Page 22 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“A hard talent to bear, that’s for certain.”

A great thump echoed in the hall, as if a heavy trunk had been set down upon the marble with alacrity. The noise was followed by Bernard’s hissed admonishments.

“Still, I’ll ask her permission. For you.” Vera gave Candace’s hand a little squeeze, and she squeezed back, her heart warm with gratitude.

Lady Ashbury was difficult on the best of days, when Vera had done nothing to provoke her. Candace could only imagine what presenting such a request would cost.

Vera straightened her spine and her smile in obvious determination. “Perhaps she’ll surprise us both and be agreeable.”

“Perhaps.”

“When do you leave?”

Candace scrunched her nose. “This afternoon. I apologize for the lateness of my invitation, but I decided to go only just this morning. After I left Shelbourne.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You’ve seen him then? How did it go?”

“It was as expected. Shelbourne was an ungentlemanly lout and Hortense whacked him round the shins with her umbrella.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Vera looked round. “Where is she? I shall compliment her to show my appreciation.”

“She’s packing the rest of my trunks.”

“There are more of them?”

“You know how fond I am of clothes.”

“You’re taking all of them?” Vera snickered. “Hortense has a busy day ahead of her. I’ll compliment her later, then. She’s quite vain about her hair, you know.”

“Is she?” Candace pursed her lips, thinking. “I’ve never noticed.”

The metallic rap of the brass knocker on the front door echoed down the hallway. Candace stiffened, even though she knew Bernard and a household of servants stood between her and whichever visitor stood on her front step. No doubt whoever it was had been hoping to wish Candace well in the slyly pernicious way only noble ladies could accomplish.

The door to the entryway snapped shut, so she didn’t hear Bernard’s murmured refusal. Candace had instructed the servants to keep the door between the entryway and the front hall closed; she didn’t want any visitors to glimpse the pile of trunks in the hall.

“Is it done, though? With Shelbourne, I mean.”

“All that’s left is to announce it.” Candace nodded to the missive on the sideboard, already written, folded, and addressed. “I won’t send it until I’m safely away. The moment that note leaves the house, it’s only a matter of hours before the gossip rags will start chewing on the carcass of our engagement.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone as she said the last.

“What a way with words you have,” Vera teased lightly. “Perhaps you should do some writing of your own, give that mysterious Mr. Pickwick some competition.”

A flare of humor rose in Candace’s chest; she chuckled and bumped her shoulder against Vera. “See? This is exactly why I wish for you to join me—I’d thought it impossible that I’d ever laugh again, and you’ve managed it within the first minutes of your arrival.”

“I’ll ask Mother.” Vera nodded as if determined. “I’ll send you a note with my regrets by three if I cannot convince her.”

Hours later, Candace sat stiffly in the parlor. She wore a crisp navy travelling ensemble—a trim jacket over matching dress. Each shoulder was embroidered with black flowers, which vaguely reminded her of the epaulettes of a military coat. The faceted jet buttons down the center of the bodice accentuated her nipped waist and matched the jewels on her chic hat. It was a daring design—streamlined, with a fine netting that pulled down over her face.

Candace thought an escape to the countryside a perfect time to try such a bold creation. It was doubtful anyone would see her, but if they caught a glimpse in the brief interlude between front door and carriage, perhaps they’d be too charmed or confounded by her hat to call out and oblige her to ignore them.

She clutched the corded drawstrings of her purse and glanced at the ticking ormolu clock on the mantel for the thousandth time. It was quarter past three, and Vera’s messenger hadn’t yet delivered a note. Perhaps she had forgotten?

Candace chased the idea away the second it landed. Vera wouldn’t have forgotten their conversation. She was a dedicated, steady friend—conscientious in all ways.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Vera hadn’t forgotten, and the least Candace could do after issuing such a monumental request was to stay long enough to receive her response. She surveyed the room dispassionately.

For having such short notice, her brother’s household had handled her request to depart that afternoon exceedingly well. Trunk after trunk had been discreetly loaded onto a plain service cart from the back door. Most of her clothes were probably already halfway to Camberley, though her carriage would undoubtedly overtake them somewhere on the way to Devon. Even now, the horses were hitched, the footmen waiting to load her, Hortense, and their travelling valises. She’d ensured that Hortense had packed several novels for the journey—she’d read to pass the time if the lighting was good.