Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

EPILOGUE

“Who knew?” said Jilly, wrapping her leg around Stephen’s torso. “Who knew a first anniversary could be so blissful?”

“I did.” He pulled her close and kissed her once on the mouth. “It’s even better than the wedding.”

Where he’d fulfilled that old romantic notion of his and waltzed with his new bride—and her alone. The nuptial celebration had taken place a mere week after the bookstore event at Hodgepodge had initiated a whole new way of life on Reader Street. The tea had sold out, the sun had shone, and the energy of the neighborhood—and the scandalous tea, no doubt—had even brought Prinny back.

This time, Jilly sold him a book, and when she did, he assured her he’d be frequenting her shop on a regular basis.

Now, almost a year later, she and Stephen were nose to nose in her bed above Hodgepodge. Otis had moved into Lady Duchamp’s house and was now called her secretary, although Jilly had to wonder if there was something more between the two eccentrics.

When they weren’t yelling at each other, Lady Duchamp actually kept Otis’s life in order—not the other way around—by watching over his books and organizing the correspondence generated by his new business venture, a shop for men in the building vacated by Susan when she, Nathaniel, and Thomas had moved to a bigger house right next door to Hodgepodge after their wedding.

Otis’s shop was small and posh and simply called Otis. He sold his shoes, handkerchiefs, and men’s waistcoats there. In fact, his signature pieces were all the rage among the dandies in Town. Some were even beginning to call a new style of tying their cravat the Otis.

He’d offered to sell Susan’s gowns, as well, but now that Nathaniel was a successful artist—Lucio’s patronage had gone far to establishing him—Susan had decided to make custom garments only occasionally, and only for Lady Harry and other very rich customers, from a lovely sewing room in her home. She really preferred to sing while Nathaniel painted one floor above her in a lovely studio. After all, a new baby was on the way, and singing while she sewed her baby’s first clothes and Thomas played at her feet made her happier than anything.

The Hobbses were so rich now from the still-brisk sales of their aphrodisiac tea, Mrs. Hobbs and her children were no longer quite so pale. They’d had a lovely holiday in Italy and returned rather pink. And Mr. Hobbs—well, he no longer wore that grim expression or that horrible black cape. He was a happy man who got splendid sartorial advice from Otis—who understood his conservative nature and trod very carefully in selecting him clothes that suited his new, brighter self. Jilly suspected the tea, both as commodity and beverage, had nothing to do with Mr. Hobbs’s transformation. Mrs. Hobbs was the reason for his good cheer, and Mrs. Hobbs alone.

“You’re daydreaming,” Stephen said, pulling a lock of hair off her shoulder and putting it behind her, the better to reach her breast with his mouth.

“I suppose I am,” she murmured, and then gave a little moan.

He was doing naughty things to her.

She loved when he did naughty things.

“I was just thinking about Lucio and Miranda,” she said. “I can’t believe she’s a countess now. But it’s so delicious that she is.”

“Yes,” Stephen murmured against her belly now.

Jilly sighed. “Sir Ned and Lady Hartley were waxing on about the wedding, how big everything was at Lucio’s castle, how shiny and magnificent. I’m so sorry we missed it, but at least the Hobbses were there.”

“At least,” said Stephen, nudging aside her leg.

Jilly gasped at what he was doing.

And for the next several minutes, she floated away on a cloud of pure bliss.

When she returned, it was Stephen’s turn, and she took her time showing him how much she could never tell him exactly how much she loved him—because it was inexpressible, at least with words, wasn’t it?

She did the best she could with her mouth.

He apparently understood, judging from the lazy kisses he bestowed on her afterward.

Life was good, she thought, as she flicked back the curtains and saw the big, empty space that used to be 34 Dreare Street. It was now a small park for the neighborhood children to play in. Stephen had seen to that. Every bit of money he’d gotten from selling Alicia Fotherington’s small but valuable collection of jewelry and gold coins—which she’d stashed in a corner of the attic and was discovered by Otis during the cleanup—went to beautifying the lot.

Jilly liked to think of it as Alicia’s present to the world.

She hadn’t told Stephen yet, but soon …

They’d need that park for their own family.

Stephen watched his naked wife at the window and smiled at the wonderment of it all. He was a married man. God, he was like Harry and Nicholas now!

It still shocked him.

But then again, it didn’t.

Looking at Jilly, he realized it was the most natural thing on earth for him to be married to her.

She was everything he’d ever wanted.

He got out of bed, as naked as she, and came to stand behind her.

“Shall we go to the roof again tonight?” he said in her ear.

She loved when he spoke in her ear. She said it tickled.

“I’d like to go now,” she said, looking back up at him. “In the sunlight.”

They had so much more of that these days.

“Why, Miss Jones!” It was still his favorite name for her. “You do mean clothed, don’t you?”

She shook her head, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “No one can see us if we stay far enough back from the edge.”

“Oho,” he replied with a grin. “I seem to remember long ago that you said anyone who wanted to look up there could see us from that perch where we had that first picnic.”

They’d since had many more.

She bit her lip. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She giggled. “Perhaps I wanted you to kiss me that day.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” said Stephen.

She pretended to slap him. “You were always so sure of yourself.”

“Still am,” he said, and laid a kiss on her neck.

She pulled back and held his hand. “Are you certain?”

He nodded.

“I’m glad because soon things will be different.” Her face had changed. Something about her eyes.

He didn’t know what to think.

But then he did.

Somehow he did.

Without saying another word, he picked her up in his arms.

They stared and stared at each other, little tears coming to both their eyes—and then Jilly laughed. “Put me down, you handsome sailor. I’m going to beat you to the roof.”

He swallowed and did as he was told. But he couldn’t move. Or think. Or breathe. She was the only one who could make him feel not sure of himself.

Well, she and the—

He couldn’t even say it yet, he was so stunned. He watched her climb the ladder, and then he saw her raven hair swing down.

“Hurry up, Captain,” she cried, “and don’t forget the bags of water!”