Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

“I hope you plan to continue leading us with the fair, Captain,” the bookstore clerk said quietly.

Blast it all. Stephen felt like taking a swing at a wall again. Why did he always feel compelled to do his duty? “I told you. I was about to go somewhere else.” The words came out softer than he’d have liked. He felt completely dispirited, worse than he’d ever felt in his life.

“I don’t believe you,” said Otis.

Stephen glared at him.

Otis raised his hands. “All right, I believe you. But after an hour or two, you’ll come back.”

Stephen couldn’t disagree. He knew he wouldn’t abandon the street. It wasn’t in his nature to quit before a job was done. Nor was it in his nature to be a scoundrel.

He was tempted to throw his head back and groan aloud. Couldn’t a broken man take time out to feel any self-pity?

Otis smiled and looked hopeful, damn him.

“You’re right,” Stephen muttered. “I’ll be back.”

Otis slapped him on the back. “I knew you’d not disappoint us.”

Stephen almost rolled his eyes, but two small children were staring at them, their brightly painted whirligigs temporarily forgotten.

“Are you ill, Captain Arrow?” asked one small girl.

He forced himself to shake his head and appear … bright.

Yes, bright.

He could do that.

“No, Rebecca, I’m not ill,” he said.

She gave him a grin that lit up the whole street. “Good, Captain. We can’t have you ill before Wednesday.”

“That’s right.” He winced and hoped she took it as a smile.

She and her companion ran off with their whirligigs spinning madly.

“Their mothers are making those for the fair,” said Otis. “The children must be testing them.”

Stephen looked after them. Every family on the street was involved, weren’t they?

Everyone but Lady Duchamp and Mr. Hobbs.

He certainly didn’t want to be lumped in with Lady Duchamp and Mr. Hobbs, did he?

For that reason and that reason alone, he told himself, he’d be back sooner rather than later. There was still much work to be done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jilly was not one to feel sorry for herself. She knew she was more fortunate than most. She’d been born a lady. She’d grown up in comfort and had been well educated. She’d had parents who’d loved her dearly, a village full of kindly neighbors, and a loyal friend in Otis. But at the moment, riding along the streets of Mayfair in a luxurious carriage with Hector, she was tempted to believe she was the unluckiest woman in the world.

Hector spent most of his time staring out the window, his cane between his legs, his hands resting upon the brass top. But she sensed he was keenly aware of her every move.

And no wonder. She was his wife, and she’d run away from him.

The whole world would agree he had every right to treat her suspiciously.

Finally, he turned to look at her. “You must realize you’ll be punished.”

She felt a roiling fear and loathing rise in her. “According to your God, I’m a sinner, I’m sure.”

He scoffed. “And who is your God?”

“Not yours, that’s certain,” she said, not blinking.

He turned his face toward the window again. “I saw how that golden-haired man looked at you in that decrepit bookstore of yours, you harlot. You’re lucky I’ve taken you back.”

“You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “You could have left me there.” She paused. “We could get a divorce.”

Divorce was the ultimate shame. But she’d rather live in shame than live with Hector.

He leaned forward, and she pressed back against the squabs.

“Over my dead body,” he said viciously. He leaned back as well and studied her. “Your lack of denial about your wrongdoing speaks volumes.”

“Tell me what you intend to do,” she said.

Why should she bother to deny anything? She didn’t care for his good opinion. And she’d already lied by omission to Captain Arrow.

She’d had enough of lies—

And of running away. If she were to be stuck with Hector, this time it would be on her terms, as best she could make them. Most would say it was a laughable idea that she could hope to hold any advantage over her husband, but she had one thing he didn’t: a fully developed sense of irony. There was always another layer to observe in their pathetic interactions. At the very least, she could attempt to find the bitter truth of their incompatibility an amusing pill to swallow.

But she would dare to reach for more. She couldn’t go back to being the woman she’d been before she’d run away to London. She’d learned something in Town—how to take care of herself, to ignore those dark corners of fear lurking inside. Even now they clamored to be heard.

But she’d pay no heed to them.

She wouldn’t.

If Fate demanded she forsake everything else, she refused to lose the only thing left her—her newfound confidence.

Hector leered at her. “I know the first thing I shall do. I’ve quite missed it.”

Jilly’s face flared hot. She knew very well what he was on about. Having him touch her was what she dreaded more than anything. Hector couldn’t complete an act of intimacy. Something was dreadfully wrong there. But he could humiliate her very easily. He’d done so every night of their marriage. He’d watch her strip off her clothes for bed while he sat and watched.

And then—

She couldn’t bear to think about what he’d made her do then.

She blinked rapidly. “I won’t,” she said. “I won’t touch you that way ever again, Hector.”

Hector laughed. “Why not? You’re a slut, my dear.” His face grew dark. “And I can make you do whatever I say.”

“Not this time,” she said. “This time I’ll hurt you back if you dare try to coerce me. And I won’t be quiet. I’ll tell, Hector. I’ll tell the neighborhood that you hit me because you can’t”—she paused—“you can’t perform your husbandly duties.”

She’d never said that out loud.

He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I have nothing to lose,” she said. She leaned forward and poked his chest with a finger. “If you insist on having me back, it will be on my terms. Is that clear?”

He sat in stony silence a moment, then said, “Fine. But at least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that you can’t have your little life on Dreare Street. I’ve the law on my side. We’re married and shall stay that way. I plan to make certain you don’t have a shilling to run away with, but if somehow you manage to escape anyway, I promise I won’t be so discreet the next time I’m obliged to find you.”

What could she say to that?

She was stuck.

They walked into the town home on Grosvenor Square, her meager belongings in a small piece of luggage which, of course, Hector made her carry herself. The hired butler shut the door quickly behind them.

“We’re not receiving.” Hector thrust his hat and stick into the man’s hands.

“Very good, sir.” The butler eyed Jilly with curiosity.