Page 17 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

“My dear, you cannot believe that a man could write so elegantly about delicate matters of social intrigue. Why, where would he get his information, for one?”

“Wherever it’s available,” Candace said.

“I don’t believe it. Ladies talk to ladies, do they not?

Men go off to business, and they have their clubs where a masculine sort of gossip prevails.

But ladies are the ones who pass along every sharp-edged blade of information.

” She arched a refined eyebrow at Candace.

“Surely you know that. Admit it—did you leave London to escape the gentlemen or the ladies ?”

She pursed her lips. It had been the ladies she’d fled from. Though the potential rejection from the men had weighed upon her, it had been the giggles and whispering behind fans she’d most wanted to avoid.

“You’re right.” She frowned. “How interesting.”

“I’m delighted you both are here. This part of the country is beautiful, but company is few and far between, and not all that varied. You must come and visit me so that I might have more female companionship. My household has always been too full of boys.”

“How many sons do you have, Baroness?” Vera asked, then sipped her tea nervously .

“Please, you must both call me Jacqueline.” She grinned. “I have three boys. My husband and I were a love match. He loved me exactly how I was, even going so far as to encourage my eccentricities. My sons are my only family now, but they are more than enough.”

“Are they at home with you?”

“Only the youngest.” She gave smile that was smaller than the others.

Candace cast about for a way to change the subject, but Vera beat her to it.

“I believe we’re very close to North Bovey here. What is the village like?” Vera leaned forward and snagged a biscuit from the tray.

Candace smiled gratefully at her friend for picking up the conversational slack.

“Charming in the spring and summer, less so when it rains. Whoever decided to situate the town in a natural divot was an absolute imbecile.”

“Are there any shops?”

Jacqueline tilted her head. “Perhaps Mr. Harris’s shop might be of interest, though I hardly think it can compare to anything on the streets of Mayfair.

It’s assorted bric-a-brac and some books, and he has a cobbler’s stand in the back.

Does a wonderful job of repairing and resoling my Wellingtons. ”

“That’s excellent to know.”

Jacqueline slugged the rest of her tea in one gulp. Candace winced—she could smell the alcohol from where she sat.

The baroness stood. “I’d better be going. Lovely to meet you, and thanks for the provisions. If you need anything, or just want to take a little ride, my house is situated just around the bend.”

The baroness strode over and thwacked her old hat against her legs even as Candace and Vera were saying the social niceties—that it had been lovely to meet her too, that they would visit soon, and thanking her for stopping by to welcome them.

Surprisingly, Candace found she meant the sentiments, far more than she usually did.

The baroness had a self-assurance that Candace envied.

Why, if she were more like the baroness, perhaps she would have been able to stay in London, her head held high.

Candace winced, thinking of the scene in the ballroom the night before she’d ended her engagement.

No matter how much self-assurance one possessed, that had been painful.

“She’s a remarkable woman,” Vera said after the baroness saw herself out with aplomb, the old leather hat perched on her head as if it were a crown.

Vera came to sit next to Candace on the leather sofa, sighing as she sunk into the down cushion. It was a huge improvement over the jostling carriage bench, even though Percy’s carriage was exceedingly fine.

“She truly is.”

Vera chewed a sandwich thoughtfully for a moment.

Candace knew her friend well enough to realize she often needed silence before she spoke.

For her part, Candace was enjoying the spread before them.

The food was simpler than she was used to, but very delicious—thick-sliced ham and aged cheddar sandwiches with a ground mustard and hothouse tomato slices; shortbread so buttery it melted in her mouth; egg salad and watercress on thick, crispy, savory biscuits that sent showers of crumbs down her travelling dress.

Candace found she didn’t care about the crumbs, brushing them carelessly onto the carpet.

Perhaps she was simply that tired, or perhaps it was because only Vera was in attendance, but Candace was relaxed.

She felt safe here, in this house, in the remote English countryside.

None of the wagging tongues in London could reach far enough to lash her here.

“The baroness is...different. Not in a bad way, however,” Vera rushed to add.

“I don’t get the impression that the baroness gives a whit for social convention. She’s quite something.”

Maybe Candace would make the baroness her muse—maybe she’d throw aside all hope of marriage at all, wear trousers, and bring loaded rifles into countryside parlors. Candace shuddered—perhaps not.

“It would be nice to make new acquaintances while we’re here.”

Candace arched an eyebrow. “I believe the baroness said she has three sons, did she not? One wonders how old the eldest is.”

Vera frowned at her with a full mouth.

Candace fluttered her lashes innocently. “I was only making conversation.”

“If your object is to marry me off, then you’d better not show your face before the ring’s on my finger,” she groused.

“What does that mean?”

Vera flicked a hand in her direction. “As if I’d have a chance when you’re in the room. Do be realistic.”

Candace wondered if her eyebrows had ever been so high on her face.

“Please tell me you’re joking, Vera. Your mother wouldn’t have to work so hard to keep suitors away from you if you weren’t lovely.

Add to that a marvelous brain, a loyal heart, and a wonderfully dry wit, and any man of considerable fortune would be lucky to have you. ”

“If only everyone could see me through such a lens, the entire world would be laid at my feet.” Vera smiled and fanned herself with a hand as if imagining it.

Candace frowned. She knew Vera was joking to hide some very real pain, but she also knew how nice it was to be around someone who didn’t perpetually poke at one’s sore spots.

She’d let it go—for now. But in that instant, she was even more determined to go through with her secret project.

A very long, very descriptive letter would be heading toward London at dawn.

“If the world were at your lovely feet, what would you choose?” Candace said, pretending to play along. “If every future was yours for the taking, what would yours look like?”

“What do you mean?” Vera blinked as if the notion of endless options frightened her.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Close your eyes.”

Vera squinted at her. “This isn’t one of those cruel pranks in which I open my eyes to find you’ve put a mouse in my hand, is it?”

“Of course not.” Candace wanted to lift her feet at the mention of mice but managed only an uneasy twitch instead. “Trust me—it’s a game I’ve played with my sister many times. No rodents involved.”

“Very well.” Vera closed her eyes, clutching her teacup.

“Now, answer without thinking, without a pause. The first thing you think of. all right?”

She nodded, though the twist of her lips belied her nerves.

“What do you want for your future—married or unmarried?”

“Married.” The word whipped out without hesitation, and a pale-pink blush dusted Vera’s ivory cheeks.

Candace grinned—Vera was playing the game. “City or country house?”

“Country.”

A surprising answer since, to Candace’s knowledge, Vera hadn’t set foot in a country house before today.

A devious smile turned her lips. “Is your husband tall or short?”

Vera snorted. “Has anyone ever said ‘short’?”

Candace laughed. The sound and the lightness in her own heart surprised her. “I’m sure someone has. But very well, your husband is tall.”

“This is silly,” she argued, opening her eyes.

“Ah, ah!” Candace wagged her finger. “Close them. Only a few more questions.”

Vera sighed but did as she was told, tapping her nails along the teacup.

“How many children?”

“Four.”

“Four!” Candace cried in mock alarm. “I’ve always thought two the perfect number, but this is your future, not mine. Last question—does your husband have dark hair or light?”

“Dark.”

“Very well. You may open them.” Candace grinned. “So we’re looking for a tall dark-haired man living in the country.”

“We are not looking for any man.”

Candace lifted a shoulder. “We’ll see.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh, I can tell you my answers without closing my eyes. Like I said—I’ve played this game many times with my sister. I’m looking for a tall blond man in the city.”

Neither of them mentioned what they both were thinking—that her description perfectly fit her erstwhile fiancé, the Marquess of Shelbourne.