Page 62
Adele was about to reply when she looked across the vast dining room to Guy, who was bending toward Miss Barnes, seated on his right.
She frowned. She had not placed Miss Barnes to Guy’s right. She was certain of it. That seat had been reserved for Mrs. Walker, the president of the Pasadena Garden Society, who held an inordinate amount of power among the city’s ladies because she was married to the president of the Tournament of Roses Association, which put on the annual New Year’s Day parade.
How had Miss Barnes ended up there…?
Adele watched Guy laugh at something the debutante said and then take up her hand by the wrist, turning it over.
Adele stood abruptly.
“If you will please excuse me, James,” she said quickly before gathering up her plum skirts in one hand to beat a path straight for her husband. As she approached, she saw Miss Barnes look up, the girl’s eyes narrowing slightly before widening into a picture of lovely innocence.
Adele placed a hand on Guy’s shoulder and said, “Dearest.”
“Ah, Adele,” said Guy, his eyes shining. “I was just telling Miss Barnes about our stables. Apparently she is a keen horsewoman. Since you are not riding at the moment, I thought perhaps we might lend her your mare.”
Adele gave the girl a tight smile before turning back to her husband. “I beg your pardon, dearest, but Monsieur Archambeau has a concern about the meat course.”
Guy frowned at the hotel chef’s name. “Archambeau? Wouldn’t it be best if he spoke to you? You chose the menu for the evening.”
“Knowing how important tonight is for the Colorado Grand, he asked expressly for you,” she lied.
Guy’s expression immediately became serious, and he pushed back from the table before bowing to Miss Barnes. “My apologies.”
“Of course, Mr. Whitley,” said the girl prettily.
Adele led her husband out of the hotel’s dining room. In the quiet of the corridor, she spun around, her skirts flaring around her in a swirl of purple, and asked in a low voice, “Is it your intention to make a spectacle of your-self this evening?”
“A spectacle?” he scoffed.
“Lower your voice,” she warned between gritted teeth, nodding to a gentleman in evening clothes she did not recognize who was passing by.
Guy had the good sense to say nothing until the man was well out of earshot. Then he rounded on her. “When I married you, Adele, I never expected you to become a nag.”
The insult stung. She wasn’t a nag. She was simply conscious that, triumph though this ball might be, such success would bring even more scrutiny to their door than ever before.
“And I didn’t expect I would marry a man who would acquire the shameful habit of flirting with a young lady in public on the night of her debut. While intoxicated, I might add,” she fired back.
Guy took a step closer, staring straight down his nose at her. “I would have thought jealousy of a girl like Miss Barnes beneath you.”
“Miss Barnes was not even meant to be sitting next to you. Mrs. Walker was.”
“Well, thank God for that. The less time I’m forced to speak to that old battle-ax, the better,” he muttered.
“Guy!”
He threw up his hands. “I have no idea how the seating became swapped, but there is nothing to worry about. Miss Barnes is the daughter of an old friend, and I have known her far longer than I have known you.”
That gave her pause. Miss Barnes was his friend’s daughter. It was only natural that he should wish to support her on the evening of her debut.
“And, I would have you know, that what you saw as flirting was me assisting the girl. She said that the buttons on her gloves are impossible to undo while she is wearing them, and she needed to fold them back before dinner,” he said.
Adele raised a brow, recalling the look of competition on Miss Barnes’s face when Adele approached the table. Could her husband really be so naïve as that?
“You must understand that it does not matter your intention, Guy. People will see what they wish to see,” she said. “Which is why I beg you to cease drinking this evening. You yourself said how important it was that we make the right sort of impression.”
“Do you not know how hard I have worked for years to bring this day to fruition?”
“I am the last woman you see at the end of a long day—I know you better than anyone—but that means that I also know that you have drunk too much, Guy. If people have not already noticed, they will soon.”
