Page 66 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Good morning, Candace.”

He drew near to get a better look at her progress. If there was any progress, it was difficult to see it past the globs of mud and the scattered leaves. He set the stack of books next to her discarded bonnet on the front stoop.

“Good morning, James.” Color was high on her cheeks; she kept struggling with the unwieldy shovel even as she greeted him as calmly as if they’d met in an elegant drawing room.

He watched for several moments as she floundered in the sucking mud in her tiny boots, which were invariably ruined. In fact, the entire ensemble—skirts, coat, gloves, and the hat she’d tossed down upon the front stoop—were probably all past any redemption available at the end of Hortense’s brush and a wash basin.

“First time using a shovel?” he asked lightly.

Candace paused, blowing a lock of red hair from her cheek with irritation. “It was you who encouraged me to learn new things, James.”

“Indeed I did.” He gestured for the handle of the shovel, and she narrowed her green eyes. “A demonstration, nothing more. If you want it, I’ll give it right back.”

“Very well.” She thrust the wooden handle at him and accepted his hand to help her out of the small hole she’d been standing in.

“What is, er—what are you doing?”

“I’m digging.”

His lips trembled, and he smoothed them with effort. “Obviously, but what is the intended goal?”

“This is where the tulips will go. The white ones, at least.”

He set one booted foot against the blade. “How deep do you need to plant them for them to bloom properly?”

Candace blinked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Ah. Well, I’ve brought you some books on the topic; perhaps we should consult them over some breakfast before proceeding.”

Her green eyes flashed and narrowed once more. “That sounds like an excuse to get me out of the planter.”

“Not at all, though I might ask why you think you’re the best person for this particular task.”

“Of course I don’t think that, but our man of work and his sons are working in the back pasture on the broken fence, as they have been all week. Mrs. Davis’s knee ached last night, which means we’ll likely have rain today or tomorrow. And if it rains, who knows when it will stop? I need to get the bulbs in the ground now.”

James thought for a moment. “Let’s have breakfast, after you refresh yourself. You’ve made wonderful progress on this task for the moment—” Here, James carefully avoided looking at the small hole she’d managed, lest his lips quirk with humor. “We should consult the books before you proceed.”

“Very well.” Candace sighed as James rested the shovel against the stone facade. “They’re probably right, anyway. It would take me forever to plant a thousand white tulips—it’ll be impossible to get them in before the rain.”

He frowned, stooping to gather her hat and the books. James hated the defeat in her voice, the long lines of acquiescence on her face.

“Don’t give up just yet. But we should take sustenance before we proceed.”

Once Candace slogged her way upstairs, shoulders rounded, the ribbons from her bonnet trailing on the ground beside her like fallen streamers, James was shown to the breakfast room and took a place at the table. He requested parchment and a pen from the butler, Benson, and jotted a quick note.

“Please have this delivered with all haste,” he said, passing the missive.

The butler nodded and hurried out the door.

“Thank goodness you arrived when you did.” Vera smoothed her hair back as she entered and took the chair across from James. “The entire house had paraded out there to beg her to stop. Well, not all of them, but myself and Mrs. Penn. And Benson gave her a very stern look, which had no effect.”

James grinned. “She has a stubborn streak. Part of the family inheritance, I believe.”

“It’s one thing when she’s aiming her strident nature at domestic problems, but I was sure she’d shear her toe off with that shovel.”

“Makes it difficult to dance, a lack of toes.”

Vera laughed, a low, rough sound. “Of course, she thinks she’ll never dance again. But we both know that’s not true.”