Vivian had been so nice to her. At Lillian’s wedding, when the lawn at Beechtree was crowded with guests, she had made a point of coming over and talking to Pandora and Harley.
“Of course, I’d love to.” Pandora stood up, slipping the book she had checked out into her bag.
They sat in Hilda’s Coffee Shop and ordered two coffees and a plate of ladyfingers. They talked about the upcoming wedding, how anxious and excited Pandora was. Vivian assured her that she would do fine; young women were so capable these days.
Pandora pondered how a woman as warm as Vivian could have Lillian for a daughter.
“There is something I wanted to ask you.” Vivian interrupted her thoughts. “Lillian mentioned that you design dresses.”
“Harley and I have to find a house and get settled first,” Pandora answered. “After that, I hope to open a boutique.”
Vivian sipped her coffee thoughtfully.
“Leland and I aren’t going to Europe this year, and I’d love a new gown for the opera. Perhaps you could make something for me when you return from your honeymoon. I’d pay whatever you like.”
Pandora gulped her coffee in excitement. Vivian Clarkson asked her to design a dress! She knew it was partly because she was about to become Mrs. Harley Enright. That didn’t matter. It was still flattering.
“I’d love to,” Pandora said happily.
“Wonderful.” Vivian set down her coffee cup. “I should go. I’m getting my hair done for your wedding. Leland and I are thrilled to be invited.”
After Pandora finished her coffee, she drove back to Blythdale. She had to find Harley and tell him her decision.
The newspaper articles and books proved it would be pointless to try to change him. She had to accept Harley the way he was. She would approach the marriage on practical terms. Marrying Harley meant she’d have a family and could open her boutique. In return, Harley would be protected from gossip.
Harley was in the library when she arrived. She was reminded of the night they met. Harley had been so handsome and sweet; she had instantly been attracted to him.
“You’re back.” Harley glanced up from the desk.
He pushed his hair across his forehead. Pandora could see fear and trepidation in his eyes.
“I think we can go through with the wedding, but we have to promise to be faithful to each other. If you were involved in any kind of scandal, it could ruin everything.” She took a deep breath, wondering if Harley would agree.
Harley walked to the window. The lawn was freshly mown, and the gardeners were clipping roses in the rose garden.
Pandora could see the uncertainty in his expression, as if he was weighing her suggestion. He paused for another moment, then he turned and crossed the floor.
“You have my word. I promise I’ll be faithful.”
Harley put his arms around her and pulled her close. Pandora buried her face in his chest.
She had to believe him.
Chapter Eleven
June 1927, Hyde Park, New York
Pandora spent the following day at Riverview. She had spent so much time at Blythdale in the weeks leading up to the wedding, it felt nice to be at home. She tidied the cottage’s small living room and sorted the fashion books on her bookshelf.
She spent a whole hour in the kitchen, arranging the spices. When she stepped back to admire the rows of bottles and jars, she had to laugh. For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of attending the Van Luyens’ dinner parties and never having to serve again. Now she had an afternoon to herself, and she spent it in the pantry.
After she finished the spices, she sat at the kitchen table with a basket of peas and a bowl in front of her. The kitchen door opened, and Archie stood in the hallway. He wore his tennis whites and held an overnight bag. His cheeks were smooth, and his eyes looked as pale blue as Maude Van Luyen’s china. She caught the scent of his aftershave.
Pandora was about to go give him a kiss on the cheek, but she remembered they were hardly speaking.
“I just drove up from New York; your father said you were home.” He entered the kitchen.
“Esther had to run some errands; I’m helping with tonight’s casserole.”
“Mrs. Harley Enright shouldn’t be shelling peas.” Archie pulled out a chair.
“I’m not married yet, and I wanted to do it,” Pandora replied.
Archie picked up a pea pod and snapped it open. His expression was warmer than she had seen it in months.