Page 75 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“That’s very lazy of you.”

“I’ve developed arthritic knees in my old age,” he quipped.

“You’re not old enough for arthritic anything. You’re barely older than Percy, and he’s barely older than I am.”

“I take it you won’t give special credence to any advice I give because of my advanced age, then?” he asked lightly.

“Advanced age. Really. You speak as if you’re a different generation. No—if I listen to your advice it’s because I find it sound, not out of deference to our inconsequential age difference.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s good to know.”

His words held weight, as if she’d answered an important question or settled some outstanding matter between them, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think what he meant. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she searched her memory—when had he given her advice?

“Come in all ye who are free!” Arthur yelled in the distance.

James shook his head. “We’d better go fix that.”

But by the time they returned to the entryway, there was a small group of game players with bright cheeks and smiles, and more filtering in by the moment.

“Are we all here?” James said. “Right. Lady Candace and Arthur will be the seekers for this round.”

They covered their eyes and Candace counted loudly, listening carefully to the charge on the stairs, then to the small creaks throughout the house that may have been the wind, or might have been hints as to where people were hiding.

“Ready or not, here we come!” they chorused.

Instinct had her turning toward the stairs. Thankfully, Arthur had the same idea. Seamus, ever affable, lumbered his way up behind them. On the landing, Arthur turned to her with expressive eyes, indicating right, then left, then shrugging.

“You choose,” she whispered.

There hardly was a reason for their silence—they were the seekers, not the hiders this time. Still, perhaps a creaking floorboard or a muted giggle might direct their path.

Arthur pointed left; they followed his finger.

Left was a comfortable sitting room with draperies that nearly dusted the floor. Two comfortable sofas squared off in front of a marble fireplace. Candace suspected this had been the primary salon of the lady of the house, as the wallpaper was distinctly feminine—a floral upon feather pattern—and the sofas upholstered in a cheerful damask instead of the leather throughout the rest of the house.

Candace swiped her fingers along the carved back of one of the sofas while Arthur gleefully pulled back the curtains. He turned back toward her, the edges of his mouth downturned when all he discovered behind the curtains were windows. Candace scanned the room, looking for any other possible hiding spots, but the furniture was sparse and spindly. She shook her head, then tilted it to the side, indicating they should look elsewhere.

They crept into the library next door. Simple, stoic wooden bookcases covered the walls from floor to ceiling, with a deep window seat beneath each of the windows. The curtains had been pulled over each. Candace arched an eyebrow. She’d spent a sullen afternoon cloistered in this room when they first arrived; she was well acquainted with the window seats. They would be an excellent hiding spot.

Candace nodded toward the one on the right, just as a low rustle sounded from that direction.

Arthur eyes lit up; he flung back the curtain with a shrill, “Aha!”

Hortense broke away from Thomas with a small scream. Candace’s eyebrows shot upward, even as Hortense’s face began to turn scarlet.

Arthur’s nose screwed up. “Eew. Were they kissing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Candace interjected smoothly. “She was helping him adjust his collar, nothing more.”

It was only the innocence of childhood that had him nodding as if that explanation made perfect sense. For their part, Hortense and Thomas could hardly have acted any guiltier—Hortense wouldn’t meet their eyes, and Thomas kept yanking at his aforementioned collar.

“Is it itchy?” Arthur asked. “I have a shirt with an itchy collar. I hate it, but my governess makes me wear it to church. Then she gets mad at me for squirming, but it’s hardly my fault.”

“Anyway, we caught you!” Candace said, her words maniacally bright. “I believe I saw Thomas first, so he shall be the new seeker. Arthur, run downstairs and let everyone know they can come out safely.”

Arthur charged out of the room, eager to perform his crucial task.

Candace pressed her lips together, trying to think of what to say, but her mind was bereft of any good ideas. Finally, she just turned and stiffly walked away.