Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Once again, Miss Jones was attempting to hide how she really felt but couldn’t quite manage it. Stephen could tell she wasn’t at all enthusiastic about his going to the ball with Lady Tabitha and Lady Duchamp.

But his bookish neighbor wasn’t one of his admirers, so she couldn’t possibly be jealous of Lady Tabitha. Miss Jones had made it clear, however, that she didn’t like the fair plans progressing without her. Perhaps that was it.

Or was she simply a lady who longed to go to a ball?

The more he thought about it, the more he believed the last possibility was the most likely. Every woman wanted to be a Cinderella, didn’t she?

“Don’t you get your own invitations to routs, balls, and musicales, Captain?” Otis asked in a polite manner. “Surely a person of such style, spirit, and good looks—”

“Certainly I get invitations from my old Eton friends,” Stephen interrupted him, embarrassed at Otis’s over-the-top flattery but not wanting to seem churlish, either. “But as I said, my married friends don’t know I’m in Town yet. Since I’ve returned from sea, I’ve holed up here on Dreare Street with friends who, like me, couldn’t care less about Almack’s and debutante balls.”

The bell rang at the front of the shop.

Miss Jones’s face lit up when the person strolled in. “Nathaniel!”

Stephen must admit to feeling a spark of jealousy at how happy she appeared to see him.

“Miss Jones!” The artist’s face creased into a smile. After everyone exchanged greetings, he said, “I’m back to get my book. I had a chance to look last night after the meeting, and I’ve decided I want the one about Venice.”

“Excellent choice,” Miss Jones murmured, and watched him with great interest as he took the book off the shelf.

“I’d like to have it wrapped, if you don’t mind,” he said and brought it over to her. “I’m going home soon for a brief visit, and I don’t want it muddied by travel. I’ll be reading it to my mother.” He gave a wistful smile. “It’s not often she sees books.”

Miss Jones laid the book on the counter and sighed. “What a thoughtful son.”

Nathaniel blushed.

Stephen watched as she shook her head in apparent wonder at Nathaniel’s heroic qualities and went about wrapping the book in brown paper, all the while talking to him about Venice and how she’d love to see it someday, too. When she was done tying the book with string, she handed it back.

“Take it with my compliments to your mother,” she said with a smile that would have left any man with a beating heart breathless.

“Thank you.” Nathaniel tucked the package under his arm and looked over at Stephen and Otis. “Lads, we enjoyed ourselves last night, didn’t we?”

“That we did,” said Otis.

“Your booth is next,” Stephen added.

“I’d help you with it,” Nathaniel said, “but I’m busy painting—I hope I can sell something at the fair. I’m beginning to wonder if I have any talent. No one’s buying.”

“You’re tremendously talented,” Miss Jones insisted. “I especially like your bold use of color.”

“Do you?” Nathaniel’s eyes seemed to soften when he looked at her.

And no wonder, Stephen thought. Already, Nathaniel had been declared the best son in the world, and now he was possibly the greatest painter. Any man would like to be so sincerely complimented.

Stephen found he wanted more compliments from the bookseller for himself, ones that weren’t measured. Miss Jones wasn’t made to hold anything back. Yet with him, she did suppress something. He saw it in every line of her being.

The seamstress, Susan, came into the store with her young son, Thomas, just as Nathaniel was leaving. They crossed paths at the front table, where Thomas stopped to examine a book with paintings of birds.

“Look at these,” he said to Nathaniel, and pointed at the pictures. “I like the one with yellow on its wings.”

“That’s a goldfinch,” said Nathaniel with an awkward smile and a nod at Susan.

Susan smiled back rather shyly. “Good morning.”

Stephen recognized a mutual interest there. So did Miss Jones, obviously—she looked back and forth between them with a delighted smile on her face.

Nathaniel made his farewells, and Susan and Miss Jones exchanged a happy greeting.

“I hear you’re working with Otis on a project for the street fair,” Miss Jones said.

