“If that’s true, why did you bother even telling me?”
She wouldn’t give him an inch, his shrewd neighbor. “Because I wanted you to understand why I’ll be acting rather warm toward you in their presence. And there’s always the chance the obnoxious Sir Ned might say something denigrating about my supposed quest to have you. He’d no doubt like to dissuade your interest. I didn’t want you caught off guard if that happens.”
Miss Jones’s brows almost crossed over her nose. “Why don’t you simply move out while they’re here?”
“I can’t. I’ve got repairs on the house to make before I sell it. I’ve got to stay.”
She said nothing, merely pinched her mouth shut.
“I know you have no reason to help me,” he said, “but I appeal to your sense of charity. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you in return, I promise, on my word of honor, I will.”
“No,” she said into his eyes.
He would wager it was a favorite phrase of hers.
Sir Ned strode into the store then, the tips of his ears pink. “So, Miss Jones, you’re the favored one,” he announced.
She gave him a warm but wary smile. “May I help you?”
The newcomer looked her up and down. “I understand Captain Arrow has his eye—”
“On those atlases. Do go and look them over for me, Sir Ned.” Stephen spun the man around and gave him a light shove in the direction of the oversized tomes.
Thankfully, the man, once pushed, kept going, like a boat shoved away from a dock.
When the baronet was out of hearing, Stephen returned to his appeal to Miss Jones. “Please,” he begged her in a low whisper. “Please go along with it. Otherwise, my life will be a living hell.”
“Not forever, it won’t.” Her cheeks were rosier than usual. “Besides, there are other women you could have chosen for your imaginary pursuit. How about one of your fancy ladies?”
He stared at her, at a loss to answer the question. “I saw you outside with your daffodils, and at that crucial moment, it never occurred to me to think of anyone else. Of course, several seconds later I did, but by then it was too late. They’d latched onto you.”
He wouldn’t tell her he’d been thinking about her before he even saw her—all day, as a matter of fact.
She stared at him a long moment and then sighed. “Very well, Captain. I suppose saying yes won’t do any harm. I can feign ignorance of your intentions, after all. But I’ll have you know—I do this with a great deal of misgiving.”
He released a pleased sigh. “Thank you.”
Now that the pressure was off, he wasn’t able to help noticing she looked extremely fetching in her pale pink gown.
“But someday soon I might need a favor, and you’ll do whatever I ask,” she said, “or I shall tell your houseguests the truth, that you’re making this charade up.”
“You’re blackmailing me.” He could hardly credit it.
“Don’t worry.” She gave him an impish smile. “What could I ask from you? Not much, I assure you. But I shall enjoy thinking on it.”
“Captain,” called Sir Ned excitedly, “what’s the farthest place you sailed on your last voyage?”
Stephen never took his eyes off Jilly’s. “The Horn, Sir Ned, the Horn,” he called back to the man.
Looking rather smug, Miss Jones stood waiting for his answer.
“Under duress,” he murmured, “I accept your offer. But I have a requirement of my own.”
“And that is?” She was toying with him. And toying with him was damned near close to flirting, even if she didn’t recognize that fact.
“If you want my assistance,” he said, “—and you must, for judging from your expression, the prospect of subjugating me to your whims absolutely delights you—you can’t tell the neighbors my pursuit of you is contrived.”
She looked up at the ceiling then back at him. “Very well. I agree. Except for Otis. I tell him everything.”
“Agreed.”
They shook hands quickly, at the precise moment the door to the shop was thrown open.
Stephen dreaded turning around. What if it were the crying Miranda? Or her moaning mother?
Thank God it was only Lady Duchamp. “Captain Arrow, the top-heavy matron on your front doorstep is spitting nonsense,” she drawled, “something about your being here to pursue Miss Jones. I shall feel compelled to box her husband’s gigantic ears if she’s told me a lie.”
Stephen drew himself up. “It’s no one’s business but mine and Miss Jones’s, my lady.”
Lady Duchamp looked at Miss Jones. “Has he proposed marriage?”
“No.” Miss Jones’s mouth was a bit white.
“Well?” Lady Duchamp stared accusingly at Stephen. “Whyever not, if you’re pursuing her? Do you have reservations, young man, about commitment?”
“As I said, my lady, it’s—”
“Hellooo? Is she in here?” Lady Hartley thankfully interrupted, her voice calling like a foghorn from outside. “Miss Jooones!”
Miss Hartley, her hands clamped to her ears, peered over her mother’s shoulder into the shop. “Oh, ith lovely!” she exclaimed.
Lady Duchamp curled her lip at the new arrivals. “I don’t consort with mushrooms,” she said. “I’m leaving.”
Miss Hartley blanched as Lady Duchamp made her way past her by nudging her in the stomach with the tiny porcelain woman at the top of her frightening walking stick.
But Lady Hartley batted the cane away. “Get that thing away from me!”
“Watch yourself!” Lady Duchamp warned her.
For a few seconds, a small struggle at the top of the stairs between both titled ladies took Stephen’s attention away from Miss Jones’s delicate profile, which he’d been admiring while she wasn’t looking.
