Fleur was perturbed. No, she was very very upset, and a very very upset part Veela is nearly as bad as a very very upset Frenchwoman. Basically neither of them had balanced the other out.
Bill had left the other night and not come home until late, and then, rather than some discussion of what happened or his behaviour, he'd completely vanished and she'd barely seen him in two days.
It had been more than long enough for her anger to go from fire to ice, and so, after a day partly at work and partly working on some Order business with Arabella (they'd sought out some more safehouses being careful not to say that word), she arrived home and went upstairs to take a shower. She had a glass of wine with her and was wanting to get the filth off her from crawling around in a dank cellar that they had decided would be a good place for people to hide in case anyone happened on the house.
The bathroom was warm and steamy and smelled of her geranium shampoo. Later she'd see about fixing something to eat. Meanwhile, she scrubbed with the flannel as if that would take away some of her ire towards her husband for essentially treating her like a child and then ignoring her.