Page 81 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

There it was again—that searing look whose meaning she couldn’t quite place. Intense—that was the word for it.

She forged on. “I’m not sure if I ever said thank you, but I’m grateful. You prevented me from making a terrible mistake; I see that now.”

“Do you?”

She frowned, not understanding the question.

He leaned forward. “What mistake?”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Marrying Shelbourne, of course. Getting engaged to him was the biggest mistake of my life.”

He relaxed back against the sofa and opened his mouth, but Arthur ran into the room, Seamus bounding behind him. Candace pressed her lips together in frustration; more than anything, she wanted to know what James had been about to say.

James made meaningful eye contact with his son, arching his brow until Arthur said, “Lady Candace, would you like to see the house?”

“Thank you, I would. I’ve never been here before.”

Candace and James made polite small talk as Arthur played his part with all the gravity of a docent in a museum. James enquired after Vera’s health and promised to send a batch of his cook’s chicken soup over.

“It’s nearly miraculous in its healing properties,” he said as Arthur led them through the huge library. “She always has a pot simmering this time of year.”

“Perhaps our cook can pry the recipe from her.” Candace bent to examine a glass curio full of antique keys. “These are quite interesting. Was your mother a collector?”

“My father. Those are the keys from the original family seat in Scotland.”

“However did the new owners get in?” she teased.

He quirked a smile. “We still own it, though the original house burnt down in 1725.”

“Oh, very sorry.”

“Not at all. My grandfather rebuilt. It’s not as large or as modern as this house, but it has its own kind of charm. It sits above a loch.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“We’re headed there this summer. You should come visit. You and whoever would like to join you. Vera is welcome as well.”

Candace stood from her examination of a collection of pinned butterflies. “I suppose I’ll have time for that this summer.”

She’d forever have time for visiting now. She didn’t know if the thought was energizing or depressing—that nothing would prevent her from being one of the fashionable set who visited grand country houses and made merry with a grouping of other young people—until those people settled down and started making families. Then she would become the old spinster, shunted from invitation to invitation out of pity, until one day, no one would remember to invite her at all.

James continued, unaware of her inner turmoil. “The mist rolls in every evening, no matter the weather. You can stand at the window and watch it creeping across the water moment by moment.”

She shook herself out of her sudden melancholy, determined not to be sucked into the mire of her own fears. “I’ve read of such things in a novel before, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“One of your tragic romances, no doubt.”

She slid her eyes his direction. “I read more than those, you know.”

“I’m well aware. How are the garden preparations coming along?”

“Funny you should ask that. I was wondering if I might peruse the gardening section of your fine library. I thought there might be more where the first books came from.”

“Of course.”

Candace watched him closely as he led her to the other side of the room. If he was discomfited by her request, he certainly hid it well.

He tapped a spotless bookshelf. “These have to do with horticulture and propagating. These are related to drainage, culverts, watering systems. These might interest you—they deal with the construction of water features and garden follies.”