Page 43 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“He seems as docile as a lamb, my lord, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Mrs. Penn turned to Candace, and Vera, who was awkwardly pressed up against the paneling. “We’ll be back in a trice. Mind your slippers around the broken pottery, my ladies.”

Candace studied Vera. Her face was pale, her rounded eyes clasped on the giant form of Seamus, who’d just started to gently snore. She looked at him as if she feared any moment he might lunge forward and snap at her.

Vera doesn’t like dogs. No—more than that—she’s deathly afraid of them, Candace thought.

James seemed to have reached the same conclusion at the same time, for he redoubled his efforts at getting the dog out of the house, dropping the leash and grabbing Seamus’s thick leather collar instead. For his part, Seamus grandly ignored him until James had slid his body across the stones to the very threshold. Only then did the beast lumber to his feet with a disgruntled sigh and trudge out the door, the leather leash trailing in his wake.

“Arthur, make sure he doesn’t run off or bother the horses in the stable.”

“He doesn’t run anywhere, Father.” But the boy ducked out into the sunshine to watch his charge. He popped his head back in at the last moment, his serious gaze aimed at Candace. “I’m very sorry. For the pot, I mean.”

Candace smiled. “It was an honest accident. No harm done.”

“Easy to say when we’re not the ones cleaning it up,” James grumbled.

She smiled at him and shut the front door, sensing that Vera needed a barrier between her and Seamus if she was ever going to take a full breath again. Vera’s eyes flicked to hers in naked gratitude. Candace decided the best route to take at the moment was to ignore her friend’s reaction. Fear was bad enough without piling embarrassment on top of it—they’d discuss it later if Vera liked.

Candace turned to James. “Mrs. Penn and her staff are more than obliging. I believe they mean what they say—that they’re happy we’re here. It livens up the house.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment.” His expression slid into the territory of enigmatic once more—she couldn’t read him. “Would you ladies like to join Arthur and me for a walk?”

“You know how much I enjoy a long walk.” Candace glanced at Vera, who was still pressed to the wall as if the simple knowledge that the dog was on the grounds was enough to keep her frozen. “But Vera just started a very compelling book about beekeeping, and I’m not sure we can tear her away from that. Or can we?”

“No.” Vera shook her head quickly. “I wish to read about the bees.”

She walked stiffly down the hall without another word; James and Candace watched her go.

“I hope you know that normally I wouldn’t mind in the least,” Candace murmured when her friend was at a safe distance. “But from now on, I fear I must insist that Seamus never make it indoors.”

He nodded grimly. “I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She flicked her hand through the air, still watching her friend’s retreating back. “If it weren’t for Vera, I’d be glad to let him roam the house. If he were my dog, I’d let him snuggle next to me on the sofa every evening before the fire.”

“Do you mean that?”

Candace blinked in surprise at the curiosity in his tone. “Of course. There’s nothing better than a dog at your side or beneath your feet on a cold evening. And Seamus is large enough to be quite the source of heat.”

“Indeed. The only danger is being buried beneath his affections.”

Candace laughed and led him out into the sunshine, snagging a straw hat from the hall tree on her way out the door.

Arthur and Seamus stood at the edge of the driveway, looking out over the fields beyond. A gentle breeze ruffled the new shoots while sunshine lit them emerald green from above. Now that they were all but alone, Candace remembered how she’d behaved the last time she and James had seen each other.

Heat crawled up her neck from beneath her crisp cotton collar. She cleared her throat. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior—” she started, right as he said, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Their words stumbled to a stop at the same time.

He smiled. “There’s no need to apologize, Candace.”

“Oh, but there is. My actions were not those of a lady.”

“Of course they were. They were the actions of a lady in the midst of a deep disappointment. Trust me, Candace—if you could have seen me those first months after my wife passed…” He shook his head. “I look back on those days with no small amount of shame.”

He started down the lane as if to leave the topic behind; Candace jolted into motion to stay at his side.

“That’s different, though,” she insisted. “You were mourning a death.”

“And you aren’t? In some ways, it’s perhaps very similar—mourning the future you thought you’d have, realizing things will be far different than you hoped.”