Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Stephen always enjoyed a challenge. His most difficult was Miss Jones. Yes, he’d merely wanted a scorching flirtation, and the events that had transpired at Hodgepodge had convinced him they had one, but he still wasn’t satisified.

He wasn’t sure why. But something in him wanted more from her. Much more.

But what exactly?

He craved touching her, but he also liked sparring with her, telling her about his life, laughing with her, and simply being with her. He wished more than anything that she’d tell him about herself, but she’d made it clear she wanted to be left alone.

The secondary challenge of convincing the Prince Regent to visit the unluckiest street in Mayfair seemed easy in comparison to the problem that was Miss Jones.

Yet twenty minutes after Stephen’s revealing conversation with her—and their mutual commitment to gain access to the royal—they still hadn’t succeeded.

“He’s surrounded by a most annoying crowd,” Stephen said. “Most of them drunk and belligerent if anyone dares attempt to break into their circle.”

“There’s even a circle around the circle,” Miss Jones observed, an adorable pucker on her brow. “Did you see the look on their faces when you told them you were one of Prinny’s Impossible Bachelors and must speak to him? They couldn’t have cared less.”

She bit her thumb and stared at Prinny’s minions, political and otherwise.

“What are you thinking?” Stephen asked her.

“What you’re thinking.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

She blushed. “You’re thinking we’ll use your naval strategies to get to him.”

“Is that so?” He couldn’t help admiring her bravado. “Tell me more about my thoughts, Miss Jones.”

“Very well.” He heard the catch of excitement in her voice. “Imagine him, Captain, as the pirate’s galleon you have to capture. And he’s surrounded by a fleet of smaller ships, all with loaded cannons.”

He chuckled. “You’re mad.” A beat passed. “But I like the way you think.”

She grinned. “When you’ve devised the plan”—she nudged him with an elbow, probably to remind him not to get too close, physically or otherwise—“you’ll know where to find me. I’ll be with Lumley, taking him up on his offer.”

And then she took off.

“Don’t waltz with him!” Stephen called after her, feeling oddly protective. He didn’t want any man getting ideas about her, not even Lumley.

But she must not have heard him. She was already wending her way through the crowds.

Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the Prince Regent. It only made sense that he’d have to stage a diversion. That would call off the smaller “ships”—the sycophants and political advisors—and then he’d take the prince broadside in an all-out attack, using every weapon he had at his disposal.

The best one, of course, was Miss Jones.

While he was cogitating, an imposing male with a broad grin approached.

“Harry!” Stephen clasped his good friend on the shoulder, and they shook hands.

“Glad you’re on English soil again,” Harry said heartily.

He was followed by a pert brunette who smiled from ear to ear when she saw him. “Stephen!” she cried, and hugged him round the waist.

“Molly Traemore.” He hugged her back then held her at arm’s length. “You’re stunning tonight. More beautiful than I’ve ever seen you. And I think I know why.”

Molly nodded happily and looked down at her stomach, her hand pressed to it with tender care. “We didn’t want to write. We wanted to tell you in person.”

“But you’ve been noticeably absent from our home since your ship came in,” Harry said with an arched brow. “That usually means you’re having too much fun to be bothered.”

Molly tapped his arm with her fan. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Stephen said, “if you call having a house on an unlucky street and a meddlesome neighbor embroiling me in a scheme to make it prosperous again entertaining.”

“That wouldn’t be Dreare Street, would it?” Molly asked.

“Yes, it is.” Stephen looked over his shoulder at Miss Jones dancing with Lumley. “And there’s the meddlesome neighbor.”

Harry gave a low whistle. “Now I understand. Even from here, I can see she’s a match for you. Look at those eyes. They quite twinkle.”

“And I like the way she holds herself,” Molly added. “I can tell she’ll take no nonsense from you, Stephen.”

Stephen’s chest tightened. “It’s not like that at all.”

“I said the same thing about Molly.” Harry cast an amused sideways glance at him.

“Don’t start—” Stephen told him in his best warning voice.

Harry laughed. “I’m not one of your sailors, Captain. You can’t make me walk the plank for noting that you’ve never stared at a woman the way you’re looking at your meddlesome neighbor right now.”

“Traemore—”

“Shush, you two,” said Molly, avidly watching Miss Jones. “I saw her in the ladies’ retiring room pinning the hem of Lady Courtney’s gown.” She clasped her hands together. “Now I know why I can’t keep my eyes off her. She looks like a lady’s maid let loose at a fine ball.” She turned to Stephen. “Is she a lady’s maid?”

“No.” Stephen gave a little laugh. “She’s a bookseller.”

“Whatever she is, she makes an enchanting picture!” Molly exclaimed. “Everyone’s watching her and Lumley. See?”

She inclined her head to the crowd lining the dance floor. The observers did appear charmed by Miss Jones, who’d just passed under Lumley’s arm. Her eyes were, indeed, twinkling merrily, and she had a most infectious smile. Lumley was clearly happy having her as his dance partner, even though her gown couldn’t be considered luxurious, as the other ladies’ could.

