Page 27 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

“You’ve done an admirable job of it,” Candace said earnestly. “I wouldn’t know where to begin if I were tasked with keeping an estate running.”

“It’s not a position I ever thought I’d be in, to be sure. But that’s what life is—dealing with the loss of all the things we thought we’d have, and the things unexpectedly thrust upon us.”

“Indeed,” Candace said.

Though she spoke to the baroness, her eyes narrowed on Vera in concern. Her friend stared out one of the large windows, blinking rapidly as if trying to fend off tears once more.

Candace turned to Jacqueline and asked, “What is the most challenging issue in handling your estate, Baroness? That is, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jacqueline had a knowing lilt to her lips, as if she knew Candace had asked the question to draw attention from Vera.

She nodded her head in something like approval. “Indeed. It was difficult to handle the grief over the loss of my husband, while raising my younger sons and learning how to manage the stewards.”

“The stewards? Do you mean the estate?”

She laughed—a rich, hearty sound. “Make no mistake, Candace. The people are always the most difficult part of any scenario.”

Candace frowned with a sudden thought. “The late baron passed six years ago? ”

The baroness nodded. “Next June will be seven.”

“And your eldest has been in India six years?”

“We all have different ways of processing grief. Speaking of, Candace—how are you doing?”

If Jacqueline had been a gossip or if she thought the woman meant to pry, Candace wouldn’t have answered so honestly, but she found herself saying, “Better than I expected, to be honest.”

“The country has that effect. Troubles that seem so large in the city often diminish with the wide room of the countryside as a backdrop.”

“I think it was all for the best. Perhaps I’ll remain unattached forever; perhaps that’s the way it should be. After all, there are many unmarried ladies who seem perfectly content. You’re an excellent example—living a life of your choosing, enjoying country pursuits.”

“You forget I’m a widow,” Jacqueline said kindly. “I’m making the best of the role, to be sure, but being unattached was never my design.”

“Forgive me,” Candace rushed to say, mortified. “That was a thoughtless comment.”

“No apology needed, my dear. I only bring it up to point out that my marriage was a happy one, and if I had the choice, I would still be married.”

“Of course. Again, I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” The baroness waved her concern away with a hand. “To be clear, if your aspirations had always been to remain unattached, you would find no greater supporter of such a plan than myself. But why would you change your desire to be married simply because you ran into an awful cad?”

Candace didn’t have a good answer for the question. She looked to Vera for help but found her friend staring out the window, seemingly deep in thought.

Jacqueline continued, “Not everyone is meant for marriage. There’s no tragedy in that, though some treat a single lady as they would a leper, as if her condition were catching. But if you aspire to a happy marriage, there’s no use in claiming you wish to remain unattached.”

“I suppose not.”

“I’d advise you not to close any doors on your future. Try to enjoy exactly where you are, while you’re there.”

A brief scrabbling came from the doorway; Candace yelped as a streak of russet darted under the table.

“It’s all right,” Jacqueline said. “I’m sorry he alarmed you, but that’s just Clarence.”

“Clarence?” she dumbly repeated.

“He’s a fox.”

Candace pressed her lips together to keep herself from stupidly repeating the baroness’s words once more.

Instead, she leaned over to peer at the creature.

Once she’d recovered from the shock of it, she could see that it was, indeed, a fox.

He’d curled himself around Jacqueline’s legs, draping his tail over his paws.

He was a handsome little thing, with reddish-brown fur and intelligent eyes that stared back at Candace curiously.

“He’s adorable ,” Vera breathed.

Candace’s eyelashes fluttered with her surprise. Based on Vera’s reaction to Seamus, she would have guessed that her friend didn’t like animals, but she sat studying Clarence’s red fur with wonder-wide eyes.

“He agrees with your assessment, I’m afraid.” Jacqueline laughed down at the little creature, who was cleaning one paw demurely. “He’s quite vain. He loves to sit in front of the full-length mirror and stare at his own reflection.”

