Page 55 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

F rom Where the Birds Sing: A Gardening Primer -

Though planting bulbs may seem complicated to the novice gardener, it is important to note that there are two kinds of bulbs—those that naturalize, and those that do not.

Therefore, certain plantings are best suited to large fields and more rustic gardens, while some variety of bulbs will need to be dug up and stored each year.

When James returned to his house, he examined it with new eyes.

As he handed his coat and gloves over to his butler in the entryway, he wondered whether Candace would insist on redecorating once they’d wed.

He’d heard that some ladies didn’t feel at home in a man’s house until they scrubbed away all the old and replaced it with new.

James didn’t care; he was just curious as to what idiosyncrasies he’d discover once he and Candace wed and lived together .

Arthur was at the puzzle table, turning a piece around in his hands.

“Having any luck?” James asked, taking the chair next to him.

“I’ve got two in the past hour.” Arthur sounded thrilled with the progress.

At the boy’s feet, Seamus gave a grunt acknowledging James's presence, readjusted himself into a comfortable loaf, and sighed contentedly.

James studied the neatly organized piles of pieces Arthur and Candace had made and smiled. “Arthur, I have something important to ask you.”

The boy looked up, a solemn expression on his face, and waited. Now that the moment had come, James felt nearly as many nerves as when he’d told Candace he loved her. More, actually, as he’d been laughing when he finally confessed his feelings.

He cleared his throat and dove in. “What would you think about me and Lady Candace getting married someday?”

Arthur pursed his lips in thought. “She would live with us?”

“Yes. Would you like that?”

“I think so. She bought me this puzzle and it would go a lot faster if she were here.”

James smiled and waited. Arthur twisted his mouth to the side in that way of his; there were questions coming.

“If she becomes your wife, would that make her my mother?”

“Yes. But that wouldn’t make Jane—your mother—any less so. ”

Arthur spun the puzzle piece around in his hand, thinking.

“I think I’d like that,” he finally said. Then he winced. “Would she like that?”

“Of course.” James slid his hand over his son’s head. “Candace loves you and likes you.”

“Does this mean I’m going to have a brother?” Arthur asked, eyes wide.

He laughed. “I don’t know. Do you want one?”

He nodded. “But no sisters. I’ve heard they’re awful .”

“Who did you hear that from?”

He shrugged. “Everyone knows it, Father.”

James watched Arthur try to fit the piece onto the puzzle, turning it this way and that.

“You know your mother never wanted to leave you, right?” he said. “You know if she had the choice, she’d still be here, taking care of you, probably doing this puzzle with you?”

“I know, Father.” He slotted the puzzle piece into place and smiled. “But then you wouldn’t marry Lady Candace.”

James thought a lot about that conversation over the next few days. It was a strange mixture of happiness and guilt that wrestled within him. He finally settled the emotions by taking a long walk and thinking them through as clearly as possible.

Arthur was right—if Jane had lived, he wouldn’t be courting Candace.

But that was no reason to feel guilty, he reasoned.

He and Jane had been happy in their marriage—it was comfortable; they were dear friends.

He had loved her, even though it wasn’t the same heady, romantic kind of love he felt for Candace.

And perhaps that was the real source of his guilt—that he felt more deeply for Candace now than he had for Jane then.

Even that, he thought, should be forgiven.

It was a different relationship. Of course it would be different altogether.

If Jane had lived, he never would have looked at Candace in the same light.

She would have remained a family friend, nothing more.

James had always been loyal to Jane, and he would have continued.

Until death do us part , he thought.

But people rarely spoke of what came after.

James paused to pluck some wildflowers from a hedgerow and continued on until he reached the small copse of trees. It was only natural that he would end up here when thinking about such things. Perhaps he had been headed this direction on purpose all along.

He dusted a leaf from atop the stone plinth and inspected the engraving. Satisfied that there was no moss—the groundskeepers must have scrubbed it regularly, as instructed—he lay the flowers in front of the gravestone and removed his hat.