Stephen saw Lady Tabitha eyeing his neighbor with open scorn and a bit of frustration.

He turned to see if Prinny and his cronies were watching her, but they were still ignoring the goings-on around them. Raucous laughter spilled from their group. Stephen could see only the top of Prinny’s head. It was as if the royal were inside a fortress three-people thick.

“Who is this neighbor of yours?” Molly asked him, her eyes curious.

“Miss Jilly Jones,” murmured Stephen. “But I’d rather everyone think she were someone else.”

“Why’s that?” Harry still had his gaze on Miss Jones on the dance floor.

“We need to bring her to Prinny’s attention.” Stephen turned to Molly. “I’ll explain later,” he said softly, “but you’ve given me an excellent idea. I need you to tell your friends she’s posing as a woman of unremarkable but respectable birth. Tell them she’s actually the direct descendant of an old line of Celtic kings, is extremely wealthy, and doesn’t want anyone to know her origins.”

“But she’s descended from kings!” Molly exclaimed.

“Not really—” Harry said.

“Darling.” Molly sent him an arch look. “I know. I was acting.”

“You’re good.” Her husband chuckled. “Very good. Now go follow the captain’s orders, will you?”

Molly kissed his cheek—Stephen’s, too—and scampered away, as best a lady expecting a child could scamper with a bit of scintillating gossip to spread.

“Congratulations, old man,” Stephen told Harry. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a father.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I never thought I’d say this, but I couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m glad for you, truly.” Stephen paused. “But don’t wish the same fate on me. I see it in your eyes. You’ve joined the ranks of contented married couples and want me to be just as happy.”

“Can you blame me?” Harry shrugged. “Maybe you’re ready to settle down yourself. You’ve left the navy, after all.”

Stephen shook his head. “Because I want to do something new. It’s been a long, rewarding career. I’ve been at it almost fourteen years.”

“Since you were a pup. Will you ever consider marrying?”

“It’s not in my plans, no,” said Stephen, his gaze still on Miss Jones.

“It wasn’t in mine, either, as you’ll recall.” Harry gave one vigorous rub to Stephen’s shoulder. “Just know I’m here if you ever get confused about anything.”

“Confused? Me?”

“Oh, I forgot,” Harry said, his tone dry. “A navy captain can’t afford to get confused.” He paused, a serious expression on his face. “I’ll say it again. I’m here if you ever need counsel. It’s hard to fathom, I know, but I’ve got experience now in matters of the heart. So does Nicholas.”

“He’s still in America with Poppy?”

“Yes.” Harry grinned. “I’m better at it than he is, though.”

“Right,” said Stephen. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so when he gets back and we find out he’s the father of a set of twins.”

“If he is, then I’ll concede my position as chief married blatherer,” said Harry. “I’m sure Molly’s going to have a boy, just one this time, and his name will be Harry junior.”

They both chuckled and lapsed into a comfortable silence. Stephen wasn’t the least bit annoyed with Harry for being nosy. True friends were allowed to be. But he seriously doubted he’d need counseling of the heart from anyone.

The dancers began another quadrille, and after it was over, there was a general stirring over at Prinny’s group. The Prince Regent himself emerged, fists on hips, face flushed, and his eyes bright.

He stared at Miss Jones on the dance floor. “I want that woman who looks like a lady’s maid!” he cried. “Bring her to me!”

Harry gave Stephen a subtle thumbs-up. Then Molly, who was on the edge of a group across the ballroom floor, caught their gazes and blew a happy kiss in their general direction.

“That kiss was for me, I think,” said Stephen.

“It was for me,” Harry insisted. “But I’ll share it with you.” He angled his head at Prinny’s group. “Come on. Let’s see what happens with your lady’s maid.”

Stephen wondered what Miss Jones was thinking when Lumley took her arm and began to lead her over to the prince. Lady Tabitha and Molly managed to wend their way over, as well.

Stephen and Harry got there ahead of them all.

“Harry,” the prince said fondly a moment later. “Look at you. So happy with your beautiful bride and, soon, a child.”

Harry put his arm around Molly and squeezed her close. “Yes, very happy,” he said.

Prinny turned to Stephen next. “And Arrow!” he cried. “You ended your career in the navy well, capturing that pirate as you did.”

Up close, Stephen noticed the Regent’s cheeks were even fatter and rosier than last time he’d seen him. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, standing at attention as he would have in uniform.

The prince appeared genuinely happy to see Lumley. “Still unattached, are you?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.” Lumley gave him a gracious bow.

“Then who’s the lovely lady on your arm?” Prinny eyed her with avid curiosity.

“She’s Miss Jilly Jones of Dreare Street,” Lumley said with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Miss Jones swept the royal a low curtsy.

“Oh, yes, Dreare Street.” The prince chuckled. “The unluckiest street in London.” He got two inches from her face. “Just the address a Celtic princess would choose for herself.”

And then he burst into guffaws. So did his advisors.

