Page 43 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
F rom Where the Birds Sing: A Gardening Primer -
Perseverance is the best teacher. If a plant fails to thrive under certain conditions, it may grow well just across the garden. As a beginning gardener, one must feel free to experiment. Move the plant and see whether a new situation might make it bloom.
Two evenings later, servants lit torches near the front door of Devon Manor before the guests arrived. Even though the dinner party would be small, with only four of them in attendance, Candace was determined that the table be no less fine than anything she’d set in London.
She’d ordered six courses and no fewer than three desserts; the household staff was excited at the prospect of the inevitable leftovers from the splendid spread.
In preparation for after-dinner entertainment, Candace instructed that a mahogany card table covered in rich green felt be moved closer to the marble fireplace in the drawing room .
At seven, Candace and Vera sat in the front parlor. Candace couldn’t keep from smoothing the emerald velvet skirt of her dinner gown. She’d examined herself carefully in the full-length mirror in her room until convinced that she couldn’t possibly look better.
Her gown was off-the-shoulder with only a wide band of sleeve around each upper arm.
Even with the modest sweetheart neckline, it exposed a great expanse of cream-white skin.
She’d paired it with long lace gloves in the same color.
Hortense had swept her hair into an elegant arrangement that left several perfect red curls swept forward over one of her bare shoulders.
Long emerald drops hung from her ears, complementing the emerald-and-diamond necklace clasped around her throat.
The set had been a gift from Percy last Christmas.
He claimed he wasn’t good at giving gifts, so he left the choosing to the discretion of a jeweler in London.
The result was that both of his sisters thought he was very good at giving gifts, indeed.
Candace didn’t know why she was so fidgety—she’d arranged this dinner for Vera’s benefit, not her own.
In contrast, Vera didn’t seem nervous at all.
She looked stunning in her blue silk satin dress.
It had a square neckline and a tight bodice that enhanced her pleasant curves.
Candace had lent her a pearl-and-diamond necklace and dangling pearl earrings.
She didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend look more lovely than she did tonight.
She swallowed back an irrational wave of jealousy. This was what Candace had wanted—for Vera to look as beautiful as she was, for her friend not to be hidden away under thick layers of unflattering design and fabric.
Vera deserved to be happy. There was no one more deserving, in Candace’s opinion. James could make Vera happy. He would , she was certain of it. After all, what woman wouldn’t be happy married to someone as kind and thoughtful and steady as the Duke of Canterbury?
I certainly would be .
Candace shook the idea off as quickly as it landed. This evening wasn’t about her; it was about Vera and James. But even as she reordered her thinking, she had to smother her regret.
“The Baroness Winthrop,” Benson announced from the doorway.
Jacqueline breezed into the room. “Ladies, you both look radiant this evening.”
She wore slim-fitting black breeches beneath a billowing taffeta overcoat that might have passed for a gown at first glance—if there hadn’t been a great slit up the middle to allow for easy movement.
Candace supposed she should have been shocked—a lady in trousers at a formal dinner party?
It was a scandal by every stretch of the imagination.
Yet, Candace wasn’t scandalized—the baroness was just being herself.
Jacqueline wasn’t trying to be shocking or garner attention with her ensemble—not in the least. She always wore pants, so why would this evening be any different?
Besides, the long coat had a certain daring appeal, with gold-threaded flowers stitched over a stark black background.
Candace rose and greeted her with a friendly kiss on the cheek. “So glad you could make it.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She turned to hug Vera, then held her at arm’s length. “What a stunning dress! It’s nearly worthy of your beauty.”
Vera flushed and laughed. “Between you and Candace, I’ll soon be so full of myself I’ll be impossible to be around.”
“His Grace the Duke of Canterbury,” Benson intoned.
James smiled at each of them. “London must seem drab at the moment, because the loveliest ladies are here in Devon.”
“You flatterer,” Candace said. “Come, join us.”
She stood stoutly between Jacqueline and Vera after her invitation so they’d have to make room for James. When he stood next to Vera, Candace forced herself to smile.
“How is Arthur?” Vera said after greetings were shared all around.
