Page 93 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Well, with your blessing. I’d like to invite them out here because...well, because of Vera.”

Candace plastered her very best ballroom smile upon her face and nodded. She’d suspected this. No—she’d known it. Yet, to hear it from James's mouth was a deeper plunge of the knife than she’d prepared herself for.

He frowned down at her. “But if you’re not comfortable with it yet, I understand.”

She laughed, though it sounded hollow. “What would my comfort have to do with anything? Of course you must move forward as you see fit.”

“I understand if that would be difficult for you...”

Candace rocked back on her heels a little with the shock. Dear heavens, did he know? Did he suspect the traitorous feelings that had snuck in when she wasn’t looking and overcome her heart, much like the vines surrounding this garden folly? How did he know, when Candace had barely admitted as much to herself?

“Why would it be difficult? Of course you must have your friends come and meet Vera. I daresay they’ll all approve of her.”

Even though her words and voice were even, her smile flawless, he still frowned down at her for several moments. Candace swallowed the sudden desire to laugh. She’d asked Vera what her dreams of a future held, and what had she said? A tall, dark-haired man who lived in the country. Dear heavens, Candace was a rare breed of idiot, not to have guarded her own heart better—James and Vera were a perfect match!

“Well, if you’re sure,” he finally said, hesitantly.

Candace smiled and nodded, bolstering herself to deliver the death-blow to her own foolish hopes. Vera was kind, temperate, loyal. Candace would tell James that all his friends would agree and give their whole-hearted blessing. Especially now that Vera’s beauty wasn’t hidden under the awful outfits that her pernicious mama had put her in...

Just as Candace opened her mouth to give her encouragement and blessing to such a match between her two closest friends, a vicious crack rent the air.

Candace couldn’t help it—she exhaled a little scream before clamping her mouth together to stop it. James didn’t seem to notice her outburst, or perhaps the thunder rolling across the landscape like a bass drum covered it.

“Arthur!” he called, even as he drew Candace back under the full protection of the rotunda. “Get in here!”

Moments later, a small cry erupted from outside.

“Stay here.” James moved toward the archway even as the heavens opened and a torrent of rain plunged from the sky.

She followed him out into the gale. “Certainly not.”

If Arthur was in distress, she wasn’t going to wait behind, not when she might be able to help. Outside, the landscape looked far different than it had only minutes ago, when they’d entered the folly.

Grey-green clouds tumbled over one another in the sky as wind whipped at the trees and sent the ends of the vines slapping. Candace reached up and clamped her hat to her head. They had scarcely reached the portico when Arthur’s sodden form came running up the steps.

“Seamus got frightened by the lightning and ran!” he wailed.

“Which way?” The boy pointed and James nodded. He thrust his hat into Candace’s hands. “Get inside, the both of you. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He bounded down the steps, and even if they’d wanted to follow, the downpour increased, nearly swallowing him from view. Candace took hold of Arthur’s hand and tugged him back through the whipping vines, into the rotunda.

It was a different view from the inside now, too. Rain pattered in from the round skylight, the deluge working to fill the stone basin faster than she would have thought possible. The vines that covered the back entrance twisted like writhing snakes; the mat that covered the front heaved in and out like the side of a tent in a gale.

“This way.” She made her voice more cheerful than she felt. “We’ll shelter beneath the warrior’s cloak.”

She guided Arthur to sit next to her, where they had a decent view of the direction James had gone. Not that they could see anything—the wind drove sheets of rain in capricious directions, painting the outside in swaths of grey.

“He hates thunder,” Arthur sniffled, huddling next to her and swiping at his nose. “What if he runs into the lake and drowns?”

“He won’t. Seamus is too smart for that.”

Arthur shook his head. “I love him, but he’s not smart—not when it comes to water, at least. He always wants to go in, but he forgets he doesn’t swim well.”

“He probably isn’t in the mood to swim. Not if he’s already wet and cold from the rain.”

He sat a little straighter at the thought. “You’re right.”

“He’s most likely just found a big tree to sit next to, to wait out the storm.”