Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (34 page)

Stephen nodded, not sure what to think.

“So?” Otis waited.

“Good,” Stephen murmured. “Yes, I think she’ll like that.”

Or not.

He wasn’t sure. She was a modest sort of bookseller (
modest,
not boring, as she’d once proclaimed herself to be).

Otis smiled. “On your way, Captain. We’ve got a fair to put on.”

*   *   *

“All right, Jared.” Wearing her drab muslin gray gown for the Prince Regent’s amusement, Jilly rode with the stable boy in the shiny black carriage Hector had bought with her father’s money. “I had to wait far too long to leave the house, and I’ve no time to waste. Can I bribe you to leave me alone or not?”

He squinted at her. “It depends, mum.”

“How about this much?” She showed him some money. The amount she’d had in her reticule wasn’t very impressive. But she’d not wanted to take any from Hodgepodge.

He shook his head. “Double that.”

“I don’t think so.” She pointed the candle taper in her reticule at him. “I’d hate to put a hole through my new reticule, but you either take this exorbitant amount of money and go get blindingly drunk at a pub, or I’ll be forced to shoot you.”

“Right,” he said, holding on to the top of the carriage window. “Put that way, I think I’ll go get blindingly drunk.”

She smiled. “Good man. I’ll find my own way home. Did he say if he’d be back today or not?”

“He never committed one way or the other. But if he does come back, it won’t be until late this evening, mum.”

“Oh, in that case—” She cocked her head at the carriage door. “Get out.”

“See you later,” he said, stuffing the money in his breeches.

“Good-bye,” she said, then leaned out the window. “Do you know where he went, Jared? Tell me the truth, or I’ll put a ball in you.”

“To see his fancy lady!” he called to her as the carriage began to roll away. “Although I’m not sure which one!”

“Right! Thanks!” She waved at Jared with the candle taper, and his face fell.

She sat back on her seat and sighed. Why was she not surprised? Hector had a fancy lady. No, not one fancy lady—more than one.

Poor fancy ladies,
she thought and couldn’t help an hysterical giggle.

She leaned out and told the driver to take her to Dreare Street. She might have gotten a late start, but she had the rest of the day free, and she was going to take full advantage of it.

She’d become Mrs. Broadmoor again tomorrow.

For today, she was Jilly Jones, fair organizer and woman in love.

*   *   *

The driver tried to drop her off at the top of the street, but there were so many elegant carriages lined up with members of the
ton
descending from them, she had to walk an entire half block to the entrance.

She caught her breath at the marvel of the scene. The massive holly bushes were neatly trimmed back, and on either side of them stood two little boys wearing miniature town crier outfits. They’d donned the same sort of black tricorne hats Otis sported as a town crier. In fact, one of those hats probably belonged to Otis.

And they rang hand bells, all while encased in important jackets that were only two or three sizes too big for them, like the hats.

“Welcome to the Dreare Street fair!” they both called out to the fine gentlemen and ladies milling by.

The crowd, Jilly saw, was impressive, and amused by the two young boys.

They entered the street happy.

And she hoped they’d spent loads of money.

When the boys saw her, they grinned and rang their bells harder.

“Miss Jones! You’re back!” cried one.

“Yes, I am.” She gave them both hugs.

“Just in time,” said the other. “The Prince Regent’s arrived. He yelled at all his advisors to get these people out of his way. He’s heard about Otis’s shoes and wants to see them.”

“But the people are still coming,” said the first boy, gulping so much air, he hiccupped.

“That’s lovely news,” said Jilly. “And you’re doing a splendid job.”

She blew them kisses and entered the street. It looked beautiful—both dignified and cheerful. The sun was shining, and everywhere she looked, people were smiling.

At the far end, she could see Stephen’s house standing tall and proud (and yes, a bit rambling, with all its crazy wings). Nevertheless, it was impressive. And to its left was Hodgepodge. She could see the roof where she and Stephen had sat and had their picnic—and where he’d kissed her for the first time.

She inhaled a breath. Even the air smelled good today.

She was back with her friends. She’d play proprietress of Hodgepodge one last time. And if Prinny thought she was really a Celtic princess, then so be it.

She’d play the part. It was a small price to pay.

Her heart brimmed over with happiness. It had only been going on an hour, and the fair was far better than she could ever have imagined.

But then she heard loud exclamations from the crowd at the far end of the street, near Hodgepodge and Stephen’s house. It was where the theatrical performance was to take place later that afternoon.

Much to her dismay, the random yells became a dull roar that assailed her ears and didn’t stop. It could mean only one thing.

“Fight!” one of the little boys cried.

The two small greeters left their assigned stations and went running into the crowd.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Yes, he was anxious about Jilly, but at least everything was going swimmingly at the fair, Stephen was pleased to realize—until the fight broke out during the performance of the famous balcony scene from
Romeo and Juliet
.

Prinny had insisted on holding the theatrics well before anyone had planned. It was supposed to be the culminating event of the day, to take place
after
the booths had been nearly emptied of merchandise, food, and beer. Stephen reassured his neighbors they’d have plenty of time to sell their wares later—meanwhile, Prinny’s quirks must be indulged.

But when two men, one lanky and one short, rushed at the wooden balcony structure in a blur of motion, hitting and punching each other in the middle of the scene, Stephen felt a sharp pang of alarm.

The street fair was in crisis.

The disturbance was fairly minor, yes, and could be curtailed. Stephen had a security force in place, consisting of Pratt, Lumley, and several other of his gentleman friends, all of whom were expert pugilists. It was simply a matter of waiting a moment or two to let them do their jobs.

