Page 11 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

F rom the Quentin Daily-

Runaway carriage in Cheapside! Calamity and death as a large draft horse barrelled into a sausage-seller’s cart yesterday!

“There was at least three dead,” Penelope Perkins, a local resident, claims. “Probably more!” More details to follow as we chase down this developing story of destruction and sadness!

While mist still obscured the trees in the park, well before appropriate visiting hours, Candace ordered the carriage.

On the way to Shelbourne’s townhouse, she sat grimly on the plush seat, not daring to so much as push open the window shade to check their progress.

All the while, she practiced the succinct speech she’d written in her mind.

Shelbourne , she’d begin. We don’t suit .

She exhaled a sarcastic laugh. It was the understatement of the century, that.

She kept revisiting those moments in the Marquess of Balewick’s library, where Shelbourne’s lip curled, where he’d taken her by the arm.

Small smudges had appeared in the wake of his iron fingers, marks that Hortense had hissed at when helping her dress that morning.

Her loyal maid sat across from her now, staring at the side of the carriage as if the window coverings were thrown open to a beautiful vista. Hortense was either lost in thought or averting her gaze to allow Candace privacy—possibly both.

Hortense held an old umbrella with a heavy ironwood handle across her knees. It was the one she took along when Candace insisted on personally delivering soup to the children’s home in Cheapside.

Hortense had armed herself as surely as a knight preparing for battle. Candace smiled at the thought. It was surprisingly easy to imagine Hortense clad in the armor of old. Perhaps it was her impressive stature; perhaps it was her long stride and the easy way she cut through a crowded marketplace.

“Do you like the country, Hortense?” she surprised them both by asking.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Do you prefer it over the city?”

Hortense cocked her head. “They both have their merits, my lady.”

“And if I were to leave the city for awhile, would you be happy to come with me, or would you prefer to stay behind in London?”

“I’m sure whatever accommodations you’d make in the country would be quite suitable, my lady. I would go with you.”

There was something in the way she said the last that made emotion prick at Candace’s eyes. Suddenly choked, she settled for nodding in acknowledgement of her maid’s words instead of responding.

It was possible Candace shouldn’t have been able to sleep well the night before, but she had.

She hadn’t even cried. Instead, a low anger simmered in her stomach until she fell into a dreamless dark.

The fury burned out by morning, leaving a cold, charred sort of emptiness behind.

Resignation—perhaps that’s what the emotion was.

Candace knew what had to be done, and she was going to go through with it.

But she was well aware of what would follow.

That was the part she dreaded. It was a shock to admit to herself that she didn’t care about losing Shelbourne as much as she was frightened about the gossip that would come after. It wouldn’t be quite as bad as being ruined, but it was next-door neighbor to it, at least.

What she’d experienced in the Balewicks’ ballroom—the whispers, the gasps, the stares—was just the beginning.

The next few weeks would be filled with curious visitors and their false sympathy, the tutting of a hundred secretly happy mamas, the murmurs of those who’d claim they knew it was doomed from the start.

The ton would naturally be split down the middle—those who’d claim it was her fault, those who’d side with Shelbourne.

Shelbourne had been a society favorite for years. Besides, in battles of reputation, men could afford to take far more hits than young ladies could. He would end up the winner in this battle. All Candace could hope for was to retain some semblance of dignity.

Candace was exhausted by even the thought of holding her head up.

She didn’t want to have to pretend that the whole mess hadn’t affected her.

She didn’t want to appear as if she were strong and capable and rising above.

An idea had emerged late last night—an improbable, foolish idea that she couldn’t shake.

What if she didn’t have to face them all tomorrow?

What if she didn’t have to pretend?

The carriage gently jostled to a stop, breaking Candace from her reverie. Her back straightened. Hortense gripped her thick umbrella; her jaw flexed.

The stairs were let down, the door opened, and a gloved hand appeared; Candace took it and stepped down.

Hortense followed and stared at Candace while Candace stared up at the house.

With great effort, Candace held back an unladylike snort.

To think she’d actually believed she’d be mistress of this house one day!

She shook her head, ascended the front steps, and nodded her readiness. Hortense didn’t so much knock as bang on the door, so fiercely that Candace arched an eyebrow at her in amused question.

Hortense pressed her lips together as her eyes slid toward Candace’s upper arm—the one bearing bruises. Apparently, Hortense had decided the entire household was to blame for the injury inflicted upon her mistress.

Her maid’s loyalty cheered her; Candace bit back a sudden smile. Perhaps she should give up her idea of escape and just unleash Hortense and her stout umbrella on anyone who’d speak ill of her .

A scrambling sounded, and a wide-eyed butler opened the door; a large footman peered over his shoulder.

“I’m here to see the marquess,” Candace said.

“Begging pardon, my lady, but he’s not accepting visitors at this hour.”

“He’ll see me.”

“This is highly irregular,” the butler blustered. “I’m afraid I cannot?—”

“We are coming inside.” Hortense leaned forward, nearly baring her teeth. “Unless one of you plans on putting hands on a lady, we are coming inside right now .”

She jabbed the iron tip of her umbrella savagely into the top marble step; Candace wanted to glance down to see if it left the gouge she suspected.

The butler blinked; the footman was already slinking back into the shadows. “Of course. Right this way, my lady. I’ll...I’ll see if the master is at home.”

