Page 69 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

He shouldn’t be too encouraged at the idea—for all he knew, she was jealous of the idea of her friend being inducted into the married state, nothing more. He certainly shouldn’t jump to the far-flung conclusion that her ire had anything in particular to do with him.

Still, he couldn’t help prodding at the possibility.

“I’m surprised that a man hasn’t ever seen past those dreadful frocks she wore,” he added. “Though perhaps it’s easier to spy the diamond in the rough when said diamond isn’t packed into a ballroom with other glittering gemstones.”

Candace nodded. “It isn’t her taste that was the issue, I can assure you. Lady Ashbury is to blame for the cacophony of fabrics she wore.”

“I assume you are to credit with her recent transformation.”

“I simply wrote to Madame Aubert.”

“It’s a kind thing you’ve done for your friend.”

“Nothing compared to the kindness she’s shown me.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I meant it when I said that no man could do better in choosing a wife than Vera. She’s all that is kind and good. Very few thoughts for herself, and never at the expense of anyone surrounding her.”

He nodded gravely, hiding his internal grin. This, he supposed, was Candace doing her best to be selfless. He couldn’t tell if it was Vera’s imaginary betrothal or the idea of such a betrothal to him that was the issue, but Candace had set aside her own desires on the matter as a whole and was advocating for her friend’s happiness.

“I’ve seen similar traits in her. I’m sure that an intelligent man couldn’t help but discern the same. Your Madame Aubert only serves to illuminate what’s always been clear.”

She nodded, her smile perfect in every way, save for it being a bit watered down.

“In all this talk of Vera’s future, I almost forgot the real reason for my visit.”

He stood and placed the stack of books onto the table between her orange juice and the platter of steaming scrambled eggs.

When she smiled up at him once more, he was glad to see it appeared genuine. “What’s this?”

“A contribution to your project.”

James wondered how the progress of his other contribution was doing—whether the note he’d sent had been received at his home.

Candace opened the cover of the first book with unfettered enthusiasm, her simple joy reminding him of Arthur on Christmas morning.

“The books on gardening and design,” he said redundantly. “As promised.”

“How wonderful.” She flipped through several pages. “Thank you, James. These will be a wonderful reference.”

“Have you started sketching at all?”

She shook her head and frowned at the window. On the horizon, dark clouds loomed. “I was focused on getting the bulbs in the ground as soon as possible. Alas, it seems that’s impossible.”

“I think the small red book has information on bulb planting depth.”

She flipped through the pages, found the index, and paged back. “Only six or seven inches. The hole I’d started was far too deep.”

The butler appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, some men have arrived.”

Candace tilted her head, looking at him.

James stood. “Come outside for a moment, Candace.”

In the driveway, half a dozen men stood with shovels and picks at the back of a wagon. A stable boy was unhitching the horses, undoubtedly bringing them inside the stables for water.

“Your Grace.” The nearest man yanked his cap in deference and grinned. “We got your note. Never heard of a gardening emergency. Where is it?”

Candace stared at the men with wide eyes, then up at James in wonder.

“The front planter box. There are about a thousand tulip bulbs to plant before this rain.”