Page 36 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

F rom Gardens from Age to Age, A Compendium ? —

The joy of spring—what can compare? Delicate green shoots emerge, like searching fingers, from soft soil. Birds twitter their happiness to one another beneath the unfurling green leaves. All of nature wakes from winter rest—the world is new once more!

It was still raining the next afternoon.

Candace sat at the desk in the study and sketched a diagram of formal gardens.

Her ideas were like a cool breeze blowing across her mind.

Instead of the stagnant air of rumination and regret, imagination of what the garden could look like in a year, in two years, pattered like the fresh spring rain outside.

The kitchen garden was the only outside area at Devon Manor that hadn’t fallen into complete disrepair.

Not that Candace at all blamed Mrs. Penn for the general neglect of the grounds—Percy had been quite open about the mismanagement of the estate by his previous steward.

If anything, it was a testament to the housekeeper’s loyalty and ingenuity that anything had survived at all.

Still, just because the kitchen garden stood, didn’t mean it couldn’t be reworked to be more efficient and enjoyable.

Candace had yet to meet a person who didn’t appreciate beauty, and thought there was no reason the kitchen garden shouldn’t be nearly as elegant as the formal plantings next door.

She sketched her own design, borrowing from images in the books she’d found particularly pleasing.

When she finally stretched her back an hour later, she was happy with her design.

Her drawing consisted of a series of quatrefoil raised planter boxes, centered on the existing fruit trees.

Each would be surrounded by narrow gravel pathways, with two long benches.

The existing garden walls would be used to train espalier fruit trees.

Her sketch would improve the efficiency of the existing space, with many more fruits and vegetables available to the house.

She’d even played with the idea of adding a new glass hothouse to the underutilized end of the space. The spot was perfect for one, though she’d need to consult someone with more knowledge on the subject. Perhaps James would have advice on how to build one.

Once she labeled the planter boxes with what should be planted in each according to the suggestions in the books, she set the drawings aside for Mrs. Penn’s approval and started in on what she was truly excited to dream up—the design for the walled garden.

James's workmen had planted the entire front planter with the white tulips the previous morning, finishing just as the first raindrops splattered to the ground. She’d thanked James profusely.

Candace didn’t know why getting those bulbs into the earth meant so much to her, but even now, warmth spread in her chest at the thought of the favor he’d done.

He didn’t have to call his men—he didn’t have to solve that small problem for her—but he had. That small gesture meant more than he could imagine. Candace would have to be careful to guard herself against disappointment where he was concerned.

She frowned, remembering the earnest expression on his face as he’d leaned toward Vera in the breakfast room.

Candace had left them alone for only minutes—perhaps a quarter of an hour, at most—yet when she’d returned, they’d been engaged in deep conversation.

Candace longed to know what they’d been speaking of; both of them had looked up at her as if she’d interrupted something profound.

Yet when Candace had asked her about it later, Vera claimed not to remember the conversation at all. The way that Vera studiously avoided the subject only added to Candace’s belief that something meaningful had been said. If not an outright declaration on James's part, then at least a hint.

The thought of her friends finding something in each other that they’d never found anywhere else should have intrigued or even cheered her. All it did was fill her with an echoing melancholy—as if a long low note on a cello had sounded from the bottom of a well.

Candace knew it wasn’t right of her to feel that way.

Just because her hopes of a future were gone didn’t mean she should begrudge Vera experiencing that happiness.

Perhaps it was just too close in proximity to her, too soon.

Perhaps the idea of it wouldn’t grate so much if Vera had attracted the attention of someone other than James.

Candace wasn’t an idiot—at one point, she’d suspected that James might have his eye on her to fulfill the post his previous wife had vacated. But then she’d met Shelbourne, and her and James's relationship had changed into one of deep friendship instead.

