Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

see. He came into a great deal of money a few years ago, and we moved to Mayfair with such high hopes.”

Her voice trailed off wistfully, and there was an awkward silence.

“Is … is everything all right, Mrs. Hobbs?” Jilly asked.

Mrs. Hobbs swallowed hard. “Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hobbs hesitated, then added, “I mean, no. Not really. Things are … not all right.”

She gulped.

Jilly held the string she was tying still. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered. “I’ll be happy to listen if you need an ear.”

Mrs. Hobbs let out a deep sigh. “I do, actually.”

“I promise to keep your confidence,” Jilly said, with the warmest smile she could manage.

Mrs. Hobbs stared at her a moment. “Very well,” she said. “The truth is, Mason lost his inheritance. Almost every penny. He invested in a tea company that was attempting to rival the power of the East India Company, and his company failed. We’re struggling to survive.”

Jilly laid her hand on Mrs. Hobbs’s long, pale one. “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Hobbs pulled her hand back and gave a little sniff. “We’ll be fine,” she averred. “I did have to fire the cook, and Mason’s in a terrible mood all the time these days, but if I make a good dinner—”

She stopped, put her hand to her mouth, and gave a little sob. “The thing is, Miss Jones, I’m a terrible cook. All my life I have been. I don’t know if I can manage.”

Jilly came out from behind the counter and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure your turtle soup will be delicious.”

Mrs. Hobbs squeezed back. “I just can’t seem to do anything right anymore,” she whispered. “Neither can the children.”

“Well,” Jilly said, a bit overwhelmed but touched by Mrs. Hobbs’s apparent trust. “Please visit any time you need someone to talk to. And send the children, as well. Even Mr. Hobbs, if he’s a reader.”

Mrs. Hobbs moved away and stared out the window. “He only reads the papers for the financial news.” She shrugged. “He thinks reading anything else is silly.”

Jilly joined her at the window and saw Captain Arrow sawing through a small, thick block of wood as if it were butter. Something in her middle warmed in a totally irrational fashion.

“Don’t worry about Mr. Hobbs,” she said. “Let reading be your form of entertainment.” She took Mrs. Hobbs’s hand again and tugged her to the shelves. “Come with me.”

Mrs. Hobbs actually chuckled. “Miss Jones, you are bossy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but only about books.” She grinned and pulled out a small book of silly limericks and jokes and handed it to Mrs. Hobbs. “Here. You and the children read this when you’re blue. I’m sure you’ll find your spirits will improve right away. And once they do, don’t let anyone, especially Mr. Hobbs, dampen them for the rest of the day. All right?”

“All right.” Mrs. Hobbs smiled, a small, hopeful smile which warmed Jilly’s heart. “I will. But Miss Jones, somehow I doubt you’re only bossy about books.” She threw a sly glance at Captain Arrow. “You managed to get our new neighbor to work for you, a man who’s done nothing but enjoy himself with his friends—until now.”

“Oh, well.” Jilly coughed lightly. “He probably tired of constant diversion. And some men love carpentry, don’t they?”

Mrs. Hobbs chuckled again. “Perhaps it’s something else he loves—the sight of a certain bookshop owner.”

“Mrs. Hobbs.” Jilly couldn’t help being shocked at Mrs. Hobbs’s teasing. A very secret part of her was even pleased by it.

A wicked secret part that she would suppress.

Mrs. Hobbs said nothing else, merely left with a smile on her face and her shoulders rather thrown back, a sign of renewed confidence which pleased Jilly no end.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Stephen walked back into Hodgepodge with the small wooden blocks, determined to show Miss Jones he had more substance than she gave him credit for. This window ledge was going to be the best piece of carpentry work she’d ever seen. Not only that, he would show her he could be civilized, mature, and focused when he felt like it—but only when he felt like it. Not when he was told to be. Now that he’d left the navy, he no longer had to worry about commanding officers. He was his own man.

His own man.

“Would you like something to eat?” She looked at him only a moment before looking away.

He couldn’t countenance it. Miss Jones was more nervous around him than she’d ever been before. “No, thank you—”

“I insist, Captain. For all your hard work.”

“But I’m not hungry—”

“Captain Arrow.” Ah. Now she was back to her old self. She speared him with a look that dared him to defy her. “Accept my hospitality, the way I accepted yours at your theatrical evening.”

So much for his being in charge. “Very well,” he agreed. “If you don’t mind fixing me something, I’ll be happy to eat it. It would mean I won’t have to go back to my house and the company there. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” she said. “Otis has prepared a noonday meal already.”

“Shall I eat it here, in the shop?”

“How hospitable would that be?” She gave him a rather forced smile. “Why don’t you and Otis eat first, upstairs, while I watch the store, and then I’ll follow? I’d rather stay here in case we get a customer.”

“Suit yourself.” He put his tool belt aside and followed. When she opened a door between two shelves on the back wall to a small corridor behind it, he noticed her slender neck and had a sudden desire to put a kiss on it.

You’re foolish, he told himself. What drove the desire in him to kiss a hard, unmanageable woman like Miss Jones?

Otis started in his chair when they entered the office.

“My goodness,” he said, lowering his book, “I was just getting to one of my favorite parts, when Elizabeth goes to Darcy’s mansion with her aunt and uncle—and Darcy spies them there!”

“Yet he treats her with great respect,” said Stephen with a chuckle. “He could have made her feel completely out of place, but no. He’s in love. Supposedly, men in love forget all the good reasons they have to be annoyed with the object of their affection and forgive her everything.”

Miss Jones turned her head to stare at him. “You’ve read Pride and Prejudice?”

Stephen arched a playful brow. “Of course. What else does one have to do on a ship but fight wars, clean decks and tackle, eat, indulge in an occasional rum with one’s shipmates—and read?”

“Well said, Captain.” Otis slapped his book shut and stood.

Miss Jones still looked stunned. “But you’ve shown no interest in the books in Hodgepodge,” she told him.

Stephen lifted his broad shoulders. “There’s a time for reading … and a time for indulging in merrymaking with one’s friends.”

Otis chuckled. “Clearly, in your world, those times don’t overlap.”

“No, they don’t,” he said. “Now that the parties are over, thanks to my houseguests, perhaps there will be a time to read. I’m sure you agree, Miss Jones, when one is alone, reading is as diverting as any good friend or party.”

“I do agree.” Miss Jones blushed as pink as the inside of a conch shell.

“Miss Jones?” Stephen was amused to see her so prettily discomfited, but he couldn’t fathom why she was.

But too soon she seemed to recover. “Why don’t you and Otis go have some lunch?”

“I’m not at all hungry,” Otis said. “I’ll watch the shop, and you and Captain Arrow enjoy a meal together.”

Miss Jones hesitated, but then she said, “Would that suit you, Captain?”