Page 37 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

Vera plowed on, color high in her cheeks. “I swear, if Hortense hadn’t thwacked the man with her umbrella, I might travel back to London and attempt just such a feat. The way Shelbourne treated you was simply reprehensible. I hope he gets his come-uppance.”

Shelbourne . Candace shook her head slightly. Of course Vera spoke of Shelbourne, not of James. There was no loss where James was concerned...was there?

Vera fluffed then smoothed her lovely pinstripe morning gown in agitation. She reminded Candace of the small birds that gathered to puff and shiver in the birdbath in the sunshine.

She patted Candace on the shoulder. “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen you cry over that blackhearted swine. It’s good though—good for you to let it out.”

Candace frowned slightly. Had she really never cried over Shelbourne?

She racked her memory, searching. She had certainly felt like crying—many times.

She’d been humiliated, shocked, embarrassed, horrified, dismayed.

..but had she ever been sad ? For herself, perhaps, but not for the loss of Shelbourne.

She’d mourned her engagement ending, but not because it had ended with him .

Vera patted her shoulder again, taking Candace’s silence as her being too overwrought to speak.

In truth, Candace was struck dumb by her realization.

She cared more for the loss of James's companionship than she did for Shelbourne entirely. And she wouldn’t even be losing all of him.

His eventual marriage to Vera simply meant that she would be his priority instead of Candace.

“I’m quite all right,” she managed to say, thrusting her thoughts away for further contemplation when she was alone. “I think it’s the weather—I always get a bit melancholy when it rains.”

“I suffer from the same affliction. You have no idea how dreary mother’s morning salon can be when rain slides against the glass. No one ever seems to visit when it rains…”

As if in response to her words, Benson appeared at the archway. “My lady, His Grace the Duke of Canterbury is here to visit. He specifically asked me to inform Miss Vera that his son and his dog have joined him.”

Candace looked to Vera for her reaction. Her friend straightened her shoulders and nodded her assent.

Only then did Candace say, “Of course, send them in.”

She blotted her face in earnest and pinched her cheeks.

“You look quite well,” Vera murmured, answering Candace’s unspoken question. “One would never be able to tell you were just crying. Your eyes look luminous, not red at all.”

She nodded her thanks, but there was no time to verbalize one as James, Arthur, and Seamus walked through the door.

“Good morning, ladies,” James said. He winced and nodded at the dog. “Apologies for bringing Seamus, but we went for a ride to get out of the house, and Seamus chews the upholstery if we leave him in the carriage.”

“He’s not a bad dog,” Arthur was quick to interject. “He just doesn’t like the thunder. He never chews anything unless he’s left alone, I promise.”

James nodded. “That, at least, is the truth.”

As if to prove how excellently behaved he was, Seamus huffed and flopped to the floor, half on top of James's boots. James rolled his eyes.

“Hello, Seamus,” Vera said cautiously.

She approached the dog slowly, watching him, while the others watched her instead. When she was about two feet away from the dog, he cracked open one eye, took Vera’s measure, then rolled slightly to the side and lifted his paw in invitation.

Vera smiled and squatted down, rubbing the dog’s belly. “You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Seamus huffed his agreement, and Vera laughed as she stood. James gave her an encouraging smile.

“We’re delighted you came,” Candace said. “Vera and I were just talking about how boring the rain can be.”

“Yes.” Arthur sighed and sprawled on the leather sofa. “I’ve done all my puzzles, and I’ve only been able to visit the stables three times. ”

“Three times this morning,” James muttered.

Candace grinned at him.

“Then there’s nothing for it,” Vera said. “We will have to play a game that my brothers dearly loved when they were your age. With four of us, there are barely enough players, but perhaps we can round up some of the staff to join us.”

At this proclamation, Benson, who’d been standing at the wall, looked vaguely alarmed.

“What’s the game?” Arthur leaned forward with an eager smile.

“Hide and go seek.”

The young boy whooped with joy. Seamus stood and crossed over to him, tail wagging.

James shook his head, though he smiled. “Now you’ve done it, Vera. You cannot take such a suggestion back.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Candace agreed. “I’ll go and see which of the staff would like to play. Vera, Arthur, you must hammer out the rules between the two of you and be prepared to present them upon my return.”

