Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (10 page)

“Welcome to Hodgepodge,” Jilly promptly stated. “May I help you find something?”

When the woman turned to her, Jilly was shocked by the desperation she saw in her eyes. “I’m your neighbor, Lavinia Hobbs.” The woman swallowed. “And if I don’t find a receipt for the perfect soup, I’m afraid—”

“What?” asked Jilly, her heart lurching and her pulse racing.

Mrs. Hobbs lowered her hand. “I’m afraid we’ll have a very dismal dinner.”

“Oh.” Jilly let out a small breath.

Was that all?

She noticed the lady’s eyelids were red-rimmed. Jilly daren’t ask her why, but she wanted to show she was concerned. “May I help you search?”

The woman nodded, misery surrounding her like a cloud. “I’d be grateful to find a receipt for turtle soup.”

“Come with me.” Jilly’s tone was warm but brisk. “That should be no trouble.”

Mrs. Hobbs followed silently. Jilly did her very best to cheer her by thumbing through several volumes on cookery with her. After ten minutes or so, her pale neighbor did appear in better spirits. They’d found a delicious-sounding receipt for turtle soup in one book, which Mrs. Hobbs decided to purchase.

At the counter, while Jilly wrapped the volume in brown paper, Mrs. Hobbs smiled thinly. “Thank you for the scones. I was quite surprised to receive such a token of generosity. Of course, Mason was quite suspicious of it.”

“Mason?”

“My husband. He thought you wanted something.” Mrs. Hobbs waved a hand. “His family is so grasping, you see. He came into a great deal of money a few years ago, and we moved to Mayfair with such high hopes.”

Her voice trailed off wistfully, and there was an awkward silence.

“Is … is everything all right, Mrs. Hobbs?” Jilly asked.

Mrs. Hobbs swallowed hard. “Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hobbs hesitated, then added, “I mean, no. Not really. Things are …
not
all right.”

She gulped.

Jilly held the string she was tying still. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered. “I’ll be happy to listen if you need an ear.”

Mrs. Hobbs let out a deep sigh. “I do, actually.”

“I promise to keep your confidence,” Jilly said, with the warmest smile she could manage.

Mrs. Hobbs stared at her a moment. “Very well,” she said. “The truth is, Mason lost his inheritance. Almost every penny. He invested in a tea company that was attempting to rival the power of the East India Company, and his company failed. We’re struggling to survive.”

Jilly laid her hand on Mrs. Hobbs’s long, pale one. “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Hobbs pulled her hand back and gave a little sniff. “We’ll be fine,” she averred. “I did have to fire the cook, and Mason’s in a terrible mood all the time these days, but if I make a good dinner—”

She stopped, put her hand to her mouth, and gave a little sob. “The thing is, Miss Jones, I’m a terrible cook. All my life I have been. I don’t know if I can manage.”

Jilly came out from behind the counter and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure your turtle soup will be delicious.”

Mrs. Hobbs squeezed back. “I just can’t seem to do anything right anymore,” she whispered. “Neither can the children.”

“Well,” Jilly said, a bit overwhelmed but touched by Mrs. Hobbs’s apparent trust. “Please visit any time you need someone to talk to. And send the children, as well. Even Mr. Hobbs, if he’s a reader.”

Mrs. Hobbs moved away and stared out the window. “He only reads the papers for the financial news.” She shrugged. “He thinks reading anything else is silly.”

Jilly joined her at the window and saw Captain Arrow sawing through a small, thick block of wood as if it were butter. Something in her middle warmed in a totally irrational fashion.

“Don’t worry about Mr. Hobbs,” she said. “Let reading be
your
form of entertainment.” She took Mrs. Hobbs’s hand again and tugged her to the shelves. “Come with me.”