Candace had always sworn it was enough. Even in those deep, dark, fearful moments when she believed Shelbourne would never return from Paris, when she’d wished with all her heart that she’d never laid eyes on the man—even then, she’d been grateful for James's friendship. And if there had been several hours where she cursed herself for ever thinking James might be a boring choice, one she’d looked over for the more exciting Shelbourne, well.

..that had been a hard lesson to learn, albeit an important one.

But now, time and James had moved on. And James had apparently moved on to Vera. Candace could hardly be blamed for wishing he’d moved on a little further from her general vicinity. She chewed her lip and stared out at the rain for long moments. Then she shook her head and chastised herself.

She had her books and her drawings and two thousand more bulbs to plant in the next month.

She had quite enough to be getting on with, without wondering what it was about Vera that had captivated James.

Candace supposed she’d find out eventually.

In the meantime, she tried to convince herself she was happy for them, but she couldn’t quite muster the energy for it .

Instead, she wondered if Vera’s new wardrobe would only add speed to this disturbing turn of events. Candace frowned at herself then. She wanted nothing but good things for Vera, but heaven help her, she didn’t want her friend’s happiness enough for it to come at her own expense.

Candace told herself she wasn’t jealous .

She told herself that she didn’t want James—not in that way.

But if Candace were being honest, she didn’t believe herself, not even a little.

Lately, she’d felt something when he was near.

Every time his eyes landed on hers, it felt like there was something between them that was more than friendship.

Wishful thinking , she thought. And hardly fair to read the kindness of a friend as something more.

These past weeks, it had only been James and Vera keeping her from flying apart and scattering to the winds of despair.

Candace pressed her lips together and looked out the window at the bleak rain.

Perhaps that was how they’d found common ground—in supporting her.

Was she a terrible person for feeling a keening anguish at the thought?

It wasn’t that she thought Vera would never marry; half the reason Candace had purchased her friend new dresses was to assist in such an endeavor. Vera was beautiful, both inside and out, but it had been difficult to see past the horrible clothes.

Candace had long ago found that most people could not even see past a terrible set of draperies to the good bones of a room beneath. They could not envision a space with different paint, new wallhangings—it was past their ability to see the diamond for the rough.

Now, Vera was presented beautifully—just as Candace had seen her all along.

It was no stretch of the imagination that a man might glance over at her and internally exclaim “ Aha! ” It was precisely what Candace had hoped for.

In lieu of her own happiness, Candace had decided to take on Vera’s as a project.

But she hadn’t thought it would be James .

As far as suitors went, Vera could not have chosen one better.

James was kind, mature, and always followed through on his promises.

He was all that was noble and good—Candace had never heard so much as a rumor about him.

His character was as flawless as his dress.

So what if he was a bit older? It was only a span of perhaps ten years—happy matches had been made across much wider chasms than that.

And James was exceedingly handsome. Not conventionally, perhaps—he had stronger features than the cultured ideal—but he had thick dark hair, a pleasing face, and a warmth that came into his eyes when he smiled...

Candace sighed. Vera would make an excellent mother to Arthur, as well.

She was far more patient than Candace, and children often required patience.

Candace probably wouldn’t see James or Arthur half as much once James and Vera were married.

It wouldn’t be appropriate, and married couples never had as much free time as the unattached, or so it seemed.

The thought of losing the three of them in one fell swoop was nearly too much for her to bear. Candace pictured them laughing over one of Arthur’s puzzles before a fireplace. Before she knew it, tears dripped down her face and splattered on her sketch below .

“Oh, dear!” Vera said, from the doorway. “Candace, are you quite all right?”

She nodded and turned her face away to swipe her tears. “Quite.”

“No, you aren’t,” she murmured, at Candace’s side in a moment. She produced a beautifully embroidered handkerchief and pressed it into Candace’s hand. “I daresay I know why. I’m sure you’ll find that the sting of the loss grows fainter in time.”

For one head-swimming moment, Candace thought her friend spoke of James. His smile blinked into her mind’s eye, and she wanted to argue that she would never get over losing him.