“Indeed, I am.” Susan looked at Otis. “I came by to tell you I found two ladies on Dreare Street willing to darn lace on your handkerchiefs, Mr. Shrimpshire.”

“That’s excellent news,” Otis declared. “Please call me Otis.”

“Very well, Otis.” Susan cocked her head in the direction of her shop. “If you’re ready to see the fabrics I have, we can go look now. And perhaps we can cut them out together.”

“Gladly.” Otis untied his shop apron and offered the seamstress his arm. Then at the door he seemed to remember Miss Jones. He looked over his shoulder. “Is it all right with you, Miss Jilly? Especially in light of the fact that I see three fashionable young ladies strolling our way?”

“Customers?” Miss Jones’s face brightened. “Go right ahead.”

“Ah,” Susan remarked, gazing onto the street, “now Lady Tabitha is joining their number.”

Stephen saw Miss Jones’s face lose some of its glow.

“Very good,” she said, striving to sound cheerful, but it was apparent to him that she was intimidated by Lady Tabitha.

She’d no reason to be, of course.

Although not a classic beauty like Lady Tabitha, Miss Jones was much more attractive, in Stephen’s view. Lady Tabitha lacked the vitality and genuine warmth Miss Jones had in abundance.

Now Lady Tabitha and several female companions, obviously members of the
ton
, walked warily into the shop, as if they weren’t used to patronizing bookstores, much less bookstores on an inferior street.

Stephen backed up to a corner and pretended to examine some books, the better to watch the proceedings undetected. He had a feeling Lady Tabitha was a bored society girl with nothing better to do than stir up trouble.

“Welcome once more, Lady Tabitha, and welcome to your friends.” Miss Jones looked up from her counter and smiled graciously at the new arrivals. “Do let me know if I can be of assistance.”

Stephen thought Miss Jones was the perfect shopkeeper: friendly, helpful, but not overbearing.

“We’re not here to shop.” Lady Tabitha’s voice held no warmth.

No surprise there, thought Stephen.

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” Miss Jones replied, recovering quickly from the new arrival’s bluntly stated words. “I enjoy company.”

Lady Tabitha’s friends hovered around her, delicate and beautiful, every one of them dressed like spring flowers. None of them smiled at Miss Jones. Indeed, they showed no appreciation whatsoever for her warm welcome.

“I’m fascinated by the story of Alicia Fotherington,” Lady Tabitha said. “I’d like to see her journal.”

Stephen noted it wasn’t a request. More of a demand.

Miss Jones rose from her seat, only the tiniest wrinkle on her brow. “I’ll be happy to show it to you,” she said, carefully polite. Then she gave a short laugh. “Truth be told, my assistant had it last. I’m not sure where he put it.”

She hesitated, and Stephen could tell she was wondering whether she dared go upstairs and look for it.

“I’ll keep an eye on the shop for you,” he said.

All the women turned toward him.

“Captain Arrow!” Tabitha exclaimed, and her face took on a certain animation it had lacked when she’d been unaware he was in the room.

“Lady Tabitha,” he said with a bow. “And ladies.”

“Thank you for your offer,” Miss Jones said quietly to him, and then to the ladies, “I’ll be right back.”

The ladies apparently didn’t notice she’d spoken as no one responded. They were focused on him alone. Stephen noticed that they were much warmer in their greetings to him than they’d been to Miss Jones. He already knew Lady Tabitha was self-possessed, perhaps a little vain—and interested in him—but he hadn’t known her conceit extended to making other women who couldn’t possibly compete with her advantages feel invisible.

Her friends were no better.

Stephen had always admired people in high positions who made their underlings feel important and had striven to emulate them. In the navy, it was how he got his men to give him their best efforts. He knew all his sailors by name, and he made sure to ask after their families. He brought them to his cabin for a brandy if one of them had a death in the family and did the same for a sailor who’d lost his best mate in a battle.

