Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

CHAPTER THIRTY

There was something wrong with him. Stephen knew that now, as he stumbled through the fog toward Dreare Street. He’d never realized it before.

He was a coward.

He winced just thinking of the word.

Coward.

He’d always used it to describe other people. But it was what he was.

Good God, and he’d been so sure of his identity. He was a tested warrior, a former captain in the Royal Navy who’d earned high honors. He’d fought and won battles against merciless enemies.

He also had supreme confidence on land. With women, especially, he was assured of his prowess as a man.

Until now.

For another quarter of an hour, he wended his way, slowly, instinctively, through the blinding vapor. On the sea, fog could be both a helpful friend or one’s worst enemy. It allowed one to hide from danger. You could slip right by an opponent’s ship, and they’d never know you’d come near. But a dense fog could also lead a ship to the rocks and almost certain death.

Stephen had come to find out, however, through his lengthy experience with it, that fog wasn’t the real challenge. Fear was. The test came in his own response to the primal fear fog induced. Fog was a great separator, the reminder that in the end, you were alone to either give in to the fear—or not.

Until now, Stephen had chosen to be soothed by the notion that he was ultimately his own man. Finding out that his mother and his entire village had perpetuated a myth about his beginnings only affirmed the fact that he lacked an anchor, was sailing through life on self-generated power, answerable to no one, his destiny in his own hands.

But now in the midst of the mist, he had the odd sensation of being panicked. His natural fluidity—his calmness in the center of the white blindness—was shaken.

He was glad when the fog began to ease slightly, enough that he could see a few feet ahead of him in the dark. A well-lit carriage crept by, the horses whinnying in fright, the driver calling encouraging words to them. Stephen watched and wondered who would take a carriage out this late at night and in such conditions. A doctor on the way to see a patient? Some drunken fool on the way home from a rout?

Who else would dare?

When the last ring of the horseshoes on the cobbles faded in the distance, he was left behind, a solitary shadow figure on an empty street.

He remembered Jilly’s cozy bedchamber, the rug, the low fire, and he wished he were back there with her.

But once again, he was cast adrift. It was what he knew best. There was to be no more Jilly. And no more Dreare Street.

When he arrived back at Number 34, the house was dead quiet. He felt much too empty—raw, actually—to sleep. He knew if he tried, the sheets would feel like sand, the mattress like gravel.

He lit a candle from the mantel and saw a small, bound book lying next to it.

Alicia Fotherington’s diary.

Otis had given it to him earlier to keep safe for Jilly.

He picked it up, took it to a chair, and sat down to read. He’d nothing else to do, and reading would remind him of her. At first, the entries in the diary were cheerful. But little by little, the tone changed.

Lyle just added on a second wing, he read. Our elegant little house is getting larger and larger. Lyle makes it very clear why. He’s preparing the house for our children. But—it pains me deeply to say it—I’ve not been able to conceive. Every day that goes by, he acts more like a disapproving father, not a loving husband.

All these years later, Stephen felt sorry for Alicia. A little while later, she wrote:

A chill fog this morning seems to match my growing sadness about the lack of a babe in our lives. I don’t believe Lyle loves me anymore. Indeed, I think he might have taken up with someone else. He comes home with the scent of her on his garments.

Stephen read swiftly. Alicia had his complete attention now: The third wing is complete, she wrote. It is to house her. He pretends he feels pity for her. She’s been widowed these two years. But I know why she’s here. She’s my cousin. How could they do this to me?

Stephen gazed into the candle flame. Poor Alicia Fotherington. How different these later entries were from the first ones, where she’d had such hope about her new life as wife to Lyle. As he turned the pages, more and more entries mentioned the unrelenting fog.

The sun had just come up when he began the last entry:

I’m a far distance from the woman I used to be. There’s nothing left here that I love. The house is a rambling mess of wings that reminds me every day that I’ve failed in my duty as a wife to bear my husband children. My beloved street fair is long gone, chased away by the strange, clinging fog that seems peculiar to Dreare Street only this past year. I’ve decided I shall run away, but before I do, I must save some money. It will take me at least a year of my gritting my teeth and pretending I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll do it. And then she’ll have to move out. They won’t have me here to guard her reputation anymore.

And that was the last thing Alicia Fotherington had to say.

Stephen closed the book and thought about Jilly, about Alicia, about all women who’d been mistreated by unloving mates.

It was a sad thing, profoundly sad. But there was nothing he could do about it, although everything in him raged against cowardly beasts like Lyle and Hector.

He stood, looked out the window, at the fog creeping up his steps—steps Lyle and Alicia had traipsed two hundred years ago—and wondered what had happened to the pair. Had she succeeded in running away? Had Lyle died a slow, lingering death—alone?

Stephen knew it was wicked of him, but he hoped so.

It came to him that Hector was still alive, and at this very moment, he was probably sleeping a fine sleep. Soon he’d wake and have a hearty meal and continue living his comfortable life, all the while causing Jilly tremendous pain.

