Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

And they rang hand bells, all while encased in important jackets that were only two or three sizes too big for them, like the hats.

“Welcome to the Dreare Street fair!” they both called out to the fine gentlemen and ladies milling by.

The crowd, Jilly saw, was impressive, and amused by the two young boys.

They entered the street happy.

And she hoped they’d spent loads of money.

When the boys saw her, they grinned and rang their bells harder.

“Miss Jones! You’re back!” cried one.

“Yes, I am.” She gave them both hugs.

“Just in time,” said the other. “The Prince Regent’s arrived. He yelled at all his advisors to get these people out of his way. He’s heard about Otis’s shoes and wants to see them.”

“But the people are still coming,” said the first boy, gulping so much air, he hiccupped.

“That’s lovely news,” said Jilly. “And you’re doing a splendid job.”

She blew them kisses and entered the street. It looked beautiful—both dignified and cheerful. The sun was shining, and everywhere she looked, people were smiling.

At the far end, she could see Stephen’s house standing tall and proud (and yes, a bit rambling, with all its crazy wings). Nevertheless, it was impressive. And to its left was Hodgepodge. She could see the roof where she and Stephen had sat and had their picnic—and where he’d kissed her for the first time.

She inhaled a breath. Even the air smelled good today.

She was back with her friends. She’d play proprietress of Hodgepodge one last time. And if Prinny thought she was really a Celtic princess, then so be it.

She’d play the part. It was a small price to pay.

Her heart brimmed over with happiness. It had only been going on an hour, and the fair was far better than she could ever have imagined.

But then she heard loud exclamations from the crowd at the far end of the street, near Hodgepodge and Stephen’s house. It was where the theatrical performance was to take place later that afternoon.

Much to her dismay, the random yells became a dull roar that assailed her ears and didn’t stop. It could mean only one thing.

“Fight!” one of the little boys cried.

The two small greeters left their assigned stations and went running into the crowd.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Yes, he was anxious about Jilly, but at least everything was going swimmingly at the fair, Stephen was pleased to realize—until the fight broke out during the performance of the famous balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.

Prinny had insisted on holding the theatrics well before anyone had planned. It was supposed to be the culminating event of the day, to take place after the booths had been nearly emptied of merchandise, food, and beer. Stephen reassured his neighbors they’d have plenty of time to sell their wares later —meanwhile, Prinny’s quirks must be indulged.

But when two men, one lanky and one short, rushed at the wooden balcony structure in a blur of motion, hitting and punching each other in the middle of the scene, Stephen felt a sharp pang of alarm.

The street fair was in crisis.

The disturbance was fairly minor, yes, and could be curtailed. Stephen had a security force in place, consisting of Pratt, Lumley, and several other of his gentleman friends, all of whom were expert pugilists. It was simply a matter of waiting a moment or two to let them do their jobs.

“Your mangy cur ran between my legs, then turned around and bit my ankle!” the short brawler cried to the other.

“He’s not my mangy cur,” the lanky one yelled.

Juliet scrambled down the balcony. Romeo caught her around the waist and hastened her to safety on the edge of the crowd.

The brawlers tumbled over the balcony, fists flying, and landed first on Pratt, who’d rushed forward to contain them. Somehow the balcony fell over—much to the crowd’s dismay and then delight when they realized no one had been crushed. Meanwhile, the fighting went on. Pratt let fly with his fists, as did Lumley, who promptly shoved the lanky fighter. The lanky one then stumbled and landed on one of Prinny’s advisors, whereupon the advisor, a thin, snooty man, fell backward and sideways, landing against the side of Prinny’s chair.

Prinny’s arm flew up, and he dropped his goblet of wine.

A splash of the red stuff landed on his chin and cravat.

Blast, Stephen thought. A bit of bad luck.

The two arguing men, who’d by now landed in a tangle near Prinny, stopped fighting and scrambled away on their hands and feet, like crabs, back into the sea of people. Lumley and Pratt stood with chests heaving and disappointed looks on their faces.

The crowd shifted uneasily.

“We’ll start the scene again, Your Highness,” Stephen said calmly. “Please accept our apologies for the damage to your cravat. We’ll get you a fresh one.”

Prinny looked down at the blot on his fine white linen. “This cravat,” he said through narrowed eyes, “is my lucky cravat. It was given to me by my best mistress. But it’s ruined, thanks to the antics here on Dreare Street. Now I’m sure to lose my bet on the cockfight I’m attending this afternoon.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “Never mind about the performance. As far as I’m concerned, these theatrics are over.”

The crowd began to murmur but stilled again when a huge banner was unfurled above Hodgepodge:

THREE CHEERS FOR MISS JONES,

OUR FAIR’S FOUNDER

Stephen winced as he read it. Oh, well. He’d forgotten about that. On the roof of the bookshop, the boys who’d strictly followed Otis’s orders to lower the banner after the theatrics yelled, “Hurrah!”

For the first time since the day’s events had begun, Stephen saw Jilly. Wearing the plain gray gown she’d worn to the ball, she stood in front of Hodgepodge, directly below the banner. Her face paled and her eyes widened as she, too, read the words.

There was a deafening silence, which Stephen wished he knew how to end. But he had no idea what to say, how to fix things.

For the very first time ever, his leadership skills failed him.

“There you are, Miss Jones.” The Prince Regent’s annoyed voice broke the silence. “You did come up with the idea for the street fair, didn’t you?”

Jilly stood, hands clasped, and stared at the royal. “Y-yes, Your Highness. I—I’m so sorry. It was supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” Lady Tabitha pushed through the hordes and stood before her. “It was hardly fun.”

Jilly flinched when Lady Tabitha looked her up and down as if she were a loathsome creature.

“Her name isn’t really Miss Jones.” Lady Tabitha spoke in a bold voice. “And as I told you at the Langleys’ ball, Your Highness, she’s not descended from Celtic kings. Her true name is Mrs. Broadmoor. She’s a runaway wife, and she’s been bamboozling you all.”

Bamboozling you all.

Runaway wife.

Stephen felt the harsh accusations sear him like a knife. It was a dreadful moment. Otis gave one, long whimper that sounded almost like a howling dog.

Jilly stood as if turned to stone.

Prinny stared at her. “Is this true? Are you married, Miss Jones?”