Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (22 page)

Ah. A blush was creeping up her high cheekbones. “If you’re worried about your virtue,” he said softly, “don’t. It’s safe with me.”

She turned. “Is it?”

The vulnerability in her expression touched him.

“Of course,” he assured her.

She brightened immediately. “I’m glad, Captain. Thank you for … for understanding. I know we”—she hesitated—“I mean”—she blew out a breath—“oh, dear, what I’m trying to say is that … I
am
a respectable bookseller.”

“An indisputable fact I haven’t forgotten,” Stephen said, squeezing her hand. “Why don’t you go see Otis and Susan, and then meet me out here at the top of the street when you’re done.”

“Oh.” He could swear she looked almost bereft. “You won’t come with me?”

It must have been a shadow that had passed over her face from a cloud overhead. There was no way Miss Jones would be bereft at the thought of his leaving.

“No,” he told her. “I’m going to wait for a decent hackney.”

And then he turned his back on her and began walking.

Don’t look back,
he told himself.
Give her a bit of her own medicine.

He even started to whistle.

“Captain?”

He stopped in his tracks, smiled, then schooled his expression to be neutral. Slowly, he turned around. “Yes?”

“Thank you for getting the hackney.” She plucked at her skirts, appearing almost shy.

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

She gave him a crooked smile.

When he turned again to the top of the street, his chest felt heavy with something important.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was taking place around Miss Jones.

Miss Jones.

Miss Jones.

He could say her name a long time without ever losing pleasure in the saying. Something was important about that. It filled him with wonder. And warmth.

He could hardly stand the five minutes he’d have to wait to see her again.

*   *   *

Miss Jones looked out the window almost the entire time they were in the hackney. Her profile was mesmerizing. Stephen enjoyed watching her bob up and down gently with the rhythm of the wheels, too. Her feet were pressed tightly together and her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She was such a lady.

Such a
tempting
lady.

He looked out his window, too, only occasionally sneaking peeks at her. The one time he spoke to her was when they crossed Waterloo Bridge. “A fine view, isn’t it?”

She finally looked at him. “Yes,” she said. “Very fine.”

And that was that.

When they reached the theater, they couldn’t find Pratt and the Hartleys in the crowd. They’d arrived too late for the dramatic performance, but they caught a pantomime and enjoyed the subsequent harlequinade immensely. Miss Jones especially laughed at Harlequin’s antics when Pantaloon chased him across the stage and pummeled him so hard with his hat that Harlequin snatched it and punched his fist through the crown.

After it was over, they went backstage, where they did finally meet up with Pratt, the Hartleys, and the small, elite acting troupe known as the Canterbury Cousins.

“So nice to see you, Captain!” Lady Hartley said. She took his arm possessively.

“Shouldn’t you be working on the house?” Sir Ned frowned. “The damned bats need to be got rid of, and the beam in the breakfast room and in Miranda’s bedchamber are still rotting away. Why’d you come here?”

“The house repairs and the bats will have to wait.” Stephen held his annoyance at bay. Of course he should have stayed home and seen to his own affairs. But he wasn’t going to have an obnoxious distant relative tell him what to do.

“The street fair is
primo,
Sir Ned,” Pratt said in his melodious accent. “Miss Jones and Captain Arrow have taken it upon themselves to oversee the planning. You are
uomo vecchio
already, eh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sir Ned narrowed his eyes.

“You are an old man.” Pratt smiled his beautiful white smile. “You forget things.”

Sir Ned’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not an old man!”

“Then shut your lips.” Pratt extended his palms toward Sir Ned. “In my country, people who talk too much get no wine. No women. No songs.”

Surprisingly, Sir Ned did stop talking.

Miss Hartley stared at Pratt in wonder, then took her father’s arm. “Yes, Papa, we need Miss Jones and Captain Arrow. They need to get the actors to come and perform for free.”

“Free?” a red-bearded man said. “We can’t perform for free.”

“But sirs,” Miss Jones said, “we’ve no money to pay you. Consider this an opportunity to become better known around London.”

“Sorry, we’re too good a troupe to work for no pay,” said another actor.

“But Prinny’s coming!” Miss Hartley said.

The actors all looked at each other.

“The Prince Regent?” the red-bearded man said in a disbelieving tone.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Yes,” he told the actor. “He’s coming. We’re to make the arrangements tonight.”

The actors took themselves off for a moment and came back.

“We’ll do it,” said the red-bearded man. “We’ll start with the balcony scene from
Romeo and Juliet
. You’ll need to provide us with a balcony on set, of course. It’s quite an impressive performance.”

“We’ll make sure we’ve got a balcony,” Stephen said, regretting that it was one more carpentry project he’d have to oversee before he got to the rotting beams.

“
And
make sure you’ve got the prince, too,” one of the actors reminded him with a laugh.

Stephen made the obligatory chuckle at the man’s attempt at wit, but he was bothered. Building the balcony would be a hassle, but that wasn’t going to be nearly as difficult as getting the Prince Regent to come to Dreare Street.

“Isn’t everything about the fair so exciting, Captain?” Miss Jones said in the carriage on their way home.

“Very.” His lingering doubts about the street fair dissolved then. One look at her grin of delight and he realized that even if she’d wanted the moon, he’d move heaven and earth to help her get it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The gown Lady Tabitha sent over to Jilly to wear to the ball was of expensive cut but almost austere, a gray muslin with a modest neckline and only the smallest ruffle at the hem. Lady Tabitha had judged her size well, at least. In addition to the gown, she’d sent over a simple shawl in pale gray and a pair of serviceable French slippers in the same color.

