Page 96 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“Oh, dear.” Vera’s eyes were wide. “If I’d known, I certainly would have sent word. Candace is a bit under the weather, I’m afraid.”

“She’s ill?” He stood so abruptly he splashed some tea onto his midnight waistcoat, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Just a cold, James,” Jacqueline soothed. “I went up and saw her myself. Not that I’m a physician, but I learned some things from my Stephen. Do sit down.”

“Has anyone sent for a real physician?”

Candace was ill, and these two sat here having tea as if nothing was the matter. Dear heavens, of course she’d fallen ill—she’d been chilled to the bone yesterday, and he hadn’t even thought to offer her his coat. It was all his fault.

What if she caught pneumonia?

Instead of looking irritated that James had ignored her firm invitation to regain his seat, Jacqueline’s lips trembled as if with amusement. “The closest physician is twelve miles away, but he likes a nip of the laudanum, if you know what I mean. The nearest good physician is two days out. By the time you summon him—away from people who actually need him, I might add—Candace will be fully mended.”

“How can you be sure?” He sat abruptly, sloshing more tea onto himself.

“Because she’s got a touch of the sniffles and a little sore throat.”

“A sore throat?” James set his teacup back onto the saucer with a force that might have broken it. Thankfully, it was a sturdy bone china.

“Calm down, James,” the baroness snapped. “A couple days of rest in a warm chamber and some chicken soup, and she’ll be good as new.”

“Benson!” James hollered.

The butler appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “How may I be of service, Your Grace?”

“Send a wagon to Montclare. Tell the cook there that I require a large pot of her chicken soup. Actually, it might be best if she just brings the ingredients and makes it here. Whatever’s easiest for her. Whatever’s fastest. And tell them to send a basket of our best oranges from the orangery.”

“At once, Your Grace.” Benson gave a bow and departed.

“We have chicken soup here.” Vera was trying to hide a smile behind her teacup.

“Is she warm enough?” he asked, ignoring Vera and turning back to Jacqueline. “Are they swapping out the heating bricks often?”

“You’re not going to have any peace until you see for yourself, are you?”

Vera’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t think she’ll allow it.”

“She will if no one warns her he’s coming,” the baroness retorted. “Forgive me, Vera, but have you ever had a loved one pass from illness?”

She shook her head.

“Then you can’t possibly imagine the depth of the terror one experiences when a loved one is ill.”

James wanted to splutter at the casual way the baroness said the words, but he decided to ignore it. Amongst these ladies, his was a poorly kept secret, indeed.

Jacqueline turned to him. “Her door is up the stairs, to the right, second from the end. But for heaven’s sakes, James, don’t just go charging in. Hortense will murder you with that umbrella if you see something you shouldn’t.”

He frowned at both of them because neither of them seemed to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Still, he was grateful that the baroness had suggested he go up and see her himself—that was precisely what he wanted. He set his teacup down with an abrupt clink, stood, tugged his waistcoat back into place, and headed for the stairs.

CHAPTER 28- CANDACE

From Gardening for the Estate-

Good topiary management requires near constant attention from a knowledgeable gardener. While the shapes of the greenery may seem simple to a layman’s eye, they are difficult to achieve initially, and impossible to reclaim after a period of neglect. Thus, a tidy, mature topiary is possibly the best indication of a well-managed estate garden.

It was the worst kind of ill to be—just sick enough not to be able to do anything, and just well enough to be irritated about all the things she could be doing. Candace huffed a sigh and tossed her new paperback atop the blankets. She threw back the covers and padded over to the full-length mirror. At least her new dressing gown was pretty. She so rarely spent any time in them—to a lady less obsessed with fashion, they might have seemed a waste.

Candace retied the bow at the very top, making sure that the loops were even, that they weren’t long enough to droop listlessly. There was almost nothing as bad as a droopy bow—it had quite the opposite effect that a bow should have.