Page 7 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

F rom the Quentin Daily -

Mr. Pickwick’s Identity Revealed! A printing house on the east side of the city burnt to cinders yesterday.

Sources claim that copies of Mr. Pickwick’s Guide to Marriageable Young Ladies rained down from the sky as it burned.

The owner of the press, one Mr. Callian, vehemently denied the claim that he is the infamous gossiper.

“I’m seventy if I’m a day, innit?” he yelled before forcibly removing our reporter from the scene. Is he Mr. Pickwick? You decide!

The city was but a blur of light against darkness on the carriage ride home.

Candace and Vera were silent, both cocooned in their own private bubbles of thought.

The butler, Bernard, frowned when he met them at the door, obviously confused by Candace’s swift return, but thankfully he was professional—he didn’t ask any questions.

“Bernard, please ask Mrs. Green to make us a large platter of toasted cheese sandwiches and an arrangement of any sweets we might have in the house. We’ll be in the study.”

The study was the coziest room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls around two leather sofas that faced each other before the marble fireplace.

Right now, Candace thought if she spent another moment in one of her pastel-shrouded sitting rooms, she’d pull her hair out and scream.

She shook her head as she climbed the stairs.

To think that she’d been sitting there, entertaining ladies and feeding them, and all the while her engagement was falling apart.

And she’d been foolish enough to hope . She’d hoped that Shelbourne had just overlooked her.

Hoped that he’d been busy attending to matters of business. Hoped that was what had kept him away.

Was it better or worse that she’d been such an incomprehensible idiot? That she’d given Shelbourne the benefit of the doubt until he literally took her by the arm and shook her and snarled in her face?

She couldn’t decide.

If Candace had known what was coming, she could have braced for it, perhaps could have even slipped out of it altogether.

But after tonight, she thought she might understand that old adage: Ignorance is bliss . She had been worried before, but now...now she didn’t quite know what she was.

Candace slumped into one of the leather sofas, setting her wrap and purse to the side. She hadn’t realized until then that she still carried them—she should have left them with the butler. Vera sat across from her and pressed her lips together .

“Well,” Candace finally said after the maid had come and stoked the fire and then gone again. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Vera’s hands flopped open.

“That makes two of us. I can’t believe...I can’t believe he did that.”

“He is awful. I’m so sorry.”

A thin scrap of hope had Candace asking, “Do you think everyone saw?”

Vera winced. “If they didn’t, they’ll hear about it by tomorrow afternoon.”

Fraught moments ticked by on the porcelain mantel clock as Candace let the truth of Vera’s statement sink into her bones. The ton would speak of nothing else for weeks.

“Will you get in trouble for coming here?” Candace asked suddenly.

“Mother won’t be pleased, but then, she so rarely is.”

“I don’t want you to be penalized on my account.”

“You’re my friend. I’m here to support you.”

Candace blinked back tears. Vera was such a good friend—she didn’t deserve it.

If she were being honest, she’d started the friendship with Vera in much the same way as one takes in a stray puppy—that is, chiefly for one’s own amusement and to feel good about doing something nice for someone who couldn’t possibly repay the gesture.

At the time, Candace had crested the pinnacle of societal achievement—she was invited to all the parties, and every drawing room in the entire city was delighted to welcome her. Candace had enough social currency to pay Vera’s way, too.

Now things had changed. Perhaps drastically.

“What are you going to do?” Vera asked tentatively.

“I don’t know.” Candace’s voice was small—she hated the sound of her own vulnerability.

But it was the truth; she didn’t know what she was going to do. This was the kind of situation that demanded action, but what kind?

A knock on the door startled her. Bernard stood on the threshold. “His Grace the Duke of Canterbury to see you, Lady Candace.”

The butler’s tone let her know how unusual he found the hour of the visit but conveyed no judgement whatsoever.

“Send him in, please.”

Mrs. Green bustled in with one abundant tray; a maid behind her carried another.

They set them down and retreated as quickly and soundlessly as they’d come.

Candace sighed at the sight of the tea, the griddled cheese sandwiches—her favorite comfort food since she was a girl—and the plates of biscuits and cake.

In that moment, she thought the entire household staff deserved a hearty raise.

