Page 42 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Unsurprising that two intelligent individuals might view the same circumstances and come to the same conclusion.”

Candace grinned, ignoring the accompanying throbbing in her head—it was a delight to watch her friend grow. She’d only been a short time from beneath the shadow of her mother’s influence, and already Vera had turned her face to the sun and began to bloom.

Still, it was curious that Vera and James had both suggested a project of some kind. Candace rubbed her temples and closed her eyes against the echo of her heartbeat within her head. She’d consider it more when the fog of a headache wasn’t clouding her mind.

“It’s a wonder James is in the countryside at all,” Candace said.

“Not that large of a wonder,” Vera murmured.

“You’re right. He has less patience for the bustle of the city than some.”

Her maid reappeared, topping off Candace’s cup of tea from a steaming pot, then tending to the fire.

“Hortense, where are my copies of the Quentin Daily? I left them on my side table and cannot find them.”

“I thought you were finished with them, so I used them to start the fire this morning, my lady.” She jabbed at the coals as if for emphasis.

“I wanted to save those!”

“Very sorry, my lady,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “There’ll be a fresh batch next week for you to obsess over.”

Candace narrowed her eyes but held her tongue. She’d learned long ago that it was unwise to start a spat with a woman who often wielded hot tongs near one’s forehead. Instead, she slapped the cold compress back over her face, missing the meaningful look that Hortense and Vera shared in the resulting silence.

The following morning, Candace felt completely restored. She and Vera sat in the back parlor, a room not as well-decorated as the rest of the house, but with full windows that let in the soft morning sunshine and offered unparalleled views of the back pasture. Candace had just opened a large book across her knees when the distant sounds of a crash of pottery trailed into the room.

She and Vera stood, frowning at each other in mild concern. They tracked the small domestic uproar to the front entry.

James tugged the leather leash of an enormous dog who’d flopped down just to the side of a broken clay pot. Dirt and half-forced bulbs lay in the epicenter of the small disaster. Mrs. Penn and a maid were already picking at the pieces of pottery, gathering the shards into their outstretched aprons. Arthur stood against the paneling with a ramrod back. He was a small boy with dark hair and large hazel eyes, who at the moment looked seconds from breaking into tears.

“James? Arthur?” Candace inquired with an arched eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”

James stopped tugging at the dog, who barely seemed to notice his efforts. “Very sorry for the disruption, Candace, Vera. I told Arthur to keep him outside. Now I can’t get him to budge.”

“He’s scared,” the small boy insisted. “He always lies down when he’s scared.”

Candace appraised the large beast. He was the same approximate size as a young heifer, with the same thick body and long legs. His coat was predominantly a soft, camel-colored fawn, while his ears and face were a dark brown.

Despite the boy’s words, she didn’t think the dog appeared frightened; he looked as if he were preparing for a nap. He lowered his massive head to his huge paws and closed his eyes. James looked toward the ceiling and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Arthur and I were passing by and thought to invite you ladies for a stroll.”

“And who is this?” Candace squatted by the large dog and began stroking his head. The beast opened one eye, examined her, then closed it again with a sigh of contentment.

“This is Seamus. He belongs to Arthur but obeys only when it suits his own pleasure.”

“He’s beautiful,” she gushed, burying her hands into Seamus’s soft fur.

The dog gave a grunt as if in approval of her assessment, then flopped to his side, lifting his paw to give her access to his belly. Candace grinned and complied with his silent request, working her fingers vigorously into the soft patch of white fur there. She glanced up and stilled at James’s expression. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something soft at the corners of his eyes.

Candace smiled and stood, dusting the proliferation of dog hair from her skirts. “I love dogs. Mother would sneeze frightfully whenever they came close, so we never had one growing up.”

“There are many days that I regret giving in to my son’s request for one,” he said, his tone droll. Whatever expression had been there a moment earlier was gone. He shook his head. “I’m very sorry about the vase. Of course I’ll replace it at my earliest opportunity.”

“It was an old flower pot, James. The only reason it was near the window was because Vera and I were trying to force some bulbs. Do you know my brother had several crates of the things sent from London before his wedding? With no instruction to the staff as to what was to be done with them. I don’t even think this place has a gardener.” She turned to Mrs. Penn. “Does it?”

“Not as such, my lady.” Mrs. Penn got to her feet, one hand clutching her outstretched apron. “We’ll have this cleaned in moments; don’t fret yourselves about it. The pot was obviously placed in a bad spot; my apologies, my lord.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Penn. It is I who must apologize. This beast could tear up an anvil without even trying.”