Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

He saw a spark of hope flare in her eye. “A window ledge,” she said. “I want to put books in the window for passersby to look at.”

“And a cat,” he added. “Everyone will want to come in and pet it.”

“Yes. I love cats.” She was leaning on the counter, looking out onto the street. He thought she looked quite enchanting, the way she spun a tendril of sooty hair wistfully around her finger and smiled at the thought of a cat. “I haven’t had one in several years.”

“Why not?”

“Oh.” She sat up. “No reason.”

Funny. Her eyes were shadowed, as if she’d said something wrong.

He decided to ignore the awkward moment. “There’s a stack of planks in the shed, too,” he said. “I don’t know how old they are. They might all be rotten. But I’ll look about and see what I can produce to help you.”

“Thank you,” she said, casting her eyes down.

A strange awkwardness descended upon them.

“You’re welcome.” He dragged his hand across the counter and patted it once. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” she said quietly.

Stephen was shocked to discover he wasn’t dreading the prospect.

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, Jilly was glad to see Captain Arrow arrive with some carpentry tools, nails, a wide, long plank, and some small pieces of wood.

“Good morning,” he said, but he sounded a bit guarded, a remnant of that strange awkwardness between them the day before.

“Thanks for coming.” She felt equally reticent, although she didn’t know why she should worry. Their agreement was quite simple, and she actually trusted him to keep his side of the bargain.

“How are your guests today?” She was very aware they were alone. Otis was upstairs washing the breakfast dishes.

Captain Arrow shrugged. “I left before they awakened. They’ll be up soon enough, I suppose.”

She wanted to tell him she was excited about the plank he’d found. But she also didn’t want him to think she was impressed with him in any way. After all, the only reason he was making her a window ledge was because he’d entangled her in his problem, and it was a most inappropriate ploy, considering the fact that she was already involved in her own deception.

Which was inappropriate, too, but it was hers.

When Captain Arrow didn’t seem to notice her understated reaction to his arrival and became immediately absorbed in the task she’d set before him, she felt a bit bereft.

Why didn’t he care that she was ignoring him?

She began to regret her cool manner. She wanted to know what every piece of wood was for and how long the task would take. She couldn’t wait to get her books on that ledge!

Diligently, he worked on. His legs, arms, and back bristled with power—and a hint of danger—as he measured. Even so, when he carried some materials outside, the shop lost some of its coziness. Jilly couldn’t help staring while he shaped the ledge with his shaving tools on the pavement. Part of her wanted him to come back inside so she could talk to him, although why, she didn’t know.

She was a married woman.

And he was a rake. Not once had he shown interest in her books, either.

The perfect man, in her view, was someone who knew as much if not more about books as she did.

Again—not that it mattered. She was married. Romance was not to be hers. At least she had her freedom, the greatest gift she could ever want.

Nevertheless, the captain was very handsome. She couldn’t stop taking peeks, pretending to herself that all she cared about was observing his progress. Once he turned around to her and grinned knowingly, as if he could read her most private thoughts.

She’d drawn back then, determined not to look any more. And luckily, something happened to divert her.

Otis arrived downstairs and let fly with the feather duster, while Jilly looked into the last crate of books she had to shelve. It had taken her all week to get her purchased inventory catalogued and put in the proper bookcases. The books in this particular crate had been left by the previous owner in his attic.

“My goodness.” She turned a small, leather-bound journal over in her hands. “It’s a diary.”

Otis put down the duster and looked at the journal with her. “It belonged to someone named Alicia Maria Fotherington, who lived”—he started, which made her start, as well—“almost two hundred years ago!”

Jilly’s heart thumped madly. She loved a good story.

“I wonder where she lived,” she said, and quickly thumbed through the first several pages. “My goodness.” She looked up at Otis. “She lived here, on Dreare Street, in Captain Arrow’s house.”

“You don’t say!” Otis exclaimed, and walked to the window and looked first at the captain, who was busy sanding a small piece of wood, and then at the house. “Was she married?”

Jilly bit her lip. “I don’t know, but I plan to find out. It’s not as if I don’t have time to read it.”

Otis made a face. “True. But as soon as you’re finished, I want to read it, too.” He paused. “Here,” he said excitedly. “We have a new customer.”

He straightened his coat, and they both watched the artist from down the street tip his hat to Captain Arrow, who acknowledged him with a friendly greeting.

The fellow wore a faded coat, boots that had seen better days, and a sheepish grin on his boyish countenance when he arrived at the door.

“Hello,” he said in a strong but kind voice. “I’m Nathaniel Sadler. Thank you for the scones. They were delicious, Miss Jones.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Sadler,” Jilly said. “We have plenty more. And please call me Jilly.”

“I’m quite full at the moment, but thanks.” He grinned. “And I’d be most obliged if you’d call me Nathaniel.”

“Nathaniel, then,” she said. “And this is Mr. Shrimpshire, my assistant.”

“Otis to artistic geniuses,” Otis explained. “I’ve seen your paintings in your window.”

Nathaniel thanked him for the compliment, and the men shook hands.

“I didn’t come in sooner because”—Nathaniel hesitated—“people don’t mingle on Dreare Street.”

“I wonder why?” Jilly truly couldn’t fathom it. “In the country, we got to know all our neighbors very well.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Most people don’t mingle on any streets in Mayfair, actually. You’ll have a lord living next to a dress shop on one side and an attorney’s office on the other. People don’t speak unless they’re with people like themselves. But here on Dreare Street, the residents are even more isolated from their neighbors.” He looked at them from beneath a fringe of wavy black hair. “Lady Duchamp does her best to quash any signs of friendliness between us.”

“That’s obvious,” Otis said. “She’s not a very happy person.”

Nathaniel winced. “She’s a widow. Perhaps that accounts for it.”

Jilly liked that he was a compassionate sort and began to get an idea, a very good idea. Somehow she wanted him to meet Susan.

“Do you—would you mind if I looked through your books?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she replied warmly.

He scratched his head. “I don’t have any money to buy one. But I do love to read.”

Those were the perfect words to say to a lover of books. “You go right ahead and browse,” Jilly said. “And if you see one you like, please take it as a gift from one neighbor to another.”

What was one book between friends? She wasn’t making any money anyway.

Otis made a face at her.

She quelled him with a glance.