Page 44 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

“You remind me of my eldest.” Jacqueline wagged her fork in James's direction. “He feels as passionately about food as you do.”

“A masculine trait in general, I believe,” Candace said, desperate to add something to the conversation besides stilted agreements whenever James bestowed another shocking compliment on the meal.

Jacqueline nodded. “Stephen simply adores Cook’s strawberry tarts. Not that I can blame him—we all go wild for them. The second they’re in season, James, I shall send you a dozen, and then you’ll really be inspired to write poetry.”

“ Do you write poetry, James?” Vera asked.

“Indeed not. I fear all the best lines have already been written. All my writings would be derivative. For example, I might write that the eyes of the fish are like twin pools of seawater, or that it has luminous skin, or that I can’t imagine going on without it.

But I’m sure that someone else has already written those sentiments before, and probably expressed them much better than I could.

My words would most likely sound as if they were stolen from some cheap, tawdry novel. ”

Candace choked, then covered it with a delicate cough.

“I don’t think so.” Vera leaned forward, her eyes wide. “I think your words are beautiful, original. I’ve certainly never heard anything of their kind before.”

“What of you, Candace?” James turned toward her, a polite smile on his lips. “Do you think my compliments sufficiently original to be published?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

She smoothed her face into serene thoughtfulness, though she longed to kick him about the shins instead. Alas, the distance was too great between them for her to manage it secretly, and certainly the other ladies would ask questions if she lobbed a fork at his head.

“There is nothing new under the sun,” the baroness said. “That shouldn’t prevent a person from creating art, if that is one’s calling.”

Vera nodded. “I feel that every new book of note finds criticism for being derivative in some manner.”

“There’s a thin line between inspiration and imitation, to be sure,” Candace said, once again trying to redirect the odd conversation. “There are many similar themes in books, but it’s the writer’s talent that makes even the most common plot new again.”

“So true.” James sipped from his wineglass and continued, “What kind of books do you prefer, Jacqueline?”

“I’m not that fond of reading, actually. Although, I’ve lately become interested in a set of veterinary reference books related to the care and feeding of woodland animals.”

“I prefer histories myself,” Vera said. “I’m currently reading a treatise on the fall of Rome that I happened upon in the library.”

James slid his dark eyes Candace’s direction and tilted his head with a charming smile. “And what of you, Candace? What kind of books do you enjoy?”

“Histories,” she said, perhaps too quickly. “Gardening books. Things of that nature.”

He nodded sagaciously. “I also enjoy books about flowers. There’s nothing more lovely than a rose in full bloom.”

Against her will, her eyebrows flew skyward. It was a line from The Rose and the Darkness , one of the most scandalous books of them all. She didn’t even dare keep that one on the mantel—it was stored in her shoe trunk.

How many books had Hortense sent? And how on earth had the man read them all so quickly ?

“Don’t look so surprised,” Jacqueline said. “It isn’t all that strange for a man to have an appreciation of botany. Stephen grew many herbs for his tinctures and tonics in one of our greenhouses.”

“Of course.” Candace nodded and ignored James, who was hiding a smirk behind his wineglass. “My interest in gardening is much more aesthetic, but it makes sense that a physician would want to grow his own ingredients.”

“Do you hear from your sons often?” Vera said.

“From my middle boy, yes. Eton is far closer than India, and the post much more reliable at that distance.”

Candace was grateful for the focus being taken from her for the moment.

James had smoothed his expression, but there was still the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

She’d been completely off balance ever since she realized the joke James was playing.

It was as if she were juggling two separate conversations—the one taking place on the surface that included Vera and the baroness, and the private one taking place between her and James.

She glanced at him again. He met her gaze with a sparkle of humor in his eyes.

He was enjoying this far too much and she longed to punish him for it somehow, but she hadn’t the faintest clue how to do so.

Candace had rarely seen this side of him—playful, teasing.

If the joke hadn’t been at her expense, she would have been deeply intrigued by this facet of his personality.

Before dessert was served, Candace excused herself from the table for a few moments and cornered Hortense in the ladies’ reviving chamber, where the maid waited in case Vera or Candace had need of her.

“Which books did you send the Duke?” she hissed.

“You seemed to be having a terrible time choosing, so I just sent them all. All except the one you’re reading, that is.”

“ All of them?” Her mouth gaped.

Hortense nodded. “They’re inexpensive and he seems like a responsible fellow. I didn’t see the harm.”

Candace stared at her. “Why would you do that? He’s going to think...”

“Nothing untoward. He’s your friend. What does it matter if he knows you enjoy ridiculous novels?”

“He’s been quoting them to me all evening.”

She laughed. “I always thought he was clever.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m sure His Grace doesn’t intend for you to be embarrassed. It’s just some harmless teasing.”

“Why would he have taken the time to memorize so many lines?” she asked, bewildered.

Hortense shook her head, a coy smile about her lips. She murmured, “If you don’t know the answer to that, I’m certainly not going to ruin the surprise.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

“Some of the lines he quoted were from The Dawn of Destiny !” she hissed. “I can’t believe you sent James The Dawn of Destiny . That one’s nothing but petticoats and pantaloons! There are bare ankles in that one, Hortense! Whatever will he think of me? He’s going to get ideas .”

“About time,” she muttered, almost too low for Candace to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said the color in your cheeks is quite fetching.”

“Don’t you try to distract me.” Candace stomped toward the mirror to check her reflection. She smoothed a hand down her cheek. “This is a disaster.”

“Not at all. Like I said, you look wonderful.”

“I’m speaking of James, of course!”

“He looks wonderful, too. You’d better get back to your guests; it’s rude to leave them too long.” She flicked her hands in a shooing motion.