Candace didn’t know how to ask what she longed to know without sounding insufferably rude. She wanted to demand, Why is there a fox in your house? But if there was something she’d learned in her years, it was that people were funny about their pets.

Finally, she mustered up a winning smile and an innocent tone and delicately asked, “How long have you had Clarence?”

“Ever since he was a kit. A baby, that is. He was orphaned and injured and wouldn’t have lasted in the wild.”

Clarence slunk toward Vera, who was trying to entice him with a piece of cold ham. He took it delicately from her fingers and darted back beneath the tablecloth. Candace resisted the urge to squeal when his bushy tail brushed her skirts.

“I have a collection of them, you see.”

“Of foxes?” Candace asked, eyes wide.

“Wild animals who were injured or orphaned. Admittedly it’s a strange hobby, but it’s the only one I’ve found that I’m interested in.”

“When you say wild animals…” Candace trailed off, looking toward the entrance and imagining a boar trotting through the open doorway.

Vera clearly shared none of her concern—she held out another piece of ham, making little kissing noises as she tried to coax Clarence out from beneath the table once more.

“Nothing dangerous, mind you. The worst thing I ever had was a badger that shredded a sofa, but he was well enough to return to the hedgerow within a fortnight.”

“So you release them,” Candace said, relieved.

“The ones I can. A few of them, like Clarence, are too domesticated to stand a chance in the wild. It’s a risk of taking them in when they’re babies—they get too used to the creature comforts of a house.”

“Oh.”

Clarence’s little nose appeared from beneath the tablecloth, sniffing in Vera’s direction.

“If you’d like, I can introduce you to the rest of them.”

“Yes, please,” Vera said quickly, before Candace could think of a polite way to demur.

After thick slabs of delicious chocolate cake, the baroness led them to a locked room near the back of the house. She rapped several times, and a key turned from the inside. An elderly maid bobbed a curtsy.

“How are they today, Elda?”

“Very well, my lady. Though Sheldon is a bit put out over the lack of sunshine.”

“Take a break for half an hour. Go get something to eat.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

Jacqueline led Candace and Vera into a small sitting room. Contrary to Candace’s fears about creeping, crawling things, the room looked quite normal. A leather sofa sat facing the cozy fire burning in the stone fireplace. The stone floor was bare of any rugs but perfectly clean.

The only signal that this room was a bit different from any other sitting room in England was the row of wooden bins pushed against the far wall. They were tipped onto their sides, and each was full of wood shavings that perfumed the air with a cedar scent.

The baroness gave a little trilling whistle, and several piles of sawdust shivered. Candace tried not to gasp as a grey mole emerged from one of the boxes, giving a little shake to displace the wood trimmings still upon its back.

“That’s Jeremiah. He’s harmless, but he doesn’t like to be picked up, so we just let him trundle about. You’re welcome to have a seat if you’d be more comfortable, but keep an alert eye when you’re walking. I’m not quite sure where Sheldon is, and he blends into the stones a bit.”

Candace ached to ask what Sheldon was, but couldn’t form the question politely in her mind.

Very carefully, Candace and Vera picked their way over to the sofa, but just as Candace was about to take a seat, Vera cried, “Wait!”

Candace jerked back. “What is it?”

“That’s not a throw pillow.” She pointed at a grey tuft that Candace had mistaken for a bit of fabric.

“Oh, Sheldon, you little rascal.” Jacqueline picked up the animal, which unfurled itself to reveal a pinkish stomach and two sleepy eyes above a little face.

“It’s a hedgehog,” Vera breathed.

“Would you like to pet him?” the baroness offered. “I’ve had him since he was a wee lad. He’s never hurt a fly. Well, that’s not precisely true, as he does eat insects, but you understand my meaning.”

She handed the prickly little tuft off to Vera, who took the animal gingerly and began cooing at it. Unnerved by her near miss, Candace searched the sofa twice before sitting slowly upon it, and wished there were a footstool she could use to pull her feet off the floor.

“You don’t have any snakes, do you?”

“Of course not. I’m not fond of snakes myself.”

Thank goodness for small mercies, Candace thought.