Page 118 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Thank you all for coming this evening,” Candace said.

Miss Ritten smiled. “It’s so nice of you to have us. You’re right, Devon Manor has a kind of rustic charm.”

On the surface, the words were kind, but there was a lilt to the woman’s lips that dared Candace to believe any of it.

Candace turned to Lord Cavendish, who stood closest to her and Vera, as a footman began passing around glasses of sherry. “Are you enjoying the countryside, Lord Cavendish?”

“Very much. One forgets how clean country air smells when one is in the city.”

“It’s refreshing, indeed. I believe you came at a wonderful time for your sport. When Vera and I arrived, it still rained quite often.”

The man angled his head toward Vera, including her. “What of you, Miss Ashbury? Do you prefer the clean air of the countryside, or do you miss London?”

Candace barely heard her friend’s answer. Her attention was drawn to Miss Ritten, who’d neatly trapped James against the far bookcase. His expression resembled that of a cornered—albeit polite—animal.

“Excuse me,” she said into a pause of the conversation, then aimed her footsteps toward James.

Unfortunately, she had to pass Daisy on the way. The woman flung out a question like a sucking tentacle, and Candace had no choice but to acknowledge her.

“I believe the manor was built in the 1700’s,” Candace answered. “But I’m uncertain as to which specific year.”

Daisy’s eyes slid toward Miss Ritten and James in the corner, and Candace’s suspicions were confirmed—the woman didn’t want Candace interrupting her friend and her quarry.

“It’s quite as nice as Canterbury’s house,” the marquess said, glancing around the room. “A lovely country estate. Reminds me of my great room in Norfolk.”

“Do you spend much time there?” Candace asked politely.

“Not as much as I would like, but I plan on making it our permanent residence once we’re wed.”

Daisy’s head whipped toward him, her eyes wide.

The marquess didn’t notice, and Candace smiled. “When is the wedding to take place?”

“Three months hence.” He smiled. “My bride requires a shipment from France for her wedding gown.”

Daisy simpered at Candace. “I’m sure you remember the excitement that comes with being engaged.”

The marquess’ forehead wrinkled, but Candace smiled serenely. “Of course. I wish you all the happiness you deserve. If you’ll excuse me.”

She didn’t wait for approval, simply turned and walked away. Miss Ritten stood only a foot from James; his back was to the bookcase, and he couldn’t sidestep either direction without hitting her or the chair to his left.

“Miss Ritten,” Candace said. The lady turned with a slight scowl, and Candace continued, “Daisy was just asking for you.”

Of course the lady had no choice but to retreat, but she threw a longing glance over her shoulder as she went.

James gave Candace a grateful smile. “I don’t think I’ll be inviting this particular group of gentlemen to my estate again,” he murmured. “Not if that is the kind of lady who accompanies them.”

“Did you escape with your honor intact?”

“‘Escape’ is the correct word, in this case. I was about to yell ‘Fire’ just to get her to move out of my way.”

“Desperate times require desperate measures. This entire dinner party was born from such a moment, and I regret it immensely.”

Candace glanced over her shoulder to see Daisy and Miss Ritten whispering furiously together before Miss Ritten scowled over at her.

“Come away from the furniture, James, before she trees you like a hound once more.”

Candace experienced a momentary relief when it was finally time to walk through to dinner. Even though Miss Ritten claimed James's elbow with an alacrity that bordered upon desperation, at least the pre-dinner mingling was complete. Candace wasn’t fond of watching the single Miss chase James about the parlor as he did his best to disengage and escape her.