Jilly was so shocked, she could hardly breathe. “The Prince Regent? Attending our fair?”

Stephen stood. “Why not? I know him fairly well. He chose me to be one of his Impossible Bachelors, after all.”

Jilly huffed. “What a silly arrangement that was. I never heard about it at the time, of course.”

“Where were you?” Captain Arrow asked quickly. “Were you not in London?”

Jilly gave a little laugh. “No, actually.” She trailed off and looked at Otis. “Otis and I might be called country bumpkins.”

“Is that so?” Captain Arrow sent her a penetrating stare. “You’ve never told me where you’re from, or what you did before you bought Hodgepodge.”

“It never came up, Captain.” She kept her tone light.

“Well?” He was insistent.

She sniffed, inwardly chagrined that for the first time since arriving in London, she’d have to tell the lie she’d practiced with Otis. “We’re from Devon.”

Somerset, actually, her stricken conscience reminded her.

“And how did you find yourselves in London?” The captain’s words were equally light—but she sensed he was more intrigued than he should be.

He’d told her on two occasions now that he thought she was hiding something.

Otis wore an unlikely expression that she thought screamed deception, but to the rest of the world probably signified nothing more than bland attention to an ordinary social inquiry.

“My father died and left me a tidy inheritance.” She’d decided long ago to stick with the truth as much as possible. “Otis was his valet and found himself without a job. I asked him to accompany me to London to help me open a bookstore. He’s known me since I was a small girl.”

“She’s always wanted to own her own bookstore,” Otis said, rocking on his heels.

“Indeed, I have.” She touched the nape of her neck.

“Really,” said Captain Arrow.

A few awkward seconds passed.

“Of course, I vowed to protect her in the big city.” Otis thrust a hand through the air like a claw and roared like a lion.

Jilly gave a nervous laugh. Another beat of silence went by.

“Right,” said Captain Arrow eventually, looking back and forth between them.

“About your plans to meet the prince.” Jilly felt it was time to bring the conversation back from where it had veered into dangerous territory. “I must admit I’m rather confused. I thought Lady Duchamp planned on being no help at all with the street fair. Yet she’s attending the ball with you?”

Captain Arrow lofted a brow. “It was Lady Tabitha’s idea,” he said. “She said Lady Duchamp received the invitation just yesterday, and Lady Tabitha invited me along. It turns out she’s quite the sport.”

Sport.

“Is she?” Jilly gave the captain a wan smile, remembering that at their very first meeting, he’d told her she required more sport in her.

He nodded once. “She’s enthused about the street fair, although she can’t say so in front of her aunt. When I mentioned I was about to ask my good friends Harry and Molly Traemore to invite me along on one of their society jaunts—where I’d be sure to see the prince—Lady Tabitha told me I don’t have to bother.” He gave a little laugh. “I’m actually quite grateful to her. I was looking forward to seeing my married friends, but I’d like to delay the interrogations about my romantic life for as long as possible.”

Jilly’s face burned when she heard the word romantic. He’d said the same word to her a few moments earlier, when he’d given her that look, the one she could tell meant he wanted to kiss her.

Long ago, she’d hoped for romance. Her nurse had always told her that was a silly hope, that well-off people married for practical reasons. But Jilly had believed she’d be the exception to the rule.

Now she realized she hadn’t been.

Romance wasn’t to be hers.

It was for people without a past haunting them, people who could laugh carelessly and find amusements where they could—people like Captain Arrow and Lady Tabitha.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Once again, Miss Jones was attempting to hide how she really felt but couldn’t quite manage it. Stephen could tell she wasn’t at all enthusiastic about his going to the ball with Lady Tabitha and Lady Duchamp.

But his bookish neighbor wasn’t one of his admirers, so she couldn’t possibly be jealous of Lady Tabitha. Miss Jones had made it clear, however, that she didn’t like the fair plans progressing without her. Perhaps that was it.

Or was she simply a lady who longed to go to a ball?

The more he thought about it, the more he believed the last possibility was the most likely. Every woman wanted to be a Cinderella, didn’t she?

