Page 18 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
F rom the Quentin Daily-
Crazed fashion statement sweeping society! Where are all these feathers coming from? Is it safe to wear so many large feathers at once? Witness claims that a local lady was nearly carried away by the wind! “If she hadn’t untied her bonnet, who knows where she would have landed!”
After luncheon, Mrs. Penn showed them to their rooms at the end of the family wing. Candace’s door stood across from the master bedroom. Her room had two exterior walls full of windows, a large canopied bed, and a sitting area, as well as a bathing room and dressing chamber.
Rich wood paneling covered the walls, and a fire crackled cheerfully behind a tight iron lattice.
With its heavy velvet bed hangings, leather sofa, and polished side tables, the room was far more luxurious and well appointed than Candace had expected from the manor.
Vera’s room was right next door, and although slightly smaller, was no less grand.
One would never have guessed that they’d arrived unannounced. The room was spotlessly clean—the bed hangings smelled as if they’d just been laundered, not a hint of mustiness about them. Even Hortense gave a nod of approval when they entered.
Candace ran her fingers along the edge of a blue-and-navy-gingham curtain edged in fine tasseling. “My brother told me that this house was nearly in ruins when he last came to visit. I see he was as dramatic in his narrative as I should have expected.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” the housekeeper said, “but we have been working night and day for months to bring the house back up to an acceptable standard. When His Lordship arrived, there were so many holes in the ceiling, so many leaks, it was all I could do to empty the buckets before they overflowed.”
“Then you should be commended for your efforts, Mrs. Penn. Looking at this bedroom and the other parts of the house I’ve seen, I never would have guessed there had been any issues at all.”
A ruddy blush overtook Mrs. Penn’s face, and she gave a pleasant grin. “I’m pleased you find the accommodations to your liking. My daughter sewed those curtains herself—I’ll be sure to tell her you admired them.”
“Please do. They’re beautiful.”
And they were sufficiently thick to keep the sun’s light from her eyes—Candace planned on spending a lot of time moping in this bedroom .
“There are some issues that could use the help of a lady of taste, however. Your brother isn’t as quick with his replies as he used to be.
” Mrs. Penn rushed to add, “No aspersions meant, my lady—I’m sure he has far more important things to deal with than to decide which color silk to order for wall coverings in the drawing room. I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all.” Candace waved an ivory hand. “If it’s a simple matter of decorating, please bring all issues to me.”
She would relish the distraction such decisions would provide. Perhaps she’d really dig into the house, become one of those elegant grand dames of interior decoration. She sighed, thinking of the effort that would take.
“Thank you, my lady. I’ll have the water brought up for baths at once.” Mrs. Penn bobbed a curtsy and departed, leaving her in silence.
There had been little to do but think on the journey.
Though Vera was relentlessly, almost maniacally, cheerful, and Hortense willing to be drawn into conversation when the need arose, Candace had fallen into long spans of introspection broken only when an impressive rock formation or particularly large tree arrived on the landscape.
But inevitably, when whatever had stirred their interest was left in the damp along with the tread behind the carriage, Candace was left to her thoughts once more.
She could easily see where she’d gone wrong.
It was a simple matter to deduce, a plain fork in the road on her life’s journey.
She never should have allowed herself to be led into the gardens.
It was the first rule of society—an immutable, unbreakable rule—that no single young lady should be alone in the company of a male who was not a relative.
Certainly, a young lady should never allow a man to kiss her.
Candace had gone left when she should have gone right, and all that came after was a natural consequence of a single, devastatingly stupid choice.
She only hoped she’d now be able to salvage some of her life.
She didn’t want that stupid, champagne-tinged decision to be the defining characteristic of her many remaining years.
She’d never loved Shelbourne. Instead, in her desperation to have what she saw in others’ relationships, she’d pretended. And no matter how good one was at pretending, it was never the same as the real thing.
Candace looked out the window, ignoring the sudden moisture along her bottom lashes. She had done an excellent job keeping herself together; Candace didn’t want to break down now, not when she’d just arrived.
Lawn rolled like a verdant carpet out from the small rise the house sat on.
In the far distance, a creek wound lazily through a pasture.
Past that, a stand of trees dominated the horizon in shades of brown and green.
In the distance, beyond the trees, she was just able to see a sliver of silver—part of a pond or a lake.
