XIV

Adam buttoned his jacket up. The day was cold with a slight breeze but then it was late November. He held the flowers close to him as he hurried home. He hoped Nell would easily forgive him for the previous night; he remembered his temper and the smashed vase of roses and was ashamed. In the light of day, he knew Nell loved him. It was just that the humiliation of being confronted by Vincent and his absurd accusations had stretched him to the breaking point. And although he loved to see Nell having a wonderful time, it had seemed at the time that perhaps she had smiled a bit too sweetly at Henry Bailey and Vincent Marquand and Adam had wondered who else. Nell could be flirtatious but Adam had never given it any weight before—she was just the charming, beautiful, delightful Mrs. Cartwright.

The pink, red and white carnations he held had been expensive as they had been forced to bloom. The florist shop had a large glass-paneled hothouse in the back where a variety of flowers bloomed all year long. The owner had taken Adam into the back as he had shown an interest in the structure. The difference in the temperature was amazing and Mr. Finney, the florist, said that he could even build a fire inside the center furnace if there was a particularly dangerous cold snap. Adam considered building such a room at the back of his house—more of a solarium that a place for growing flowers but he could visualize palms and other temperate-climate plants being placed among some brightly colored furniture; He and Nell could always enjoy warmth on the coldest winter's day. Nell would bloom in such a place—and eternal summer.

Adam had convinced Jess to close the shop early. "Business is slow, being so close to Christmas. Besides, Bee looks tired. Take her home."

"Thanks, Adam. I was thinking the same thing myself. We need to seriously consider who's going to replace her. Like you said, it's slow now but after the New Year, well, it'll pick up again. How about Nell?"

"Nell? I don't know about that, but I'll ask her. Maybe her friend Abby. She might be interested."

"Either one would be fine with me—both pretty as a—what is it you farm boys say?" Jess teased. "Oh, yeah, pretty as a white-faced calf."

Adam laughed. "Well, we farm boys have another saying—piss me off and I'll slice off your balls, fry 'em up and eat 'em. Study on that for a while." Jess laughed and Adam, grinning, picked up his hat, pulled on his jacket and left for the florist.

Adam bounded up the steps and opened the front door. "Nell?" he called out. He had visualized that she would tentatively come to see why he was home, worried, and then he would present her with the flowers and hold her and ask her to forgive him for being such an ass the previous evening. He would apologize for ever doubting her and confess that it was his own insecurities that had prompted him to behave so badly. And she would, of course, tell him she loved him and he would sweep her up and carry her up the stairs to their room where they would undress each other, him teasing her with gentle touches and kisses until he was able to lie down with her and show her his true passion, his honest feelings for her.

But there was no answer. Adam took off his hat, hanging it on the hat rack by the door and called again. He heard footsteps on the stairs and stepped out into the main room. Margery was coming down the stairs holding a basket for the soiled linens.

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright, the Missus isn't to home?" She looked nervous and Adam became suspicious.

"Oh?" Adam unbuttoned his jacket with one hand, still holding the paper-wrapped bouquet in the other. Mrs. Chevy came out of the kitchen.

"Oh, Mr. Cartwright, you're early. Why what lovely flowers! Carnations! I always fancied that carnations are the most honest of flowers—so pure and clean. The Missus will love them. Shall I put them in a vase?"

Adam thought a moment. "No, I'll just leave them here." He stepped back and laid them on the small table in the foyer.

"They'll do better in a vase. By the time the Missus gets home, they may be wilted."

"Really? Is she going to be that late? When do you expect her back?"

"Well…she didn't say." Mrs. Chevy turned to Margery who had come closer. "Did the Missus tell you when she would be back?"

"No. No, she didn't tell me. I would think soon though, I mean she's been gone about four hours now and …." Margery hushed as Mr. Cartwright was watching her carefully as if he thought she was lying—or going to lie. "I need to pack these off to the laundry. Excuse me, sir."

Adam took off his jacket and Mrs. Chevy took it from him. "I'll hang it up for you, sir. Can I get you some coffee, perhaps? A little something light to eat before dinner?" Adam walked away and she stepped after him. "I'm making a beef stew with biscuits—you always liked my beef stew and I have some carrots. Your paper's there on the table, sir. You left before it came this morning but you have time to read it before dinner."

Adam picked up The Sacramento Bee and sat down by the fire. "Some coffee would be nice, thank you." He sat down and opened the paper to read what had happened in the city and the country yesterday but couldn't tear his thoughts away from what might be happening in his own marriage.

Nell had stayed longer at the Weems' than she planned and had tea and jam sandwiches with Abby. When they had been children, the two friends had always felt very grown up when the cook would bring them a pot of hot tea with all the china and silverware a plate full of jam sandwiches cut up to be small as if at a proper tea. So today, they enjoyed feeling young and carefree again and Abby had even laughed when Nell started telling her about her about some of the atrocious dresses at the gala.

"And Mrs. Westbury, well, you know what a shelf of a bosom she has! Well, she had been eating these cream-filled, flaky pastry puffs—more like wolfed them down-and her bosom was a mess of crumbs. Adam said that he was surprised a flock of crows didn't fly through the open French doors and peck them off her breast!" The two of them laughed at the image of the staid and proper dowager being attached by birds eager for the pastry crumbs. "And the Briggs were there with their cow of a daughter, Bernice. I always expect her to moo whenever she opens her mouth!" Abby and Nell laughed together.