But the old harridan and her swinging cane were soon out of the way, and Lady Hartley and Miss Hartley finally entered the shop. Miss Hartley smiled sweetly at Miss Jones, but her mother eyed Miss Jones’s modest pink gown and appeared to find it wanting.
“It’s come to my attention you’re the object of Captain Arrow’s pursuit,” Lady Hartley said. “Are you?”
Miss Jones deigned to smile at her. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Impertinent girl!” The matron reddened, but then her gaze turned hopeful. “You mean you’re not the captain’s intended?”
Miss Hartley bit her lip and appeared most interested in the answer, as well.
Bedazzled virgins often were.
Miss Jones looked at him with a twinkle in her eye—a most unexpected twinkle—and shrugged. “Captain Arrow has never declared himself,” she said in a breezy manner.
Lady Hartley turned to Stephen. “Well?”
“A man likes to choose his own opportunities,” he said grimly. “Not be pushed about by interfering women.”
“All I know,” said Miss Jones to the ladies with a confidential air, “is that he follows me about like a lovesick puppy.” She giggled. “He’s quite adorable, if you like that sort of thing.”
Lovesick puppy?
Adorable?
Stephen narrowed his eyes. Miss Jones had adjusted rather well to their so-called impossible and unwelcome circumstances, hadn’t she?
Miss Hartley giggled. Lady Hartley looked at him suspiciously.
Which wouldn’t do at all. The two women mustn’t guess this was all a ruse. He was livid, but he did his best to look like an adorable, lovesick puppy—without losing an ounce of his captain’s authority or his bachelor aloofness.
“You appear quite ill, Captain Arrow,” said Miss Jones, her voice concerned but her eyes alight with amusement. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he choked out, and sped off.
He would wring Miss Jones’s neck later.
He found Sir Ned with his nose still in the atlas. “Purchase the thing,” Stephen told him. “And leave.”
Instead, Sir Ned trotted to the counter, the book hugged close to h
is chest. “I think I shall simply borrow this book for a while. I’m living right next door, after all.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to sell that atlas,” Miss Jones said.
Sir Ned glared at her, dropped the book on a table, and stalked out of the shop, his wife and daughter right behind him.
Miss Jones looked at Stephen with dismay. “Sir Ned and Lady Hartley are awful.”
“Yes, they are.”
She didn’t even seem to hear him agree with her, which was a rarity she should enjoy. But now that everyone had left, she was like a balloon with no air. In their short, fiery acquaintance, Stephen had never seen her so despondent.
He didn’t like seeing her this way. She was far too appealing to sink so low.
“I think it’s best you go now, Captain,” she said quietly.
He felt guilt slap into him like whitecaps on the side of a dinghy. “You may not want to masquerade as the object of my affections,” he said, “but you certainly got some enjoyment out of the charade a moment ago. So why are you upset now?”
She took out that damned dusting cloth and began to wipe it over a tabletop. “Because this deception of yours was thrust upon me. It’s a waste of my valuable time, and I regret allowing you to interfere with the running of Hodgepodge.”
“Miss Jones, forgive me for noticing,” he said gently, “but it’s not as if you’re bombarded with customers.”
She wheeled on him. “I know that. But I’d rather spend time on my priorities than on yours. I couldn’t care less if Sir Ned and Lady Hartley attempt to snag you as their daughter’s husband. But I do care about making my bookstore a thriving business. And—”
“And what?”
She bit her lip. “It’s highly improper, our arrangement. What if—”
“What if what?”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Gently, he took her arm. “Are you worried I might take advantage of you? Perhaps even kiss you?”
He could see her swallow. “Would you?” she whispered, and looked up at him.
A taut silence stretched between them.
“No.” He did want to kiss her, of course. “I would do nothing without your permission.”
She nodded, apparently relieved, which was a new circumstance for him. Most women craved his kisses.
“Let’s look on the bright side,” he said. “Perhaps we could both work to increase your business. Helping Hodgepodge thrive would help me, as well.”
Her face brightened. “How?”
“I could do some chores for you. My houseguests will see I’m here … which will confirm their belief that I’m pursuing you.”
He thought about his beam that needed fixing. It would have to wait another day or two, maybe even a week, before he could get back to it.
Miss Jones appeared to consider the idea. “I can’t think of anything I need, except—”
She closed her mouth again.
“What?” he asked her.
“It doesn’t matter. I need some carpentry work. But I’ve no supplies and won’t be able to afford any for a while.”
“I’ve got a shed full of tools and whatnot. What did you require exactly?”
He saw a spark of hope flare in her eye. “A window ledge,” she said. “I want to put books in the window for passersby to look at.”
“And a cat,” he added. “Everyone will want to come in and pet it.”
“Yes. I love cats.” She was leaning on the counter, looking out onto the street. He thought she looked quite enchanting, the way she spun a tendril of sooty hair wistfully around her finger and smiled at the thought of a cat. “I haven’t had one in several years.”
“Why not?”
“Oh.” She sat up. “No reason.”
Funny. Her eyes were shadowed, as if she’d said something wrong.
