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Adele had had enough. “But, Mama, isn’t that precisely what you are?”

Mama’s mouth puckered like she had bitten into a lemon. “Such a selfish girl.”

She laughed. “I am hardly a girl, but perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am selfish, because finally I am choosing what is right for me. I would rather live here and rely upon myself than place my faith in any man who might disappoint me again.”

“What will you do when you realize that your little fairy tale of living in the mountains is all for naught? What will you live on?”

That made Adele pause. What would she do? How would she manage? She could swallow her pride and continue sending her bills to Guy, but what happened when he eventually refused to pay? What would she live on then?

“When you realize how difficult this will be, you will come crawling back to Guy, wishing you still had your life in Pasadena,” said Mama, her words dripping with vitriol. “Even if he does take you back, do you really think the Valley Hunt Club set will welcome you into their fold once again? What of Mrs. Blakeney and Mrs. Gill and all the other ladies you take tea with? Do you think your beloved Mrs. Barnes will want anything to do with you?”

Adele rose to her feet. “I think, Mama, that it is time for you to leave.”

“You are dismissing me?”

“I am.”

“If you will not heed the advice of your own mother—”

“I have heeded rather a lot of your advice throughout my life, and look where it has landed me. Disappointed first by my father and then by my husband,” she said. “Now, I must insist you leave.”

She stepped back to allow her mother to sweep out of the room. From her vantage point, she could just see as Mama climbed into the carriage, and moments later, the vehicle drove off, kicking up dust in its wake.

As soon as Mama’s carriage disappeared down the bend in the drive, Adele pivoted on her heel and marched straight out of the house, sweeping up her apron to tie around her waist as she went. As she approached, Macalister looked up from the cut branches he was piling into a wheel-barrow.

He didn’t say anything when she pulled on her gloves, took up a dibbler again, and jabbed it into the earth with all her might.

chapter forty-seven ADELE

Adele worked with great fervor for the rest of the day, refusing to stop when Macalister suggested that perhaps she was done. She wanted to lose herself in the garden—her garden—and shut out the rest of the world. She did not care about anything except that the sweet pea seeds she had sown in pots that afternoon would grow strong and healthy for planting out in the spring. She wanted to learn how to properly prune a rose and stake peonies, to care for the abundant orange trees in her orchard and to grow tomatoes that tasted like bursts of sunshine on the tongue.

The garden demanded nothing of her except for her time and her energy. Those things she was willing to give to it.

When finally her arms were trembling from exertion, Macalister stooped down and gently removed the trowel from her shaking hand. “Enough. There will be more to do tomorrow.”

She sat back on her heels, defeated. She allowed him to help her up, staggering slowly to the house on leaden feet to wash. Rosewood House, for all the improvements she had made, was not connected to a city water supply, so she had not been able to have the modern bathrooms of the Gables plumbed in. Instead, Hildy pumped water by hand to boil on the kitchen stove and then pour into a large copper bath.

It was a far cry from the luxury of the baths Maggie would prepare for her, but she was nonetheless grateful as the hot water eased her aching muscles that evening.

After a simple dinner by herself of cold baked ham, cheese, and bread, Adele had asked Hildy to clear the table.

“You may go to bed after that,” said Adele.

“Are you certain you won’t need me to light the lamps for you, Mrs. Whitley?” asked Hildy.

“No, thank you, Hildy,” she said.

Adele went through to the front room to light the lamps and candles that would allow her to read. That first night she had realized that she had rarely had to light her own way. She had discovered over the past few days that she was capable of performing more tasks than she ever could have imagined.

It was a good thing, too, because she was not certain how much longer she could count on Hildy’s help. Any day, Guy might call Hildy back to the Gables, and the maid would have to go.

As she replaced the glass on the last lamp, there was the scrape of a boot on the porch steps, and when Adele looked up and out the window, she saw Macalister’s silhouette illuminated in the glow of his lantern light.

She hurried to the front door, opening it just before he knocked.

“Good evening,” she said.

“Evening,” he replied, before holding out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine. “This is for you.”