Mrs. Hobbs actually chuckled. “Miss Jones, you
are
bossy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but only about books.” She grinned and pulled out a small book of silly limericks and jokes and handed it to Mrs. Hobbs. “Here. You and the children read this when you’re blue. I’m sure you’ll find your spirits will improve right away. And once they do, don’t let anyone, especially Mr. Hobbs, dampen them for the rest of the day. All right?”

“All right.” Mrs. Hobbs smiled, a small, hopeful smile which warmed Jilly’s heart. “I will. But Miss Jones, somehow I doubt you’re only bossy about books.” She threw a sly glance at Captain Arrow. “You managed to get our new neighbor to work for you, a man who’s done nothing but enjoy himself with his friends—until now.”

“Oh, well.” Jilly coughed lightly. “He probably tired of constant diversion. And some men love carpentry, don’t they?”

Mrs. Hobbs chuckled again. “Perhaps it’s something else he loves—the sight of a certain bookshop owner.”

“Mrs. Hobbs.”
Jilly couldn’t help being shocked at Mrs. Hobbs’s teasing. A very secret part of her was even pleased by it.

A wicked secret part that she would suppress.

Mrs. Hobbs said nothing else, merely left with a smile on her face and her shoulders rather thrown back, a sign of renewed confidence which pleased Jilly no end.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, Stephen walked back into Hodgepodge with the small wooden blocks, determined to show Miss Jones he had more substance than she gave him credit for. This window ledge was going to be the best piece of carpentry work she’d ever seen. Not only that, he would show her he could be civilized, mature, and focused when he felt like it—but only when
he
felt like it. Not when he was told to be. Now that he’d left the navy, he no longer had to worry about commanding officers. He was his own man.

His
own
man.

“Would you like something to eat?” She looked at him only a moment before looking away.

He couldn’t countenance it. Miss Jones was more nervous around him than she’d ever been before. “No, thank you—”

“I insist, Captain. For all your hard work.”

“But I’m not hungry—”

“Captain Arrow.”
Ah. Now she was back to her old self. She speared him with a look that dared him to defy her. “Accept my hospitality, the way I accepted yours at your theatrical evening.”

So much for his being in charge. “Very well,” he agreed. “If you don’t mind fixing me something, I’ll be happy to eat it. It would mean I won’t have to go back to my house and the company there. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” she said. “Otis has prepared a noonday meal already.”

“Shall I eat it here, in the shop?”

“How hospitable would that be?” She gave him a rather forced smile. “Why don’t you and Otis eat first, upstairs, while I watch the store, and then I’ll follow? I’d rather stay here in case we get a customer.”

“Suit yourself.” He put his tool belt aside and followed. When she opened a door between two shelves on the back wall to a small corridor behind it, he noticed her slender neck and had a sudden desire to put a kiss on it.

You’re foolish,
he told himself. What drove the desire in him to kiss a hard, unmanageable woman like Miss Jones?

Otis started in his chair when they entered the office.

“My goodness,” he said, lowering his book, “I was just getting to one of my favorite parts, when Elizabeth goes to Darcy’s mansion with her aunt and uncle—and Darcy spies them there!”

“Yet he treats her with great respect,” said Stephen with a chuckle. “He could have made her feel completely out of place, but no. He’s in love. Supposedly, men in love forget all the good reasons they have to be annoyed with the object of their affection and forgive her everything.”

Miss Jones turned her head to stare at him. “You’ve read
Pride and Prejudice
?”

Stephen arched a playful brow. “Of course. What else does one have to do on a ship but fight wars, clean decks and tackle, eat, indulge in an occasional rum with one’s shipmates—and read?”

“Well said, Captain.” Otis slapped his book shut and stood.

Miss Jones still looked stunned. “But you’ve shown no interest in the books in Hodgepodge,” she told him.

Stephen lifted his broad shoulders. “There’s a time for reading … and a time for indulging in merrymaking with one’s friends.”

Otis chuckled. “Clearly, in your world, those times don’t overlap.”