He decided to ignore the awkward moment. “There’s a stack of planks in the shed, too,” he said. “I don’t know how old they are. They might all be rotten. But I’ll look about and see what I can produce to help you.”
“Thank you,” she said, casting her eyes down.
A strange awkwardness descended upon them.
“You’re welcome.” He dragged his hand across the counter and patted it once. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” she said quietly.
Stephen was shocked to discover he wasn’t dreading the prospect.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Jilly was glad to see Captain Arrow arrive with some carpentry tools, nails, a wide, long plank, and some small pieces of wood.
“Good morning,” he said, but he sounded a bit guarded, a remnant of that strange awkwardness between them the day before.
“Thanks for coming.” She felt equally reticent, although she didn’t know why she should worry. Their agreement was quite simple, and she actually trusted him to keep his side of the bargain.
“How are your guests today?” She was very aware they were alone. Otis was upstairs washing the breakfast dishes.
Captain Arrow shrugged. “I left before they awakened. They’ll be up soon enough, I suppose.”
She wanted to tell him she was excited about the plank he’d found. But she also didn’t want him to think she was impressed with him in any way. After all, the only reason he was making her a window ledge was because he’d entangled her in his problem, and it was a most inappropriate ploy, considering the fact that she was already involved in her own deception.
Which was inappropriate, too, but it was hers.
When Captain Arrow didn’t seem to notice her understated reaction to his arrival and became immediately absorbed in the task she’d set before him, she felt a bit bereft.
Why didn’t he care that she was ignoring him?
She began to regret her cool manner. She wanted to know what every piece of wood was for and how long the task would take. She couldn’t wait to get her books on that ledge!
Diligently, he worked on. His legs, arms, and back bristled with power—and a hint of danger—as he measured. Even so, when he carried some materials outside, the shop lost some of its coziness. Jilly couldn’t help staring while he shaped the ledge with his shaving tools on the pavement. Part of her wanted him to come back inside so she could talk to him, although why, she didn’t know.
She was a married woman.
And he was a rake. Not once had he shown interest in her books, either.
The perfect man, in her view, was someone who knew as much if not more about books as she did.
Again—not that it mattered. She was married. Romance was not to be hers. At least she had her freedom, the greatest gift she could ever want.
Nevertheless, the captain was very handsome. She couldn’t stop taking peeks, pretending to herself that all she cared about was observing his progress. Once he turned around to her and grinned knowingly, as if he could read her most private thoughts.
She’d drawn back then, determined not to look any more. And luckily, something happened to divert her.
Otis arrived downstairs and let fly with the feather duster, while Jilly looked into the last crate of books she had to shelve. It had taken her all week to get her purchased inventory catalogued and put in the proper bookcases. The books in this particular crate had been left by the previous owner in his attic.
“My goodness.” She turned a small, leather-bound journal over in her hands. “It’s a diary.”
Otis put down the duster and looked at the journal with her. “It belonged to someone named Alicia Maria Fotherington, who lived”—he started, which made her start, as well—“almost two hundred years ago!”
Jilly’s heart thumped madly. She loved a good story.
“I wonder where she lived,” she said, and quickly thumbed through the first several pages. “My goodness.” She looked up at Otis. “She lived here, on Dreare Street, in Captain Arrow’s house.”
“You don’t say!” Otis exclaimed, and walked to the window and looked first at the capta
in, who was busy sanding a small piece of wood, and then at the house. “Was she married?”
Jilly bit her lip. “I don’t know, but I plan to find out. It’s not as if I don’t have time to read it.”
Otis made a face. “True. But as soon as you’re finished, I want to read it, too.” He paused. “Here,” he said excitedly. “We have a new customer.”
He straightened his coat, and they both watched the artist from down the street tip his hat to Captain Arrow, who acknowledged him with a friendly greeting.
The fellow wore a faded coat, boots that had seen better days, and a sheepish grin on his boyish countenance when he arrived at the door.
“Hello,” he said in a strong but kind voice. “I’m Nathaniel Sadler. Thank you for the scones. They were delicious, Miss Jones.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Sadler,” Jilly said. “We have plenty more. And please call me Jilly.”
“I’m quite full at the moment, but thanks.” He grinned. “And I’d be most obliged if you’d call me Nathaniel.”
“Nathaniel, then,” she said. “And this is Mr. Shrimpshire, my assistant.”
“Otis to artistic geniuses,” Otis explained. “I’ve seen your paintings in your window.”
Nathaniel thanked him for the compliment, and the men shook hands.
“I didn’t come in sooner because”—Nathaniel hesitated—“people don’t mingle on Dreare Street.”
“I wonder why?” Jilly truly couldn’t fathom it. “In the country, we got to know all our neighbors very well.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “Most people don’t mingle on any streets in Mayfair, actually. You’ll have a lord living next to a dress shop on one side and an attorney’s office on the other. People don’t speak unless they’re with people like themselves. But here on Dreare Street, the residents are even more isolated from their neighbors.” He looked at them from beneath a fringe of wavy black hair. “Lady Duchamp does her best to quash any signs of friendliness between us.”
Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage Page 6