Once he’d brought a young midshipman into his cabin for a drink when he’d received a letter stating his family had lost his favorite childhood dog to old age. And on several occasions, he’d counseled men who’d received letters from sweethearts or wives who no longer loved them.

He was already regretting telling Miss Jones that Lady Tabitha was sporting.

Sporting, my eye,
he thought.

He watched Miss Jones leave through the back door to the office and then upstairs and wished he could go with her.

“So, Captain.” Lady Tabitha interrupted his thoughts. “Are you ready for the ball tonight?”

“Of course,” he said, making no attempt to charm her or her friends. “A man has very little to do to get ready. We don’t have to go out and purchase new ribbons and gowns for every event.”

The women tittered.

Let them. He was impatient for them to go. He’d one last edge to smooth on his ledge, and then it would be done.

“Did you ever meet Admiral Lord Nelson?” asked one young lady.

“Yes, miss,” he said gruffly.

“How many times?”

“Several.” To hell with waiting for them to go—he’d smooth that last edge now.

Undeterred, another young lady posed a question. “Did you really capture a pirate?”

“I did,” he said, focusing his attention on the ledge.

The women seemed to sigh as one, except for Lady Tabitha. She merely curved her mouth up a bit. She was clearly the leader of her little clutch of friends.

“Captain, you appear tired with our silly questions,” she said. “Does going about in society bore you?”

“Largely.” He looked at her with not an ounce of interest. “Although I do have friends I like to see at various events.”

“Do you waltz?” asked one young woman.

“Reluctantly,” he said. He wouldn’t tell them it was because he felt waltzing should be reserved for people in love. It was the one romantic thought he’d ever had, and he preferred to keep it to himself.

Lady Tabitha ran her gaze over his shoulders and chest, quite as if he were a roast on the spit. “It appears you prefer to do manly things. You’ve built something for Miss Jones.”

“A ledge for her window.” He reluctantly stood. “So she can display her books. She hopes it will improve sales.”

Lady Tabitha’s smooth forehead wrinkled. “She couldn’t hire a carpenter?”

Stephen shrugged. “I volunteered. We’re neighbors, after all.”

While he looked into Lady Tabitha’s gorgeous but hard face, he was tempted to come up with an excuse to get out of their engagement that evening. But he’d made his promise. He’d do his best to get the Prince Regent to come to the street fair.

“It appears Miss Jones has few customers,” said one of Lady Tabitha’s friends.

“No wonder,” chimed in another. “A lady running a bookshop? It isn’t done.”

“Especially an unfashionable lady,” said Lady Tabitha smoothly. “Yet her assistant is no better. His shoes are an abomination. And so are his waistcoats.”

Stephen frowned. “They’re both exceptionally able people. If anyone can make a bookshop successful, it will be Miss Jones and her assistant. In fact, I think Miss Jones would be helpful tonight at the ball.”

“Do you?” Lady Tabitha hardly batted an eye.

“Yes,” he said. “She could talk to Prinny about books and the history of the street. He’s quite bright beneath his debauched exterior, and her excitement about the street fair will no doubt pique his interest.”

“But is she of good family?” asked one of Lady Tabitha’s friends.

Stephen couldn’t resist a little lecture. “Ladies, in battle, a man’s character is measured not by the depth of his pockets or his bloodlines but by the reach of his heart.”

“Yes, but does that mean she’s of good family?” asked the same young lady.

Stephen stared at her, not sure what to say that wouldn’t be insulting.

But he was saved from answering when Miss Jones walked back into the shop empty-handed. Her cheeks were pink.

Had she overheard any of their conversation?

He hoped not.

Seconds later, he was relieved to see she was embarrassed about something else.

“I’m so sorry,” she told Lady Tabitha, “but I can’t find the journal. I assure you, I realize its value as a piece of history concerning Dreare Street. Otis must have stashed it away in a safe place. When he comes back, I’ll ask him where it is.”