Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (21 page)

That memory softened her. It did more than that, actually—it bewildered her. Almost brought tears to her eyes.

Hector had never treated her so.

She’d never felt … womanly in his presence. Like a goddess adored. Yes, that’s how Captain Arrow had treated her, like a goddess.

In the sitting room, she made the decision to allow him to help her with the Hobbses, after all.

Mrs. Hobbs rose from a chair, where she was knitting. “Welcome,” she said with a broad smile.

“Sit down, Lavinia.” Mr. Hobbs used a firm tone from his plush red armchair, where he was reading a newspaper.

Mrs. Hobbs did sit down, and she looked none too happy about it.

Her husband lowered his newspaper an inch. “I told Lavinia we don’t have time for your nonsense, but she insisted we should see you. So say what you have to say and get out.”

He put the paper back up in front of his face.

“Mr. Hobbs,” Jilly said, “could you please lower the paper?”

He merely shook it.

“Mind if I take a seat, Hobbs?” Captain Arrow asked.

Mr. Hobbs lowered the paper and scowled at him. “If you insist.”

The captain leaned back in a lovely Chippendale chair and pulled out a pair of cheroots. “Care for one?” He held it out to Mr. Hobbs. “They’re the finest I’ve ever found in the Indies.”

Without waiting for an answer, the captain lit the cheroots from a nearby taper—Jilly was impressed by his sangfroid—and the men both began to puff away. Mr. Hobbs looked like a grumpy dragon, Jilly thought, scowling and puffing, scowling and puffing.

Captain Arrow took what appeared to be a few blissful puffs and let out a long sigh. He smiled and leaned over to Mrs. Hobbs and asked her about her knitting.

Good. Now Jilly could concentrate on Mr. Hobbs.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Hobbs, you’re a hardworking man.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, and rattled his paper.

She racked her brain. “You—you deserve to come home and have your home be your castle.”

“Indeed, I do.” He coughed, and a curl of smoke floated above the page.

Jilly took a chair, pulled it up next to him, and folded her hands in her lap. “I know you can’t see me through your paper,” she said, “but that’s all right. There’s so much fog on this street—we often can’t see each other. Sometimes it tends to make one feel a bit … alone.”

Silence from behind the paper.

Jilly squeezed her fingers together harder. “I just want you to know, Mr. Hobbs, that your family isn’t alone. It might seem like it, but it doesn’t have to be that way. And if you feel like your castle is under siege, there are actually people on the street who want to help you fight for it.”

She waited, and he lowered his paper just enough that she could see one eye. “No one can help me,” he mumbled around the cheroot.

Oh, dear. He sounded angry and despairing, all at once.

“But I think we can,” said Jilly. “We can earn enough money from the street fair to—”

Mr. Hobbs dropped the paper in his lap and pulled the cheroot out of his mouth. “The bloody lease is just the beginning,” he hissed. “My financial woes extend far beyond the requirements of that lease.”

Mrs. Hobbs turned at the sound of his voice. “Mason?”

He looked at her. “These people can’t help us, Lavinia.”

He put the cheroot back in his mouth and the paper back up. Mrs. Hobbs’s face fell. Jilly looked at Stephen.

Do you need help?
his expression asked.

She gave him a brief shake of her head, but a part of her simply felt happy to have someone to rely on.

She inhaled a breath and went back to Mr. Hobbs. “I can’t make any promises beyond the lease, Mr. Hobbs,” she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “But one step at a time.
One step
. With the weight of the lease removed, you’ll be able to think more clearly about the rest.”

“The rest,” he said contemptuously from behind his newspaper.

“Yes, the rest,” she asserted. “Meanwhile, your wife and children can help with the fair. Anticipate success there, Mr. Hobbs. And with that momentum, you can go forward. Giving up isn’t an option. In fact, we’d like you to help with the fair, too.”

He lowered the paper. “No.” His tone was still flat.

“Very well.” Jilly stood. “But we do need Mrs. Hobbs and the children.”

“Mason?” Mrs. Hobbs’s voice was thin.

Mr. Hobbs looked at the frayed Aubusson rug then back at his wife. “You can help with the fair,” he said. “But—”

“But what, dear?” Mrs. Hobbs asked him.

“Nothing.” He stood and sighed. “Miss Jones, you’re an interfering young lady.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

She heard Captain Arrow behind her give a small cough that sounded rather like a laugh. “You won’t regret this, Hobbs,” he said.

Mr. Hobbs’s brows drew across his nose. “We’ll see about that.” He flung his hand toward the door, the cheroot still smoking between his fingertips. “Now out with you both.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Mrs. Hobbs with a happy smile.

“Come over tomorrow with the children,” Jilly said, “and we’ll talk about what you can do.”

“I look forward to it,” said Mrs. Hobbs.

Jilly hugged Mrs. Hobbs, then took Captain Arrow’s arm. Together they strode out the door, past the butler, who winked at the captain, and out onto the street.

She looked at Captain Arrow, and he, at her.

At the same time, they laughed.

“Well done,” he said.

“Thank you for sharing your whisky and cigars.”

“My pleasure.”

The biggest thing she’d noticed at the Hobbses’ was that she and the captain did well together. Not that she would tell him that. He’d be sure to remind her they meshed perfectly in another way, too—a way she was sure she should forget but already knew she wouldn’t.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“So what’s next, now that we’ve got the Hobbses on board?” Stephen asked on the street. Not that he cared overly much. All he wanted was to be next to Miss Jilly Jones.

“We’re off to see Susan and Otis,” she said. “I’m longing to see how their handkerchiefs are coming along, but don’t you have those house repairs to make?”

He shrugged. “The needs of the fair take precedence.” As did escorting an enchanting bookseller about Dreare Street.