“Your mangy cur ran between my legs, then turned around and bit my ankle!” the short brawler cried to the other.

“He’s not
my
mangy cur,” the lanky one yelled.

Juliet scrambled down the balcony. Romeo caught her around the waist and hastened her to safety on the edge of the crowd.

The brawlers tumbled over the balcony, fists flying, and landed first on Pratt, who’d rushed forward to contain them. Somehow the balcony fell over—much to the crowd’s dismay and then delight when they realized no one had been crushed. Meanwhile, the fighting went on. Pratt let fly with his fists, as did Lumley, who promptly shoved the lanky fighter. The lanky one then stumbled and landed on one of Prinny’s advisors, whereupon the advisor, a thin, snooty man, fell backward and sideways, landing against the side of Prinny’s chair.

Prinny’s arm flew up, and he dropped his goblet of wine.

A splash of the red stuff landed on his chin and cravat
.

Blast, Stephen thought. A bit of bad luck.

The two arguing men, who’d by now landed in a tangle near Prinny, stopped fighting and scrambled away on their hands and feet, like crabs, back into the sea of people. Lumley and Pratt stood with chests heaving and disappointed looks on their faces.

The crowd shifted uneasily.

“We’ll start the scene again, Your Highness,” Stephen said calmly. “Please accept our apologies for the damage to your cravat. We’ll get you a fresh one.”

Prinny looked down at the blot on his fine white linen. “This cravat,” he said through narrowed eyes, “is my lucky cravat. It was given to me by my best mistress. But it’s ruined, thanks to the antics here on Dreare Street. Now I’m sure to lose my bet on the cockfight I’m attending this afternoon.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “Never mind about the performance. As far as I’m concerned, these theatrics are
over
.”

The crowd began to murmur but stilled again when a huge banner was unfurled above Hodgepodge:

THREE CHEERS FOR MISS JONES,

OUR FAIR
’
S FOUNDER

Stephen winced as he read it. Oh, well. He’d forgotten about that. On the roof of the bookshop, the boys who’d strictly followed Otis’s orders to lower the banner after the theatrics yelled, “Hurrah!”

For the first time since the day’s events had begun, Stephen saw Jilly. Wearing the plain gray gown she’d worn to the ball, she stood in front of Hodgepodge, directly below the banner. Her face paled and her eyes widened as she, too, read the words.

There was a deafening silence, which Stephen wished he knew how to end. But he had no idea what to say, how to
fix
things.

For the very first time ever, his leadership skills failed him.

“There you are, Miss Jones.” The Prince Regent’s annoyed voice broke the silence. “You
did
come up with the idea for the street fair, didn’t you?”

Jilly stood, hands clasped, and stared at the royal. “Y-yes, Your Highness. I—I’m so sorry. It was supposed to be
fun
.”

“Fun?” Lady Tabitha pushed through the hordes and stood before her. “It was hardly
fun
.”

Jilly flinched when Lady Tabitha looked her up and down as if she were a loathsome creature.

“Her name isn’t really Miss Jones.” Lady Tabitha spoke in a bold voice. “And as I told you at the Langleys’ ball, Your Highness, she’s not descended from Celtic kings. Her true name is Mrs. Broadmoor. She’s a runaway wife, and she’s been bamboozling you all.”

Bamboozling you all.

Runaway wife.

Stephen felt the harsh accusations sear him like a knife. It was a dreadful moment. Otis gave one, long whimper that sounded almost like a howling dog.

Jilly stood as if turned to stone.

Prinny stared at her. “Is this true? Are you married, Miss Jones?”

She blinked once, then nodded. It was the moment that finally broke Stephen’s heart.

All the smug, wealthy residents of Mayfair began to talk, to disapprove. To be horrified. And it appeared so did everyone else—everyone except Stephen. He felt too depressed to speak or move.

The Prince Regent stared at the banner on the roof of Hodgepodge, and after that, he shifted his gaze to the overturned balcony. “This has got to be the unluckiest street I’ve ever had the misfortune to visit,” he pronounced.

The affronted royal walked several houses up the street to the brightest and shiniest of the retinue of waiting carriages and entered it. The entire crowd watched as it drove up the street, out the entrance, and bowled away.

And that’s when the mass exodus began. Stephen knew it signaled the end of all of Dreare Street’s hopes—and of Jilly’s dreams.

All around him, people began walking fast toward what they could see of Curzon Street. A few ran. Some even dropped the whirligigs they’d bought for their children, afraid they were tainted with bad luck. Others cried out, looking for loved ones, as if there were a chance they’d gotten sucked into an invisible vortex of bad luck.

All this, while Stephen and the other residents of Dreare Street stood silently and watched.

When the last fair-goer had fled, almost as one, the ones who remained on the much maligned street turned back to Hodgepodge—and Jilly.

But, Stephen noted with a halt of his breath, she was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The fog came in that night around eight o’clock, worse than it ever had since Jilly had been in London. She stood at her bedchamber window at the house on Grosvenor Square and tried to peer through the cloudy vapor that swirled outside, but it was impossible to see anything.

She wished she could see right now what the people on Dreare Street were doing.

Were they eating their suppers? Were the Hobbses slowly ladling their turtle soup and wondering how they’d pay their lease? Perhaps some neighbors were crying. Others might very well be cursing her for getting them into this mess.

All of them, she was sure, despised her for lying to them.