When Harry Met Molly (28 page)

Chapter 38

Molly walked with the other women to the log she and Harry had sat on so recently, and she felt a wisp of loneliness curl in her belly.

She and Harry would never sit on this log together again.

In a few moments, she’d find out if she had won the Most Delectable Companion contest. If so, Harry would win another year of freedom. If not, he’d be among those bachelors forced to pull straws, one of whom would find out tonight if he was to get legshackled to a woman of his club’s choosing.

“How will you feel,” said Molly to the other mistresses when she sat down, “if your bachelor is the one forced to marry?”

Bunny squeezed in next to her. “You know I wouldn’t care. I shall be leaving him anyway.”

“Really?” Athena was astounded. And so it seemed were Joan and Hildur.

Bunny nodded. “Yes. I was on the verge of telling Delilah earlier that I’ve a friend I can stay with in London. She’s an assistant to a seamstress with a thriving business. I think she might be able to get me work.”

Molly hugged her. “That would be too, too wonderful!”

Bunny smiled. “You inspired me, Delilah. Thank you for believing in me.”

“The truth is, ladies,” said Athena, “whether or not Maxwell draws the short straw, we shall soon part ways. He’s not the sort to stay with one woman for long. And my career as an actress is providing me with sufficient income to live comfortably. I shall no longer require a protector.”

“That’s marvelous!” Molly said, and everyone clapped.

“Perhaps I can help with your costumes?” Bunny asked Athena. “And your gowns, as well, if you’d like.”

Athena smiled and tossed her hair. “You must come to Drury Lane to visit me at your earliest convenience.”

When it came to Joan’s turn, she chuckled. “I have great affection for Lumley, of course. Who wouldn’t?”

Molly knew exactly what Joan meant. Lumley had such a big heart.

“But he is more like a brother to me now,” Joan went on. “And I say that as the highest compliment.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “He’s providing me with sufficient funds to move north and be with my son and my sister. And then he’s sending my son to a good school not far away from home.”

There were gasps along the log, and happy tears were shed by all for some few minutes.

“And you, Hildur?” Molly eventually asked. “What will you do if Captain Arrow must marry?”

“I go where it’s
hot
. I’m a pirate.”

“You mean you’ll find a pirate protector on an island somewhere?” asked Bunny.

“No,” said Hildur, pointing to her chest. “
I
steal gold.”

“Arrow told her he’d arrange her passage,” Athena said, rolling her eyes.

Molly grinned. She could actually imagine Hildur as a female pirate!

“What are your plans, Delilah, if Lord Harry must get legshackled?” Joan asked. “Will you stay with him? When you performed tonight”—she hesitated—“it seemed as if you would be truly pained to be parted from him.”

Molly looked around at the other mistresses. She’d been kidding herself, hadn’t she? She’d tried so hard not to care about Harry beyond their friendship and kisses and jokes, but she loved him.

She loved him, and she wanted to be more than his mistress.

She did!

She wanted to be his
wife
.

She sighed. “I believe Harry, once settled into marriage, won’t be the type of man to seek out a mistress. He would devote himself to his wife, whoever she is.”

Whoever is lucky enough to win him, she thought.

There was a long silence.

“For Impossible Bachelors, this group is certainly more serious-minded than anyone thought, aren’t they?” Joan said.

“Except for Sir Richard, of course,” Bunny interjected.

“Yes,” said Athena. “Except for him, they’re all good men.” She put her hand over Molly’s. “If Lord Harry decides to have both wife
and
mistress, will you stay with him?”

Molly shook her head.

And then she had to shut her eyes. She felt that hot sand welling behind them that signaled tears about to flow. She squeezed her eyes shut harder, but one, lone tear escaped.

There was a painful silence.

“You
do
love him, don’t you?” said Bunny.

Molly nodded, still unable to speak.

There were many sighs from the other mistresses.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to share the man you love with another woman,” said Athena gently. “But sometimes it’s the only way.”

“That’s the lot of the mistress,” Joan reminded her.

Molly blew out a shaky breath. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I would rather be…
alone
.”