“They may be too practical for a night of dancing, but they’re a very soft kid leather, Miss Jilly,” said Otis. “You won’t trip in them. I believe the whole outfit shrieks understated wealth.”

Jilly observed herself in the looking glass in her sitting room. “Oh, Otis. This outfit is perfectly proper but dull as dishwater. I look like someone’s chaperone. Or a very well-dressed lady’s maid. Admit it.”

“Well—” He winced, unable to disagree.

“Do you think Lady Tabitha did this on purpose?”

He bit his lip. “How can we even think such a thing? She’s enabling you to go to a fine ball. She didn’t have to show you such attention at all.”

“I know.” Jilly was positively flummoxed by the lady’s attention. “But it’s a shame I can’t wear one of my old gowns.”

“But you made a pretty sum selling them.”

“I know.” Jilly sighed. “But I know just the gown I’d have worn tonight.” It was a deep green silk creation that went well with her eyes. Captain Arrow would have admired it, she was sure.

But she must stop thinking about what gowns he would like to see on her. It was a futile pastime, and she was beginning to question her own judgment. She was married, and he was a rake. Even if she were unattached, she should steer clear of him.

She fingered her neckline. “I need something to offset the spare look of this gown.”

“It’s a shame you can’t wear your diamond pendant,” said Otis. “It was quite distinctive. Some harpy probably owns it now.”

“It’s no use lamenting,” Jilly said. “My old wardrobe helped us purchase Hodgepodge.”

“That’s true.”

Her observation appeared to have the intended effect—Otis seemed happy again. He helped her dress her hair in a simple, elegant style, à la Sappho, and handed her a lovely fan.

She was ready.

He gave her a hug. “Your mother’s fan will distinguish you—that and your beautiful eyes.
They
are your jewels. You need no others.”

She almost teared up at his sentimental foolishness. It wasn’t until he opened the front door of Hodgepodge to escort her across the street that she became nervous.

She was going out and would be seen by the finest of London society. Every step she took across the street reminded her she was leaving a relatively safe haven and venturing into dangerous, unknown territory.

She must stay calm.

Otis dropped her at the front door of Lady Duchamp’s house and kissed her cheek. “You’ll do splendidly,” he said with a proud smile.

“Thank you. I wish you could come.” She waved good-bye to him a bit wistfully.

When the butler allowed her admittance into the house, she immediately sensed a cold atmosphere that the lavish furnishings did nothing to erase. She followed him to the drawing room and sat there alone for a good ten minutes. Finally, she got up and peeked out into the hall.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“I was simply wondering … did I arrive too early?”

“No,” he said. “The young ladies should be down momentarily.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a brief smile, sat back down on a hard sofa, and waited another five minutes.

Finally, the ladies arrived, and without any sort of welcome or apology, Lady Tabitha told her it was time to go. The other three women clutched their fans, shawls, and reticules and followed behind Lady Tabitha. Jilly took up the rear.

At the carriage, she was also last to enter and squeezed in next to a young lady with a half-smile on her lips that faded when Jilly sat next to her.

The atmosphere was quite strained, so Jilly tried to soften it with a smile and an innocuous compliment. “All of you look lovely tonight.”

No one responded—instead, they began speaking of a picnic to take place the next day near Hampstead Heath—and the carriage lurched forward.

Jilly felt her face turn red.

During the rest of the ride, she sat silent and listened to their fast-paced conversation about eligible gentlemen, other women they despised (they never mentioned a one that they liked), and even talk about their experiences kissing.

“I’d like to get Captain Arrow alone in the garden,” tittered one of the ladies.

Lady Tabitha glowered at her. “He’s mine, Serena.”

Serena sat up. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Who couldn’t want him?” Lady Tabitha said, and for the first time, she looked at Jilly. “Miss Jones, tell us what you know of him.”

Her heart sped up as all of them turned to stare at her. “Well,” she began, “he’s a captain who found the peacetime navy a bit dull, so—”

“Do you have a
tendre
for him?” Lady Tabitha asked, her mouth curved in a sly smile.

Jilly sat up higher. “Of course not,” she lied.

“Why not?” asked Serena with a disbelieving chuckle. “Who else on Dreare Street is handsome and eligible?”

Jilly considered her words. “I’m not in the market for marriage. My business takes all my time.”

“You’re wise to know your limits,” said Lady Tabitha, a half-smile pasted on her lips.

The other women giggled.

Obviously, they knew as well as Jilly that Lady Tabitha’s remark wasn’t meant to be complimentary.

“Actually,” she said coolly, “owning Hodgepodge allows me to go well beyond the limits imposed on most women. I’m not forced to marry where I don’t want to. I can pick and choose my companions based solely upon whether I enjoy their company.”

The other women’s faces dropped a little at that, and she couldn’t help being satisfied at dampening their condescending attitudes, even if only for a moment.

She was glad when the carriage stopped a moment later in front of a brightly lit mansion. Despite the sour company, her palms dampened with nerves and a bit of excitement. She didn’t belong at the ball and shouldn’t be at the ball.

But I’m here,
she thought, and felt herself buoyed by a burst of courage.
And I dare anyone to tell me I don’t belong.

This time the ladies allowed her to be the first to disembark. She stood outside the carriage, looking up at the house, and wondered if the captain were there yet. The realization left her slightly breathless.