Candace nodded, her mind a swirl of muddled confusion as she returned to the dining room.

She hadn’t been gone long enough to cause a delay in the service.

As she entered, James met her eyes over his glass and gave a slow smile.

Maybe Hortense was right—Candace didn’t think he was cruel enough to mock her, and he wasn’t drawing attention to his statements.

Perhaps she was looking at this the wrong way—perhaps he wasn’t making fun of her . Perhaps he meant this to be a private joke they could enjoy together. She straightened her spine and cast about for an idea.

Inspiration struck several moments later, when a lovely plate of flourless chocolate torte was placed before her, the plate swirled with raspberry jam.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she said. “Red as two rose petals, and just as soft.”

“She beat you to it this time,” the baroness crowed at James .

Her voice had become louder as the night wore on, the two spots of color on her cheeks deepening with every glass of wine the footmen unobtrusively refilled.

“She did.” James grinned. “Though I was going to compare the consistency to silk, myself.”

“By all means.” Candace raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Please don’t deprive us of your poetic words on my account.”

He took a bite of the torte and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “As smooth as silk, and far more precious.”

“Or perhaps, as luscious as a plum, sweeter than any honeycomb?”

He nodded and met her eyes. “That would also be an excellent description, though I prefer to say the torte is succulent and fascinating, beyond compare, a rarity.”

Candace pretended to study her torte to regain her composure. There was something in his expression when he’d said the last that quickened her pulse—something that felt far more serious than the private game they were playing.

“I say!” the baroness fairly boomed. “Perhaps you should write that book of poetry in tandem. I cannot tell which one of you is more talented.”

“Indeed,” Vera said, sliding her glance between Candace and James.

Candace was at once struck with a deep pang of guilt. She’d momentarily lost sight of the true purpose of the evening. She should have been magnifying her friend’s excellent qualities, should have returned the conversation to Vera at every opportunity .

Instead, she’d been focused on the undercurrents of a private joke, even tried to turn the joke around on James. Some may even have misconstrued it as flirting .

“Vera, what of you?” Candace asked, chagrined by how easily distracted she was. “Have you ever written any poetry?”

“Me? No.” Her eyes were wide—she sounded as horrified as she looked.

“Come now,” Candace said, cajoling. “I see you often at the writing desk. I thought perhaps you were penning something you’d someday want to share—poetry, or a novel, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” There was a stiffness to Vera’s voice that matched the sudden tension in her spine. “I write letters home sometimes, is all.”

“Ah.”

Candace smiled to smooth the little rough patch of awkwardness her question had created, and quickly rifled through her file of available conversational topics to change the subject. But perhaps the baroness wasn’t the only one who’d had a bit too much wine, for she could think of nothing.

“Jacqueline,” James said smoothly, “you mentioned your books on veterinary science, and I know you’re rehabilitating a hedgehog. Do you ever release the animals you help back into the wild?”

“If they’re able to return, of course. That’s the best thing for them.”

“For your drawing room, too, no doubt.” He smiled.

“The hedgehog won’t be returning to the wild. He’s far too comfortable as a pet. ”

“He’s a darling little thing,” Vera said. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I’m selfishly glad you cannot get rid of him.”

Jacqueline smiled. “I am, too. He’s very polite. Elda says he’s the least trouble of all of them.”

“What’s the most recent animal you’ve assisted?”

“A wild dog. The poor dear had to be put down, unfortunately.”

“That’s terrible,” Vera whispered. “What was wrong with him?”

“Got caught in a trap. His leg possibly could have been saved, if he’d let us close enough to tend it.”

“That must have been very difficult for you,” Candace said.

“More difficult for him, I’d imagine. Though his suffering was brought to finality at the end of my rifle, so I take some solace in that, at least.”

“You...you dispatched him yourself?”

The baroness tilted her head and frowned at Candace. “It would hardly be fair to ask someone else to do it. It’s my project, after all. What—am I to do all the agreeable parts and pass the difficulties on to someone else?”

“No, you’re right. I just don’t know if I’d have the heart for any of it.”

Her expression softened. “Hearts are resilient things, Candace. It’s the hard things in life that teach us that lesson, far more than the easy things.”

“I find it admirable that you go through so much trouble for animals.”

She barked a laugh. “Animals are far easier than people. When animals take a swipe at you, there’s always a simple reason—they’re afraid, hurting, or hungry. People will take a swipe at you for no discernable reason at all.”

“Indeed,” James said. “Perhaps you’re the wisest of us all, to take up with animals and leave society to its own devices.”

“Animals are simple. I like the straightforwardness of them. And as you well know, James, animals are far less difficult than raising sons.”

“I’ll raise a glass to that statement. And I’ll drain it for the truth of it.”

Candace said, “I hope Arthur wasn’t too disappointed not to be included this evening.”

“He knows there are many things strictly for adults. Besides, I promised him a hunting trip tomorrow to ease the sting. Our cook is baking all his favorite treats to include in the basket. He’s thrilled.”

“You shall have to bring him and Seamus over later this week, if you have the time. I told Arthur he could help me explore the old garden folly by the lake when I go look at it.”

James nodded. “The day after next?”

“Yes.” Candace looked about to Vera and Jacqueline, who were studying her intently. “You both are invited on that adventure, as well.”

“No thank you,” Vera said firmly. “Anything abandoned is bound to have spiders and snakes and whatnot. I’d rather stay inside with a book.”

“And you may let me know if you find an injured animal,” the baroness added, “but that would be my only interest in the place.”

“We certainly will, though I fear it won’t be nearly as exciting as that. It’s open to the elements on all sides, so I doubt there will be any spiders, either.”

“I’m not willing to take the chance,” Vera said.