Page 26 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
F rom the Quentin Daily-
The baron’s mad bride! Reports are coming in from the countryside of a concerning nature regarding a specific baron who hasn’t been seen in society in many years.
The mystery has been solved! Though some close to him and his wife claim that they just prefer the quiet nature of country living, we’ve discovered the truth!
The baroness is afflicted with Moon Madness, and has to be locked away in the attic every full moon lest she claw at furniture and servant alike!
At quarter to one o’clock, the carriage bumped to a gentle stop in the circular drive of the baroness’s house.
The feather on Candace’s sea-green hat bobbed with the motion.
She wore a dress in the same color silk satin, the jacket trimmed with a tight pleated grosgrain ribbon a few shades darker.
Her gloves were the softest kid leather, dyed to match the ensemble. Deep-grey pearls adorned her earlobes.
Vera hadn’t fared so well in her toilette.
Though Hortense had arranged her hair beautifully, her dress was a distraction.
Candace had spent the entire trip to the baroness’s manor trying to think of the best way to describe such a color of orange, ultimately deciding it was the color of a rotten persimmon.
Candace longed to lean over and prod the shoulders. It appeared as if padding had been added to give the impression of weight, making Vera’s neck appear much shorter than it truly was. The matching hat—which resembled a deflated souffle—only added to the ills of the ensemble.
Candace frowned out the window at the grand house and thought of the letter she’d sent the first day they’d arrived in Devon.
“It’s a lovely house, isn’t it?” Vera said.
Candace winced inwardly at her criticism of her friend’s dress. “Very beautiful.”
The house was white with a symmetrical facade interspersed with intricate wood trimming at the eaves that made it resemble a large gingerbread house.
Before they’d fully exited the carriage, the glossy black front door was thrown open.
“Welcome!” the baroness shouted, hurrying down the front steps.
She wore a set of trim navy trousers topped with a voluminous matching coat.
Candace supposed that such a garment could be passed off as a dress if the baroness walked more slowly.
However, that never seemed to be the case with the woman—she was down the front steps in what felt like an instant, clutching Candace’s hands warmly in her own.
“I’m glad you ladies came. Come in.” She charged back up the steps.
Candace blinked at Vera, who grinned before hurrying after the baroness.
Bertforth House wasn’t at all what Candace had been expecting. If she were honest, she’d admit she thought the baroness’s home would be stark and uninviting, and very possibly full of dead animals mounted to the walls.
Instead, the front foyer was bright and lovely and clean, with polished wide-plank wood floors that stretched down a gracious hallway.
Classic wood paneling covered the bottom half of the walls, while the upper was a smooth ivory plaster.
Numerous oil paintings in gilt frames hung from the picture rail at the ceiling.
There seemed no rhyme or reason to the collection—here a landscape with a weeping willow next to a brook, there a portrait of a hunting hound. Still, the arrangement was charming.
A round black table rested in the center of the wide entryway, holding a collection of bleached clay pots, each with bright green shoots topped with sweet-smelling white blooms.
“My bulb collection,” the baroness explained when she saw Candace examining them. “When winter descends, I long for the flowers of spring. This is how I see myself through to the thaw.”
“They’re lovely.”
Candace gently nudged a small bloom with her knuckle. It was a tiny white bell that drooped from the green stem. Delicate and impactfully eye-catching—if the flowers had been atop a hat, she would have snatched it up at once.
“Lily of the valley, one of my favorites. How are your forced bulbs coming along? Any success?”
Candace winced. “There was an accident—the pot was knocked over.”
“A shame, but you should try again. Plants are very forgiving. Hortense,” Jacqueline said, nodding to a footman, “he’ll show you to the kitchens. I’ve instructed the housekeeper to make you a plate; you’ll be very welcome there.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“I believe luncheon is ready if we are.” She led them down the lovely hallway.
Tall sets of doors opened on either side of them, affording glimpses of comfortably furnished rooms as they passed.
“It will be a delight to have company. My eldest is the only one of my sons civilized enough to dine with you ladies, and he’s still out of the country—though, by the sounds of his last letter, he may finally be missing home. ”
The room the baroness led them to was a relatively small, circular space, ringed all the way around in floor-to-ceiling windows.