Miss Jones’s brow puckered. “I’m not a Celtic princess, I assure you. And I do live on Dreare Street. I own Hodgepodge, the bookstore.”

“Yes,” Prinny said, “and Marie Antoinette had her little village to entertain herself. It must be so delicious to play bookstore owner.”

Miss Jones blinked. “It is, I assure you. And I don’t believe in bad luck.”

“She believes in creating her own destiny,” Prinny called over his shoulder to his friends and advisors. “Isn’t she endearing?”

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

He looked back at her with tender regard. “I would expect no less of a Celtic princess.”

“You’ll recall me, Your Highness, from a ball in Brighton,” interjected Lady Tabitha. She curtsied in a most elegant manner.

The prince swept his gaze over her. “Yes, Lady Tabitha. I recollect our meeting.”

She gave him a sensual smile, the same one she’d bestowed on Stephen at Hodgepodge.

But the prince didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were back on Miss Jones. “Oh, let’s cease the pretense now, as precious as it was. State your real name, my dear, and tell us why you hide beneath this disguise as a woman of lackluster origins.”

Miss Jones’s cheeks were pale. She looked genuinely nervous. “I’m still not sure what you mean, Your Highness.”

“She’s not disguised, Your Highness,” said Lady Tabitha with a little laugh. “She truly is a lackluster little nobody.”

The prince gazed sternly at Lady Tabitha. “You were not asked to speak. You’ve also no idea what you’re talking about.”

He made a quarter turn so that she was no longer in his line of vision. It was the ultimate insult—the cut direct, and given by the Prince Regent himself!

There were several gasps.

Stephen watched with morbid fascination and not a little satisfaction as Lady Tabitha turned bright crimson, turned slowly, and strode away.

Prinny lowered his eyebrows. “I don’t care how beautiful the woman is, how dare she insult the daughter of a long, proud line of Celtic kings?”

His cronies all agreed in equally loud voices.

At the break in attention focused strictly on her, Miss Jones managed to dart a questioning look at Stephen.

Play along, he willed his expression to say. This is that diversion you begged me to create.

She widened her eyes only slightly. Stephen watched as she lifted her chin and her gaze grew more direct. Good for her. She was gathering courage. Ignoring the confusing circumstances.

She would have made a fine sailor.

Who was he fooling?

She would have made a fine admiral!

When the prince finished chortling with his colleagues, Miss Jones cleared her throat. “Dreare Street, Your Highness, is actually a very pleasant street on which to live. In fact”—she bestowed a genuine smile upon him—“we’re having a street fair soon.”

Prinny drew in his many chins. “Really? No one has those anymore.”

Miss Jones tossed her head. “We do. I’d be honored if you’d make an appearance at ours, Your Highness, as our guest of honor. Would you, please?”

Stephen couldn’t stop his lip from curving up. Miss Jones’s voice was so throaty with hope and enthusiasm, who could resist her?

Prinny blinked.

Stephen felt his shoulders tense.

“Why, I’d be glad to, Miss Jones,” the Prince Regent replied with spirit—and only a little bit of slurring in his speech. “But only if you stand by my side in that delicious lady’s-maid costume.” He waggled his brows at her.

“If you say so, Your Highness,” she responded weakly.

“When shall it be?” Prinny gave a little hop of excitement. “A week from now, I’ll be gone for at least a fortnight to Brighton. So it’s either in the next seven days or not for a small while.”

“It’s this coming Wednesday,” she blurted out. “Isn’t that right, Captain Arrow?”

Their gazes locked. They’d planned to have the fair two Wednesdays from now. But it couldn’t be helped. They’d have to have it sooner.

“Next Wednesday it is, then,” said the prince.

“And please tell all your friends,” Jilly asked him.

“And enemies, too,” added Stephen. “We don’t discriminate.”

Prinny laughed a great big belly laugh. “You always were a card, Arrow. Very well. I’ll tell all of London’s Upper Ten Thousand to come. For one day, my foes and I will be friends—on Dreare Street, of all places.”

“Why not?” Stephen agreed.

Prinny kissed Miss Jones’s hand with a great deal of fervor then retreated to his group of hangers-on once more.

Stephen was impatient to catch Miss Jones’s gaze. When he finally did, he saw she was bursting with excitement. He felt it, too.

The deed was done. Prinny was coming to the street fair. In all likelihood, so would many of London’s wealthiest shoppers. Perhaps they’d buy books. And oversized handkerchiefs. Meat pasties and paintings and mobcaps and beautiful gowns. And maybe … just maybe … one of them would buy his house.

God, he had to get those beams fixed by Wednesday!

He’d do it if he had to stay awake from now until then.

But he had something much more imperative to think about at the moment—Miss Jones, and getting her out into the garden before they left the ball tonight. It was time to hold a celebration of sorts. And not only about the prince’s announcement. It was time to celebrate the fact that she’d managed to turn an intended slight from Lady Tabitha on its ear.

It was also time to celebrate her voluptuous body, her smile, her boldness, her intelligent gaze, her kindness.

It was time to celebrate her …

If she’d only let him.