"What was she wearing?" Abby asked.

"Does it matter? Everything she wears looks like a sack on her anyway!" And the two continued eating their jam sandwiches and gossiping as if they were carefree schoolgirls again.

But when the clock struck three, Nell said that she had to leave; she was going to see Vincent.

"I don't think you should, Nell. Vincent may get the wrong idea."

"Well, I won't let that happen," Nell said, adjusting her hat as she looked in the mirror. She had managed to straighten out the brim. "And if I invite Henry to dinner, promise me you'll come."

"Oh, Nell. I don't know that…"

Nell held onto Abby's shoulders. "Promise me!' Abby smiled and promised and Nell left feeling buoyant. Now she just had to see Vincent and find out if he had sent the roses.

"Dawson," Nell said to the driver, "Mr. Vincent Marquand's townhouse, please" Dawson tipped his hat and took her to the well-known address.

"Miss O'Connor," the butler, Gray, said with a sincere smile, "how nice to see you. It's been so long. Please. Do come in." He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

"Thank you, Grady, but it's Mrs. Cartwright now."

"Oh, of course. Forgive me. Come into the drawing room and I'll bring you some nice Earl Grey. I also have some fine biscuits—very delicate."

Nell sat down on the sofa in the familiar room, the smell of tobacco in the air. That's how Adam's den smelled; a spicy smell of rich tobacco and a woodsy smell from the fireplace along with the sparkling bottles of whiskey and brandy in a glass-fronted cupboard. Suddenly Nell wanted to be home and waiting for Adam. Sometimes when she missed him, she would go into his den and sit in his leather desk chair or recline on the leather couch and close her eyes and imagine he was there, writing away at his desk or sketching plans for a new edifice. It helped ease her yearnings to hear his voice and the smell of his skin and his hair.

"Thank you, Grady." Nell waited and within a few seconds Vincent came into the room.

"Nell, what a lovely surprise." He looked handsome in a dark-red velvet smoking jacket, his blonde hair styled in the latest mode, the epitome of a handsome, modern Victorian gentleman. He put out his hands and Nell took them in hers. Vincent sat beside her and Grady came back in with a tray with the tea and biscuits.

"Thank you, Grady, that will be all." Vincent had yet to take his eyes from Nell.

"Very good, sir." Grady bowed slightly and left the room. He was pleased that Miss O'Connor—Mrs. Cartwright, was here. Grady had disliked that his employer, usually such a carefree, happy man had been so sad when the woman he loved had married another. Perhaps she had realized her grand mistake.

"I can't tell you how very glad I am to see you, Nell," Vincent said, "but I hope never to see that barbarian you married again. I fear I would have to kill him."

"You're wrong about Adam…"

"Nell, your husband is a boor and I don't know how you bear him—so…crude. I would imagine that his…carnal hungers are abominably vulgar—he probably slobbers over you. And as far as being a civilized gentleman, why he wouldn't even accept my challenge? Everyone who was there now knows what a poltroon he is. And, Nell, I know that he must have, well, compromised you in some way to…"

"I won't have you criticize Adam. He did you a courtesy, Vincent, as he would have killed you in a duel. I think he left you alive for me—as a favor."

"Don't be so sure of that, Nell."

"I am sure just as I'm sure that he never compromised me. I married him because I love him—that's why."

Vincent dropped Nell's hands and sat up stiffly, straightening out his jacket. "Then why are you here?"

"I need to know…did you send me roses yesterday."

Vincent chuckled. "Let me guess. The roses are like the handkerchief in Othello—the tragedy of the roses! Is your loving brute of a husband jealous?"

"Did you, Vincent?"

"What if I say yes?"

"Tell me the truth, did you?" Nell's frustration was obvious.

"No."

Nell didn't know if she was relived or not. If it wasn't Vincent, who was it? And now she wasn't even sure if he was telling her the truth. She stood up. "Thank you, Vincent. I'll see myself out."

"Nell," Vincent stood up and took her by the arms. "Nell, please, stay a bit longer. It's been so long since I've seen you and I swear that you're even more beautiful than last night. When you married, oh, Nell, my world came crashing down around me. I can't believe that you would choose such a man over me. And, Nell, he's so much older and…he's not a gentleman."

"My heart chose Adam. And as for his being a gentleman, I see him as the perfect gentleman; he is honorable, well-educated, cultured and comes from a fine family. But none of that matters as he has my heart-even if he was a rogue, he would have my heart. I have to leave now. Goodbye, Vincent."

Vincent dropped his hands and Nell left, wanting to turn back and excoriate Vincent for his treatment of Abby and to accuse him of being no gentleman, but for Abby's sake, she didn't.

"Take me home, Dawson," Nell said as her driver helped her in the carriage. "And hurry." She wanted to be waiting for Adam in a revealing dressing gown along with a brandy and a fine cigar for him. She sat back and closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Tonight she would be the aggressor and let Adam know of her desire for him; she would be no lady tonight but the wanton whore in which he so much delighted. She could almost taste him on her tongue and smell his skin. Nell sighed. Her husband would soon be home and she wouldn't have long to wait for his arms around her.