“Don’t you get your own invitations to routs, balls, and musicales, Captain?” Otis asked in a polite manner. “Surely a person of such style, spirit, and good looks—”

“Certainly I get invitations from my old Eton friends,” Stephen interrupted him, embarrassed at Otis’s over-the-top flattery but not wanting to seem churlish, either. “But as I said, my married friends don’t know I’m in Town yet. Since I’ve returned from sea, I’ve holed up here on Dreare Street with friends who, like me, couldn’t care less about Almack’s and debutante balls.”

The bell rang at the front of the shop.

Miss Jones’s face lit up when the person strolled in. “Nathaniel!”

Stephen must admit to feeling a spark of jealousy at how happy she appeared to see him.

“Miss Jones!” The artist’s face creased into a smile. After everyone exchanged greetings, he said, “I’m back to get my book. I had a chance to look last night after the meeting, and I’ve decided I want the one about Venice.”

“Excellent choice,” Miss Jones murmured, and watched him with great interest as he took the book off the shelf.

“I’d like to have it wrapped, if you don’t mind,” he said and brought it over to her. “I’m going home soon for a brief visit, and I don’t want it muddied by travel. I’ll be reading it to my mother.” He gave a wistful smile. “It’s not often she sees books.”

Miss Jones laid the book on the counter and sighed. “What a thoughtful son.”

Nathaniel blushed.

Stephen watched as she shook her head in apparent wonder at Nathaniel’s heroic qualities and went about wrapping the book in brown paper, all the while talking to him about Venice and how she’d love to see it someday, too. When she was done tying the book with string, she handed it back.

“Take it with my compliments to your mother,” she said with a smile that would have left any man with a beating heart breathless.

“Thank you.” Nathaniel tucked the package under his arm and looked over at Stephen and Otis. “Lads, we enjoyed ourselves last night, didn’t we?”

“That we did,” said Otis.

“Your booth is next,” Stephen added.

“I’d help you with it,” Nathaniel said, “but I’m busy painting—I hope I can sell something at the fair. I’m beginning to wonder if I have any talent. No one’s buying.”

“You’re tremendously talented,” Miss Jones insisted. “I especially like your bold use of color.”

“Do you?” Nathaniel’s eyes seemed to soften when he looked at her.

And no wonder, Stephen thought. Already, Nathaniel had been declared the best son in the world, and now he was possibly the greatest painter. Any man would like to be so sincerely complimented.

Stephen found he wanted more compliments from the bookseller for himself, ones that weren’t measured. Miss Jones wasn’t made to hold anything back. Yet with him, she did suppress something. He saw it in every line of her being.

The seamstress, Susan, came into the store with her young son, Thomas, just as Nathaniel was leaving. They crossed paths at the front table, where Thomas stopped to examine a book with paintings of birds.

“Look at these,” he said to Nathaniel, and pointed at the pictures. “I like the one with yellow on its wings.”

“That’s a goldfinch,” said Nathaniel with an awkward smile and a nod at Susan.

Susan smiled back rather shyly. “Good morning.”

Stephen recognized a mutual interest there. So did Miss Jones, obviously—she looked back and forth between them with a delighted smile on her face.

Nathaniel made his farewells, and Susan and Miss Jones exchanged a happy greeting.

“I hear you’re working with Otis on a project for the street fair,” Miss Jones said.

“Indeed, I am.” Susan looked at Otis. “I came by to tell you I found two ladies on Dreare Street willing to darn lace on your handkerchiefs, Mr. Shrimpshire.”

“That’s excellent news,” Otis declared. “Please call me Otis.”

“Very well, Otis.” Susan cocked her head in the direction of her shop. “If you’re ready to see the fabrics I have, we can go look now. And perhaps we can cut them out together.”

“Gladly.” Otis untied his shop apron and offered the seamstress his arm. Then at the door he seemed to remember Miss Jones. He looked over his shoulder. “Is it all right with you, Miss Jilly? Especially in light of the fact that I see three fashionable young ladies strolling our way?”

“Customers?” Miss Jones’s face brightened. “Go right ahead.”

“Ah,” Susan remarked, gazing onto the street, “now Lady Tabitha is joining their number.”

Stephen saw Miss Jones’s face lose some of its glow.

“Very good,” she said, striving to sound cheerful, but it was apparent to him that she was intimidated by Lady Tabitha.

She’d no reason to be, of course.

Although not a classic beauty like Lady Tabitha, Miss Jones was much more attractive, in Stephen’s view. Lady Tabitha lacked the vitality and genuine warmth Miss Jones had in abundance.