Page 67 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

There was that same glint in Vera’s eyes—the not unkind acknowledgement that she knew how he felt for Candace.

“That will be entirely up to her. The dancing, I mean.”

“On the contrary. Dancing notoriously takes two.”

“Do you enjoy dancing, Vera?” He drummed his fingers against the table.

“Perhaps, but no one’s ever asked me.” She arched an eyebrow. “Which is precisely my point about Candace. In her current mind, she may not realize another dance is to be had until someone is bold enough to ask.”

“Indeed.”

He admired Vera more in that moment. She showed tact, bringing up a delicate subject in such a way that they weren’t truly speaking of Candace and her broken engagement—not really. If one weren’t privy to all the knowledge they had, anyone who overheard their conversation would be none the wiser.

He frowned, considering Vera more closely. It wasn’t just the awful clothes she had worn, but the title of spinster as well. Perhaps that was the real problem—once society began to ignore a person, the habit was hastily adopted by all.

Still, James could think of half a dozen good, well-titled men who would be delighted to have Vera as wife. She was quite pretty—ash-brown hair and large green eyes ringed in thick lashes, a cream-colored complexion that often belied her state of mind with splotches of pink, and an adorable dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“If someone asked you to dance, would you be inclined to accept?” he asked.

Vera drew her head slightly back. Several moments passed before she answered. “Possibly. But then, I’ve always been just as happy sipping punch in the corner and watching the delightful fray. There’s no danger of suffering injury if one isn’t dancing.”

James nodded, conceding the point. He knew little of Vera’s family—only that her father rarely accepted social invitation, and her mother readily accepted all, though her presence was difficult to be borne. Vera had a couple of brothers who were married and well settled, forming families of their own.

“I’ve spent several years bracing the wall myself,” he said with a wry smile. “There are many unique benefits to be found on the outskirts of the whirl.”

She laughed. “Bracing the wall. What a unique way of putting it—so much better than ‘wallflower.’”

“I always thought that a sort of compliment. As if acknowledging the beauty of the ladies on the periphery.”

“It treats us as meaningless decoration—flowers at the proverbial wedding. Part of it, perhaps, but not at all central to the point.”

“I see.”

“And men such as yourself are never called wallflowers.”

“Men such as myself?”

She leaned forward, a conspiratory sparkle in her eye. “Wall-bracers. The ones who choose not to dance.”

“That’s because men such as myself are never comfortably off the market.” The words were out of his mouth before he considered the hurt that might be inflicted by them; he winced internally.

But Vera just tilted her head as if considering his words. “I suppose there is some comfort to that. Although we ladies are subjected to intense scrutiny and an abundance of pressure, it’s mercifully brief. A time quickly approaches when I won’t be thought of at all—at least, not in that way.”

“I didn’t mean—” he rushed to add in order to soothe, to leech the sting from his words.

She held up a hand, halting him. “The benefit of being a wallflower is that it gives one time to think, to observe, to carefully consider. That is the large part of how Candace found herself where she is: she was at the center of it all, so caught up in the glitter and the surge and the attention that she didn’t have a spare breath to decide what she truly wanted, what would actually make her happy. By the time she had a moment to stop and think, it was already done.”

Astute of her. Vera may be right—he’d thought much the same himself. But he didn’t know how to agree or add to the conversation without betraying the loyalty he felt toward Candace, or the tender feelings he nurtured in that area.

Not that Vera didn’t already know how he felt—she’d told him as much, in this very conversation. Still, suspecting was one thing; confirmation was another thing altogether.

She nodded at his discreet silence and continued. “For my part, I’ve had time to truly consider what I would like, what would make me happy. I’ve made a concentrated study of myself and of the options available.”

“What have you discerned?”

“I’ve decided that being a wallflower is far preferable to being engaged to a man such as Shelbourne, for one.”

He frowned and nodded.