And now she realized that she would. She couldn’t be Harry’s mistress. Not when he was a bachelor
or
married. Not when there were other women in his life.

Hildur patted her shoulder. “Start over.”

“In a new life,” said Bunny.

Or in her old one, Molly thought. Could she pick up where she’d left off? Could she go back to being the person she was before she’d taken off with Cedric on their ill-fated elopement?

She wasn’t sure she could. She would have to take each day as it came. At least for now.

Athena stared at her, a thoughtful crease on her brow. “You’re the only one of us here who really has a stake in this competition,” she said. “If you won, it would mean another year of freedom for Lord Harry. A year he could spend with you.”

Molly wished she could tell them that tonight, no matter what, was her last night with Harry. Because if she won, he was obligated to help her find a husband. And he’d made no promises to her that he’d be anything but his old, dissolute self, biding his time until he had to marry Anne Riordan.

But she couldn’t tell her new friends. She’d promised Harry she would play the role of his mistress.

And she must play it to the end of the competition.

Would the other mistresses hate her if they found out her true identity was not that of a mistress at all? She hoped not, but she wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“I want you to know,” she said carefully, “your friendship has meant the world to me this week. The absolute world. I was so scared. And—and you made me feel at home.”

Hildur wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know what you say, but it’s sad.”

Molly patted her hand. “Whatever happens, I hope you know that I care for you all. Very much.”

“And we, you, Delilah,” said Bunny.

“It’s time, ladies!” Harry’s voice rang out.

The women exchanged hugs and best wishes.

And for the last time, they journeyed to the curtain.

Chapter 39

Once at the curtain, Molly noticed right away that the men had moved back far enough from the torches so their faces were in shadows.

“Ladies,” she heard Harry say, “you’ve all done marvelously well this week. We wish all of you could win the title of Most Delectable Companion.”

Lumley clapped and hooted.

“But we must choose only one winner,” Harry went on. “We’ve tallied the votes, double-checked our figures, and now are proud to announce…”

Molly felt as if time slowed down then, even though Lumley slapped his thighs in a rapid tattoo, in imitation of a drum roll.

“The winner of the Most Delectable Companion title is—” Harry paused.

Molly clutched hands with Bunny and Athena.

“Delilah!”

Molly blinked. It didn’t seem possible!
She?
The most delectable companion?

The other mistresses hugged her and congratulated her. But it was as if she were in a dream. She felt the same way when the men came forward. All of them wished her many happy returns, except Sir Richard, who stood alone, his lip curled.

Harry had a pleasant smile on his face but his gaze was carefully neutral. She supposed as host he didn’t want to go overboard showing his joy at being the lucky bachelor whose name didn’t have to go into the hat. That wouldn’t have been sporting of him.

But she knew, however much she pretended not to care, that he must be thrilled to have another year of freedom. He despised the parson’s mousetrap. He’d made that clear in his words and actions for years.

He held out the sparkling tiara. It was beautiful, Molly, thought, but it was made of worthless paste.

It was a sham.

Like her.

Like her week with Harry had been.

“Congratulations, Delilah,” he said, rather formally.

“Thank you,” she responded in kind.

And he kissed her cheek. It was a polite kiss, nothing more, signifying no connection between them beyond their obligations to each other as coconspirators in a fraudulent endeavor.

When Harry pulled back, Bunny took the crown from him and placed it on Molly’s hair.

Lumley draped a beautiful purple cape over her shoulders, patted her back, and said, “Well deserved! You’ve got some money coming to you, you know. Don’t forget that hundred pounds.”

She leaned over to Bunny. “I’m giving
you
the money.”

Bunny’s eyes widened. “Whatever for?
You’ll
need it.”

“No. I—I’ve made an arrangement with Harry. If he throws me over, he’ll pay me a great sum. Besides, if I keep the money, I’ll waste it on…queen cakes. I have an obsession with them.”

“A lady shouldn’t overindulge in queen cakes, Delilah,” Bunny scolded her affectionately.

Molly grinned. “Which is exactly why you shall use my winnings to start your own sewing business. No arguments.”

