Page 57 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)
F rom Gardening for the Estate-
Although many estates in England are rightly proud of the protective walls that ensconce the most important buildings from the outside world, it is worthy to point out that a wall or fence can often be made more beautiful by the addition of a flowering vine or a stately ivy.
Not only do such plants soften the facade of unsightly barriers, but they also lend a sense of permanence and grandeur to otherwise utilitarian fixtures.
“I know I’m not supposed to say so, but I don’t like them very much.” Arthur dug the toe of his boot into a divot in the ground for purposes only known to him.
Candace rested on her knees, weeding a planter box. Arthur was supposed to be helping her, but he stood at her side and chatted instead. She didn’t mind; she liked him, and she remembered doing much the same to her own mother once .
Seamus roamed the walled garden, snuffling in dark corners and marking the boxwood that Mr. Scott had trimmed into elegant curves. She’d have to ask someone to toss a few buckets of water over the shrubbery that afternoon. When Seamus left a mark, he did so thoroughly.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“The ladies don’t like Seamus.” He gestured toward his dog with a scowl. “Why would anyone not like Seamus?”
Seamus was currently marking a watering can. The force of his stream rang against the metal.
Candace smiled. “I can’t imagine.”
“They sleep in late, too. I have to go to the kitchens to eat because by the time regular breakfast happens, I’m starving .”
Candace dug in the earth, listening.
“I don’t know why Mrs. Taylor even bothers—the men take sandwiches with them, and the ladies don’t eat anything , ’cept for a bit of scrambled eggs and oranges. I heard Mrs. Taylor grumbling about the waste, so I helped by eating bacon sandwiches and cold sausage for lunch.”
“Thoughtful of you.”
He hummed his agreement and jabbed the toe of his boot back into the hole. “But the worst part is I can’t work on my puzzle.”
“Whyever not?”
“Seamus has to stay out of the first floor while the ladies are up. Because they’re scared .” He huffed his indignation through his nose and gestured at Seamus again .
The dog had flopped down in a patch of sunshine and was gently smacking his jowls, eyes closed, as if the warmth were especially delicious today.
Candace had to admit she agreed with Arthur’s incredulity. Apart from his prodigious bladder and his drool and the occasional stray piece of hair, Seamus posed very little threat at all.
“Is that the only reason you don’t like them?” she asked lightly.
She shouldn’t prod Arthur to dislike anyone, but since his opinions were already settled on the matter, she didn’t think it any harm to ask. Besides, something in her was warmed that he found the ladies wanting when she knew he liked her well enough.
“They don’t like puzzles. They aren’t interested in military tactics.”
Candace felt that perhaps she should point out that she herself had only pretended to be rapt with attention when Arthur showed her the diorama he’d built to depict the battle of Waterloo, complete with brightly colored tin soldiers and several household items that were meant to be various artillery.
Then she thought better of it—it might hurt his feelings to hear the truth, and if the other ladies didn’t have enough sense to even pretend to be interested, that was squarely on them.
His little shoulders heaved with a sigh. He shook his head with the precise tilt that James used, and a rush of affection for both father and son warmed her.
“This is the chance for a wonderful lesson, Arthur. If you can learn it early in life, you’ll be far ahead of those who never learn it at all. ”
“What?”
“You’ve ascertained that the ladies aren’t interested in anything you’re interested in, but have you bothered to find out what they like?”
Arthur’s forehead wrinkled. He chewed his lip. “I guess not.”
“If you ask people about what they like, and be genuinely interested in it, you’ll be the best conversationalist in the room.”
His hands flopped at his sides, palms up. “But how do I be interested in something I don’t care about?”
“That is the tricky part,” she admitted. “However, there’s usually part of something they like that you can find interesting.”
“Like what?”
“For instance, if I say I like painting, you might ask if I’ve ever painted anything before. Or how I became interested in it in the first place. Even the dullest people will often surprise you by saying something of note.”
He wrinkled his nose. “But I don’t want to talk to dull people.”
“Then you’ll be a very lonely person, indeed.”
“ You’re not dull. Neither is Miss Vera, or the baroness, or Father.”
She nodded. “But all of us say dull things sometimes. If you didn’t get to know us, or if you stopped our friendship the first time we bored you, you’d never know how interesting we could be.”
