Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

someone who lived here two hundred years ago. Her name was Alicia Fotherington. I’ve only just begun it, but from the very start she tells about the happy life on the street. And one of the happiest things on Dreare Street at the time was—”

Good heavens.

Jilly felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her body.

A man had just peered in the window behind Lady Tabitha.

A man who looked like Hector.

Jilly’s heart jammed in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

But then the man angled his gaze to the left and—thank goodness—she saw he wasn’t Hector at all, simply a man who looked eerily like her husband.

And then he walked away.

But it could have been Hector, a scary voice inside reminded her. And next time it might be.

“What was the happy thing, Miss Jones?” Nathaniel called out.

“Yes, Miss Jones,” Susan asked warmly. “What made Dreare Street a nice place to live?”

Jilly felt her mouth open and shut like a fish. The hand holding the diary aloft began to tremble.

“Excuse me.” She looked at Captain Arrow, and he seemed to sense her discomfort because he put a hand on her waist. “I feel faint,” she whispered.

Immediately, he picked her up and set her on the floor.

Around them, everyone stared and began murmuring words of concern.

“Are you all right, Miss Jilly?” She heard Otis’s voice from the door.

“We’ve no doctors on this street,” said Lady Duchamp, “so you’d best hope you’re not deathly ill, young lady.”

“I’m fine,” Jilly assured everyone. She gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t eat this morning. I should have.”

Otis stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. Poor man, he could tell something was wrong. He knew she’d broken her fast with that toast, bacon, and a strong cup of tea. But she couldn’t tell him in front of everyone else about whom she thought she’d just seen.

Captain Arrow lowered his head to hers. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

They exchanged a silent look for a few seconds.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered. “I simply grew faint for a moment. It must be the excitement of having the bookstore full of people.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said in a low tone, “but now’s not the time to discuss it. Can you go on?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He gave her a hand—his was strong and reassuring—and she returned to her chair.

“Forgive me, everyone,” she said briskly. “I felt faint for a moment, but it’s passed.”

The truth was, it hadn’t passed a bit. She was still buzzing from fear. She was having difficulty even concentrating on the task at hand.

“Now,” she said, her voice quavering just a tad, “let me finally tell you what I think we should do, based on what made Dreare Street prosperous back in Alicia Fotherington’s day.” Her gaze swept the room. “They used to hold a small market here every Wednesday. It was really a lovely little street fair. Isn’t that delightful?”

Otis clapped. “Yes!” he cried. “It’s very delightful!”

“What’s your point, Miss Jones?” Mr. Hobbs asked her, his mouth twisted with impatience.

“I believe we should hold a street fair,” she answered him in her brightest, most confident voice. But she didn’t feel bright and confident at all. She felt frightened. And vulnerable. What if that man had been one of Hector’s minions?

Maybe Hector was waiting for her somewhere in London!

“At first, we’ll hold just one,” she managed to suggest, despite her racing thoughts. “But then if it’s a success, we can repeat it.”

“This is Mayfair,” Mr. Hobbs said in a flat tone. “And two hundred years later. No one holds street fairs anymore.”

“Besides which, no one likes the place,” Sir Ned said. “Dreare Street’s unlucky.”

“And there’s too much fog,” said Lady Hartley with a moué of disgust.

Jilly attempted to compose herself. “We can’t let a bad reputation or a little weather hold us back,” she said. “Think of it this way: we’ll raise money to pay our overdue leases. Won’t that be wonderful for all of us?”

“Yes!” squeaked Otis.

But no one else said a word.

Jilly forged on. “Even those of us who have the money at hand will enjoy having some of that financial burden removed. We’ll split the profits. And with this street fair, Dreare Street will make a name for itself. We’ll be prosperous again. Happy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lady Duchamp bit out.

“All residents,” Jilly went on earnestly, hoping everyone was ignoring the naysayers among the crowd, “whether you own a business or not, will be proud to call Dreare Street home.”

She leaned back and took a breath, hoping her message had gotten through.

Susan smiled, raised a finger, and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something.

“Yes, Susan?” Jilly asked hopefully. Finally, someone was going to agree with her!

But Susan seemed to think better of it and put her finger down.

Jilly’s heart sank. “Anyone else with a comment?” she asked in faint tones.

Lady Duchamp sniffed loudly, but not a single person spoke.

When Jilly gazed around the room, her spirits plummeted further. To her dismay, some faces, like Sir Ned’s and Lady Duchamp’s, were scornful. A few, such as Captain Arrow’s, Lady Tabitha’s, and Nathaniel’s, were unreadable. Surely, Jilly thought, if they were enthusiastic, they’d show some emotion, wouldn’t they?

But no. They didn’t. Captain Arrow’s face was the worst of all. She was used to seeing him merry. An impenetrable expression didn’t suit him at all.

Some expressions, like that of Mrs. Hobbs, were confused. Still more, like Susan’s, were simply sad and worried.

Not a one of her neighbors appeared hopeful.

Jilly stole a quick glance at Otis—

His mouth drooped down, and he was staring into space with a big wrinkle on his forehead. But oh, when he caught her gaze, how he tried to be optimistic! He gave her a wobbly grin and a thumbs-up.

But it was too late. She’d seen his disbelief.

Her stomach tightened into a hard knot of tension. If even Otis couldn’t come up with authentic enthusiasm, her idea for saving Hodgepodge and all of Dreare Street must be a disaster. She clasped her trembling fingers in front of her skirt and racked her brain for a solution, but none came.

Perhaps she must face an unwanted truth: her idea was doomed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stephen believed Miss Jones’s proposal was as likely to launch as a yacht with no rudder, sails, or crew. But to see this naïve yet well-intentioned campaign fail so quickly bothered him. Perhaps it was because he hated to see Miss Jones disillusioned. He was reluctant to admit it, but he rather liked her optimistic nature. And perhaps he was disappointed because none of these people on Dreare Street had volunteered to be put in their difficult position. They weren’t ready to fight their enemy. They were ill trained, taken by surprise—

Vulnerable to attack.

Stephen had made sure his ship’s crews were always ready. They’d been trained, and they’d known exactly what they’d signed up for.

The people on Dreare Street were easy prey for the Mr. Redmonds of this world.

It was a pity. But what was he to do? Go about protecting everyone? He couldn’t keep being a naval captain