“I’m courting someone,” he said to the air. “I intend to marry her.”

He knew Jane wasn’t there. This was just a marker, a place of remembrance—a place far more for the living than for those who’d passed on .

“I think you would have liked her, even though she’s very different from you. Arthur likes her. She’ll make an excellent mother to him, as you would have been.”

He couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to say. Anything else he needed to say. After several more moments, James set his hat back upon his head and walked back to the house.

Days later, there was a commotion in the hallway that had James striding to the balustrade to peer over. It was his invited guests, though there seemed to be more of them than he’d expected.

Lord Cavendish was the first to look up and see him. “James! We’ve come at your request to hunt your lands and pillage your sideboard.”

James shook his head and chuckled, then trotted down the stairs. As he went, he took in the rest of the group shucking coats, gloves, and hats in his entry. He nearly stumbled to a stop when he realized there were several ladies among them, but good breeding kept him from reacting visibly at all.

His staff had already sprung into action—several maids whisked cloaks and coats away for a good brush and a drying before a smokeless fire.

His butler ushered people into the nearest comfortable sitting room, and his housekeeper hustled toward the back of the house, doubtlessly rousting the rest of the servants and procuring tea and other refreshments.

“James,” the Baron Fitzgerald crowed. “We’re still expecting Howers—the chap had one nip too many at the roadside inn last night and overslept our agreed-upon departure. He’ll be along shortly, I suspect, feeling like the dickens.”

James did his best to maintain his smile as he noted there were a grand total of three ladies in the travelling party—a decidedly difficult ratio, as he’d only invited the four gentlemen.

It didn’t help that he recognized one of the young ladies as the blonde who’d so often left Candace with a brittle smile upon her face.

What was her name again? Lily? Iris? Rose?

“Ah, Canterbury,” the Marquess Beaufort said, interrupting his mental casting about. “Let me introduce you to my betrothed, Miss Daisy Knope.”

Daisy—that was it.

“Welcome to my home, Miss Knope.”

The young lady ducked a curtsy and simpered, and James instantly regretted inviting the lot of them and wondered whether they could leave on the morrow.

“And this is her mother, Mrs. Allegra Knope, and Daisy’s close friend, Miss Martha Ritten.”

“Lovely to meet you all.”

He sketched a bow and calculated the group’s odds of leaving after the customary hunting party length of two weeks.

The fact that Beaufort had brought his future lady didn’t bode well for a short duration.

Once ladies spent nearly a week in a carriage, they were loathe to turn right around and repeat the experience .

Not that James blamed them, but still. He’d invited single men on purpose—he wanted Vera to have the spotlight. Now, of course, there were three other women in play, two of whom were young and attractive.

Miss Ritten fluttered her eyelashes in his periphery, and James wasn’t even looking her direction. Wonderful. Excellent. This was going to be fine. Except he was already annoyed—this was meant to be a gentleman’s hunting trip, not a group sojourn into his countryside.

Just then, Daisy Knope gave a shrill scream.

James whirled. Arthur and Seamus stood on the stairs behind them. He didn’t know who looked more frightened—the boy and the dog, or the lady who fanned herself with a gloved hand.

“What...what is that?” she said, pointing at Seamus.

“That is a dog,” James found himself saying dryly. For courtesy’s sake, he revised his tone and added, “Arthur, please take Seamus to the back gardens. Perhaps you might ask if Mrs. Taylor needs any vegetables picked for dinner?”

Arthur nodded and went down the hall, Seamus lumbering after. Lord Cavendish shot an apologetic glance at James, while the Marquess Beaufort soothed the trembling Miss Knope.

James forced a smile and herded his guests into the sitting room.

“How was your journey?” James settled himself into an armchair after the ladies were seated, ignoring the obvious way that Miss Ritten scooted far to one edge on the sofa to leave room for a man.

