be all the rage, mark my words. Especially if we can get the Prince Regent to come,” he added in an offhanded tone, and went to adjust his cravat in the large, oval mirror.
“The Prince Regent,” Jilly said with a chuckle. “You have lofty ambitions, my friend.”
Otis looked at Captain Arrow. “You haven’t told her yet?”
“No.” The captain was quite preoccupied with a small, sharp corner on the ledge.
“No one’s told me anything.” She was beginning to feel quite left out.
“Captain Arrow, Lady Duchamp, and Lady Tabitha are going to a ball,” said Otis grandly.
A ball?
The captain?
With Lady Tabitha?
Jilly felt a small twinge of something, although she wasn’t certain what it was. Something to do with that left-out sensation again. And feeling plain and frumpy.
“Was Lady Tabitha there last night?” she asked in as neutral a tone as she could muster.
“I told you,” said Otis, “everyone was.” He looked at Captain Arrow. “Tell her why you’re going to the ball.”
Captain Arrow lifted his head from his work. “So we can invite the Prince Regent to the street fair. We’ll ask him to be our guest of honor.”
Jilly was so shocked, she could hardly breathe. “The Prince Regent? Attending
Stephen stood. “Why not? I know him fairly well. He chose me to be one of his Impossible Bachelors, after all.”
Jilly huffed. “What a silly arrangement
“Where were you?” Captain Arrow asked quickly. “Were you not in London?”
Jilly gave a little laugh. “No, actually.” She trailed off and looked at Otis. “Otis and I might be called country bumpkins.”
“Is that so?” Captain Arrow sent her a penetrating stare. “You’ve never told me where you’re from, or what you did before you bought Hodgepodge.”
“It never came up, Captain.” She kept her tone light.
“Well?” He was insistent.
She sniffed, inwardly chagrined that for the first time since arriving in London, she’d have to tell the lie she’d practiced with Otis. “We’re from Devon.”
“And how did you find yourselves in London?” The captain’s words were equally light—but she sensed he was more intrigued than he should be.
He’d told her on two occasions now that he thought she was hiding something.
Otis wore an unlikely expression that she thought screamed deception, but to the rest of the world probably signified nothing more than bland attention to an ordinary social inquiry.
“My father died and left me a tidy inheritance.” She’d decided long ago to stick with the truth as much as possible. “Otis was his valet and found himself without a job. I asked him to accompany me to London to help me open a bookstore. He’s known me since I was a small girl.”
“She’s always wanted to own her own bookstore,” Otis said, rocking on his heels.
“Indeed, I have.” She touched the nape of her neck.
“Really,” said Captain Arrow.
A few awkward seconds passed.
“Of course, I vowed to protect her in the big city.” Otis thrust a hand through the air like a claw and roared like a lion.
Jilly gave a nervous laugh. Another beat of silence went by.
“Right,” said Captain Arrow eventually, looking back and forth between them.
“About your plans to meet the prince.” Jilly felt it was time to bring the conversation back from where it had veered into dangerous territory. “I must admit I’m rather confused. I thought Lady Duchamp planned on being no help at all with the street fair. Yet she’s attending the ball with you?”
Captain Arrow lofted a brow. “It was Lady Tabitha’s idea,” he said. “She said Lady Duchamp received the invitation just yesterday, and Lady Tabitha invited me along. It turns out she’s quite the sport.”
“Is she?” Jilly gave the captain a wan smile, remembering that at their very first meeting, he’d told her she required more sport in her.
He nodded once. “She’s enthused about the street fair, although she can’t say so in front of her aunt. When I mentioned I was about to ask my good friends Harry and Molly Traemore to invite me along on one of their society jaunts—where I’d be sure to see the prince—Lady Tabitha told me I don’t have to bother.” He gave a little laugh. “I’m actually quite grateful to her. I was looking forward to seeing my married friends, but I’d like to delay the interrogations about my romantic life for as long as possible.”
Jilly’s face burned when she heard the word
Long ago, she’d hoped for romance. Her nurse had always told her that was a silly hope, that well-off people married for practical reasons. But Jilly had believed she’d be the exception to the rule.
Now she realized she hadn’t been.
Romance wasn’t to be hers.
It was for people without a past haunting them, people who could laugh carelessly and find amusements where they could—people like Captain Arrow and Lady Tabitha.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once again, Miss Jones was attempting to hide how she really felt but couldn’t quite manage it. Stephen could tell she wasn’t at all enthusiastic about his going to the ball with Lady Tabitha and Lady Duchamp.
But his bookish neighbor wasn’t one of his admirers, so she couldn’t possibly be jealous of Lady Tabitha. Miss Jones had made it clear, however, that she didn’t like the fair plans progressing without her. Perhaps that was it.
Or was she simply a lady who longed to go to a ball?
The more he thought about it, the more he believed the last possibility was the most likely. Every woman wanted to be a Cinderella, didn’t she?
“Don’t you get your own invitations to routs, balls, and musicales, Captain?” Otis asked in a polite manner. “Surely a person of such style, spirit, and good looks—”
“Certainly I get invitations from my old Eton friends,” Stephen interrupted him, embarrassed at Otis’s over- the-top flattery but not wanting to seem churlish, either. “But as I said, my married friends don’t know I’m in Town yet. Since I’ve returned from sea, I’ve holed up here on Dreare Street with friends who, like me, couldn’t care less about Almack’s and debutante balls.”
The bell rang at the front of the shop.
Miss Jones’s face lit up when the person strolled in. “Nathaniel!”
Stephen must admit to feeling a spark of jealousy at how happy she appeared to see him.
“Miss Jones!” The artist’s face creased into a smile. After everyone exchanged greetings, he said, “I’m back to get my book. I had a chance to look last night after the meeting, and I’ve decided I want the one about Venice.”
“Excellent choice,” Miss Jones murmured, and watched him with great interest as he took the book off the shelf.
“I’d like to have it wrapped, if you don’t mind,” he said and brought it over to her. “I’m going home soon for a brief visit, and I don’t want it muddied by travel. I’ll be reading it to my mother.” He gave a wistful smile. “It’s not
