Page 98 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Of course, but Devonshire’s married.”

“I hardly think his wife would deprive him of a bit of hunting if he had the mind.”

His forehead creased. “Yes, but the entire point is⁠—”

There was a loud, pointed clearing of the throat from the bedroom doorway. Hortense stood there holding a laden tray, her eyes moving back and forth between Candace, propped against her pillows, and James, leaning forward on his chair at her bedside.

James quirked a smile and stood. “Hello, Hortense.”

“Your Grace.” She nodded at him then turned to Candace. “I wasn’t aware you were well enough to be accepting gentlemen callers in your bedroom.”

“Really, Hortense—” Candace scoffed at the implication, heat coming to her cheeks.

“She’s quite right.” James stood, interrupting her—which was for the best, as she didn’t have an idea what to say. “I’ll leave you. I just meant to check that you were well.”

“Thank you, James. And I apologize for Hortense.”

“Not at all. She’s right. Quite inappropriate. Next time, we’ll meet in a curtained alcove in the library instead.”

He turned and exited, leaving Candace laughing and Hortense spluttering in his wake.

CHAPTER 29- JAMES

From Gardens from Age to Age, A Compendium⁠—

Birdsong is the cheerful crown of an English garden. Though many attempt to manufacture the joy of that which nature bestows willingly, it is this author’s belief that no caged bird sings as beautifully as those who choose to visit a garden freely.

James was a faithful visitor the next few days as Candace recovered. She wouldn’t spend more than two days in her room, to Hortense’s dismay, but she consented to stay within the house for four, and Mrs. Penn kept all the rooms warm and tucked an afghan around Candace’s knees whenever she sat.

On the fifth morning, James found Candace working in the walled garden.

“Good morning, Candace.” He lifted his hand in greeting before realizing it was redundant to his words and dropped it quickly.

Perhaps it was her appearance that flummoxed him. He wondered if he’d ever get used to how lovely she was. She was especially so this morning, with her long red hair pulled back from her face in a thick braid, a plain white apron tied around her soft blue dress. She knelt upon a folded towel that rested atop a tarpaulin.

“Good morning, James.”

He was glad she felt comfortable enough around him that she kept digging in the soil as he approached.

“What is your task today?” He frowned suddenly. “Are you well enough to be out of doors? Are you warm enough?”

She rolled her eyes and kept right on working. Now that he was closer, he could see she was weeding the planter box.

“Don’t you have gardeners for that? I thought you hired some from the village.”

“All of the men are busy clearing the garden folly. Mr. Scott says it will take at least a week to cut away the vines and clear the stand of trees that’s blocking it from view of the house.”

“These weeds can’t wait a week?” He smiled over her bent head.

“They’ll only be a week older, a week bigger. Besides, I don’t mind. I’ve been cooped up in that house for days. The sun feels good and it’s a lovely day.”

She certainly sounded better. Her voice was clear and strong, her skin back to full color instead of that pink-nosed pallor she’d had the first day.

“Speaking of the garden folly,” she said, “I’ve had an idea.”

Whatever it was, he was inclined to go along with it based on the smile on her lips and the sparkle in her eye alone.

“Am I to guess?” he teased.