Page 79 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“I’m not sure yet.” She smoothed her skirts and avoided Candace’s eyes.

Candace smiled and stared out at the sodden landscape. Even if Hortense claimed not to know how she felt, Candace knew the signs of affection. High emotion and agitation often made their way onto the list, even though the poets never seemed to focus on those less pleasant feelings.

Montclare came into view around the bend. Built by one of James's more ambitious ancestors, the stone structure was nearly as handsome as its master. It was twice the size of Devon Manor, boasting grand wings that stretched to either side of the mammoth front doors, and banks of windows divided by innumerous mullions into small gleaming panes.

The carriage gave a tiny bump as it pulled onto the grand circular drive—cobblestoned, not gravelled, so the wheels ran more smoothly. Large ornamental topiaries lined the way—largest where the road met the drive, then growing gradually smaller toward the front of the house so they didn’t obstruct the view.

From conversations they’d shared, Candace knew that James had recently added the most modern amenities to the house, as he’d done to his city home in London. It was his view that country living should be just as hospitable as city dwelling. She quite agreed. Now she leaned forward, curious to have a tour of the beautiful home.

As the carriage jostled gently to a stop, one of the front doors flung open. Arthur and Seamus bounded down the front steps, followed closely by a harried-looking governess, who quickly reined in the show of exuberance and herded them back inside.

Candace chuckled and leaned back from the window.

Hortense smiled. “Whomever the Duke of Canterbury marries will get not only him, but a wonderful young boy to raise as well, my lady.”

Candace clenched her jaw before she caught herself, thinking of Vera once more. She smoothed her face into a benign smile. “Indeed. She will be a very lucky lady.”

Hortense’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, but the carriage door opened first. She alighted and Candace followed.

A prim butler welcomed them at the door. Candace glanced around the grand foyer for Arthur and Seamus; while their greeting would doubtless have been less proper, she enjoyed their sheer enthusiasm. But the boy and the dog were nowhere to be seen or heard, so the governess must have been efficient indeed.

Candace handed over her cloak and leather gloves, then followed the butler down the wide hallway, taking in her surroundings. The floor was comprised of large squares of marble fitted tightly at the seams. The walls were rich wood paneling in a simple, symmetrical design; the tall ceilings were coffered in the same wood. Several large paintings hung from a brass picture rail at the ceiling. Unlike Devon Manor’s charming mish-mash, these were all oil landscapes—many of them appeared as if they had been painted from vistas on this very property.

“Lady Candace Waldrey,” the butler announced from just inside one of the tall open archways.

Candace jolted from her momentary study of a painting of a weeping willow whose branches dusted the top of a creek. She stepped forward into a lovely sitting room; James stood from the tufted leather sofa.

He sketched a bow in their direction. “Welcome, Candace. We’re so glad you could join us. Aren’t we, Arthur?”

Arthur stood from the sofa facing James. His face was nearly pinched in its solemnity. “Yes, Father. Hello, Lady Candace. Very pleased to see you.” He gave a little bow.

Candace hid her smile. So the governess had deposited the boy with his father, who’d apparently given him a very strict lecture.

She nodded graciously. “Thank you for having me.”

“Please,” Arthur said, gesturing toward the sofa next to him. “Won’t you sit down?”

As soon as he said the words, the boy looked toward James, who gave a nod of approval.

“Why, thank you.”

This time, she was unable to hide a slight smile. It amused her to be the object in the lesson. She was easily charmed by the scene—it was rare to see a parent take such a hand in their child’s rearing. It reminded her of the way her parents had raised her and her siblings—to the chagrin of some of their stodgier great-aunts and uncles.

Candace sat in the offered seat; only then did the men regain theirs. Once again, Arthur glanced; James nodded.

“How have you been spending your day so far, Arthur?” she asked.

He grinned, his affectation of propriety all but forgotten in an instant. “Seamus and I went down to the creek to see how fast it was running because of the rain.”

“That sounds very dangerous.”

“Father was with us and he wouldn’t let us get too close. He made me keep Seamus on his leash,” he grumbled.

“Parents are forever getting in the way of fun,” she said conspiratorially. Arthur’s eyes brightened and Candace continued. “Imagine how delightful it would have been if Seamus had been swept away to foreign lands!”

Arthur frowned.

Candace swiped her hand in the air as if picturing it. “Think of all the people he would have met. He could have learned a new language, tried exotic foods, had a new owner⁠—”