Page 12 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Well,” Candace finally said after the maid had come and stoked the fire and then gone again. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Vera’s hands flopped open.

“That makes two of us. I can’t believe...I can’t believe he did that.”

“He is awful. I’m so sorry.”

A thin scrap of hope had Candace asking, “Do you think everyone saw?”

Vera winced. “If they didn’t, they’ll hear about it by tomorrow afternoon.”

Fraught moments ticked by on the porcelain mantel clock as Candace let the truth of Vera’s statement sink into her bones. The ton would speak of nothing else for weeks.

“Will you get in trouble for coming here?” Candace asked suddenly.

“Mother won’t be pleased, but then, she so rarely is.”

“I don’t want you to be penalized on my account.”

“You’re my friend. I’m here to support you.”

Candace blinked back tears. Vera was such a good friend—she didn’t deserve it. If she were being honest, she’d started the friendship with Vera in much the same way as one takes in a stray puppy—that is, chiefly for one’s own amusement and to feel good about doing something nice for someone who couldn’t possibly repay the gesture.

At the time, Candace had crested the pinnacle of societal achievement—she was invited to all the parties, and every drawing room in the entire city was delighted to welcome her. Candace had enough social currency to pay Vera’s way, too.

Now things had changed. Perhaps drastically.

“What are you going to do?” Vera asked tentatively.

“I don’t know.” Candace’s voice was small—she hated the sound of her own vulnerability.

But it was the truth; she didn’t know what she was going to do. This was the kind of situation that demanded action, but what kind?

A knock on the door startled her. Bernard stood on the threshold. “His Grace the Duke of Canterbury to see you, Lady Candace.”

The butler’s tone let her know how unusual he found the hour of the visit but conveyed no judgement whatsoever.

“Send him in, please.”

Mrs. Green bustled in with one abundant tray; a maid behind her carried another. They set them down and retreated as quickly and soundlessly as they’d come. Candace sighed at the sight of the tea, the griddled cheese sandwiches—her favorite comfort food since she was a girl—and the plates of biscuits and cake. In that moment, she thought the entire household staff deserved a hearty raise.

However, since it wasn’t precisely her household to manage, she didn’t mention it out loud. She’d write her brother with the suggestion instead.

“Thank goodness for Mrs. Green. I didn’t have time for dinner.” Vera plucked a gooey sandwich from the tray.

“Everyone saw,” Candace murmured again, as if testing the weight of the truth. “I wonder if there’s any way to avoid this entire mess. All the stares, all the gossip…”

“Short of running away, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

Bernard led the Duke of Canterbury into the study and announced him. James’s concerned eyes flicked from one lady to the other. Neither of them rose to greet him. Candace pulled apart a sandwich, testing how far she could stretch the melted cheese. Vera chewed ravenously, her eyes already scouting a second helping.

The Duke of Canterbury was not as tall as Candace’s brother, Percy, but he was broader through the shoulders, which lent the impression that he took up just as much space. His face was tan, and his dark hair had glints of sun-kissed auburn struck through it, probably owing to the amount of time he spent out of doors. At the moment, his handsome face was grim.

James cleared his throat. Candace tutted as her cheese broke and flipped her sandwich to wind the gooey strands around the bread. Bernard departed with an arched eyebrow.

“James, come have a sandwich.” Candace waved him over. “It’s the least I can offer after your assistance tonight.”

Despite the light content of her words, her tone was heavy, resigned. Still, James took a seat on the sofa next to her and took a cheese sandwich. His eyes darted from lady to lady, as if taking the emotional temperature of the room.