Page 22 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
“James? Arthur?” Candace inquired with an arched eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”
James stopped tugging at the dog, who barely seemed to notice his efforts. “Very sorry for the disruption, Candace, Vera. I told Arthur to keep him outside. Now I can’t get him to budge.”
“He’s scared,” the small boy insisted. “He always lies down when he’s scared.”
Candace appraised the large beast. He was the same approximate size as a young heifer, with the same thick body and long legs. His coat was predominantly a soft, camel-colored fawn, while his ears and face were a dark brown.
Despite the boy’s words, she didn’t think the dog appeared frightened; he looked as if he were preparing for a nap. He lowered his massive head to his huge paws and closed his eyes. James looked toward the ceiling and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. Arthur and I were passing by and thought to invite you ladies for a stroll.”
“And who is this?” Candace squatted by the large dog and began stroking his head. The beast opened one eye, examined her, then closed it again with a sigh of contentment.
“This is Seamus. He belongs to Arthur but obeys only when it suits his own pleasure.”
“He’s beautiful,” she gushed, burying her hands into Seamus’s soft fur.
The dog gave a grunt as if in approval of her assessment, then flopped to his side, lifting his paw to give her access to his belly.
Candace grinned and complied with his silent request, working her fingers vigorously into the soft patch of white fur there.
She glanced up and stilled at James’s expression.
He wasn’t smiling, but there was something soft at the corners of his eyes.
Candace smiled and stood, dusting the proliferation of dog hair from her skirts. “I love dogs. Mother would sneeze frightfully whenever they came close, so we never had one growing up.”
“There are many days that I regret giving in to my son’s request for one,” he said, his tone droll. Whatever expression had been there a moment earlier was gone. He shook his head. “I’m very sorry about the vase. Of course I’ll replace it at my earliest opportunity.”
“It was an old flower pot, James. The only reason it was near the window was because Vera and I were trying to force some bulbs. Do you know my brother had several crates of the things sent from London before his wedding? With no instruction to the staff as to what was to be done with them. I don’t even think this place has a gardener. ” She turned to Mrs. Penn. “Does it?”
“Not as such, my lady.” Mrs. Penn got to her feet, one hand clutching her outstretched apron. “We’ll have this cleaned in moments; don’t fret yourselves about it. The pot was obviously placed in a bad spot; my apologies, my lord.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Penn. It is I who must apologize. This beast could tear up an anvil without even trying.”
“He seems as docile as a lamb, my lord, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Mrs. Penn turned to Candace, and Vera, who was awkwardly pressed up against the paneling. “We’ll be back in a trice. Mind your slippers around the broken pottery, my ladies.”
Candace studied Vera. Her face was pale, her rounded eyes clasped on the giant form of Seamus, who’d just started to gently snore. She looked at him as if she feared any moment he might lunge forward and snap at her.
Vera doesn’t like dogs. No—more than that—she’s deathly afraid of them , Candace thought.
James seemed to have reached the same conclusion at the same time, for he redoubled his efforts at getting the dog out of the house, dropping the leash and grabbing Seamus’s thick leather collar instead.
For his part, Seamus grandly ignored him until James had slid his body across the stones to the very threshold.
Only then did the beast lumber to his feet with a disgruntled sigh and trudge out the door, the leather leash trailing in his wake .
“Arthur, make sure he doesn’t run off or bother the horses in the stable.”
“He doesn’t run anywhere, Father.” But the boy ducked out into the sunshine to watch his charge. He popped his head back in at the last moment, his serious gaze aimed at Candace. “I’m very sorry. For the pot, I mean.”
Candace smiled. “It was an honest accident. No harm done.”
“Easy to say when we’re not the ones cleaning it up,” James grumbled.
She smiled at him and shut the front door, sensing that Vera needed a barrier between her and Seamus if she was ever going to take a full breath again.
Vera’s eyes flicked to hers in naked gratitude.
Candace decided the best route to take at the moment was to ignore her friend’s reaction.
Fear was bad enough without piling embarrassment on top of it—they’d discuss it later if Vera liked.
