Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

you?”

“Yes, indeed.” Hector gave a short laugh. “You stepped right into it, Miss Jones.” He was apparently ignoring Otis. “Maybe if you’d been a little less noticeable at that ball, you’d still be hidden from me. But no, you had to claim to be descended from Celtic kings.”

Jilly swallowed. Captain Arrow had made that up, but she’d asked him to devise a strategy. So they could get to the prince …

So they could get him to come to the street fair …

So they could save Dreare Street …

So she could live here—happily ever after.

It hadn’t worked that way, had it?

She gazed out the window and saw Gerald, Pratt, and Miss Hartley laughing and merrily slapping paint now on a front door and some shutters on the house next to Lady Duchamp’s.

The happily ever after hadn’t worked for her, but perhaps it wasn’t too late for everyone else.

“I’ll go with you to Grosvenor Square,” she said to Hector in a subservient voice, to pacify him. Her mind was working very fast. “Which house is it?”

She had to know if he was lying. Perhaps he really intended to take her straight back to the village in Somerset.

“Number 54,” he said, “right next to Lord and Lady Beechum’s residence. They’re high in the instep, so the broker tells me. And she’s a gossip.”

So. It was apparently true that they’d be moving onto Grosvenor Square. Her husband was really enjoying himself at her expense, but she knew this day had been coming.

Was running away worth it? a voice in the darkest corner of her mind teased her. It had been silent ever since that night in the garden with the captain.

Now it was back.

Another jolt of misery overcame her as she recalled the look in his eyes when he’d learned the truth.

You made a very foolish mistake, the same dark corner mocked her. You should have accepted your lot, the way other women do.

She reached out a hand and steadied herself on the edge of a shelf. “Let’s go,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m ready.”

“But Lady Jilly—” Otis wasn’t bothering any more with the Miss Jilly’s. They were back to how things were in the village she’d lived in for all her life. She was a lady and always had been.

She managed to get past him without looking into his eyes and gathered a few things from the counter: her shawl, the book of poetry she’d just begun, and the little journal she’d kept. She’d ceased with the silly story about the captain and Miss Hartley and their dozen children. Now she was writing about her own hopes for the future, hopes she’d considered realistic—as Alicia Fotherington had.

“I’ll be fine,” she told her friend in firm tones.

It pained her to ignore Otis’s concern, but she couldn’t tell him her plan. She had to leave.

Now.

Before the rest of Dreare Street heard the truth.

If she stayed hidden in the house on Grosvenor Square, perhaps no one else would find out her true situation, beyond Captain Arrow. And she already knew he would tell no one.

Jilly was betting on the fact that Hector was a supreme liar and was lying now. They might go to Grosvenor Square but she doubted for long. He wouldn’t want the whole of London society talking about how his wife left him. He had pride. Far too much of it.

This sojourn in Grosvenor Square was probably the most frightening revenge he could think of. He’d probably devised the idea on the journey to London. He’d hate to part with the funds required to keep up a house in Mayfair, so she was sure they wouldn’t linger for the entire Season.

No. He was merely attempting to torture her with the possibility of extended shame. She had no doubt.

In his own twisted way, he was quite brilliant. Jilly would be mortified to have to live in London and know that everyone would be talking about her, the daughter of a viscount who’d fallen so far that she’d pretended to be descended from Celtic kings and pretended to be an unmarried lady.

Despite her authentic pedigree, she’d not be invited to parties because of her deceit. Either that, or she would, so the party-goers could see the disaster of her life up close.

It didn’t matter, really. No doubt Hector planned on keeping her confined to the house, which would suit him. He was exceedingly dull and at home had shown no interest in attending musicales or village dances.

And if, for some reason, he did intend to parade her about society?

She’d claim illness. She knew Hector would be willing to believe her. She could claim an attack of nerves— he’d like that, as he would have induced it—and she could lounge around in a fragile state for the time being.

Because all she needed was two days.

After that, everyone and their cousin could know she was Hector’s wife.

She just couldn’t have Prinny learn about it until after the fair. He wouldn’t come, otherwise. And if he didn’t come, no one from the Upper Ten Thousand would come.

So she must keep the street from finding out. If Lady Duchamp discovered her secret, the whole of London society would know by the day’s end.

She’d do whatever it took to keep Hector content for two days.

Two miserable days.

And somehow, she’d also come back to Dreare Street on the day of the fair.

How? the awful voice in the dark corner of her mind asked her. How will you get back here when you’ve already failed so miserably at your plan to be free of Hector?

She didn’t know.

But right now, she couldn’t think of that. Time was running out. Someone, soon, would come by and ask why the carriage had been outside Hodgepodge. They’d ask Otis why Jilly had left in that carriage with a strange man. Already, she was sure Lady Duchamp was peering out her window and wondering what was going on. At this very moment, she might be calling for her cane and her shawl and demanding to have the front door thrown open so she could cross the street and see what the commotion was about.

Jilly had to leave before that happened.

But first she had to convey to Otis that he needed to make up some kind of excuse for why she was suddenly gone.

“Mr. Broadmoor,” she said, for that’s how he preferred to be addressed by her in public and sometimes in private, depending on his odd moods, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave immediately. Please tell the coachman to prepare the horses.”

“The coach is ready,” Hector said.

“Very well.” Jilly was unsure how she’d be able to get Otis alone.

She looked at the window ledge. “I’d like to take the cat with me.” She strode over to Gridley and scooped him up. “You won’t mind, will you?”

“Of course I bloody well mind!” Hector scoffed.

“Are you sure I can’t have him?” Jilly feigned true distress.

She’d already determined she’d miss Gridley, but he was better off here, basking on his shelf.

Hector made a face. “Put the cat down, and let’s go.” His voice tightened menacingly.

“No.” She turned her back to him. “Please. Not yet. I—I need to hold him a moment longer.”

Her back felt rigid, exposed to Hector’s malice. She cradled Gridley in her arms. He blinked up at her lazily, his mistress who fed him a small kipper every morning, along with a dish of cream.

A tiny tear pushed its way out of her eye and trickled down her cheek.

She heard Hector’s impatient release of breath. “Get that cat away from her,” he ordered Otis. “Why haven’t you done so already, you lummox?”

Jilly resisted the urge to turn around and tell Hector to shut his mouth—that was her dear friend he was maligning!—and waited.

Otis stumbled toward her, around two tables, in the process knocking a stack of prettily bound books to the