Page 40 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

“I’m not sure yet.” She smoothed her skirts and avoided Candace’s eyes.

Candace smiled and stared out at the sodden landscape. Even if Hortense claimed not to know how she felt, Candace knew the signs of affection. High emotion and agitation often made their way onto the list, even though the poets never seemed to focus on those less pleasant feelings.

Montclare came into view around the bend.

Built by one of James's more ambitious ancestors, the stone structure was nearly as handsome as its master.

It was twice the size of Devon Manor, boasting grand wings that stretched to either side of the mammoth front doors, and banks of windows divided by innumerous mullions into small gleaming panes.

The carriage gave a tiny bump as it pulled onto the grand circular drive—cobblestoned, not gravelled, so the wheels ran more smoothly.

Large ornamental topiaries lined the way—largest where the road met the drive, then growing gradually smaller toward the front of the house so they didn’t obstruct the view.

From conversations they’d shared, Candace knew that James had recently added the most modern amenities to the house, as he’d done to his city home in London.

It was his view that country living should be just as hospitable as city dwelling.

She quite agreed. Now she leaned forward, curious to have a tour of the beautiful home.

As the carriage jostled gently to a stop, one of the front doors flung open. Arthur and Seamus bounded down the front steps, followed closely by a harried-looking governess, who quickly reined in the show of exuberance and herded them back inside.

Candace chuckled and leaned back from the window.

Hortense smiled. “Whomever the Duke of Canterbury marries will get not only him, but a wonderful young boy to raise as well, my lady.”

Candace clenched her jaw before she caught herself, thinking of Vera once more. She smoothed her face into a benign smile. “Indeed. She will be a very lucky lady.”

Hortense’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, but the carriage door opened first. She alighted and Candace followed.

A prim butler welcomed them at the door.

Candace glanced around the grand foyer for Arthur and Seamus; while their greeting would doubtless have been less proper, she enjoyed their sheer enthusiasm.

But the boy and the dog were nowhere to be seen or heard, so the governess must have been efficient indeed.

Candace handed over her cloak and leather gloves, then followed the butler down the wide hallway, taking in her surroundings.

The floor was comprised of large squares of marble fitted tightly at the seams. The walls were rich wood paneling in a simple, symmetrical design; the tall ceilings were coffered in the same wood.

Several large paintings hung from a brass picture rail at the ceiling.

Unlike Devon Manor’s charming mish-mash, these were all oil landscapes—many of them appeared as if they had been painted from vistas on this very property.

“Lady Candace Waldrey,” the butler announced from just inside one of the tall open archways.

Candace jolted from her momentary study of a painting of a weeping willow whose branches dusted the top of a creek. She stepped forward into a lovely sitting room; James stood from the tufted leather sofa.

He sketched a bow in their direction. “Welcome, Candace. We’re so glad you could join us. Aren’t we, Arthur?”

Arthur stood from the sofa facing James. His face was nearly pinched in its solemnity. “Yes, Father. Hello, Lady Candace. Very pleased to see you.” He gave a little bow.

Candace hid her smile. So the governess had deposited the boy with his father, who’d apparently given him a very strict lecture.

She nodded graciously. “Thank you for having me.”

“Please,” Arthur said, gesturing toward the sofa next to him. “Won’t you sit down?”

As soon as he said the words, the boy looked toward James, who gave a nod of approval.

“Why, thank you.”

This time, she was unable to hide a slight smile.

It amused her to be the object in the lesson.

She was easily charmed by the scene—it was rare to see a parent take such a hand in their child’s rearing.

It reminded her of the way her parents had raised her and her siblings—to the chagrin of some of their stodgier great-aunts and uncles.

Candace sat in the offered seat; only then did the men regain theirs. Once again, Arthur glanced; James nodded.

“How have you been spending your day so far, Arthur?” she asked.

He grinned, his affectation of propriety all but forgotten in an instant. “Seamus and I went down to the creek to see how fast it was running because of the rain.”

“That sounds very dangerous.”

“Father was with us and he wouldn’t let us get too close. He made me keep Seamus on his leash,” he grumbled.

