Page 110 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

But people rarely spoke of what came after.

James paused to pluck some wildflowers from a hedgerow and continued on until he reached the small copse of trees. It was only natural that he would end up here when thinking about such things. Perhaps he had been headed this direction on purpose all along.

He dusted a leaf from atop the stone plinth and inspected the engraving. Satisfied that there was no moss—the groundskeepers must have scrubbed it regularly, as instructed—he lay the flowers in front of the gravestone and removed his hat.

“I’m courting someone,” he said to the air. “I intend to marry her.”

He knew Jane wasn’t there. This was just a marker, a place of remembrance—a place far more for the living than for those who’d passed on.

“I think you would have liked her, even though she’s very different from you. Arthur likes her. She’ll make an excellent mother to him, as you would have been.”

He couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to say. Anything else he needed to say. After several more moments, James set his hat back upon his head and walked back to the house.

Days later, there was a commotion in the hallway that had James striding to the balustrade to peer over. It was his invited guests, though there seemed to be more of them than he’d expected.

Lord Cavendish was the first to look up and see him. “James! We’ve come at your request to hunt your lands and pillage your sideboard.”

James shook his head and chuckled, then trotted down the stairs. As he went, he took in the rest of the group shucking coats, gloves, and hats in his entry. He nearly stumbled to a stop when he realized there were several ladies among them, but good breeding kept him from reacting visibly at all.

His staff had already sprung into action—several maids whisked cloaks and coats away for a good brush and a drying before a smokeless fire. His butler ushered people into the nearest comfortable sitting room, and his housekeeper hustled toward the back of the house, doubtlessly rousting the rest of the servants and procuring tea and other refreshments.

“James,” the Baron Fitzgerald crowed. “We’re still expecting Howers—the chap had one nip too many at the roadside inn last night and overslept our agreed-upon departure. He’ll be along shortly, I suspect, feeling like the dickens.”

James did his best to maintain his smile as he noted there were a grand total of three ladies in the travelling party—a decidedly difficult ratio, as he’d only invited the four gentlemen. It didn’t help that he recognized one of the young ladies as the blonde who’d so often left Candace with a brittle smile upon her face. What was her name again? Lily? Iris? Rose?

“Ah, Canterbury,” the Marquess Beaufort said, interrupting his mental casting about. “Let me introduce you to my betrothed, Miss Daisy Knope.”

Daisy—that was it.

“Welcome to my home, Miss Knope.”

The young lady ducked a curtsy and simpered, and James instantly regretted inviting the lot of them and wondered whether they could leave on the morrow.

“And this is her mother, Mrs. Allegra Knope, and Daisy’s close friend, Miss Martha Ritten.”

“Lovely to meet you all.”

He sketched a bow and calculated the group’s odds of leaving after the customary hunting party length of two weeks. The fact that Beaufort had brought his future lady didn’t bode well for a short duration. Once ladies spent nearly a week in a carriage, they were loathe to turn right around and repeat the experience.

Not that James blamed them, but still. He’d invited single men on purpose—he wanted Vera to have the spotlight. Now, of course, there were three other women in play, two of whom were young and attractive.

Miss Ritten fluttered her eyelashes in his periphery, and James wasn’t even looking her direction. Wonderful. Excellent. This was going to be fine. Except he was already annoyed—this was meant to be a gentleman’s hunting trip, not a group sojourn into his countryside.

Just then, Daisy Knope gave a shrill scream.

James whirled. Arthur and Seamus stood on the stairs behind them. He didn’t know who looked more frightened—the boy and the dog, or the lady who fanned herself with a gloved hand.

“What...what is that?” she said, pointing at Seamus.

“That is a dog,” James found himself saying dryly. For courtesy’s sake, he revised his tone and added, “Arthur, please take Seamus to the back gardens. Perhaps you might ask if Mrs. Taylor needs any vegetables picked for dinner?”

Arthur nodded and went down the hall, Seamus lumbering after. Lord Cavendish shot an apologetic glance at James, while the Marquess Beaufort soothed the trembling Miss Knope.

James forced a smile and herded his guests into the sitting room.

“How was your journey?” James settled himself into an armchair after the ladies were seated, ignoring the obvious way that Miss Ritten scooted far to one edge on the sofa to leave room for a man.

“The usual—bumpy roads, rustic inns, and Beaufort’s too cheap to buy a new carriage, so my hindquarters are sore.”