“I guess so.”
He resumed kicking at the sizeable hole he’d made with his boot, and Candace guessed that their discussion had reached its natural conclusion. She turned back to weeding the last few unruly sprouts.
Several minutes later, she stood and wiped her hands off on her apron. “Shall we go and see what Mrs. Davis has on offer for lunch? I think I might have heard her say she was going to bake shortbread in honor of your arrival today.”
Candace knew very well the cook had—she’d requested it herself. Arthur whooped and threw one arm in the air in celebration. Seamus rose and lumbered over, tail wagging—he was always happy to celebrate anything with his favorite person.
Over the next day, Candace cursed herself many times for extending the initial dinner party invitation in the first place, even as she invited more people.
She hoped that the addition of James and the other gentlemen would serve to dilute the pernicious ladies she’d already invited to share her table.
But as soon as the hope landed, fear chased it away once more.
If the marquess had been fool enough to ask the foul Daisy Knope to marry him, he was either cruel or an imbecile. Meaning he either enjoyed the lady’s barbs, or they sailed too far over his head for him to temper.
As for the fair Miss Ritten, it only took five minutes for Candace to suss that she’d come to the country for the same reason the men had—hunting. Though her quarry was far more valuable than a simple deer.
At least Candace couldn’t fault the household staff.
Mrs. Penn had read between the lines of Candace’s story, and Devon Manor had never looked better than it did that evening.
Torches lit the driveway; the entire first floor had been cleaned top to bottom and the table set as if royalty were coming to visit.
Hortense—who in fact had been privy to the entire prickly conversation—took her task seriously as well.
Candace and Vera were dressed and primped and had time to settle in the front parlor to have a small glass of wine—just to take the nerves away, Mrs. Penn said—half an hour before their guests were to arrive.
Vera looked a vision in a peach-colored gown.
The capped-sleeve bodice was tightly stitched in layers of sheer overlapping pleats to her hips.
There, the chiffon was left loose, allowing the gauzy skirts to froth above her jeweled slippers.
She wore long sheer gloves of the same material that attached to the cap sleeves with a hook hidden at her inner arm.
Candace had lent her pearls for her neck and diamonds for her ears.
Candace chose the deep-green velvet ensemble she’d worn for the first dinner party at Devon Manor.
Normally, she abhorred re-wearing a gown within the same social season, but it was her most becoming look, and as James and Vera were the only ones who’d already seen it, she didn’t think it a faux pas to wear it again.
Tonight, her clothing was armor once more, and she needed her finest set.
At the crunch of gravel upon the drive, Candace and Vera both stiffened and looked at one another.
Candace gave Vera a bolstering smile, remembering that she wasn’t the only one nervous about the evening.
Vera wasn’t popular within society and had undoubtedly enjoyed the respite in Devon nearly as much as Candace.
Adding to the fact that comments would certainly be made about the change in her appearance, and Vera might have more reason than Candace to be anxious.
“Whatever happens tonight, we’ll still have each other in the morning.” Vera gave a lopsided smile.
“Indeed, dear friend.”
“Has Devonshire written back yet?” she murmured as the front door opened down the hall.
“Not yet. Though I cannot decide if it would be better or worse if we could announce a betrothal to these ladies.”
“Excellent point.”
They rose to greet their guests as Benson appeared in the doorway.
“May I announce...” He began listing their guests in order of prominence, and Candace did her best to focus on remembering names.
Lord Cavendish was the one with the warm smile and the sandy-blond hair. He’d only recently returned to England from India. He was popular with the ladies, though he never led anyone on.
Lord Howers had dark hair and somehow retained a pinched expression even when he smiled. Candace thought he rather reminded her of some kind of rodent, but a polite one .
The Baron Fitzgerald had hair nearly the same hue as Vera and looked as if he’d rather be somewhere else.
The Marquess Beaufort extended his elbow to his betrothed, the loathsome Daisy Knope. For her part, she looked as well as she was able in a sapphire-colored silk with earrings to match.
Mrs. Knope and Miss Ritten made up the rear, each crowding a side of James, who smiled warmly at Candace. For a moment, looking into his eyes, she almost believed that the dinner party might be tolerable.
Then Daisy spoke and shattered that illusion. “Good heavens, is that you, Vera?”
Vera inclined her head.