“The usual—bumpy roads, rustic inns, and Beaufort’ s too cheap to buy a new carriage, so my hindquarters are sore.”

“Shocking for you to say as much in front of us ladies,” Daisy said, giving a flirtatious little smile.

Ah, so that’s what kind of ladies these were. He was exhausted by their little games already, and they hadn’t been there but five minutes.

“Why didn’t you ride with Howers in his carriage?” James asked, ignoring the lady’s invitation to engage.

“There’s something dreadfully wrong with his feet. I cannot be in confined spaces with the man. It’s as if he soaked his boots in a barrel of rotten cabbages.”

“Careful,” Lord Cavendish deadpanned. “The ladies might swoon.”

He didn’t sound concerned in the least, but the ladies tittered anyway, not realizing they were the brunt of that particular joke. Lord Cavendish raised his eyebrows at James as if to say, See what I’ve been dealing with these past few days?

James smirked, then nodded at the maids hovering in the doorway waiting to see if it was the right time to serve tea.

“Good heavens,” Daisy whispered, loudly enough for the room to hear. “I haven’t seen such a nose since the Romans were driven out of Europe.”

One of the maids stiffened slightly but continued her duties diligently.

James frowned and turned to Daisy. “I apologize, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“Nothing, Your Grace.” She shook her head quickly, her cheeks growing pink .

At least the lady had some shame, then.

James ignored the brief, grateful look his servant shot his direction and turned to the Marquess Beaufort. “What are you interested in shooting these next couple of weeks?”

He hoped the men in the grouping would catch the intentional hint—that he wasn’t looking to make this an indefinite visit.

“Whatever’s foolhardy enough to step in front of my rifle.”

“Very well. Deer are moving in the south pasture early. Let’s meet in the gun room before dawn and get a good start on the day.”

“You’re an industrious fellow. I’d thought to sleep in on the morrow and hunt the next day. Ducks aren’t as early risers as the deer, isn’t that right?”

“Ducks it is, then. Deer the following day.”

“If you gentlemen are excellent shots, we’ll have to find some way to reward you.” Miss Ritten giggled.

“Are you proposing a wager of some kind?” Lord Cavendish said.

Miss Ritten dithered, eyes wide. It was as if she was unsure what to do with male attention once she had it.

“It would make things more interesting,” James said, turning to his friend. “We could say that whoever shoots the most doesn’t have to dress his own game.”

“Whoever kills the most.” Lord Cavendish put up his finger in correction. “If you don’t make that stipulation, Beaufort is liable to just wing things left and right and claim the victory.”

“Only clean shots on my land,” James said. “Anything else is simply dishonorable.”

He said the words lightly so they wouldn’t offend, but he meant every word. There was nothing he hated more than an unskilled hunter who left an animal to suffer. He counted them on the same level as men who kicked their hounds when they lost their temper.

“You’d better keep that dog of yours indoors, lest we mistake it for a bear,” the marquess joked. “Where on earth did you get the beast?”

“The Duke of Forthswhite breeds them. We might need to add to the family soon, get a female.”

“You’ll have a herd of them before long if you’re not careful.”

“I don’t mind,” James said. “They’re gentle. Wonderful with children, and excellent watch dogs.”

“He’s terrifying. ” Daisy held a hand to her chest as if overwhelmed by the very thought. “You must keep him away from me while I’m here.”

“Of course, Miss Knope.” James dipped his chin.

By her reaction to the dog, he’d already surmised as much. But the dog went everywhere that Arthur went, and James had no desire to separate the two, especially in the country, which was the only place his son was able to run free outdoors.

It was true that Seamus was intimidating in size. He drooled, expelled gas faster than a broken street lamp, and snored like thunder. But he was loyal, faithful, and wouldn’t let anything dangerous get close to Arthur without putting up a devastating fight.

If he had to restrict the dog’s movements, it would be a very long few weeks, indeed.