Page 113 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Is it not?”

Candace rooted in her pocket and came up with a crisp handkerchief that Hortense had pressed only yesterday afternoon. Her maid took it with a tsk, as if irritated with herself for needing it.

“I thought you at least liked the fellow,” Candace added.

If she didn’t, that scene in the library from weeks ago became even more shocking.

“Of course I like him. I love him.” At this pronouncement, Hortense buried her nose into the handkerchief and gave a great startling honk.

Candace did her best to ignore it, blinking away her surprise. “Then what on earth is the matter?”

“He wants me to stay here, with him.”

She smiled. “Husbands are funny that way—they often want to share a home with their wife.”

“Don’t tease me, I cannot bear it.” Hortense wrung the handkerchief between white fingers.

“I’m sorry. I just...I don’t understand. If you love him, surely him proposing is a good thing?”

“I would have to quit my job. You’ll be going back to London.”

Candace didn’t argue with her, not when she wasn’t sure where she’d reside. Besides, she didn’t think it was central to the point.

“And you hate Devon?” she guessed.

“Of course not,” Hortense snapped, as if Candace was a moron to even suggest such a thing. “It’s gorgeous here. The air is so fresh, and I haven’t had to beat one vicious dog away with my umbrella.”

Candace lips trembled with the force of holding back her smile.

“I’ve never...” Hortense began, than faltered and tried again. “I’ve only ever relied on myself. Made my own way. It’s for the best. I can depend on myself to take care of me. Before that, with my father...” She shrugged.

“You’re afraid Thomas won’t provide for you?” she asked gently.

“It’s not just me anymore, is it?”

Candace’s eyes widened. “Hortense, is there...are you...?”

“Of course not!” She scowled as if deeply offended. “Don’t be daft.”

“Then why would you say it isn’t just you?”

“Well, there will be children, most likely, won’t there? Eventually? Thomas says he wants four of them.”

Hortense rubbed her arm as if warding off a sudden chill. Candace tried hard not to laugh in her face.

“You don’t want children?” she asked as soon as she was confident she could keep the tremor from her voice.

“I do. But I won’t be able to work if I’m big as a house, and once the children come along, I’ll be too busy with them to work at all, won’t I?”

“Ah,” Candace said, understanding finally draping across her shoulders. “You’re worried that Thomas will end up being like your father. That he won’t work hard to support his family, and then once you have children, you won’t be able to work to support them, either.”

“Of course.” She threw up her hands in exasperation, the white handkerchief fluttering like a flag of surrender in her grip. “What on earth do you think I’ve been talking about?”

Candace smiled and shook her head. “Hortense, for what it’s worth, I’ve been watching him. Every time I visit that shop, he’s there. Either that, or he’s passing me in the street, making deliveries. He’s well-kempt and never smells like liquor. He’s polite, deferential. His shirt is always pressed and tucked in. Mr. Harris is a widower, so Thomas’s mother isn’t the one ironing at home.”

“They have a maid who comes in during the day,” she grumbled.

“And have you seen their house? Is it nice, orderly?”