Perhaps some would have used it as a solarium; instead, there was a round table in the center, set with three places, and a small buffet pushed near the door that held a thickly frosted layer cake beneath a glass dome.
“Ah, wonderful, there’s a cake; I spy it upon the sideboard. I don’t boast in much, but my cook’s cakes are worth much household pride. ”
Once the three ladies were seated, napkins spread across their laps and food upon their plates, Vera asked, “Forgive me, Jacqueline, but you mentioned your eldest son is out of the country. Is he taking a tour?”
She fairly snorted. “If only. Grand tours have an end. Unfortunately, my Stephen suffers from a much more pernicious affliction than simple wanderlust. It’s honor that caused him to travel—he’s idealistic .”
“Oh?” Candace arched an eyebrow.
“My son has always had a fondness for healing. I thought he’d end up working with horses on our estate, but instead, he went and became a doctor—attended lectures for it and apprenticed with some of the best in London.
Then what did he do? Ran off to India to help the native populace.
” Jacqueline shook her head as if were the most confounding thing.
“Your eldest is a doctor?” Vera tilted her head.
“It is unusual,” Jacqueline answered the unspoken question.
“How long has he been abroad?”
“Six years, which is a bit excessive, even for my great patience. He believes in what he’s doing, though. And I believe in my son.”
Vera blinked rapidly. Candace frowned—was her friend fighting tears?
In order to distract the baroness from such a possibility, Candace quickly said, “How wonderfully supportive. Do you get letters from him often?”
“He writes me every Sunday night, but of course I get bundles of letters at a time.” She frowned. “It’s been a while since I received a letter, though his last set hinted he may return to England with a new baroness in tow.”
“Congratulations!” Candace said. “Do you know the lady?”
“Judging by previous letters, she’s the daughter of a captain recently arrived in port.”
“Ah.” Candace smiled and nodded—her customary response when she didn’t quite know what to say. Then she added, “It’s very noble of him to want to help those in need in India.”
“Noble. And idiotic. Strange fevers run rampant down there, you know. He could have had a very comfortable existence here. Instead, he chose that . I cannot blame anyone but myself, however. One cannot expect to live a life on their own terms and not have their children pick up some of their example. I couldn’t very well raise my sons to accept my flouting of the unnecessary expectations of society without expecting them to do some flouting of their own. ”
“Is he happy?”
“By the sounds of it, very. His betrothal seems like a good step in getting him back home—no lady I know would care to raise children in an apartment over a shipping office. Not when there are acres of space and a fine home with a nursery waiting right here.”
“Indeed.” Candace nodded. “Doubtless, they’ll be home shortly.”
“And what of your other sons, Baroness? Are they away at school?”
“My middle son is at Eton. My youngest is at home with me, though I fear he isn’t in a state to dine with such fine ladies as yourself.”
“Is he ill?” Candace blinked back her uncertainty. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“Not at all.” The baroness laughed. “He’s a stout, healthy boy.
It’s his age that is his affliction, nothing more.
He’d take one glance at your pristine silk dress and be drawn to smudge or smear it in some way.
Or he’d decide that your hat would make a fine balcony for one of the frogs he’s endlessly trying to smuggle into the house.
It’s as if cleanliness and order are a personal offence to boys at his age; they cannot stand to leave anything but disorder and grime in their wake. ”
“How old is he?” Vera smiled.
“Eight. The joy and bane of my existence. I shouldn’t have had him so late in life, perhaps, but then again, one cannot have a husband as handsome as my late Francis without expecting there to be consequences.”
Candace choked slightly on her sip of water; the baroness thunked her unhelpfully on the back.
“What a lovely room,” Vera supplied to head off the possibility of an awkward silence. “Such an incredible view.”
“Thank you; it’s one of my favorite spots in the house.
If I had a green thumb, I suppose I could fill it with citrus or rare flowers, as some do, but I prefer to bring my writing folio in here when I have letters of business to attend to.
The view of the property helps soothe my mind and soften my words to my stewards. ”
Candace said, “I beg your pardon, but does your eldest help with the management of the estate?”
“No pardon needed, and no. His great crusade to bring health to the masses of Calcutta prevents that. The poets say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but in some cases, distance is just distance.”