Page 35 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
Astute of her. Vera may be right—he’d thought much the same himself. But he didn’t know how to agree or add to the conversation without betraying the loyalty he felt toward Candace, or the tender feelings he nurtured in that area.
Not that Vera didn’t already know how he felt—she’d told him as much, in this very conversation. Still, suspecting was one thing; confirmation was another thing altogether.
She nodded at his discreet silence and continued. “For my part, I’ve had time to truly consider what I would like, what would make me happy. I’ve made a concentrated study of myself and of the options available.”
“What have you discerned?”
“I’ve decided that being a wallflower is far preferable to being engaged to a man such as Shelbourne, for one.”
He frowned and nodded.
“And I’ve decided that if this is all there is for me, that’s enough.
How can I possibly complain? I’ve long enjoyed pleasures denied to so many—the security of a noble birth, the protection and care of my parents, close friendship with Candace.
Even now, I’ve been afforded travel to Devon, a place I never thought to visit previously. ”
“Very few think of visiting Devon,” he quipped.
“I don’t know why; it’s quite beautiful. Rocks and crags and rugged coastline, wide pastures and forests.”
“If you wrote such a description for The Times , the countryside would be inundated with visitors.”
“Perhaps.”
“What about after? What comes next for you, Vera?”
“After? ”
“After Candace decides what she’ll do next,” he said, carefully.
“I haven’t let myself think that far ahead, I suppose. I expect I’ll return to London.” Her tone was light, but she nibbled her lip and glanced out the window.
James’s eyes narrowed on the motion. “I’m sure that you will always have a home with Candace if you desire it. She would never ask you to leave her.”
“Such decisions may not always be up to Candace, though. If... when she marries, that decision will be left to her husband.”
He nodded and considered his words carefully before he spoke. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t believe that Candace should ever ask you to leave. You are a true friend to her. Her future husband would be a fool not to welcome you into his household, should you wish a place there.”
For a moment, her green eyes became crystalline clear with moisture. A blink, and the tears and the moment were gone.
“That’s very kind of you. That’s very charitable .” Her mouth twisted around the word as if it were a difficult one for her to pronounce.
James leaned forward, his eyebrows lowered. “It isn’t charity, I assure?—”
Candace appeared in the doorway and James halted. He didn’t know why he thought as much, but he suspected that Vera didn’t want her friend overhearing their conversation on the subject.
Perhaps he would have been better off finishing his thought, since Candace’s eyes narrowed slightly when he bit off his sentence. She examined him, then slid her gaze over to Vera, who was brushing her skirts with a trembling hand, an altogether unconvincing study of nonchalance.
“Have I interrupted?” Candace half turned toward the door as if to leave.
“Not in the slightest.” Vera shot to her feet and gave a tremulous smile. “I’ll just go and see what’s keeping Mrs. Davis with breakfast.”
Vera’s excuse might have been read as genuine, had the footmen not appeared in the archway that moment with their trays. Vera didn’t so much as nod at them as she sailed past them into the hallway.
Candace watched her go. Her frown deepened and she turned toward James with an air of inquisition—her back straight, her lips pursed. As if he were the reason for Vera’s discomfort and must be held to account.
James waited until the footmen arranged the dishes and departed before offering, “Vera doesn’t believe she’s deserving of good things.”
Candace jerked a stiff nod, as if he’d confirmed something she was thinking. “So I’ve noticed.”
He looked toward the hallway, half expecting Vera to reappear. “I don’t understand why she’s convinced her life is over at four and twenty.”
“It isn’t her fault,” she remarked over the edge of her delicate teacup. “Her mother has cloistered her away.”
“Selfish of her. Vera would make an excellent match for the right man.”
Candace gave a little cough and a flush bloomed across her cheeks. “A gentleman could do no better than Vera, to be sure. ”
James studied Candace while she studied her teacup.
Her lovely mouth was twisted in a little moue of displeasure that might have been indiscernible to him if he’d not had the benefit of several years’ study.
Her shoulders were slightly stiff in that way they were when she’d braced herself against a particular topic.
His eyes narrowed. It couldn’t be...was she jealous ?
