Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage by Kieran Kramer Read Free Book Online

either him or the coins in his pocket. Sometimes both. But she was mocking him, wasn’t she?
    It simply wasn’t done. He was either too commanding or too charming to be mocked except by his very closest friends, Lumley, Drummond (formerly Lord Maxwell), and Traemore.
    Stephen’s spirits hit dead low, like the tide. But he couldn’t wait for time to restore them. He must take action.
    First things first. He’d assess the situation with the Hartleys further. So without any sign of the reluctance he felt, he held the front door open for Miss Hartley and forced himself to follow her into the breakfast room. He entered just as Sir Ned held a jewel-encrusted quizzing glass to his bulbous eye and raked the company lounging about the table with a scornful glance.
    “Begone with you, gentlemen,” the jowly baronet ordered in an ugly voice. “And don’t bother gathering up your things.”
    “We’ve nothing to gather,” retorted one of the men with a chuckle, and looked down at his own rumpled shirt. “This is a party. We slept in the clothes we came in.”
    “You’re disgraceful heathens, aren’t you?” Lady Hartley announced with keen interest.
    Sir Ned lowered his quizzing glass and bestowed a fawning smile upon the party. “Demme. Didn’t notice you’re wearing boots by Hoby and coats by Weston. See here, lads, sorry about the rude send-off. Stay as long as you’d like. I’ve got a daughter here to marry off, and she has a large dowry. Most of you pups from good families waste all your blunt on extravagance and could use an infusion of wealth, couldn’t you? Miranda’s your girl.”
    Miss Hartley blinked several times and went to the window to look out, but Stephen guessed she was really attempting to disguise her embarrassment.
    He understood her angst very well. This couple was truly awful—
    And both he and Miss Hartley were related to them.
    The houseguests’ expressions, depending on the measure of alcohol still flowing through their veins, registered varying degrees of shock and disgust at Sir Ned’s vulgar speech and Lady Hartley’s indifference to her daughter’s comfort.
    There was the quick pushing back of chairs by a few alert young men, followed by the slower rising from the table of the still impaired, and then the tromping of feet heading past Stephen toward the front door.
    All his friends were leaving.
    And as they streamed by him, he told himself, There’s no such thing as bad luck.
    No such thing .
    He trailed after the last man, the one limping in the mismatched boots, and wished he could leave, too.
    On the front step, one of the more sober fellows slapped Stephen’s shoulder. “You poor sod. You’ll be married off to that Miranda in no time, eh?”
    Stephen was too depressed to make a reply.
    Another friend stopped and shook his hand for far too long. “This is a bad business, old chum,” he hiccuped.
    “That it is,” Stephen said glumly, hardly noticing that his fingers were still caught in an enthusiastic pumping of hands.
    “Down the steps now, Bertie.” Lumley shoved the man aside and turned to Stephen. “What’s the world coming to when anyone with a piece of paper from an attorney can simply walk into a house and take it over? I’ll send a message to the fancy girls—tell them not to bother coming this evening.”
    Stephen watched his friends leave as fast as their pickled legs could carry them, some faster than others. But all slowed to an amble once they were far enough away from his house, away from the unwelcome houseguests.
    He sighed. It was a damned shame his house party was to end well before its time.
    And then he had another bad feeling, one that made him look to his right.
    Miss Jilly Jones was now inside Hodgepodge, staring out the shop window, her mouth agape. When their gazes locked, she pressed her lips shut and looked boldly at him, then slowly lifted the rag she kept perpetually in her hands and rubbed a slow, triumphant circle around the panes of