Page 70 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

The man frowned, nodded. “Anything in the planter you aim to keep?”

James turned to Candace, who shook her head.

“Very well, Your Grace. Where are these bulbs?”

“The shed out back.”

The man got his workers digging, and Candace showed James and the foreman the crates of bulbs in the shed.

“Not a problem, Your Grace, my lady. Leave it to us.”

Candace nodded as if bewildered, then she and James stood a ways back and watched as the men’s shovels turned over the soil efficiently.

“They make it look so easy,” she murmured.

“It’s much easier to a practiced hand than it was for you, that’s certain.”

She faced him, frowning. “Why would you do this?”

“To help, of course. I applaud your idea to see the garden restored. Or perhaps that isn’t the word for it. After all, I’m not sure the grounds have ever had much attention.”

She tilted her head, considering the facade of the house. “I don’t suppose there’s much in the way of help we can offer them.”

“Let’s return to our breakfast, then.”

CHAPTER 22- CANDACE

From Gardens from Age to Age, A Compendium⁠—

The joy of spring—what can compare? Delicate green shoots emerge, like searching fingers, from soft soil. Birds twitter their happiness to one another beneath the unfurling green leaves. All of nature wakes from winter rest—the world is new once more!

It was still raining the next afternoon. Candace sat at the desk in the study and sketched a diagram of formal gardens. Her ideas were like a cool breeze blowing across her mind. Instead of the stagnant air of rumination and regret, imagination of what the garden could look like in a year, in two years, pattered like the fresh spring rain outside.

The kitchen garden was the only outside area at Devon Manor that hadn’t fallen into complete disrepair. Not that Candace at all blamed Mrs. Penn for the general neglect of the grounds—Percy had been quite open about the mismanagement of the estate by his previous steward. If anything, it was a testament to the housekeeper’s loyalty and ingenuity that anything had survived at all.

Still, just because the kitchen garden stood, didn’t mean it couldn’t be reworked to be more efficient and enjoyable. Candace had yet to meet a person who didn’t appreciate beauty, and thought there was no reason the kitchen garden shouldn’t be nearly as elegant as the formal plantings next door. She sketched her own design, borrowing from images in the books she’d found particularly pleasing. When she finally stretched her back an hour later, she was happy with her design.

Her drawing consisted of a series of quatrefoil raised planter boxes, centered on the existing fruit trees. Each would be surrounded by narrow gravel pathways, with two long benches. The existing garden walls would be used to train espalier fruit trees. Her sketch would improve the efficiency of the existing space, with many more fruits and vegetables available to the house.

She’d even played with the idea of adding a new glass hothouse to the underutilized end of the space. The spot was perfect for one, though she’d need to consult someone with more knowledge on the subject. Perhaps James would have advice on how to build one.

Once she labeled the planter boxes with what should be planted in each according to the suggestions in the books, she set the drawings aside for Mrs. Penn’s approval and started in on what she was truly excited to dream up—the design for the walled garden.

James's workmen had planted the entire front planter with the white tulips the previous morning, finishing just as the first raindrops splattered to the ground. She’d thanked James profusely. Candace didn’t know why getting those bulbs into the earth meant so much to her, but even now, warmth spread in her chest at the thought of the favor he’d done.

He didn’t have to call his men—he didn’t have to solve that small problem for her—but he had. That small gesture meant more than he could imagine. Candace would have to be careful to guard herself against disappointment where he was concerned.

She frowned, remembering the earnest expression on his face as he’d leaned toward Vera in the breakfast room. Candace had left them alone for only minutes—perhaps a quarter of an hour, at most—yet when she’d returned, they’d been engaged in deep conversation. Candace longed to know what they’d been speaking of; both of them had looked up at her as if she’d interrupted something profound.

Yet when Candace had asked her about it later, Vera claimed not to remember the conversation at all. The way that Vera studiously avoided the subject only added to Candace’s belief that something meaningful had been said. If not an outright declaration on James's part, then at least a hint.

The thought of her friends finding something in each other that they’d never found anywhere else should have intrigued or even cheered her. All it did was fill her with an echoing melancholy—as if a long low note on a cello had sounded from the bottom of a well.

Candace knew it wasn’t right of her to feel that way. Just because her hopes of a future were gone didn’t mean she should begrudge Vera experiencing that happiness. Perhaps it was just too close in proximity to her, too soon. Perhaps the idea of it wouldn’t grate so much if Vera had attracted the attention of someone other than James.

Candace wasn’t an idiot—at one point, she’d suspected that James might have his eye on her to fulfill the post his previous wife had vacated. But then she’d met Shelbourne, and her and James's relationship had changed into one of deep friendship instead.

Candace had always sworn it was enough. Even in those deep, dark, fearful moments when she believed Shelbourne would never return from Paris, when she’d wished with all her heart that she’d never laid eyes on the man—even then, she’d been grateful for James's friendship. And if there had been several hours where she cursed herself for ever thinking James might be a boring choice, one she’d looked over for the more exciting Shelbourne, well...that had been a hard lesson to learn, albeit an important one.