However, since it wasn’t precisely her household to manage, she didn’t mention it out loud. She’d write her brother with the suggestion instead.

“Thank goodness for Mrs. Green. I didn’t have time for dinner.” Vera plucked a gooey sandwich from the tray.

“Everyone saw,” Candace murmured again, as if testing the weight of the truth. “I wonder if there’s any way to avoid this entire mess. All the stares, all the gossip…”

“Short of running away, I don’t see how that’s possible. ”

Bernard led the Duke of Canterbury into the study and announced him.

James’s concerned eyes flicked from one lady to the other.

Neither of them rose to greet him. Candace pulled apart a sandwich, testing how far she could stretch the melted cheese.

Vera chewed ravenously, her eyes already scouting a second helping.

The Duke of Canterbury was not as tall as Candace’s brother, Percy, but he was broader through the shoulders, which lent the impression that he took up just as much space.

His face was tan, and his dark hair had glints of sun-kissed auburn struck through it, probably owing to the amount of time he spent out of doors.

At the moment, his handsome face was grim.

James cleared his throat. Candace tutted as her cheese broke and flipped her sandwich to wind the gooey strands around the bread. Bernard departed with an arched eyebrow.

“James, come have a sandwich.” Candace waved him over. “It’s the least I can offer after your assistance tonight.”

Despite the light content of her words, her tone was heavy, resigned. Still, James took a seat on the sofa next to her and took a cheese sandwich. His eyes darted from lady to lady, as if taking the emotional temperature of the room.

“How are you?” he finally said, then shoved the end of the sandwich into his mouth as if to prevent himself from saying anything further.

“As well as can be expected, but thank you for asking.”

The three of them chewed in silence. It would have been pleasant, cozy even, if Candace didn’t feel as if she were some maimed survivor of a cataclysmic shipwreck.

She didn’t know if she was glad or regretted the fact that her family wasn’t home to witness this.

Percy and Adelaide had departed on their honeymoon, and Sophia was shopping for her trousseau in Paris with her soon-to-be mother-by-law.

Percy would have raged and blustered, probably threatened to seek justice at the end of his pistol until Adelaide talked him off of that precarious emotional ledge.

Sophia would have behaved much the same as Vera did—a silent, understanding presence at her side.

The only difference was, Vera would have to return home, while Sophia could have curled on the other side of Candace’s bed, whispering clever insults about Shelbourne that would have had Candace laughing through her inevitable midnight tears.

“Candace?” Vera wiped her fingers briskly with a cloth napkin, her eyes on the fine clock on the mantel. “I hate to be abrupt, but may I trouble you for your carriage? Mother will already be cross when she hears I left my chaperone behind.”

“Of course. Take Hortense with you as chaperone, if that will help.” She flicked her fingers in the air carelessly.

Vera looked between James and Candace. “You don’t need her here?”

“We’ll control ourselves,” she said, her tone drier than the gin in the cabinet that she was already considering. “Won’t we, James?”

“Yes, of course. Good evening, Vera.” He rose and bowed when she stood.

“Thank you, Vera. For tonight. I’ll send word tomorrow. ”

Vera gave a hasty curtsy, one last uncertain look at Candace, and departed.

James observed propriety by shifting his seat to the sofa opposite Candace. “Are you sure you’re quite well?”

“Of course I’m not. But I hardly see what can be achieved by admitting it.”

“You can always be honest with me.”

She smiled—real for a moment, then it faded into a half-wince. “Do you think there’s any way to salvage the situation?”

“Your betrothal?”

His tone and raised eyebrows told her all she needed to know.

“What will people say? I’ve shamed my family?—”

“Nonsense. The shame lies completely with Shelbourne. Your family knows you; they’ll see it clearly.”

The sudden shot of warmth from his words dissipated quickly, like a thimbleful of whiskey against a raging winter chill.

It wasn’t just that Shelbourne wanted out of their engagement; it was what that meant for her future.

She would be seen as tarnished. Though her brother’s title and wealth would help, it couldn’t save her from recrimination of the cruelest kind.

“You cannot use duty to your sister and brother as a shield anymore, Candace,” he said into the silence, interrupting her thoughts. “Their futures are well secured. Your sister will be a viscountess, and your brother is working at starting a family with the woman he loves.”

She raised an eyebrow at the implication.