Page 38 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

Thank goodness the dastardly writers of the Quentin Daily were safely in London; they’d have an apoplexy of exclamation marks if they saw him nervously dithering on Candace’s front stoop.

He gathered his courage and yanked the chain that fed through the thick wall. The door opened before the echo of the clanging bell could travel the hall. James pressed his lips together to quell his embarrassment—the butler had seen him coming and had been waiting.

“The Duke of Canterbury to see Lady Candace,” he said, ignoring the heat that itched beneath his collar.

“Certainly, Your Grace. Please come in. It will be one moment.”

At least the butler was a consummate professional—the man didn’t so much flick his eyebrow in a mocking way. Quite the upgrade from the fellow at Lord Salisbury’s townhouse, who’d fairly chucked James’s bouquet back at him a week ago.

James frowned. Perhaps he should have brought flowers today. Nothing like the astronomically expensive arrangement he’d accidentally designed in London, but something simpler.

He glanced around the entryway and turned his hat round in his hands before hanging it upon the waiting hall tree. Was it rude that he had arrived empty-handed? He wasn’t precisely courting Candace, but anyone with half a brain would read the signs correctly. James only hoped that Candace was too distraught to aim her very capable two halves at him right now.

The butler reappeared. “Follow me, Your Grace.”

James barely saw the spacious hall hung with pleasant groupings of paintings as he was led to a large sitting room facing the back gardens. Candace sat upon a leather sofa that flanked one of the large fireplaces on either end of the room. Surprisingly, she didn’t rise to greet him; instead, she flapped a hand in his general direction. The butler gave a short bow and left with marked alacrity.

James frowned and came forward, noting the half-empty bottle on the low table before her and the slightly fuzzy smile she offered.

“James,” she said. “Delightful to see you. What brings you to this part of the country?”

You, he wanted to say, but of course he didn’t.

He smiled indulgently instead. “Candace, lovely to see that you’ve made yourself at home here. How are you feeling?”

“I am excellent.”

“Indeed?”

“Come, join me,” she whispered, pouring another tipple into her glass. “I’ve got into the gin and it’s marvelous.”

He stooped down to where she was huddled on the sofa. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because I don’t want Perce to catch us.”

“He’s all the way in France, my dear. I don’t think he’s going to find out.”

“He has his ways.” She waggled her fingertips in the air for emphasis.

“Your brother’s on his honeymoon with his charming new bride. I’m sure his attentions are quite diverted.” He gently pried the gin bottle from her hand and set it on the delicate table behind him. “Now, just how much of the gin did you have?”

“Not quite enough, as I can still remember my utter shame and misery.”

He chuckled at her, not unkindly. “You are the loveliest lady in all of Britain, and by far the most intelligent of my acquaintance. There’s no one who could put you to shame unless you allow it.”

“Damn Shelbourne!” she hissed, then clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes comically round. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t know why not. He’s certainly earned the sentiment. I believe I might have been saying something along those lines just the other day.”

He crossed the room, pulled a tassel along the wall, then returned to Candace.

“It isn’t just his fault.” She sighed, and her head listed to one side. “I shouldn’t have been swept up in all of it. I should have been more prudent about the whole thing.”

“What whole thing, precisely?”

“Deciding who to marry. I should have been more sensible. Chosen someone sensible. Like you.”

“You think I’m sensible?” The word had never bothered him before, not until she applied it to him.