Page 67 of The Queen of Roses

“It is such a part of who he is. It would be odd if I did not,” she said.

“Is there more you will do to help the Colorado Grand now that the ball is over?”

“I doubt he will have much need for me outside of hosting parties as he tries to woo more businessmen for his mountain lodge,” she said, surprised to find the thought of no longer having the work of the ball disheartening. It had started as a means of distraction, a way to keep her mind from the pressure of falling pregnant, but in the months since Guy suggested it, she had found she liked the occupation. She would miss it now that there was nothing more for her to do.

As Margot happily chatted on about her son, Charles, and the friends she had once shared with Adele back in London, Pasadena began to fall away and the stretches between buildings became greater. Lake Avenue pitched up, the pavement disappeared, and the horse plodded a little more slowly as the buggy began to climb into the foothills.

Finally, when it felt that they reached the rise of the San Gabriel Mountains, Adele negotiated the left turn onto Rosewood House’s drive.

“Here it is,” she said as she drove through the familiar break in the scrub brush and foothill pine.

“It’s so high up,” said Margot in wonder, looking about at the chaparral that hid the house from the road.

Adele shifted in her seat, keenly aware of what her cousin saw. Although the property was far less overgrown than it once had been, Adele’s caretaker and sometimes gardener had given his notice the previous month, telling her he wished to retire to live with his daughter, who had married a farmer. The Rosewood House caretaker’s cottage had been vacant ever since.

“It’s about as far as one can go without being in the mountains,” Adele said.

“Is everything always so dry?” asked Margot.

“Consider this the end of our summer. If we are fortunate, the winter rains will come and give everything a good drink in January and February.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we will have a drought and everything will become all the drier for it.” The house came into view, and the horse began to slow out of familiarity. “Here it is.”

“Rosewood House,” said Margot. “From your letters it seems as though it took an age to make it habitable.”

“I thought Guy was mad when he first brought me here, but then we went inside and I began to fall in love with all of the neglected detail.” She laughed. “It still took the workmen more than a year to bring it back to life.”

“It’s a pretty spot,” said Margot. “I would love to see inside.”

Her cousin’s praise warmed her. “Come. I’ll show you.”

Adele picked up her skirts and climbed down first, turning back to help her more delicate cousin. Then she made for the steps of the front porch. As she reached the top, the wood-and-glass front door swung open and Hildy, one of the housemaids, appeared.

“Good afternoon, Hildy,” Adele said, removing her gloves and handing them to the girl, whom Mrs. Jarrett would have sent up in a cart to open the house and see to their needs. “How is everything looking?”

“Shipshape, Mrs. Whitley,” said Hildy.

“Cook sent us with a picnic. We shall have it on the patio, if you would please see to it that the doors are opened and the table laid.”

Hildy curtseyed, then scurried off to see to her tasks.

Adele and Margot entered the sitting room, which Adele had papered in a pattern of deep blues and greens that brought out the warmth of the half-height wood paneling and the iron-and-orange-glass lights. She pointed out the Liberty curtains she’d ordered from London and the rose motif on the doors that had given the house its name, and then Adele led her cousin to the morning room. This room she’d had painted in the same light green as the shingles outside, before filling it with soft chairs of cream and forest green arranged around a more informal river-rock fireplace than the iron-and-art-tile one in the sitting room.

In the dining room, Adele showed Margot the nook that had been lined with shelves on three sides to create a little library of sorts, before opening the French doors with their stained-glass rose panels that led to the paved patio that ran along the western side of the house. She explained to Margot that the house was designed so that every room on the ground floor could be accessed from the outdoors to let the air flow through and to keep it cool on hot summer days.

Then she took her cousin upstairs to show off the three bedrooms that sat off a central corridor. All the way through the house, Margot walked with her hands clasped in front of her, expressing genuine interest and commenting on the pictures, the curtains, and the furniture.

Adele led Margot back downstairs and out the French doors to the patio, where Hildy had left their lunch under mesh covers to keep off the insects.

“Would you care for luncheon now?” she asked.

“Oh, let’s see the garden first,” said Margot.

“I’m afraid it isn’t much to remark upon,” Adele said by way of apology. “I’m told that the previous owner had little interest in the grounds outside of a small rose garden near the back of the property and an orchard to the north.”

“An orchard?” asked Margot. “How delightful.”