Page 48 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

In the middle of the lengthy proceedings, the shopkeeper paused. “One moment, my lady,” Mr. Harris said, patting his vest pockets. “Allow me to get my son from the stockroom. He can help wrap the items as we go so you ladies don’t have to wait.”

She nodded, and Mr. Harris effected a bent-legged walk to the back of the store, calling for someone named Thomas.

The front bell jangled. It was Hortense, returning with her basket.

“Anything?” Candace asked.

Hortense shook her head. “He says he’ll keep a sharp eye out for mail for the house.”

Candace frowned; she’d been confident that the post would have arrived by now.

Minutes later, Mr. Harris emerged from the rear of the store, a young man in tow who carried an armful of heavy quilts. If the ladies had expected a younger replica of the shopkeeper, they were to be sorely disappointed, though there was nothing about Mr. Harris’s son that could be thought a letdown.

The man was perhaps five and twenty years of age, tall, with wide shoulders and a thick head of chestnut waves. He greeted them respectfully all in turn, but when his hazel eyes landed upon Hortense, they widened slightly and his smile grew.

“How can I help you, Miss…” he said, trailing off into silence so that she’d finish his sentence.

“Hortense.”

Candace blinked; she’d never heard her maid speak in such a way—slightly breathy and obviously discomfited. Candace hid a smile when she spied the flush that settled upon Hortense’s normally pale cheeks.

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Hortense.”

Thomas stepped behind the counter, spread the quilts before his father, and began wrapping their previous selections with brown paper and string. Hortense watched him with the same attention a cat gives a sleeping terrier across the room—as if she were intrigued but slightly worried by his presence, all at once.

Candace kept half her attention on Hortense and Thomas as she continued to run through the items on her list like a general on the eve of battle. Her mind whirred, trying to devise a way to throw them closer together.

She smiled when the idea came to her. “Hortense, will you please check the quality of the quilts? I must speak with Vera about some of her selections.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Candace took Vera by the arm and led her to a nearby shelf.

“My selections?” Vera murmured, smiling.

“You and I both know my true motivation in leading you away. Let’s pretend to discuss this…” Candace distractedly picked up the first item her hand landed on. “This figurine.”

“What is it?”

Upon further examination, it was a clock, though an exceedingly strange one. It was a porcelain stack of garishly bright citrus fruits—oranges, lemons, and limes—with a clock face stuck oddly in the center of the lone pink grapefruit.

“It’s ghastly,” Candace said.

Vera gave a sly smile. “I think it would lovely in your room, were you to buy it.”

“Oh no. I do believe it would go perfectly in yours.”

“I assume you dragged me over here to give them a moment?” Vera inclined her head back toward the counter.

Candace and Vera turned to watch. Thomas could barely keep his eyes from Hortense as she dutifully inspected the quilts.

Candace grinned and murmured, “He looks quite taken with her.”

“It’s a wonder it doesn’t happen more often. Hortense is very pretty.”

“I think it’s her height that intimidates most young men.”

“What are we whispering about, ladies?” James murmured from just behind them.