“Parents are forever getting in the way of fun,” she said conspiratorially. Arthur’s eyes brightened and Candace continued. “Imagine how delightful it would have been if Seamus had been swept away to foreign lands!”

Arthur frowned.

Candace swiped her hand in the air as if picturing it. “Think of all the people he would have met. He could have learned a new language, tried exotic foods, had a new owner?—”

“No.” Arthur sat straight as if someone had jabbed him with a sharpened pencil. “He’s my dog. I don’t want him to leave.”

“Oh.” Candace wrinkled her brow and nodded as if considering. “I suppose the leash was a good idea, then.”

They sat for a moment while Arthur stared at his knees and contemplated this idea. James shot Candace a smile over his bent head, and she did her best to ignore the warmth in her stomach from his expression.

She glanced around the room to break eye contact. “Where is Seamus, anyway? Are you quite sure he isn’t swimming his way to France?”

“He’s in the sunroom. Mrs. Fitzgibbons says he shouldn’t be bounding about.” He sounded morose again.

James looked heavenward as if appealing for help. “You may go and get him, if you promise not to let him brush against Lady Candace’s skirts or otherwise bother her.”

Arthur had leapt from the sofa after the first phrase of his father’s statement. “I promise. He’ll behave.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll lock him in the larder.”

“Yes, Father!” he called over his shoulder as he ran from the room.

Candace laughed as James shook his head and said, “He’ll be spoiled rotten if I don’t watch myself. Perhaps I should send him off to Eton.”

“He’s far too young. There’s plenty of time for schooling. Besides, he has tutors.”

“It’s not his intelligence I’m concerned about. It’s his ability to follow rules.”

She shrugged. “He seems very well behaved to me. My parents raised us much the same way. Except they were even more shocking, as they educated their daughters in the same manner as their sons.”

“Oh?”

“The same tutors taught us all at the same time.” She smiled in memory. “When someone asked him about it once, my father claimed it was less expensive that way.”

They both chuckled—her father had been of expansive means, and such a blunt statement regarding finances was contrary to societal manners.

“He sounds like an interesting man.”

“He was. More importantly, he was a good man, who wanted the best for all of his children.”

“I wish I could have known him.”

“He would have liked you, I think.” Her head tilted. “At the very least, he would approve of how you’re raising Arthur. It’s a gift to stay home with family and be educated in place, until such a time as one is ready to face the broader world.”

“You don’t think I’m...stunting him?” James drummed his fingers against the arm of the sofa as if nonchalant, but she heard the vulnerability in the question.

“Not at all. When I look at Arthur, I see a young boy who is secure—not just in his place in the world at large, but also secure in his place within your family. He’s intelligent, which presents a host of problems for you, but he’s kind, compassionate.

He has a level of empathy that’s rare among boys his age; if you sent him off to boarding school right now, I’d be frightened that the bullies there would work to stomp it out.

No—I think you’re doing the right thing keeping him here for now. ”

Candace had been staring off through a window, deep in thought regarding the topic as she spoke. When her eyes returned to James, she was caught off guard by the concentrated expression on his face—one that she couldn’t quite define. He stared at her, the corner of his jaw working.

She tilted her head in silent question; he turned his attention to the doorway. The moment was gone.

“Thank you for saying that,” he said. “It’s difficult to always know the right thing to do where he’s concerned.”

“I think you’re doing marvelously.” She scrunched her nose.

“I never understood the idea of shunting children off to the side, as if they were some sort of embarrassing mess upon the rug. What better place for a child to learn manners than at the dinner table with those who can emulate how to properly eat? What better place for a child to learn the management of a household or an estate, than at the shoulder of the person currently doing so? My mother taught me about being the lady of a house from day to day. I shudder to think of trying to learn such practical things from someone who’s never done them—or even worse, from a book. ”

He smiled—something that looked to be half amusement, half admiration. “I thought you enjoyed books.”

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse—you know quite well what I mean.”

“Forgive me. I completely agree. My father sent me to Eton early—perhaps before I was ready, in retrospect. However, whenever I was home, he took me alongside him from dawn to dusk and taught me all I needed to know about the inheritance that would come to me once he passed. I hope I’ve done his legacy justice. ”