Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

She gave a determined nod. “He needs to help Susan.”

“But he’s a painter.”

“I know.” She bit her thumb. “I need to figure out a reason.”

Stephen caught on. “Oh, so you want to play matchmaker?”

Miss Jones blushed. “Is that so wrong?”

“If love is meant to be, won’t it bloom on its own?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Jones said. “Why leave it up to chance? I see nothing wrong with moving things along.”

She gave him a chiding yet warm look—the kind that made him impatient to get her on the floor of her bookstore again—and knocked on Nathaniel’s door. When the artist opened it, he was wearing an apron covered in speckles of paint.

“Delighted to see you both,” Nathaniel said. “Do you want to see what I’m working on for the fair?”

“That’s the entire reason we’re here.” Stephen glanced at Miss Jones. “Isn’t it, Miss Jones?”

“Of course it is,” she said, wide-eyed.

But he knew better.

At the far end of the spare garret, which was flooded with northern light because of an expansive window, Nathaniel pointed out several small paintings on an easel. The pictures were small watercolor renderings of various housefronts in Mayfair, done with great charm.

“They’re beautiful,” Miss Jones said, her whole face lighting up.

“Very nice work,” he added. “Do you plan to paint any Dreare Street façades?”

Nathaniel laughed. “Of course not. Who would buy them?”

Miss Jones winced only slightly. “Someday, someone will. Dreare Street won’t be hopeless for much longer.”

Stephen had to admire her optimism—that and her dedication to her cause, which he’d now committed to making his own. He wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do. But it was too late to turn back.

“Sorry, Miss Jones,” Nathaniel said. “Old habits die hard.”

“You’re completely forgiven.” Miss Jones smiled at him. “I’d tell you to start your Dreare Street collection by painting the captain’s home, but he won’t be with us for long. Once the fair succeeds, he’ll be able to sell his house. You’ll be on to a new adventure, isn’t that right, Captain?”

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” he replied, but the idea didn’t fill him with much satisfaction. And Miss Jones didn’t appear particularly perturbed at the thought of his leaving, either.

Nathaniel scratched his head. “To tell the truth, if I painted the captain’s house, I’d need paper twice this size to capture the rambling qualities of it.”

“It does appear as if the wings were tacked on one at a time,” Stephen agreed.

Miss Jones asked about Nathaniel’s daily work habits. When he was finished detailing them, down to an explanation about how he cleaned his brushes in the evening, she said, “It’s been lovely stopping by, but we’ve got to visit Susan and Otis now. They’re working on a project together. Oversized handkerchiefs for the street fair. Would you like to come with us to see them?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m a bit busy.” And he was, obviously. He had a dish of wet paint nearby.

Stephen could see Miss Jones thinking rapidly.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I was hoping you could help.”

“Help with what?” Nathaniel picked up a brush and began dabbing it on his latest creation.

Miss Jones folded her hands in front of her. “Susan is in need of someone to take Thomas to the park this afternoon while she and Otis work. But I understand. You’re too busy. I’d ask Captain Arrow, but he’s going with me to find Pratt and the Hartleys.”

“I am?” Stephen said.

“Remember, we’re going to see the theater troupe?” She smiled in a forced manner.

Obviously, he was supposed to go along with her.

“Oh, right,” he said, recovering. “We are. As soon as we leave here, as a matter of fact. I’m on my way to hire a hackney.”

“But—” Miss Jones insisted.

“No buts,” Stephen told her. “We’ve got to cross Waterloo Bridge to get to the Royal Coburg Theater. Unless, of course, we give up on the whole idea. Thomas and I will have a lovely time in the park.”

He could tell she longed to make an awful face at him, but Nathaniel was watching. “Oh, no,” she said. “We really must go.”

Stephen couldn’t help but smile. “Is that a promise? I won’t go unless it is.”

“Of course.” Miss Jones took his arm and sighed. “Good-bye, Nathaniel,” she said to the artist. “I look forward to seeing more watercolors soon.” And then she began subtly pulling Stephen toward the front door.

“Yes, ah, good-bye, Nathaniel,” he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t look back,” she whispered.

“I can see you’re an expert at this matchmaking business,” he whispered back.

She ignored him and stared resolutely at the door. He could see how agonized she was as they got closer and closer.

“I suppose I could take the boy to the park,” Nathaniel called out to them, just as they’d reached the front door. “A small break wouldn’t hurt.”

Miss Jones turned around, her face alight with joy. “You would? That’s so kind of you.”

Nathaniel scratched his head. “Yes, well, I’ll do it.” His face brightened. “Thomas likes birds, so we can go bird-watching.”

“I know Susan will be so appreciative.” Miss Jones nodded her head vigorously.

Poor fellow, thought Stephen. Nathaniel had no idea of the trap he’d just walked into, although Stephen must admit that taking a little boy on a walk would be a nice diversion for anyone.

Outside, Miss Jones’s violet-blue eyes lightened almost to periwinkle. “Now we’ve got to go see Susan,” she said with relish, “and tell her Nathaniel volunteered to take Thomas on a walk.”

“And after that, we’ll get that hackney and go to the theater,” Stephen reminded her.

Miss Jones stopped walking. “But we don’t need to, really. I was just saying that to give Nathaniel an excuse to help.”

“But you gave me your word we’d go together.” Stephen was firm. “Besides, it couldn’t hurt to check on Pratt and the Hartleys.”

“All right,” she said. “But—”

She hesitated.

“But what?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Nothing.”

Ah. A blush was creeping up her high cheekbones. “If you’re worried about your virtue,” he said softly, “don’t. It’s safe with me.”

She turned. “Is it?”

The vulnerability in her expression touched him.

“Of course,” he assured her.

She brightened immediately. “I’m glad, Captain. Thank you for … for understanding. I know we”—she hesitated—“I mean”—she blew out a breath—“oh, dear, what I’m trying to say is that … I am a respectable bookseller.”

“An indisputable fact I haven’t forgotten,” Stephen said, squeezing her hand. “Why don’t you go see Otis and Susan, and then meet me out here at the top of the street when you’re done.”

“Oh.” He could swear she looked almost bereft. “You won’t come with me?”

It must have been a shadow that had passed over her face from a cloud overhead. There was no way Miss Jones would be bereft at the thought of his leaving.

“No,” he told her. “I’m going to wait for a decent hackney.”