It wasn’t right.

And it wasn’t too late, either.

Stephen couldn’t do anything about Lyle, but he could do something about Hector.

He’d find him. And he’d make him pay.

The next morning Jilly kept her hand on the counter, straightened her spine, and prepared herself for another disappointment. Otis was outside with his bell, calling a meeting at Hodgepodge. She insisted he wear his town crier regalia to do it, too. Reluctantly, he’d agreed. He’d stood silent, forlorn, while she placed the tricorne hat on his head and wished him luck.

Now he rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Through the fog, he called, “Emergency meeting at Hodgepodge!”

At one point, he came to the bookstore window and stared at her mutely. She knew what he was thinking. No one was coming. He should stop now.

“I can’t bear thinking of you enduring any more rudeness directed toward you,” he’d said earlier as he’d reluctantly put his arm through the magnificent scarlet coat she’d held out for him. “The ignominy you’ve suffered already is more than I can bear.”

She’d smiled at him and said firmly, “I can bear it. I’m stronger than I realized. And so are you.”

She’d patted him on the back then and sent him on his way.

While she waited now, she wondered what Hector would think if he’d arrived home last night and this morning would find her gone. No doubt he’d come straight to Hodgepodge. This time, however, she wasn’t going to go back with him.

No more hiding.

She had to fight back.

This was her only life, and she was going to live it without fear.

This time, she was going to tell him to go away. And if he tried to pick her up over his shoulder and force her to go back, she’d scream and thrash and pummel him.

But she didn’t think it would go that far. Because if Hector did show up, the first thing she’d do was stand behind her counter, where Papa’s small pistol was now sitting in a drawer. She’d never thought she’d use it when she’d taken it with her from home, but she was a different person now.

No longer manipulated.

No longer hiding.

She was going to fight to stay at Hodgepodge. She’d cling and cling and cling until something or someone managed to tear her away.

She clung now to hope while the bell rang.

The first to show was Susan, with Thomas. At the door, she looked tentatively at Jilly. “Are you all right?” she said, her voice stricken, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” Jilly said, even as she felt a great sadness wash over her about Stephen.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Susan opened the door wider, and Thomas came running in, his hair wet and slicked neatly over his head.

Jilly felt an immediate surge of happiness. At least one family was welcoming her back, the very first one who’d greeted her when she’d arrived on Dreare Street.

Thomas hugged Jilly around her legs. “You went away yesterday. My mother couldn’t even sing me to sleep last night, she was so sad.”

Susan hugged her next, a long, lingering embrace. When she pulled back, understanding passed between them.

“Are you all right?” Jilly asked her. “Even though you couldn’t sell your gowns and mobcaps?”

Susan grinned. “I’m fine.” She colored. “I hate to say this right now in the midst of your suffering, but even though I sold only one gown in the time the fair was open, things are very good. I sold that gown to a fine lady named Lady Harry, and she told me she’d tell all her friends in Mayfair about me. She’s a friend of Captain Arrow’s.”

“Wonderful!” Jilly said, even though her heart ached at hearing Stephen’s name.

“That’s not all,” Susan said. “Nathaniel proposed last night. I know we don’t have much to live on, but he loves me, Jilly. And I love him.”

“I love him, too!” said Thomas.

“I’m so happy for you both.” And she meant it. Jilly hugged Thomas, then Susan. Genuine happiness had created a new glow in her friend’s eyes.

“But now we’re worried about you,” Susan said, squeezing Jilly’s fingers.

“Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens here.”

The worst had already happened. She’d lost Stephen. As far as she was concerned, everything else that occurred in her lifetime would be manageable.

“The only reason we didn’t arrive sooner,” Susan said, “was that Thomas was in his bath. And then we couldn’t find his shoes.”

“Yes,” Thomas piped up with the droll disinterest of a child. “Mother was quite frantic to get here. She told me I didn’t even have to make my bed first.”

Jilly and Susan laughed. In the distance, Otis rang his bell and called, “Emergency meeting at Hodgepodge!”

She felt a pang of doubt return. Would anyone else come? But she suppressed it by grinning at Thomas. “Let’s go find your bird book, shall we?”

When she led him to the back table, the door opened again.

It was Pratt, Nathaniel, and several other young men who’d helped with heavy lifting and cleaning the street in preparation for the fair.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of them. She smiled and said simply, “Thank you for coming.”

Nathaniel and the young men gave her shy grins and didn’t say much. Nathaniel made a beeline for Susan. The other fellows shuffled in awkwardly and didn’t appear to know what to do with themselves. But Jilly directed them to the delicious scones and pot of tea she’d made for anyone who cared for some.

Pratt, on the other hand, came straight to her and raised her hand to his lips. “I am very glad, my dear lady,” he said in his lovely Italian accent, “that you’ve returned to your home. We were concerned about you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

A frown creased his brow. “Have you seen Miss Hartley yet this morning?”

