Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

“Yes, well, I’m going out, too,” he said to her.

“Have you finished all the house repairs?” Lady Hartley leaned back dangerously over the stair banister, her arms extended to either side, her bosom shoved forward, and her head thrown back, presumably to show herself to advantage.

“No.” He was terribly far behind.

And he was also trapped on the stair landing.

She sniffed and ran her hand up and down the railing. “What a shame. Sir Ned has met someone who might be interested in purchasing the house if you can restore it to excellent condition.”

She sent him a coy look.

Stephen was becoming rapidly bored with her infatuation. “Does this person know about Dreare Street’s reputation?”

“His name is Lord Smelling. He’d like to come by soon to discuss the matter.”

“Well, Lord Smelling will have to wait.” Stephen couldn’t care less that he sounded terse.

Lady Hartley laid a hand over her heart. “My goodness. You’re certainly prickly today. Shall we tell him you’re busy with the fair?”

“No. The fair’s the last thing on my mind at the moment. Good day, Lady Hartley.” Stephen escaped past her down the stairs.

“Captain!” Lady Hartley’s voice was shrill. “What is on your mind? Could it be me?”

He flung open the front door only to see Otis already there, with his hand raised as if to knock. “Captain!” he cried. “I must talk to you! It’s an emergency.”

“I know about Miss Jones.” Stephen could barely eke out the name.

He navigated around Otis with little more care than he had shown Lady Hartley and sprinted down the front steps.

“Where are you off to?” Otis cried.

Stephen shrugged and kept walking. All he could see was red. Covered by black. Smothered by red.

And the blasted wisps of fog still hanging on the shrubs and branches of Dreare Street.

He had no idea where he was going. This was new terrain for him, loving a woman—

And then losing her in the bargain.

“Wait for me! I beg of you!” Otis called after him.

He kept going.

“If you have any decency in you at all, you’ll stop right there, Captain!”

Stephen stopped. He’d never heard Otis sound so commanding.

When he turned around, the ex-valet was striding toward him with his fists clenched and his face determined.

He looked a bit like Admiral Lord Nelson.

“I’ll have you know something,” Otis said in a trembling voice. “There is no finer woman on earth than Lady Jilly—”

“Lady Jilly?” Stephen gave a short bark of laughter. “What other revelations will there be today?”

Otis narrowed his eyes at him. “Stop being an ass.”

Stephen shook his head in wonder. “Did you just call me an ass?”

Otis raised his chin. “I most certainly did. If you’re the man I think you are, you’ll cease your judgment of Lady Jilly until you have all the facts.”

Stephen’s jaw worked back and forth as he tried to contain his anger. “I don’t need the facts,” he said low. “I know them.”

“Not all of them,” Otis said, unperturbed.

Stephen could feel his face become a mask. “Tell me, then.”

He didn’t want to know.

He didn’t need to know.

In the navy, they called it making excuses. Excuses were for the cowardly.

Stephen didn’t like cowards.

“If you knew her husband, you’d understand,” Otis said.

They were walking toward the top of Dreare Street. To their left, Miss Hartley and Pratt were talking and laughing and walking toward Curzon, as well. The paint could be found a few blocks over, and Stephen had arranged that they’d receive a tremendous discount for buying so much. Up ahead, several children were already practicing the street parade. And to their right, an older man was walking his dog.

“I already suspect he’s an ass.” Stephen swung his arms with more than his usual vigor. “But it doesn’t excuse—”

“What do you know of it?” Otis interrupted him. “You’re not a woman. You’re not at someone’s beck and call. You command your own destiny.”

His voice was bitter.

“Perhaps I do,” Stephen replied just as bitterly. “And what I’d like right now is to leave Dreare Street. I’ve someplace to be.”

“Mr. Broadmoor”—Otis ignored him and went on—“was thrust upon Lady Jilly as a mate. Her father decided on his deathbed he wanted to see her well placed before he died. Mr. Broadmoor’s a very distant cousin. The viscount sent for him, but Lady Jilly refused the man. Not many women would do that, but Lady Jilly knows her own mind.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“She explained clearly to her father that the man was a scoundrel, that he’d tried to ravish her the minute her father’s back was turned. And then her father confessed that all the property was entailed to Mr. Broadmoor and that if Lady Jilly didn’t marry him, she would be thrown out along with all us servants. Jilly thinks her father was hastened to his death by her revelation about the man’s character. So she felt both guilt about his decline and worry about the servants—both of which compelled her to meet Mr. Broadmoor at the altar.”

Stephen released a sigh. “It’s a sad story, I’ll grant you that. But it doesn’t excuse the fact that she pretended to be unmarried and—”

He wouldn’t say any more.

Otis threw out an arm in front of him, and Stephen was forced to stop. He gave the man a sideways look. “You’re playing with fire, you do know that, Shrimpshire?”

“I don’t care.” Otis frowned. “You, sir, are the one who pursued Lady Jilly, who told the Hartleys she was your intended. Have you conveniently forgotten that fact?”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice was clipped. “But I’d like to.”

“You’re no innocent, Captain.” Otis’s tone was tart. “You were playing with fire. You’ve made that your favorite pastime, haven’t you? And now it’s come to burn you.”

Stephen sighed again. “I’m well aware of that fact. Perhaps it’s why I’m so—”

He groped for words.

“Angry,” Otis supplied for him.

“To put it mildly.”

They walked in semicompanionable silence another ten seconds before Otis spoke again. “Lady Jilly had time to tell me only a few things before she was taken away. The first is that she intends to be back here for the fair. She told me to seek your help meanwhile, and to tell you”—he hesitated—“that she’s sorry.”

Oh, how those words fell like cold pebbles on the hardness of Stephen’s heart.

Sorry.

What good was that?

It was all very nice to be sorry, but it didn’t change the fact that she was married, he was not, and she’d never bothered to tell him, even though she should have. They’d been friends—more than friends.

He had no idea what to do with a sorry.

“Right,” he murmured, and looked anywhere but at Otis.