Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

her tight scrawl. Every Wednesday I go down one side of the street and up the other with my cook and lady’s maid, bargaining with the vendors and exchanging greetings with our neighbors. We always come back to the house with the merriest grins on our faces. I purchased a fine bolt of rich damask which will become my gown for the Christmas ball and supper. And tonight Cook roasted a plump rabbit she bought at the fair. Lyle was well pleased, except for my cheeks, of course. They were pink from lingering too long in the sun.

The sun!

How fortunate Alicia Fotherington had been.

Jilly read only a few more pages, laid the book aside, and dutifully blew out the taper on her simple bedside table. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about Alicia and how happily she’d lived on Dreare Street so long ago.

What a different place it had been then!

Sunny. Happy.

Prosperous.

Heavens. Jilly sat bolt upright in bed, and with shaky fingers, felt for her matches and lit her candle again. Springing out of her sheets, she wrapped herself up, grabbed the taper, and walked into the sitting room.

Otis was attempting to repair his shoe, the one he’d lost at Captain Arrow’s, by the light of the dying fire.

“I have an idea,” she announced, her heart beating fast with excitement.

“What?” Otis held the shoe up and squinted at the newly fixed heel.

“Maybe we don’t have a family, but we have all our neighbors, don’t we?” Jilly began to pace behind him.

Otis’s brow furrowed. “Beyond the artist and the seamstress you told me about, and Captain Arrow, they’re not very friendly. Lady Duchamp is a veritable devil.”

“I know, but we should have a meeting—a meeting of the whole street. Everyone else has to produce the money to pay off the lease, too. At dinner, I was thinking only of how to solve Hodgepodge’s financial woes, but no doubt all the businesses—indeed, all the residents—on Dreare Street are suffering.”

“True, but what about the residents who have plenty of money?” Otis laid aside his shoe. “We also have people like Captain Arrow. He wouldn’t mind leaving Dreare Street, and I’m sure he’s not the only one. Why should they bother to help us?”

Jilly thought about Mrs. Hobbs’s long, pale face. “Captain Arrow will help us because he needs to sell his house. And the others may help simply because … it’s dreary here on Dreare Street.”

“It is!” cried Otis, pushing out his chair and standing. “It would be such a pleasure to look out and see people walking up and down enjoying the weather.” He raced to the window and flipped back the curtain. Jilly could see the evening fog swirling about the sputtering gas lamps across the street.

“All right,” he said, turning back to face her, “mayhap not enjoying the weather but perhaps enjoying each other.”

“Yes.” Jilly chuckled. “Not to mention that if the others ever want to join Captain Arrow and sell their homes, they’ll have a much better chance to do so if the street appears prosperous.”

Otis clasped his hands beneath his chin. “Oh, my,” he whispered happily. “We’ll all get together and have a wonderful time making Dreare Street flourish. Do you think we could get rid of the fog?”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Jilly sighed. “I suppose we’re in some sort of valley between the neighboring streets. The fog simply rolls in and stays.”

“That’s a demmed shame.” Otis strode to a looking glass and adjusted his cravat. “But even with the fog, we can still be a happier street. What shall we do?”

“A street fair.” Jilly was so excited, she wanted to do a little jig.

But Otis’s face fell. “Those aren’t common anymore, especially in Mayfair.”

“That’s a good thing,” she replied happily. “It will be a special event.”

“What if we’re not allowed?”

“Who would tell us no?”

“Perhaps the Lord Mayor of London.”

“We’ll not worry about that quite yet. Let’s think about the fair. I need you, Otis, to be as enthused as I. Please.” She paused. The fire crackled loudly in the hearth. “Don’t be afraid.”

Otis grinned. “Very well.” He clasped his hands together. “We’ll have booths to sell things.”

“Yes. All sorts of things.” Jilly laughed. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll make a sign.”

“You and your signs.” Otis waved a careless hand. “If no one walks by, no one will see it. What you need to do is … employ a town crier.” His voice cracked with excitement.

“We can’t do that.”

Otis clapped his hands. “Yes we can. I’ve got a lovely scarlet jacket and a black tricorne hat. You have a bell. Now we have a town crier. Get the bell, Miss Jilly. Posthaste! I’ll be right back.”

The man was deadly serious. By the time Jilly had found the bell on the mantel, her faher’s ex-valet had groped his way through the dark to his room and arrived back upstairs kitted out in his version of a town crier’s uniform.

“Tomorrow,” he said fervently. “Tomorrow begins a new age for Dreare Street.”

“Yes,” Jilly said, adjusting the shoulders of his jacket. “Tomorrow we shall tell everyone about the street fair.”

“We’ll make loads of money.” Otis rang the bell.

“And if it’s a success, we’ll hold another one.”

Then Jilly had a brilliant thought: she was in a position to demand Captain Arrow act as a partner in creating the street fair. There’d be booths to construct, at the very least, and someone would have to organize the neighbors. Who better to do that than a ship’s captain?

If for some odd reason he balked at the idea, she’d remind him he had no choice but help her—if he wanted her to continue pretending to be the object of his affections, that is.

CHAPTER NINE

Early the next morning, Stephen woke up to the sound of shrieking.

He was now sleeping in a different room, one on the ground floor, until the beam beneath his bedchamber was repaired. Fully clad in breeches and shirt, he tried to jump from his bed to see what was the matter, but he was detained by a feminine hand pushing on his chest.

“Hello, Captain.” A well-endowed woman lay next to him in a filmy cotton shift.

“Lady Hartley!” It was like waking up to a nightmare. “What in God’s name are you doing in here?”

She smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She leaned forward with her thin, dry lips parted, but he yanked the sheets down and scrambled around her out the bottom of the bed.

“Your daughter is screaming.” He was vastly annoyed, but he held his temper in check. “I’ll deal with you later.”

He didn’t wait for a reply but raced upstairs to the second floor to find Miss Hartley in her bedchamber pointing at the ceiling with a shaky finger.

“Bats,” she lisped. “Loads of them. They just flew in the window and … and disappeared. Where’d they go?”

Sir Ned was snoring loudly in the bed in the next room.

Stephen crept closer to the beam Miss Hartley pointed at and saw bats clinging to its far side. One by one, they disappeared into the attic, obviously through a hole in the beam.

Good God, another rotten beam. Was the whole house to fall down around them?

“You’ll have to find another bedchamber,” Stephen said, well aware that now two bedchambers in the house were uninhabitable. Not a good thing if you wanted to sell a house.

Miss Hartley gave a small sob. “I was so frightened. Where’s Mother?”

He felt himself color. “I don’t know. Sleeping, presumably. Or awake. Who can say?”