Several minutes later, a respectable gathering of staff had joined them in the parlor.

When she’d entered the kitchen, Candace had been delighted to find Thomas sitting at the table across from Hortense.

He had readily accepted Candace’s invitation, flicking a wink at Hortense when he thought no one else was looking.

In addition to Hortense and Thomas, they’d been joined by two floor maids, the entire kitchen staff, the stable boy, the footmen from London, and Mrs. Penn herself. Vera announced the rules, color high on her cheeks as she cast her voice loud enough to be heard over the low murmur of voices.

“The seeker shall stand in the main hall and count to sixty at a loud volume. No fast counting, and no peeking. The others shall hide as best as they can.”

“If I might add, Miss Vera?” Mrs. Penn asked, her eyebrow raised.

At Vera’s nod, she announced, “No entering bedrooms—common rooms only. No servants’ quarters.

And if you find dust in a hiding spot, you must remember where so you can report it to me afterward.

” There was a murmur of laughter as Mrs. Penn gave a pert nod to punctuate the end of her instructions.

“Very sound, indeed,” Vera said.

“How will we decide who is the seeker first?” Candace asked.

James sketched a faint bow. “I thought it only fair that I go first.”

“Well, everyone to the main hall, then.”

An excited hum ran across the grouping as they crowded into the entryway. Every now and then, patchy laughter broke out. Somehow, Candace had ended up with her shoulder pressed against James's arm.

He bent toward her and murmured, “I hope you know that, though I will catch the first person I come across, there are a few I will be looking for specifically.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh?”

He nodded. “I think it only fair that the lady of the house be seeker at least once.”

A shiver of excitement trilled up her spine. “We shall see.”

“We shall, indeed.”

The last was spoken so closely that his breath gusted over the shell of her ear, and Candace blinked rapidly.

She’d never felt faint before, but she wondered if that was the feeling she experienced now.

She told herself it made no sense—she’d had a stout breakfast; her stays weren’t that tight; and it was perfectly comfortable in the foyer…

He turned from her dazed expression. “I’m starting! One. Two. Three...”

There were several squeals of excitement and a thundering upon on the stairs as a herd broke off from the grouping and headed up. Candace jerked in surprise as a small hand wormed its way into hers. Though he’d been ecstatic at the prospect of the game, Arthur now wore wide eyes and a white face.

Candace held her finger to her lips and tugged him out of the entry, back the way they’d come. They were the last in the hall, and James was already rounding the number ten and plunging into eleven. Seamus plodded along behind them, tongue out, his breathing inconveniently loud.

“Where should we go?” Arthur hissed.

Candace shushed him and took stock of the room. Large, but too open. Perhaps Arthur could fit beneath a sofa, but Seamus would just sit at his side, out for anyone to see. She ran through to the next room on slippered feet, tugging the boy alongside.

This room held some promise. Wooden benches, glass gun cases, and large closets for storage.

A country sitting room with a large fireplace cheerfully throwing heat—the perfect place for a group of hunters to tug off their muddy boots and wet coats before heading further into the house.

Candace flung open a closet door and was met with a wall of hanging fabric that smelled of cedar.

The entire closet was lined with it, from the scent of things.

“Quickly, in here.” She pushed Arthur before her into the closet.

To her surprise, Seamus willingly followed them into the darkness, which turned inky black the moment Candace snapped the door closed behind them.

“Candace?” Arthur’s whisper rode a note of fear.

“I’m right here. Let’s move to the back, if we can.”

They stooped and struggled their way through the coats and blankets, rough wool abrading Candace’s face as they went.

The closet spanned half the length of the room.

They wrestled their way to the very end, Seamus panting humidly along beside them.

Candace thought wryly that it was harder for her to move past the thick fabric than it was for the boy or the dog—they were both lower to the ground.

When they reached the cedar wall, they sat in silence for a few moments, save for Seamus’s huffing.

“Does he always sound like that?” Candace whispered, keeping her voice barely above a breath.

“It’s worse when he sleeps.” Arthur hissed. “He snores worse than Father.”

“Your papa snores?”

Unbidden, an image of James relaxed in sleep popped into her mind. Candace had always thought of snoring as distasteful—something smelly old men did. But when she applied the possibility to James, she found her opinion softened by affection.