“No, they don’t,” he said. “Now that the parties are over, thanks to my houseguests, perhaps there
will
be a time to read. I’m sure you agree, Miss Jones, when one is alone, reading is as diverting as any good friend or party.”

“I do agree.” Miss Jones blushed as pink as the inside of a conch shell.

“Miss Jones?” Stephen was amused to see her so prettily discomfited, but he couldn’t fathom why she was.

But too soon she seemed to recover. “Why don’t you and Otis go have some lunch?”

“I’m not at all hungry,” Otis said. “I’ll watch the shop, and you and Captain Arrow enjoy a meal together.”

Miss Jones hesitated, but then she said, “Would that suit you, Captain?”

“Yes,” he said, noting that she wasn’t looking directly at him. “We can talk about literature. Which of the ancient Greek playwrights is your favorite?”

She told him with a great deal of enthusiasm as they traipsed up the stairs. He enjoyed listening to her spout her obviously well-educated opinion so happily. He also enjoyed seeing her from behind, and he didn’t feel a bit guilty about it. They were talking about cerebral things, so why should a man feel guilty for enjoying viewing a woman’s shapely rear through her gown, and perhaps imagining what she looked like without that gown on her pleasingly rounded form?

Of course, she being a maiden, they really shouldn’t spend time alone in her living quarters, but she’d already flouted convention by running her own bookshop, hadn’t she?

She must have read his mind. “I’m aware that it’s rather improper for us to be here in my private quarters without a chaperone,” she said a bit stiffly. “Which is why we shall dine al fresco, where we’ll be in full view of the entire street.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a balcony.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But we do have the roof, if you don’t mind climbing.”

She pointed to a set of rungs on the wall.

Stephen looked up and saw a trapdoor. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “Shall I go first?”

She blushed, no doubt understanding that if she went first, he’d be able to see up her skirts.

“That’s an excellent suggestion,” she said. “You go ahead with a blanket. You’ll see just where to place it.” She reached into a cupboard, withdrew a cheery quilt, and thrust it into his hands. “I’ll follow behind with the food and drink.”

“Good plan,” he said, and clambered easily up the rungs. When he pushed on the roof door, it gave with a mighty squeak. Above his head, he saw the usual gray skies that hung above London.

Once on the roof, he saw the perfect place to sit, a rim of bricks surrounding the chimney. The bricks would make an excellent bench with enough room in between the people reclining there to place a picnic. And yes, if neighbors chose to look up from their windows or the street itself, they’d be able to see the two of them on the roof.

He laid the blanket down and walked closer to the edge. Dreare Street from this vantage point didn’t look so bad, even with the bits of fog still clinging to a street lamp and a large tree in Lady Duchamp’s yard. He gazed down at his house and wondered what Sir Ned and his family were doing. Probably bickering.

Behind him, he heard Miss Jones climbing the rungs, and he got on his knees to grab the food, the drink, and then her hand. When he pulled her up, she grazed his chest with her own soft one before falling back.

“Oh, my!” She looked up at the sky with a pleased grin on her face. “I see some blue.”

It was a small spot of color but just cause for celebration—and a good way for him to avoid thinking about the fact that they’d just come into very close contact.

He picked up the jug of water, and Miss Jones carried the basket and cups to the brick bench.

She poured water into their cups and dispensed bread and cheese. “There,” she said, looking well pleased. “I do enjoy a picnic.”

Her eyes were bright, he noticed. She’d never looked prettier, especially with that shaft of sunlight piercing her hair, turning its black color almost blue.

“Everything’s better outside,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

Did she have any idea how appealing she was when she smiled?

“Yes,” he said. “Everything. Especially a kiss.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

It happened so fast, Jilly didn’t have time to think. Captain Arrow’s pupils darkened, and next thing she knew, he leaned toward her.

She didn’t back away. She couldn’t. It was as if she were riveted to the spot, lost in the dark depths of his eyes, the irises rimmed with gold.