“You’re too generous.” Bunny threw her arms around her and squeezed.

Molly forced herself to smile, to act happy. She would simply hang on until they left this place—until she could be completely alone somewhere and cry her heart out.

She spun for all the company, allowing her beautiful purple cape to billow and sink back around her legs, her crown to sparkle in the torchlight.

Why was love such torture? she wondered, as she smiled at her well-wishers.

And why were happy endings as impossible as the bachelor she so desperately wanted?

Chapter 40

It was four-thirty in the morning. And Harry was properly drunk, as the winner of the Impossible Bachelors wager should be, in his estimation. He lay sprawled on his back on the floor of the library, Maxwell, Lumley, and Arrow lounging in leather seats surrounding him. The fire was low. An empty decanter of brandy sat on Harry’s father’s desk.

“You know, Delilah’s not a real mistresh,” Harry mumbled, looking up at the ceiling, which began to spin slowly to the right. It was such a dizzying sight, he accidentally let his empty glass roll out of his palm. “She’s falsh. Falsh as they come.”

And God, it was driving him crazy.

Maxwell rubbed his eyes. “If Delilah’s not a real mistress, then I’m a
woman
.”

Arrow laughed. He laughed so hard he snorted brandy through his nose.

“Really,” said Harry, turning his face toward the men. The Aubusson rug scratched his cheek. “She’s a virgin, dammit.” And he shook his head and moaned. Because shaking his head hurt. And spending all his time pining after a virgin was…torture.

Lumley threw a cheroot at him, and it bounced off Harry’s nose. “Shuddup. Arrow’s the good joke teller. Not you. Stick to riding curricles to Brighton.”

“We don’t need jokes anyway,” Maxwell said to them all, and rubbed his eyes. “We’ve another year in which to run riot.”

“Egg-zhackly,” muttered Arrow.

Maxwell raised his glass. “Here’s to…escaping the marital noose,” he said. “And to Sir Richard’s choosing the short straw instead.”

“Hear, hear!” came the chorus from Harry and the others.

Lumley hiccupped. “And to Sir Richard’s shoon-to-be bride. The poor woman. Whoever the club board chose for him.”

“Yessss,” Harry said. “I feel for her.”

Everyone but Harry touched snifters. His was somewhere near the hearth, out of reach.

“We must let Bell know she’s off limits for beatings, too,” said Harry. “Else we shall make him most unhappy.”

There was a murmur of assent.

“Where
is
Bell?” asked Maxwell.

“He took off…in a
snit,
” said Lumley. “Got a servant to prepare his carriage. And Bunny wouldn’t go with him. She says Delilah gave her the hundred pounds she won. Bunny’s setting up her own sewing shop.”

“Good for her!” said Harry.

“Here’s to Delilah, as well,” said Lumley. “She should set up her own tart shop.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Not
that
kind of tart. The kind you bake in the oven. With losh and losh of apples.”

Harry contemplated that possible future for Molly for a fuzzy minute.

Arrow sighed. “I suppose I’m free now to go on another voyage round the Cape.”

“How many times is that?” Harry asked.

“Five,” Arrow replied.

Maxwell lofted a brow. “And I’ll continue minding my own business when I’m not pulling my brother out of scrapes.”

“Sounds…thrilling,” said Harry.

“I’ll travel to my new castle,” said Lumley, kicking his shoe at nothing.

“You’ve another?” Harry laughed.

Lumley sighed. “It’s in the north of Scotland.” He turned his brandy glass upside down and held it over his mouth. One drop fell out. “I think I’ll learn how to shear sheep. You know how difficult that izzh?”

None of them did.

“Izzh difficult,” said Lumley sadly. “Sheep shmell. Would any of you like to try?”

Arrow shrugged. “Sure. Why not shear sheep?”

“Tha’s right,” said Maxwell. “Ish as good an occupation as any.”

“And no one’ll miss me if I take a bit of shore leave,” said Arrow.

“I’m up for it,” said Harry. Certainly, no one would miss him, either. Except, perhaps, Anne Riordan.

