Page 71 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

But now, time and James had moved on. And James had apparently moved on to Vera. Candace could hardly be blamed for wishing he’d moved on a little further from her general vicinity. She chewed her lip and stared out at the rain for long moments. Then she shook her head and chastised herself.

She had her books and her drawings and two thousand more bulbs to plant in the next month. She had quite enough to be getting on with, without wondering what it was about Vera that had captivated James. Candace supposed she’d find out eventually. In the meantime, she tried to convince herself she was happy for them, but she couldn’t quite muster the energy for it.

Instead, she wondered if Vera’s new wardrobe would only add speed to this disturbing turn of events. Candace frowned at herself then. She wanted nothing but good things for Vera, but heaven help her, she didn’t want her friend’s happiness enough for it to come at her own expense.

Candace told herself she wasn’t jealous. She told herself that she didn’t want James—not in that way. But if Candace were being honest, she didn’t believe herself, not even a little. Lately, she’d felt something when he was near. Every time his eyes landed on hers, it felt like there was something between them that was more than friendship.

Wishful thinking, she thought. And hardly fair to read the kindness of a friend as something more.

These past weeks, it had only been James and Vera keeping her from flying apart and scattering to the winds of despair. Candace pressed her lips together and looked out the window at the bleak rain. Perhaps that was how they’d found common ground—in supporting her. Was she a terrible person for feeling a keening anguish at the thought?

It wasn’t that she thought Vera would never marry; half the reason Candace had purchased her friend new dresses was to assist in such an endeavor. Vera was beautiful, both inside and out, but it had been difficult to see past the horrible clothes.

Candace had long ago found that most people could not even see past a terrible set of draperies to the good bones of a room beneath. They could not envision a space with different paint, new wallhangings—it was past their ability to see the diamond for the rough.

Now, Vera was presented beautifully—just as Candace had seen her all along. It was no stretch of the imagination that a man might glance over at her and internally exclaim “Aha!” It was precisely what Candace had hoped for. In lieu of her own happiness, Candace had decided to take on Vera’s as a project.

But she hadn’t thought it would be James.

As far as suitors went, Vera could not have chosen one better. James was kind, mature, and always followed through on his promises. He was all that was noble and good—Candace had never heard so much as a rumor about him. His character was as flawless as his dress. So what if he was a bit older? It was only a span of perhaps ten years—happy matches had been made across much wider chasms than that.

And James was exceedingly handsome. Not conventionally, perhaps—he had stronger features than the cultured ideal—but he had thick dark hair, a pleasing face, and a warmth that came into his eyes when he smiled...

Candace sighed. Vera would make an excellent mother to Arthur, as well. She was far more patient than Candace, and children often required patience. Candace probably wouldn’t see James or Arthur half as much once James and Vera were married. It wouldn’t be appropriate, and married couples never had as much free time as the unattached, or so it seemed.

The thought of losing the three of them in one fell swoop was nearly too much for her to bear. Candace pictured them laughing over one of Arthur’s puzzles before a fireplace. Before she knew it, tears dripped down her face and splattered on her sketch below.

“Oh, dear!” Vera said, from the doorway. “Candace, are you quite all right?”

She nodded and turned her face away to swipe her tears. “Quite.”

“No, you aren’t,” she murmured, at Candace’s side in a moment. She produced a beautifully embroidered handkerchief and pressed it into Candace’s hand. “I daresay I know why. I’m sure you’ll find that the sting of the loss grows fainter in time.”

For one head-swimming moment, Candace thought her friend spoke of James. His smile blinked into her mind’s eye, and she wanted to argue that she would never get over losing him.

Vera plowed on, color high in her cheeks. “I swear, if Hortense hadn’t thwacked the man with her umbrella, I might travel back to London and attempt just such a feat. The way Shelbourne treated you was simply reprehensible. I hope he gets his come-uppance.”

Shelbourne. Candace shook her head slightly. Of course Vera spoke of Shelbourne, not of James. There was no loss where James was concerned...was there?

Vera fluffed then smoothed her lovely pinstripe morning gown in agitation. She reminded Candace of the small birds that gathered to puff and shiver in the birdbath in the sunshine.

She patted Candace on the shoulder. “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen you cry over that blackhearted swine. It’s good though—good for you to let it out.”

Candace frowned slightly. Had she really never cried over Shelbourne? She racked her memory, searching. She had certainly felt like crying—many times. She’d been humiliated, shocked, embarrassed, horrified, dismayed...but had she ever been sad? For herself, perhaps, but not for the loss of Shelbourne. She’d mourned her engagement ending, but not because it had ended with him.

Vera patted her shoulder again, taking Candace’s silence as her being too overwrought to speak. In truth, Candace was struck dumb by her realization. She cared more for the loss of James's companionship than she did for Shelbourne entirely. And she wouldn’t even be losing all of him. His eventual marriage to Vera simply meant that she would be his priority instead of Candace.

“I’m quite all right,” she managed to say, thrusting her thoughts away for further contemplation when she was alone. “I think it’s the weather—I always get a bit melancholy when it rains.”

“I suffer from the same affliction. You have no idea how dreary mother’s morning salon can be when rain slides against the glass. No one ever seems to visit when it rains…”

As if in response to her words, Benson appeared at the archway. “My lady, His Grace the Duke of Canterbury is here to visit. He specifically asked me to inform Miss Vera that his son and his dog have joined him.”

Candace looked to Vera for her reaction. Her friend straightened her shoulders and nodded her assent.

Only then did Candace say, “Of course, send them in.”

She blotted her face in earnest and pinched her cheeks.