Page 66 of The Queen of Roses

“You promised that you would spend the days after the opening at home.”

“Can you not see I am in no condition to tour gardens or whatever damned thing you wish to do?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may soak yourself in whiskey and choke yourself with cigar smoke—that is your choice—but you will not speak to me as though I am an employee of one of your hotels. I am your wife.”

“My apologies,” he murmured. “Please, Adele. I need sleep. I’m in no condition to entertain anyone, but I promise if you give me a few hours…”

He looked so pathetic in his rumpled evening clothes, scruff already growing on his chin and his hair askew, that she gave a short nod.

“Margot has been asking to see the improvements I’ve made at Rosewood House, but there hasn’t been any time to take her until now. I will ask Cook to pack our luncheon as a picnic,” she said.

“Thank you, Adele.”

“However, I expect you to be prepared to spend all of tomorrow with us,” she warned.

“All I need is a little sleep,” Guy begged. “Then I will attend to the Bensons’ every need. I promise.”

She feared it was a promise he would find some excuse not to keep, but she retreated from the dressing room without another word.

chapter twenty-four ADELE

Adele found Margot in the morning room, writing slope open and pen in her hand.

“Good morning,” she said brightly.

Margot looked up, her flaxen hair catching the midday sun streaming through the large windows and illuminating the intricate pattern of the Persian rug. “Good morning.”

“I hope you are not too tired after the festivities,” Adele said.

“I will admit that I could hardly keep my eyes open at the end. To think that once upon a time I never would have dreamed of leaving a ball so early.”

“And yet, you were downstairs before I was.”

“You had a great many things to worry about yesterday as you played hostess,” said Margot. “I was just writing a letter to my mother. She will want to know everything about the ball.”

“I would much rather she have your account than Mama’s,” Adele said. “I thought we might go up to Altadena and visit Rosewood House this afternoon.”

Margot’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I should be delighted to see it. I’ve been fascinated with your letters about its progress.” Then her face fell. “James is still in bed with a migraine. He suffers from them sometimes.”

“Then you and I shall have to go together,” said Adele firmly. “Mrs. Jarrett will see that he is cared for.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. Not when he’s in pain…”

“Is not the best thing for a migraine to allow the sufferer the peace and quiet of a darkened, silent room?”

“I suppose so…” Margot trailed off.

“You can pick flowers for your pressing album,” Adele said, dangling a temptation she knew Margot would not be able to resist in front of her. “The garden is nothing compared to the one here at the Gables or Mrs. Barnes’s home, but there are some wild varieties that grow on the outskirts you might find interesting.”

“Wildflowers in November,” murmured Margot. “How wonderful. I will go fetch my hat.”

“Even coming from London, I don’t think I will ever become used to all of this building!” exclaimed Margot as Adele maneuvered her buggy around an ice wagon on the road north to Altadena.

“Guy tells me that the building boom shows no signs of stopping,” said Adele. “It is one of the reasons that he decided to build the Colorado Grand. People keep coming to Pasadena, and there are hardly enough hotel rooms for all of them.”

“I think it admirable you have taken such an interest in your husband’s affairs,” said Margot over the clatter of banging hammers.

Adele glanced at her cousin, wondering if there was any judgment in her tone, but Margot was peering wide-eyed about her, one hand clasped firmly on her parasol and the other on the brim of her hat.