Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

“Here,” Captain Arrow said, “Stand on this.” He brought over a sturdy chair. “I’ll stay beside it to make sure you don’t fall.”

“Thank you,” she said, acutely aware that his hands were at her waist when he lifted her up.

But she was angry at him. He hadn’t truly committed to assisting her in this endeavor. He’d made it clear he thought it was a stupid idea and he was only here because she’d threatened to reveal that his pursuit of her was a mere ruse if he didn’t cooperate.

She needed more than halfhearted support. She needed him to believe her plan could work.

So she’d have to convince him, too, wouldn’t she?

“Hello, residents of Dreare Street,” she said, and tried to control the trembling in her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I realize I haven’t met all of you, but I’m glad—so glad—you’re here.”

Most people just stared at her. A few smiled, among them Nathaniel, Susan, and Mrs. Hobbs. From the door, Otis mouthed something and made some earnest gestures she didn’t understand. She could swear he was pretending to ride a horse, and then he made a face as if he’d sucked on a lemon.

She couldn’t see Captain Arrow’s face as he was next to her. But she sensed his reluctance to be there.

Introduction over, Jilly took another breath and launched into her main point. “We’re here this morning because Dreare Street is in crisis. We’re in arrears. We must all pay an overdue lease on the land beneath our homes, and for many of us, this will be a severe hardship.”

“That’s right!” a man called out.

She wasn’t sure who’d said that, but there was a smattering of applause in response.

Good, she thought. They want out of this fix, too.

She smiled. “I’m glad we’re in agreement on that point. Because I believe we’ll need everyone’s cooperation if we’re to solve our financial woes. But there’s something else I think is just as important to repair”—she paused —“and that is the doleful atmosphere on Dreare Street.”

There were a few intakes of breath and one or two murmurs.

“It can’t be done,” croaked one elderly man in a fine vest of gray silk that had seen better days. “I’ve been here my whole life, eighty years. Dreare Street is dreary, and that’s the way it’s always been and always will be.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

Everyone looked sadder than ever.

Jilly caught Captain Arrow’s gaze and couldn’t read it. It was completely neutral, and she guessed he was probably biding his time until the meeting was over. His indifference annoyed her no end—not that she had time to think on it at the moment.

She must address the elderly man’s concerns.

“Said with all due respect, but you’re mistaken, sir.” Her tone was bright. She wouldn’t let Captain Arrow’s or anyone else’s skepticism keep her from her purpose. “Two hundred years ago, Dreare Street was a bustling, thriving community.”

It seemed everyone’s mouths dropped open at that statement.

“That’s impossible!” cried Mrs. Hobbs.

“Im-possible,” echoed her red-faced husband.

Nathaniel held up his paint-stained hand. He must have come straight from his easel. “Pardon my asking, Miss Jones, but how would you know what Dreare Street was like two hundred years ago?”

She heard a familiar whimper—she swung her gaze to Otis and saw him puckering his mouth more than ever, as if he were sucking on two lemons, not one. He angled his head toward the door.

It was Lady Duchamp. She was already waving her cane about, the one with the tiny porcelain figurine on top, and making a path toward the front of the crowd.

How could Jilly not have noticed her absence?

The old lady’s mouth was as puckered as Otis’s had been.

So that was what he’d been trying to tell her—that Lady Duchamp was on the way. She must have just returned from her mysterious morning outing in her carriage. Of course, Jilly couldn’t object to her presence. She was a neighbor and should be at the meeting as much as anyone.

“What’s going on here?” Lady Duchamp demanded to know.

“A meeting,” someone called out.

Lady Duchamp made an ugly face. “I don’t approve of meetings. Too many people use them to plot against the government. I’ll call the constable on you people if you don’t disband immediately.”

Behind her someone else walked in, the most arresting woman Jilly had ever seen. She had wide, slanted green eyes, high cheekbones, a mass of glorious blond hair, and a bold, aristocratic air.

“Aunt! What’s going on?” The beautiful woman looked about the room. “Why are you here with these people?” She seemed to see Captain Arrow then, and her irritated expression dissolved and took on a nuance of curiosity. “Oh, very well. We may stay long enough for you to make a general introduction.” Her voice had lost a trifle of its scorn.

“This is my niece Lady Tabitha, of the Dorset Bellinghams,” Lady Duchamp barked. “She puts all of you to shame.”

Lady Tabitha appeared amused for some reason. Probably because every man in the room stared at her goggle-eyed, except Captain Arrow. He was too self-possessed to be goggle-eyed, but Jilly had no doubt he was as moved by Lady Tabitha’s beauty and presence as the rest of the males in the room.

Lady Tabitha seemed to have eyes only for Captain Arrow when she said, “I do hope I’ll be entertained while I reside on Dreare Street.”

Jilly seethed inside at the girl’s flirtatious manner, even though it was no concern of hers if the captain and Lady Tabitha took pleasure in each other’s company.

Lady Duchamp angled her cane at Jilly. “What’s going on here?”

“A meeting, my lady,” Jilly said with dignity, although suddenly she felt plain and frumpy in front of the two latecomers. “Dreare Street is in arrears, and we intend to find a way to pay what we owe.”

“It will never happen,” Lady Duchamp said. “And I say good riddance to the lot of you.”

Lady Tabitha was unmoved by her aunt’s vitriol. She merely cocked a brow and gazed around the company with a bemused expression.

Jilly had no choice but to ignore her harpy of a neighbor. “We have another, equally important mission, as well,” she told the crowd, “to make Dreare Street a cheerful place to live. Not only will that make all of us happier residents, we might attract more customers to the businesses on the street.”

“Bah,” the old woman said. “Give up. The fog’s never going to go away. No one can be happy in such fog. Not a soul will buy anything in such a fog, either.”

“How can you trust the quality of merchandise you can’t see?” Lady Tabitha said with a light chuckle and a mysterious, pointed glance at Captain Arrow.

Jilly noted he met the lady’s gaze, but his gave nothing away.

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, until one small, strong voice spoke above the noise.

“But I don’t want to leave.” It was Susan. “I like my flat. I like Miss Jones.”

Jilly’s heart warmed.

Lady Duchamp swiveled around to look at Susan. “You should be among the first to leave, young lady. It’s not as if you get any business. A seamstress’s hands should be blistered and red from all the work she does, pushing needles through fabric, but I suspect yours are soft and white from lack of use. Show them to me.”

Susan held up her hand slowly. Her fingers trembled.

“See?” Lady Duchamp’s voice was triumphant. “They’re too pretty by half.”

Susan clenched her fingers and jerked her hand back down. “I’m not ready to give up,” she said with feeling. “I’m here to find a way to pay that money. I’m a good seamstress, too, if anyone will give me a chance.” She looked around the room. “I also believe there are other kind neighbors here in addition to Miss Jones. I’ve never found out, but I’d like to. We have a lot of fog here, more than the average London street. But surely a kind word from a friend can outweigh the gloom the fog brings.”

Jilly saw Nathaniel over in a corner eyeing Susan with curiosity, just like everyone else.

“I agree, Susan,” Jilly said. “We can be a thriving community, the way Dreare Street used to be.” She reached into a pocket in her gown, pulled out Alicia Fotherington’s journal, and held it aloft. “This diary was written by