The thought cheered him; he contained the smile that threatened to spread across his face like spilled honey.
He shouldn’t be too encouraged at the idea—for all he knew, she was jealous of the idea of her friend being inducted into the married state, nothing more. He certainly shouldn’t jump to the far-flung conclusion that her ire had anything in particular to do with him .
Still, he couldn’t help prodding at the possibility.
“I’m surprised that a man hasn’t ever seen past those dreadful frocks she wore,” he added. “Though perhaps it’s easier to spy the diamond in the rough when said diamond isn’t packed into a ballroom with other glittering gemstones.”
Candace nodded. “It isn’t her taste that was the issue, I can assure you. Lady Ashbury is to blame for the cacophony of fabrics she wore.”
“I assume you are to credit with her recent transformation.”
“I simply wrote to Madame Aubert.”
“It’s a kind thing you’ve done for your friend.”
“Nothing compared to the kindness she’s shown me.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I meant it when I said that no man could do better in choosing a wife than Vera. She’s all that is kind and good. Very few thoughts for herself, and never at the expense of anyone surrounding her.”
He nodded gravely, hiding his internal grin.
This, he supposed, was Candace doing her best to be selfless.
He couldn’t tell if it was Vera’s imaginary betrothal or the idea of such a betrothal to him that was the issue, but Candace had set aside her own desires on the matter as a whole and was advocating for her friend’s happiness.
“I’ve seen similar traits in her. I’m sure that an intelligent man couldn’t help but discern the same. Your Madame Aubert only serves to illuminate what’s always been clear.”
She nodded, her smile perfect in every way, save for it being a bit watered down.
“In all this talk of Vera’s future, I almost forgot the real reason for my visit.”
He stood and placed the stack of books onto the table between her orange juice and the platter of steaming scrambled eggs.
When she smiled up at him once more, he was glad to see it appeared genuine. “What’s this?”
“A contribution to your project.”
James wondered how the progress of his other contribution was doing—whether the note he’d sent had been received at his home.
Candace opened the cover of the first book with unfettered enthusiasm, her simple joy reminding him of Arthur on Christmas morning.
“The books on gardening and design,” he said redundantly. “As promised. ”
“How wonderful.” She flipped through several pages. “Thank you, James. These will be a wonderful reference.”
“Have you started sketching at all?”
She shook her head and frowned at the window. On the horizon, dark clouds loomed. “I was focused on getting the bulbs in the ground as soon as possible. Alas, it seems that’s impossible.”
“I think the small red book has information on bulb planting depth.”
She flipped through the pages, found the index, and paged back. “Only six or seven inches. The hole I’d started was far too deep.”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, some men have arrived.”
Candace tilted her head, looking at him.
James stood. “Come outside for a moment, Candace.”
In the driveway, half a dozen men stood with shovels and picks at the back of a wagon. A stable boy was unhitching the horses, undoubtedly bringing them inside the stables for water.
“Your Grace.” The nearest man yanked his cap in deference and grinned. “We got your note. Never heard of a gardening emergency. Where is it?”
Candace stared at the men with wide eyes, then up at James in wonder.
“The front planter box. There are about a thousand tulip bulbs to plant before this rain.”
The man frowned, nodded. “Anything in the planter you aim to keep?”
James turned to Candace, who shook her head.
“Very well, Your Grace. Where are these bulbs?”
“The shed out back.”
The man got his workers digging, and Candace showed James and the foreman the crates of bulbs in the shed.
“Not a problem, Your Grace, my lady. Leave it to us.”
Candace nodded as if bewildered, then she and James stood a ways back and watched as the men’s shovels turned over the soil efficiently.
“They make it look so easy,” she murmured.
“It’s much easier to a practiced hand than it was for you, that’s certain.”
She faced him, frowning. “Why would you do this?”
“To help, of course. I applaud your idea to see the garden restored. Or perhaps that isn’t the word for it. After all, I’m not sure the grounds have ever had much attention.”
She tilted her head, considering the facade of the house. “I don’t suppose there’s much in the way of help we can offer them.”
“Let’s return to our breakfast, then.”