“Are you sure?” She looked a little uncertain.

“Trying to rid yourself of me?”

“No, but I plan on stopping at Nathaniel’s before I go to Susan’s.”

“Oh?”

She gave a determined nod. “He needs to help Susan.”

“But he’s a painter.”

“I know.” She bit her thumb. “I need to figure out a reason.”

Stephen caught on. “Oh, so you want to play matchmaker?”

Miss Jones blushed. “Is that so wrong?”

“If love is meant to be, won’t it bloom on its own?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Jones said. “Why leave it up to chance? I see nothing wrong with moving things along.”

She gave him a chiding yet warm look—the kind that made him impatient to get her on the floor of her bookstore again—and knocked on Nathaniel’s door. When the artist opened it, he was wearing an apron covered in speckles of paint.

“Delighted to see you both,” Nathaniel said. “Do you want to see what I’m working on for the fair?”

“That’s the entire reason we’re here.” Stephen glanced at Miss Jones. “Isn’t it, Miss Jones?”

“Of course it is,” she said, wide-eyed.

But he knew better.

At the far end of the spare garret, which was flooded with northern light because of an expansive window, Nathaniel pointed out several small paintings on an easel. The pictures were small watercolor renderings of various housefronts in Mayfair, done with great charm.

“They’re beautiful,” Miss Jones said, her whole face lighting up.

“Very nice work,” he added. “Do you plan to paint any Dreare Street façades?”

Nathaniel laughed. “Of course not. Who would buy them?”

Miss Jones winced only slightly. “Someday, someone will. Dreare Street won’t be hopeless for much longer.”

Stephen had to admire her optimism—that and her dedication to her cause, which he’d now committed to making his own. He wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do. But it was too late to turn back.

“Sorry, Miss Jones,” Nathaniel said. “Old habits die hard.”

“You’re completely forgiven.” Miss Jones smiled at him. “I’d tell you to start your Dreare Street collection by painting the captain’s home, but he won’t be with us for long. Once the fair succeeds, he’ll be able to sell his house. You’ll be on to a new adventure, isn’t that right, Captain?”

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” he replied, but the idea didn’t fill him with much satisfaction. And Miss Jones didn’t appear particularly perturbed at the thought of his leaving, either.

Nathaniel scratched his head. “To tell the truth, if I painted the captain’s house, I’d need paper twice this size to capture the rambling qualities of it.”

“It does appear as if the wings were tacked on one at a time,” Stephen agreed.

Miss Jones asked about Nathaniel’s daily work habits. When he was finished detailing them, down to an explanation about how he cleaned his brushes in the evening, she said, “It’s been lovely stopping by, but we’ve got to visit Susan and Otis now. They’re working on a project together. Oversized handkerchiefs for the street fair. Would you like to come with us to see them?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m a bit busy.” And he was, obviously. He had a dish of wet paint nearby.

Stephen could see Miss Jones thinking rapidly.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I was hoping you could help.”

“Help with what?” Nathaniel picked up a brush and began dabbing it on his latest creation.

Miss Jones folded her hands in front of her. “Susan is in need of someone to take Thomas to the park this afternoon while she and Otis work. But I understand. You’re too busy. I’d ask Captain Arrow, but he’s going with me to find Pratt and the Hartleys.”

“I am?” Stephen said.

“Remember, we’re going to see the theater troupe?” She smiled in a forced manner.

Obviously, he was supposed to go along with her.

“Oh, right,” he said, recovering. “We are. As soon as we leave here, as a matter of fact. I’m on my way to hire a hackney.”

“But—” Miss Jones insisted.

“No
but
s,” Stephen told her. “We’ve got to cross Waterloo Bridge to get to the Royal Coburg Theater. Unless, of course, we give up on the whole idea. Thomas and I will have a lovely time in the park.”

He could tell she longed to make an awful face at him, but Nathaniel was watching. “Oh, no,” she said. “We really must go.”

Stephen couldn’t help but smile. “Is that a promise? I won’t go unless it is.”

“Of course.” Miss Jones took his arm and sighed. “Good-bye, Nathaniel,” she said to the artist. “I look forward to seeing more watercolors soon.” And then she began subtly pulling Stephen toward the front door.

“Yes, ah, good-bye, Nathaniel,” he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t look back,” she whispered.

“I can see you’re an expert at this matchmaking business,” he whispered back.

She ignored him and stared resolutely at the door. He could see how agonized she was as they got closer and closer.

“I suppose I could take the boy to the park,” Nathaniel called out to them, just as they’d reached the front door. “A small break wouldn’t hurt.”

Miss Jones turned around, her face alight with joy. “You would? That’s so kind of you.”

Nathaniel scratched his head. “Yes, well, I’ll do it.” His face brightened. “Thomas likes birds, so we can go bird-watching.”

“I know Susan will be so appreciative.” Miss Jones nodded her head vigorously.

Poor fellow,
thought Stephen. Nathaniel had no idea of the trap he’d just walked into, although Stephen must admit that taking a little boy on a walk would be a nice diversion for anyone.

Outside, Miss Jones’s violet-blue eyes lightened almost to periwinkle. “Now we’ve got to go see Susan,” she said with relish, “and tell her Nathaniel volunteered to take Thomas on a walk.”

“And after that, we’ll get that hackney and go to the theater,” Stephen reminded her.

Miss Jones stopped walking. “But we don’t need to, really. I was just saying that to give Nathaniel an excuse to help.”

“But you gave me your word we’d go together.” Stephen was firm. “Besides, it couldn’t hurt to check on Pratt and the Hartleys.”

“All right,” she said. “But—”

She hesitated.

“But what?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Nothing.”