Page 116 of The Queen of Roses

“How much, Guy?”

She could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as she swallowed. “The total debt stands at around twenty-one thousand dollars.”

Adele staggered, her hand catching the back of a nearby chair. The debt alone was one thing, but to know that it sat atop several mortgages? It was a tremendous amount of money.

“How could it be so much when you have already paid so much?” she asked.

“The interest Earl charges is ruinous.”

“Then why did you take out the loan?” she asked.

He gritted his teeth. “I had no choice. I needed cash.”

“This has been weighing on you for months, Guy. Why have you not come to me?”

“You are my wife. You should not have to trouble yourself with such things,” he said.

“I am your wife and that is precisely why you should trouble me with them. You could have asked me to economize.”

That made him laugh—a proper deep, belly-rolling laugh. “Adele Whitley, economize? I don’t think so.”

“That is unfair,” she said. “We have a full stable, two buggies, a carriage, a gig, and a motorcar. Surely we could make do with a horse for you and a horse for me and sell the rest.”

“And how am I to go to work?” he asked.

“You could hire a carriage or, if you really insist that you need one, we keep the buggy. It only requires one horse to pull it.”

He grumbled a little at this, but when he didn’t interrupt she continued. “We could have reduced our staff. While I am in mourning, we cannot entertain in the manner we used to. There is also the matter of my dressmaker’s bills and your tailor’s. We both have more than enough clothing to make do, and if we do need something new, it would be more economical to recut a dress rather than to have entirely new ones made.

“Then there are the memberships. It isn’t truly necessary for us to be paying dues to all manner of clubs,” she pressed on. “And what of the things we could sell—the jewelry and the paintings, for instance?”

“No,” he said.

“Twenty-one thousand dollars plus whatever interest continues to accrue could ruin us, Guy,” she said.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know.”

Adele swallowed. “We could sell the Gables.”

“And move where?” he asked.

She hated what she was about to suggest because it felt like a violation. Still, she forced herself to say, “Rosewood House.”

“No,” he said. “I will not go and hide in the mountains.”

“But selling the Gables and living there would give you the stability you need for the hotels—”

“We could sell Rosewood House.”

“No.” The word was out of her mouth like a shot, echoing about the room.

“No?” he practically growled.

“It is my house. It is my name on the deed. I am not selling it.”

“I am your husband. It is your duty to do as I say.”

“I will not sell my house.” She knew that in her wedding vows she had promised to honor her husband and stand by his side for richer or for poorer, but Rosewood House was hers, and she loved it as she had never loved anything before. She would not part from it.