“Not yet.” She sensed his disappointment. “But I do hope she’ll come to the meeting, even though she’s not actually a resident of Dreare Street.”

“How could you think I’d stay away?” a voice came from the door. It was Miss Hartley, and she smiled softly at Pratt, and then at Jilly.

He strode over to her and kissed her hand as well, but he lingered extra long.

She dimpled. “I’m so glad you’re back, Miss Jones. And Mr. Pratt”—she took a deep breath—”you’re a wonderful man, just the way you are.”

He smiled modestly. “Thank you. And you are a wonderful lady.”

They both stared into each other’s eyes, and Jilly and Susan exchanged an amused glance.

The next people to walk in were Mrs. Hobbs and her tall, pale children. Mrs. Hobbs looked gravely at Jilly, and she felt her stomach clench. The children looked quickly away from her when she greeted them and went immediately to find Thomas.

Mrs. Hobbs came to Jilly and took her hands. “I’ve something very important to say.” Her mouth was set and firm.

Jilly felt a slight burning behind her eyes. She knew she’d disappointed her friends—she’d hated to lie to them—and now one of them was going to call her to task.

“Miss Jones,” Mrs. Hobbs said in a low, serious voice, “you’ve deceived us.”

“I-I know.” Jilly sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Hobbs put up a finger. “There’s someone at the door who wants you to know how he feels about your being here on Dreare Street under false pretences.”

Jilly looked over and saw Mr. Hobbs there. He gripped his tall hat in his hands and looked at her with a baleful expression.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for coming to visit, Mr. Hobbs.”

It was the first time he’d ventured into the store.

He glowered and stepped around two lads eating scones and came to stand in front of her. “Miss Jones—for I cannot think of you as Mrs. Broadmoor—what you did was extremely … unconventional.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

He clenched his jaw. “But I can’t help thinking that a woman who was trying to help her entire street—however nosy she was—must have had an excellent reason for hiding her identity. I want to do all in my power to help you if your aim is still to pull Dreare Street out of the pit of foggy despair in which we now wallow.”

Jilly blinked, not sure she was hearing correctly. Was Mr. Hobbs saying he wanted to help?

Evidently so, because the very edge of his mouth curved upward.

“T-thank you,” she stammered. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Don’t be,” he said flatly. “I was a pompous ass. It took my wife threatening to leave me last night, the same way you’d left your husband, to make me see how wrong I was.”

Mrs. Hobbs had a twinkle in her eye. “That’s right,” she said, lifting her chin. “I told him if Miss Jones can succeed on her own selling books, I can do the same.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “And I think I know how.”

“What is it?” Jilly asked.

Mrs. Hobbs smiled. “A receipt for a special tea. And Jilly, I made it up myself. I may not be very good at following other people’s receipts—my meat pasties were a disaster yesterday—but I’m excellent at following my own intuition. And I know, my dear, that we have a winner here. You must trust me on this, the same way we’ve trusted you.”

“Oh, I will!” Jilly said.

“We’ll tell you more about it during the meeting,” Mr. Hobbs said, and took his wife’s hand in his own and kissed it.

Jilly bit her lip. Mr. Hobbs’s loving gesture was very sweet. One might even say adorable. She met Susan’s eyes again, and hers were shiny with emotion, too.

Within several minutes, the room had filled up. Lady Duchamp, of course, was missing, and so was Stephen (her heart skipped a beat knowing he was probably right next door), but everyone else had come.

She and Otis exchanged hopeful glances.

He indicated that he was going to keep an eye on the door and signal her if Hector came anywhere near—it was their plan.

Jilly cleared her throat and addressed the gathering: “It’s so good to be here,” she said, “and I simply want to state unequivocally that I’m sorry I misled all of you. I am Mrs. Broadmoor, and I’ll acknowledge that openly now. But I don’t plan on living with my husband, and I’d prefer you all call me Jilly. There’s no place I’d rather be than with friends like you—if you’ll accept me back here. I can endure the fog. I can endure the bad luck. But I can’t endure being without you as my neighbors.”

Nathaniel stood. “On behalf of the whole street, I think I’m safe in saying we all embrace you … Jilly. Because from your very first day here, you’ve embraced us. And even though the fair went wrong, for an hour there it was working, wasn’t it?”

He looked around. Everyone nodded their heads.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years on Dreare Street!” piped up one ancient old man. “For the first time, I felt like Dreare Street was the place to be in London!”

Everyone cheered.

“Good,” said Jilly. “Because we can’t give up. We have only days left before those leases come due.” She smiled gratefully at Mr. Hobbs. “I’m very glad to announce we have Mr. Hobbs working with us now. Together we can still raise the money we need. But even more important, we’re going to get rid of Dreare Street’s poor reputation once and for all.”

After talking for another half an hour, a plan was hatched to everyone’s satisfaction.