“He’s enjoying his own formal dinner party with Mrs. Fitzgibbons and Mrs. Taylor. They were sitting down to eat as I was leaving.”
“How delightful,” Jacqueline said.
Candace smiled as the comfortable grouping descended into pleasant conversation, though she was torn between appreciation for James's politeness in his attention to the other ladies and irritation that he wasn’t only speaking to her.
She kept an eye on the mantel clock, and when it was the appropriate time, she encouraged them to go through to the dining room.
The table was a lavish display—gleaming silver, sparkling crystal, and candlelight glimmering across gold-edged plates. Candace and Jacqueline sat side by side, leaving James and Vera on the other side of the table .
All was normal and well until the first course was set before them.
“This creamed soup is divine,” James said. “As soft as white rose petals against satin sheets.”
Candace sat straight; a hint of memory tickled the back of her mind.
“I never knew you had such a way with words, James,” Jacqueline said, dipping her spoon into the soup. “Though it does look delicious.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “And the vegetables inside are so perfect they look as if they were chiseled from marble by a master sculptor.”
As he said the last, he looked up, his expression completely unaffected, but his eyes met Candace’s, and she knew . She remembered why his words struck a memory within her mind.
James wasn’t spewing flowery compliments about the food from momentary inspiration. He was reciting lines from her gothic novels. At the table. In full hearing of everyone else. Her eyes widened fractionally and he smiled serenely at her before she broke his gaze by looking down at her bowl.
She’d almost forgotten that Hortense had sent several books over.
She and James had seen each other since; Candace thought if he were going to read the novels and mock her for their contents, he certainly would have done it before now.
Privately . But no, he’d waited until he had an audience—a captive one, for it was only the first course, with many more to follow.
Candace suddenly regretted her thoroughness as a hostess—perhaps she could get a surreptitious message to Mrs. Penn to just send out a platter of ham sandwiches and be done with the whole evening.
All throughout dinner, James continued throwing out compliments that—to anyone else—would sound harmless, if not a bit overwrought. But to Candace, they were a secret message—that he’d not only read her tawdry gothic novels, he’d read them closely enough to memorize certain lines.
If that weren’t shocking enough, it seemed that he’d read several of them.
He’d started with phrases from The Mistress of Mellbrook , then followed with lines from The Pirateer’s Secret .
Candace could barely pay attention to the conversation by the time he’d started in on The Governess of Harrowsbeck Hall.
Why, that was one of the worst! Why on earth had Hortense thought to send it?
Candace didn’t think anyone else at the table marked his comments—or if they did, they seemed to overlook them as eccentricities. Why else would a man compliment the gravy as being “dark as midnight secrets” or comment that the pheasant “glistened like dew in the moonlight”?
It was ridiculous. Surely Vera and the baroness could tell something was amiss, couldn’t they?
But the other ladies didn’t seem to notice.
They kept discussing the health of the baroness’s hedgehog, the weather, and the recent delay in the post from London.
All the while, James dropped lines from Candace’s most scandalous books with an innocent air as Candace alternately flushed and fidgeted and prayed no one noticed.
“I cannot live without this lovely béarnaise,” he said ardently. “It’s as if fate has brought us together.”
The baroness said, “It is a remarkable sauce. ”
Vera dipped the tines of her fork and put it in her mouth, then nodded. “Very nice.”
“What of you, Candace?” James asked, all false innocence. “Do you like the béarnaise?”
“It is…very well-balanced.” She prayed her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. Candace turned to Benson, who stood against the wall. “Please pass our compliments along to Mrs. Davis on her excellent sauce.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“And this pheasant,” James said minutes later, after he and the baroness discussed their plans for planting their lands along the river. “It’s heaven-sent. I feel I’ve been waiting my whole life for a pheasant like this.”
“It’s very fresh,” Candace explained, her smile feeling just the wrong side of demented.
James stared into her eyes, his lips trembling. “It must be. I say, I didn’t believe in love at first sight until I saw this pheasant.”
Dear heavens, he was quoting lines from the gazebo scene.
Redness crawled up her neck moment by moment. Was she sweating? She dared not lift a hand to her hairline to check. She glanced at the fire, wondering if she could blame excessive heat if anyone commented on her high color.