Candace turned to James. “Mrs. Penn and her staff are more than obliging. I believe they mean what they say—that they’re happy we’re here. It livens up the house.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment.” His expression slid into the territory of enigmatic once more—she couldn’t read him. “Would you ladies like to join Arthur and me for a walk?”
“You know how much I enjoy a long walk.” Candace glanced at Vera, who was still pressed to the wall as if the simple knowledge that the dog was on the grounds was enough to keep her frozen.
“But Vera just started a very compelling book about beekeeping, and I’m not sure we can tear her away from that. Or can we?”
“No.” Vera shook her head quickly. “I wish to read about the bees.”
She walked stiffly down the hall without another word; James and Candace watched her go.
“I hope you know that normally I wouldn’t mind in the least,” Candace murmured when her friend was at a safe distance. “But from now on, I fear I must insist that Seamus never make it indoors.”
He nodded grimly. “I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She flicked her hand through the air, still watching her friend’s retreating back. “If it weren’t for Vera, I’d be glad to let him roam the house. If he were my dog, I’d let him snuggle next to me on the sofa every evening before the fire.”
“Do you mean that?”
Candace blinked in surprise at the curiosity in his tone. “Of course. There’s nothing better than a dog at your side or beneath your feet on a cold evening. And Seamus is large enough to be quite the source of heat.”
“Indeed. The only danger is being buried beneath his affections.”
Candace laughed and led him out into the sunshine, snagging a straw hat from the hall tree on her way out the door.
Arthur and Seamus stood at the edge of the driveway, looking out over the fields beyond. A gentle breeze ruffled the new shoots while sunshine lit them emerald green from above. Now that they were all but alone, Candace remembered how she’d behaved the last time she and James had seen each other .
Heat crawled up her neck from beneath her crisp cotton collar. She cleared her throat. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior—” she started, right as he said, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Their words stumbled to a stop at the same time.
He smiled. “There’s no need to apologize, Candace.”
“Oh, but there is. My actions were not those of a lady.”
“Of course they were. They were the actions of a lady in the midst of a deep disappointment. Trust me, Candace—if you could have seen me those first months after my wife passed…” He shook his head. “I look back on those days with no small amount of shame.”
He started down the lane as if to leave the topic behind; Candace jolted into motion to stay at his side.
“That’s different, though,” she insisted. “You were mourning a death.”
“And you aren’t? In some ways, it’s perhaps very similar—mourning the future you thought you’d have, realizing things will be far different than you hoped.”
“But I didn’t lose a person.”
He arched his eyebrow but remained silent.
“I didn’t . I only thought I had at first. But Shelbourne was never mine. I never had him, not in any way that matters.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say in response to that, so they walked along in silence for some moments. Suddenly, she wanted to know more of his thoughts on the matter.
She blurted, “Do you feel as I do, that perhaps happiness has passed you by?”
He looked at her, a wrinkle between his brows. “Is that what you think? That your engagement to Shelbourne was your one chance at happiness?”
She shrugged and pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders, suddenly cold, though it was a mild, sunny day.
“I don’t think life works that way, Candace. I don’t think we only get one chance at happiness in a lifetime.”
“No?”
His words lifted something within her, something that felt a lot like hope.
“Look around. There are new chances for happiness every day. They’re all around us.”
She thought about it as they walked down the lane.
On a day like today, with the sun dappling her shoulders and Seamus and Arthur running up and down the berm ahead of them, she could almost believe it.
Perhaps it wouldn’t look like what she’d thought, but there was still good in the world, and much of it very close to her.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “I think I’ll try and borrow some of your optimism until mine returns.”
“That’s precisely what good friends are for. Have you given any more consideration to your plans?”
Candace hunched her shoulders and looked out over the sprawling pasture.
In the distance, the grass conceded part of its territory to large boulders, and beyond that, trees dominated the horizon.
A place of wild, unrefined beauty, it reminded her much of Vera—so much raw potential, just waiting for the right hand to foster it.
“Everyone keeps asking me that, but I don’t yet have an answer.”
“That’s an answer in itself, for now.” He smiled down at her, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. “You can figure things out as you go. We all know that planning only goes so far.”