Page 84 of The Queen of Roses

As soon as the final course was cleared, Adele rose to signal to the ladies that it was time to retreat to the drawing room and leave Guy, James, and Papa to the port and the stinking cigars Guy inevitably insisted on bringing out at every dinner party.

However, as soon as she was out the door, she said to the other ladies, “I will join you in one moment. There is a matter I must discuss with Mrs. Jarrett.”

When the women were out of sight, Adele beckoned to the housekeeper. “Would you please ask Mr. Whitley to join me in the morning room? If he will not come, tell him that there is an urgent matter that must be resolved this evening.”

Tight-lipped as always, Mrs. Jarrett nodded and slipped back into the dining room.

Adele hurried to the morning room, her heart pounding. She could not believe the foul mood her husband had arrived home in and, although it had lightened a little after the soup was cleared, it had rumbled along underneath the entire dinner like a snake coiled and ready to strike.

The door opened, and Guy filled the doorway. “What’s so urgent that it can’t wait for the port? I was about to open a bottle of Taylor’s.”

“Please close the door,” she said, crossing her arms over the lace of her bodice.

Guy hesitated but then, mercifully, did as he was told.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“You,” she said bluntly.

“Me?” he asked, as though genuinely surprised.

“You have been a beast from the moment you walked into this house this evening. What must our guests think?”

“You’re too fixated on what other people think, Adele.”

She scoffed. “And you are not? You are the one who told me from the moment we married that we were ambassadors for your business. That it was your ambition that we should sit atop Pasadena society.”

“That lot are hardly businessmen or hotel guests or even those vultures at the Valley Hunt Club.”

“You’re right. They are my parents, my cousins, one of our dearest friends, and her daughter,” she reminded him.

“Your dearest friend maybe.”

“You have known Mrs. Barnes for years. Far longer than I have.”

“I do not need this, Adele. Not after the day I’ve had,” he shot back.

“What sort of day justifies such rudeness to the people you should be kindest to?” she demanded.

He rounded on her. “Is it unreasonable for a man to come to his own house and expect peace? Instead, I find it invaded! Am I to never have a moment’s relaxation?”

“This is not like you, Guy. What is the matter?” When he did not answer, she reached tentatively for his hand. “If you have had a difficult day, talk to me. Surely I can help soothe your worries.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew that the moment she saw his gaze cut to her and harden.

“I am going out,” he announced, ripping his hand from her grip.

“Out? Guy, you can’t—”

“I can’t breathe here with all of them staring at me.”

Her husband flung open the door and stomped out of the room. A few moments later, she heard the front door open and slam shut. Then the noise of a motorcar roaring to life cut through the silence of the morning room.

As the sound of the automobile receded, Adele closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples to try to ease her threatening headache.

What a dreadful night.

After a moment’s stillness, she made herself walk to the morning room door, opening it with deliberate control. Crossing into the entryway of the house, she found instead her housekeeper handing James his kidskin gloves and top hat.