Page 49 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

Candace yelped and dropped the clock; James lunged forward and caught it before it shattered upon the ground.

“Goodness, it would have been a shame to lose this…” He frowned down at the strange stack of fruit.

“It’s a clock,” Vera said helpfully.

“So it is.” He handed it back to Candace, who put it back on the shelf.

“What brings you into town?” she asked.

“Arthur has made it through all of his puzzles.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s exceptionally clever.”

“I think I saw one toward the back shelf.” Vera gestured toward the far corner. “I will stay and monitor the situation.”

Candace and James moved further into the shop. Once they were out of view of the counter, he asked, “What situation needs Vera’s monitoring?”

“Oh, nothing.” She felt her cheeks heating, so she sighed and admitted, “I believe the shopkeeper’s son holds a tenderness for Hortense.”

“Doubtless you’ve found a way to encourage it.”

“You needn’t use that tone.” She scoured the shelves for something to entertain Arthur and headed down the aisle. “Hortense is quite capable of deciding such matters for herself. I only gave her the opportunity for closeness if she desired it.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

Candace narrowed her eyes at the laughter in his voice. “The blankets were all finely stitched, had no visible wear upon the edges, and were made of sturdy fabric that would stand up well to washing.”

“I beg your pardon?” James smiled down at her.

They stood close in the aisle, and Candace was suddenly very aware of the size of him. James was broad in the shoulder, a nice tall height, with a sun-tanned face that spoke of all his hours walking and riding.

Candace was struck with how handsome he was. Though she’d noticed such thing in passing before, it had always been in the way one admires a beautiful bonnet when one isn’t in the market for another—an appreciation for how well-made something was, with the understanding that it would go to someone else. Though perhaps that analogy wasn’t quite right, as Candace was always in the market for a new bonnet.

Standing near to James in a crowded shop, it occurred to Candace for the first time that she was well and truly unattached. Under such circumstances, James’s handsomeness—which she’d always been aware of—seemed to press upon her inexorably.

Especially when he stared down at her the way he was, his dark hair brushed just so against his forehead, his intelligent eyes alight with curiosity at the topic they were speaking of…

What had they been speaking of?

As the question alighted in her mind, James’s head tilted and his smile grew. “Candace? Why were you extolling the attributes of the shopkeeper’s quilts?”

She flushed, turned, and hurried down the aisle. “My point was Mr. Harris only had the three quilts in stock and they were all well-made. Hortense could have escaped Thomas’s proximity in moments, if she so desired. Yet, she lingered.”

“Ah.”

The word was spoken just behind her. Candace had meant to put a bit of distance between them, but her stride was no match for his. Drat the man’s well-formed long legs!

“Would Arthur like this?” She said desperately, groping for something—anything—on the shelf.

James’s lips pressed together in an obvious attempt not to laugh. When she saw what she held, Candace couldn’t blame him.

He said, “One can hardly buy a young boy a hand drill and expect his house to remain standing for very long.”

“Right.” She put the tool down and turned away.

“This thing with Hortense has you quite flustered, doesn’t it?”

Candace thought it as good an excuse as any. She certainly couldn’t admit the truth of the matter—that she was driven to distraction at the quiet rustle of James’s wool trousers as he walked. That she couldn’t focus because the smell of him—soap and just a hint of cigar smoke—was too near for anything close to comfort.