Page 133 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

The other men roared with laughter.

Lord Cavendish grinned as if thrilled with James's set-down. “It’s a classic. No carriage maker has achieved those lines since⁠—”

“The Roman age?” Lord Howers interjected.

Lord Cavendish shook his finger at Candace. “This is why I like this duke of yours. He only mocks those who won’t be offended. He knows full well I’m at least as wealthy as he is and could buy any carriage I liked; otherwise, he’d never poke fun at my excellent barouche.”

Candace ignored the swooping sensation in her stomach at the inference that James might still be hers. Instead, she smiled and teased, “Isn’t it a bit gauche to speak of funds?”

“Only if you don’t have any, my dear.” Lord Cavendish leaned forward and grinned at her impudently. “We wealthy gentlemen talk about it all the time. We’re insufferable, but what’s the point of having so much money if you can’t brag about it once in awhile and use it to buy ridiculous blue carriages?”

James looked heavenward. “It’s nearly black.”

“Ah, but it isn’t—a remarkable deviation from one typically as sartorially austere as you. One might wonder what prompted the choice.”

James relaxed into the seat. The action somehow brought his chest even nearer to Candace. Didn’t he feel how close they were? She could hardly ignore it. Heat radiated from his body. She shifted, resisting the urge to scoot or lean away—the motion would have been too obvious, noted by all.

Lord Cavendish tapped his chin, a mischievous light in his eyes, and continued, “For some reason, when I look at your new carriage, I’m strongly reminded of Gould’s satin bowerbird, which collects bright stones and foliage and displays them to attract a mate.”

“Perhaps you should take notes,” James replied easily. “You only wear black even though your family’s mourning period is well over. Perhaps a splash of color might suit you.”

“I wore black long before my brother passed.” He smiled and met Candace’s eyes once more. “Again—to anyone else, it would seem like a grave insult, but James knows I never mourned my brother, not really. I mourned the relationship that could have been between us had things been different, but I completed that particular grief years ago.”

James exhaled an exasperated noise through his nostrils, as if irritated to be called out for being considerate.

Candace smiled; she couldn’t help but like Lord Cavendish, especially because he seemed the least enamored with Daisy and Miss Ritten. She hadn’t seen him offer his elbow to one of them, even when strict manners dictated he probably should.

“Is it true, Lord Cavendish?” she asked. “Do you only wear black?”

“Yes, my lady, but the reason is far less mysterious than the gossips claim.”

“What do they say?”

James answered for him, as if irritated to be left out of the conversation. “That he has a tragic lost love in his past, or that he might secretly be a pirate.”

“That theory is my favorite.” Lord Cavendish lifted a finger and grinned.

“A pirate?” She said. “Why would they think that?”

“Because I own some ships.” He shrugged. “They think I might wear black because it hides the bloodstains so well.”

She smiled, charmed by the ridiculous notion. “Are you a pirate?”

“Don’t encourage him.” James shook his head.

“Since I can tell that you are a lady who can keep a confidence, I’ll tell you.” He leaned forward. “But it must stay a secret between us.”

Candace leaned forward eagerly.

“I am a pirate.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you think of that?”

“I don’t believe it.” Candace laughed and turned to find James studying her in that intense way of his that she couldn’t quite read.

“Ah, but it’s true! After all, what is a pirate but a man who leaves port with nothing but comes back with a boatload of valuable goods?”

“That’s commerce, William,” James said, his tone droll.

“You are paying for the goods, are you not?” Candace asked.