“Good. I’ll lesh you know when.” Lumley turned to Harry. “What will you do in the meanwhile, Traemore?”

Harry scratched the side of his nose. “Oh, you know. The usual. Go to London, meet some beautiful women.”

“Izzhat all?” asked Arrow.

Harry shrugged. “I suppose.”

He had something
else
to do in London, but he couldn’t remember it at the moment. It was the real reason he’d gotten so drunk tonight.

What was it again? It caused his gut to ache, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.

Good.

Because he didn’t
want
to remember.

There was a bleak silence in the room.

Harry rolled over onto his stomach. The rug fibers tickled his nose enough that he found the focus he needed to stand on rather wobbly legs. “Thank God we’ve made it, gentlemen. But I think I’ll retire now. My head…ish becoming a bit sore.”

“More drink will cure that,” said Maxwell, with a hiccup. He handed Harry his empty brandy glass. “Here. Have mine.”

Harry stared at it. “Thank you, Maxwell.”

“You’re welcome, my friend.” And then Maxwell’s head fell back and he began to snore.

“Lesh carry him up,” said Lumley. “Whaddya say?”

Harry took Maxwell’s arms. Arrow and Lumley took his legs. And somehow they managed to get him up the stairs and to his bedchamber.

Harry made it to his own, even though the hallway was spinning. He wished it would stop.

Molly
. He needed Molly.

She would help his bedchamber stop spinning. And she would kiss him and tuck him in and maybe get under the sheets with him. He wouldn’t bother her. He just wanted her to sleep next to him.

He would hug her close because it was going to be a chilly night and he didn’t want her to catch cold.

A gray light seeped between his bedroom curtains. Was it close to morning already?

Damn, but he was starting to feel chilled. And his room was still spinning. He’d best get Molly. She was only next door.

Molly gave a shriek. There was a ghostlike figure, smelling strongly of spirits, swaying right above her. “Harry. What are
you
doing in here?”

“The room’s spinning, Molly. I need—” He paused as if he couldn’t remember what to say.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“You,” he said.

“Whatever for?”

He shrugged. “Because. Just because.”

“Harry.” Molly blew out a breath. “You’re drunk.”

“I am?”

“Yes.” She threw back the covers. “Now come with me.”

She took his arm and led him from her room, through the dressing room, and into his own.

He groaned a little. “D’ya have to go so fast?”

He stood near the side of his bed and she pushed him down on it. He immediately lay back and groaned some more.

She took off his boots.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. “I can’t stop thinking about that dress you wore tonight. The one with the holes…”

He trailed off.

“You need to sleep,” she said, and laid a blanket from the bottom of his bed over him.

He patted the bed. “Come lie down with me. I won’t touch you. I just want…a kiss. How’s that?”

“How can you
not
touch me—and kiss me—at the same time?”

“Wha’?” He lifted his head for a moment and let it drop.

She leaned over him, pushed his jet-black hair out of his eyes. “You sleep, Harry. We’re leaving here in a few hours. I suspect you’ll be miserable, but at least sleep now.”

He grabbed her elbow. “I want you to stay.”

She shook her head. “No, Harry.”

“But you’re my mishtresh,” he said.

“You know I’m not,” she said back. “I’m a respectable female again.”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, God. I remember now.”

“Remember what?”

“Nothing.”

But a terrible crease furrowed his brow. He’d surely remembered something unpleasant. Or perhaps he was ill from drink. She’d heard of men getting awful headaches after a night of drinking. She’d be cruel to leave him in such a state.

She went to the other side of the bed, crawled onto the feather ticking, and lay down gently beside him. “I’m here,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said, his eyes still closed.

She didn’t know who made the move first—it seemed as if they’d both thought of it together—but they laced hands.

“G’night, Molly.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Don’t forget, all right?”

“Don’t forget what?”

“The Moroccan tent,” he whispered. “Or the lake. When we threw the blackberries.”

She bit her lip. Hard. The pain helped her keep the crying at bay. “I won’t, Harry,” she eventually managed to say back.

But he was already fast asleep.