It was quite pretty, in its own way, but exceedingly plain.
Candace hadn’t known what she’d been expecting, but an unbroken swath of open land that began at the back door and ran toward the horizon wasn’t it.
She had visited many a country house over the course of her twenty years, and all of them had decoration of some sort.
Still, she didn’t think that the landscape lent itself to formal gardens—it wouldn’t fit the house. But something was missing. Perhaps something that would accentuate the natural rugged beauty, the whole huge scale of it...
“My lady, are you quite all right?” Hortense asked.
Candace broke from her thoughts and turned from the window. “Of course. Just a little tired.”
“I’ll add lavender to your bath so you can rest before supper.”
“Please see to Vera, too. I can’t imagine why her mother sent her without a lady’s maid, but I’m afraid that duty will fall to you as well.”
“Miss Ashbury makes so little fuss that I’ll be lucky if I can do a quarter of the things for her that I do for you.”
Candace chuckled. She might have been offended at the insinuation that she was high maintenance, but she was, in her own way. She and Hortense had long ago come to an understanding, and Hortense had higher standards than even Candace herself.
“Have you eaten?” Candace asked.
Hortense glanced up from draping one of Candace’s many gowns on a hanger. “Yes, my lady. Mrs. Penn wouldn’t hear of me helping until she’d fed me and I rested my feet for a while. She seems like a good sort. Her kitchen is spotless and all her staff seem to respect her.”
“That bodes well for comfort during our stay.”
“How long might we be staying, my lady?” Hortense asked the question carefully—the same way one might pick their way across an ice-slicked sidewalk.
Candace frowned. “I’m sorry, Hortense. I should have discussed the matter with you more before dragging you out here in such a fashion.
I’m not sure how long we’ll be in Devon—long enough for the furor in London to die down.
Was there...is there something in particular you’ll miss in London while we’re gone? ”
“Not at all, my lady.” She seemed to be telling the truth—her shoulders had relaxed at Candace’s words.
“I enjoy country life very much. The air is cleaner, the people more honest. And I won’t have to stifle the urge to thwack at Miss Knope’s ankles with a parasol whenever she’s cruel to you. Forgive me for saying so, my lady.”
Candace grinned. “No forgiveness needed.”
Later, Candace sunk to her chin in the copper bathing tub, steam drifting lazily from the water, the scent of lavender and chamomile wafting pleasantly in the small, windowless bathing chamber.
Despite the warm welcome of the day, despite the pleasant surprise of finding the estate much more comfortable and in far better repair than she could have hoped, Candace pressed her lips together to keep her chin from trembling.
The truth of the matter was, she’d been thrown over. Not technically , as she had been the one to formally end the engagement, but Shelbourne had left her no choice, and he’d done it so publicly.
Would you have ended it if he hadn’t embarrassed you publicly? a small voice inside prodded. Or would you have endured a thousand times more humiliation as long as no one else knew about it?
What a disturbing question—one she didn’t want to ponder too closely. The fact was, Shelbourne had embarrassed her, and done so flagrantly. Her demure announcement in the paper had been a forgone conclusion after that. He was the one who’d instigated it, forced her hand.
Still, below the roiling embarrassment and shame that she could barely untangle was a deep, echoing relief . At least it was done. At least their engagement was over. James was right—her broken engagement was a sharp disappointment, the equivalent of stepping on an upturned tack with bare feet.
But if she’d married Shelbourne...that would have been an incurable, lifelong disease that would have rotted her bones. She shuddered, sending circular ripples out from where her knees peeped above the water line. She would have spent the next years wishing for death—hers or Shelbourne’s.
The irony was that she’d only entered into the betrothal in order to avoid scandal. And the only way out of it had been a much more public one.
Candace huffed a laugh that sent tendrils of steam swirling atop the water. It was the most hilarious punchline. Or it would have been, if it had not been at her expense.
If only time were as simple as winding thread back onto a spool; if only she could go back to those moments in the garden. Or no...if only she could go back to before those moments and stay primly at the edge of the ballroom as she should have.
It was too late for regrets, however.
Or perhaps that was the definition of regret: too late.
Candace put a firm hand to the rudder of her mind and did her best to steer it in a new direction. What came next? She thought of the baroness, of this house, of what James had said with conviction in his deep voice.
I have no doubt that your very best days are ahead of you.
If only she could believe that, too.