“I know of a, hmmm, what you English call an up-and-coming acting troupe who might do it,” said Pratt. “They’re performing at the Royal Coburg Theater. I shall take Miss Hartley and her parents with me. We shall run these actors to dirt.”
“Run them to
“Yes, we will find them and not let them go,” said Pratt. “Not until they say yes.”
His last comment was met with much enthusiasm.
“And we’ll need someone with influence to appear at the fair,” said one middle-aged man who’d never spoken until this moment. He was a frequent dog walker, but he’d yet to visit Hodgepodge to browse.
“You’re so right!” exclaimed Jilly. But which person of influence? she wondered. And how would they get him or her to come?
“Excellent ideas, all,” said Stephen. “Any others?”
“Of course, we’ll have booths,” said Susan shyly. “I’ll sell gowns and fancy caps.”
“I’ll sell my paintings,” said Nathaniel.
“I’ve boxes of china to get rid of,” said one lady.
“And I’ve old silver!” said another.
“I’ll cook something,” said Mrs. Hobbs. “Meat pies!”
“No you won’t,” said her husband. “You can barely boil water.”
Mrs. Hobbs bit her lip. “But I can try!”
“I’ll provide drinks,” said someone else, a stout older gentleman. “I make a fine beer in my cellar.”
“We need a band,” said someone. “My hotel manager knows someone.”
“And a children’s parade,” Susan added with a delighted smile.
As everyone shouted out their ideas, Stephen marveled at the change in Miss Jones. Her odd nervousness was gone. So was her anger. Her eyes were sparkling again.
“All these plans we’re making are splendid,” she said with a happy smile. “And now I need to know how many of you are in. Please show by a raise of hands.”
Otis, Susan, Nathaniel, the Hobbses’ children, and Mrs. Hobbs immediately raised their hands. But Mr. Hobbs made his family put their hands back down.
Miss Hartley was next, along with Pratt and several older residents. Her mother nudged Miss Hartley in the side.
“But I want to help,” the young lady said.
“You can’t do that,” her father blustered. “Helping is for the lower classes.”
“But I’ve nothing to do except go to parties all day and night and talk to stuffy people.” Miss Hartley turned pleading eyes on her parents. “Please, Mother and Father, please let me do this. And you raise your hands, too. We need to go to the Coburg Theater with Pratt.”
Lady Hartley rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said. “But we’ll involve ourselves only sparingly. Just enough that we can tell amusing anecdotes about these people later.”
Stephen looked around and saw only decent citizens of London. Gad, the Hartleys were a boorish couple. And to think they were sleeping under
By the time Miss Jones finished counting, everyone had raised their hands except for the Hobbs family, Lady Tabitha—who stated that she’d no interest in the fair as she was a guest in the neighborhood—and Lady Duchamp.
The old harridan faced the crowd to vent her spleen once more. “A curse on this street fair,” she muttered. “And on all you ridiculous people.”
With that, she sailed out. Lady Tabitha directed one last, alluring look Stephen’s way, and then she followed her aunt. Drawing up the rear was the Hobbs family. Stephen hated to see Mrs. Hobbs appear so drawn when a moment before, she’d been terribly excited. The children, judging by their sagging postures, were disappointed, as well.
Miss Jones called a wistful good-bye to them, but the unlikable Mr. Hobbs shuffled his family out so quickly, Mrs. Hobbs and the children couldn’t return Miss Jones’s farewells.
Fortunately, everyone else remained. They were busy talking about the street fair, what they would do, and how.
Despite the few setbacks they’d encountered with the loss of some participants in the fair, Hodgepodge was bursting with activity, Stephen noted with satisfaction. Miss Jones must have noticed, too. He exchanged a look with her, and she gave him a happy grin.
Then she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
He must admit, against all good judgment, he felt excited himself. And warmed by her gratitude. Craving a kiss from her again, he followed her with his eyes as she made cheerful forays into the different clusters of people filling every corner of Hodgepodge.
“Miss Jones,” he whispered aloud, “you’re a damned nuisance.”
Nevertheless, as annoying as the lady was, he must give her
Hope hung in the air, along with the lingering fog, a wisp of which had been blown into the bookstore by Lady Duchamp’s exit.
But still, there was hope.
He felt it as surely as he did the plank floor beneath his feet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“First things first,” Jilly said to Captain Arrow the next day. She knelt near him while he put the finishing touches on her window ledge. “We need booths.”
“Wait.” He looked sideways at her, an appealing grin on his face, and her heart melted in an alarming way. “I thought you said ‘first things first.’”
“I did.”
He cocked his handsome golden head at the ledge. “This was first. The ledge. What do you think of my progress?”
She sighed and bit her lip. She was happily surprised to see what a good craftsman he was. Indeed, he’d taken great pains with that ledge. She might even say he’d shown it extreme attention.
“You’re doing a good job,” she said simply, and stood.
“‘Good’?” He cocked a brow. “I’m rather disappointed. Do I sense your words are measured?”
She sighed. “I’m afraid to compliment you too very much in case you think your obligation to me is over. Because of you, the whole world thinks we have an … an understanding.”
“Ah.” He laid down his hammer and stood before her. She had to look up into his gold-flecked eyes. “That would be intolerable, wouldn’t it?”
His gaze was too warm for comfort.
“Yes,” she said, the word trailing off. “It would. Now, Captain—”
“You call me Captain much too often. Please feel free to call me Stephen.”
“I’d rather not.” She felt her face heat. “You know very well it’s improper.”
He moved a few inches closer. “But I heard you call that artist by his given name—Nathaniel.”
She blushed. “That’s because he’s no danger. You, sir, are an Impossible Bachelor. A lady can’t be too careful around the likes of you.”
She strode to the other end of the window and peered out.
“Expecting someone?” the captain asked in cheerful tones.
A brief vision of Hector invaded her thoughts. “I wish a hoard of customers were coming this way,” she said as coolly as she could muster.
He laughed. “You’re not afraid of me, Miss Jones. You like me.