“He’ll see me,” Candace repeated. “Just tell him Lady Candace Waldrey is here to give him what he requested last night.”

The butler hurried away, eyes wide. Hortense plowed forward, leading the way into a sitting room. A fire was burning in the grate, so new it still smoked and hadn’t yet chased the morning chill from the space.

Hortense turned round to inspect all corners of the room, then frowned as if she found it lacking.

A small thread of amusement surprised Candace.

She sat on a leather divan and waited. Nearly a quarter of an hour later, the man of the house appeared in the doorway.

He was barefoot, his shirt scandalously unbuttoned beneath a scarlet velvet dressing robe, and he looked as if he’d yanked on the pants he’d worn the night before.

Or perhaps he’d never taken them off and simply gone to bed that way. Even from halfway across the room, Candace could smell the sour scent of wine rolling from his person. He squinted, bleary-eyed, and shoved his overlong hair back from his face.

Hortense straightened to her full, impressive height and squeezed the umbrella in both hands until it creaked.

Shelbourne noticed her ire and chuffed a laugh on his way to the sideboard. “What? You think you’ll have your Amazon of a maid threaten me into behaving properly, is that it?”

“Not at all,” Candace said smoothly, completely unperturbed by his choice of greeting, his appearance, his complete lack of manners. These were nothing in the face of his other slights toward her. “I’m here to end our engagement, as requested.”

“A note would have sufficed.” He poured a couple inches of something brown into a glass and knocked it back. “I hardly think we have the type of relationship that requires a personal farewell.”

“I’m not here for a farewell. I’m certainly not here to try to keep you in this relationship.”

“Then why are you here, Candace?”

She smiled and stood. “I’m here to end our engagement, like I said. I’m also here to inform you that it would be inadvisable to preserve your reputation at the cost of mine.”

He laughed. “Threats?”

“Just the truth. People are going to ask questions, Shelbourne. I’m just recommending you give them an acceptable answer.”

“Which is what?”

“That I exited our engagement but we remain friends.”

“Friends? We were never friends .”

“I’m well aware.” Candace cocked her head. “Neither of us knew each other. Neither of us wanted each other. Like you said—you wanted a bit of sport. I wanted...I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t this.”

Candace was lying—she knew exactly what she’d wanted from their engagement. Love. She’d wanted it so badly she’d started to see it where it wasn’t; she’d started to believe the lie of their relationship, as others had. She’d deluded herself into this pain—that was the stupidest part of it all.

“And if I don’t go along with your little story?” He smiled, but there was no kindness in it.

“Then I’ll have my friends ruin you.”

Across the room, Hortense shifted—Candace couldn’t tell if it was from surprise or disappointment, as she was too busy watching Shelbourne. He bared his teeth; Candace had the errant thought that if society could see him like this, as he truly was, he wouldn’t be so popular.

“ Ruin me?” He chuckled, pouring himself another drink. “How would you propose to do that?”

“Wouldn’t you rather not find out?” Candace shook her head and sighed. “I didn’t come to threaten you, Shelbourne. Neither of us wants that. Let us part amicably—more amicably than we were betrothed.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t have to be this way.

” Something in his face softened, and he stepped toward her until she had to fight the urge to reel back from his pungent breath—even two drinks of whiskey hadn’t chased it away.

“We weren’t meant to marry, but there was something between us.

Perhaps we should explore it further...”

He slid a hand down her cheek. Candace winced, shocked at the sudden contact and at the stench of him. The man smelled like a distillery worker who hadn’t bathed in six weeks.

Before Candace could respond, Hortense lunged forward, whacking Shelbourne on the shoulder with her umbrella. “How dare you!”

“Ow!” Shelbourne flinched, splashing whiskey down Candace’s front and onto the carpet.

Thankfully, the possible ruin of her skirts was enough to jolt her from her daze.

She stepped back, and just in time, too, as Hortense had already wound back and aimed her next blow at Shelbourne’s shin.

There was a solid thwack , just like the splitting of kindling, and the man collapsed to the floor, howling.

Candace glanced up—both the butler and the footman stared wide-eyed from the doorway. Neither made any move to help their master as Hortense raised her heavy umbrella once more, her face twisted with the intensity of her hatred and intent.

“That will be all, Hortense,” Candace said lightly.

There was a flash of a moment where Candace was unsure whether her maid would comply or follow through with her impressive wind-up.

Candace had a wincing inkling of where Hortense would aim next—but her maid huffed the rest of her indignation through her nose and jabbed the end of her umbrella into the carpet so fiercely Candace didn’t doubt it would leave a permanent reminder of their visit.

Candace pulled the awful ring from the pocket of her skirts and set it on a side table near the sofa. “Goodbye, Shelbourne.”

She didn’t bother glancing back as she headed out the door.

Once back in the carriage, Hortense studied her. “Forgive me, my lady, but those things you said, about Shelbourne being ruined…”

She flapped her hand listlessly. “Lies, of course. Haven’t you noticed? I’ve become quite the actress these past months that he’s been in Paris.”

“So there’s nothing to stop him from saying whatever he wishes.” Her hands tightened around her umbrella once more.

Candace’s smile pinched. “Nothing save for the decency of his character.”