When Harry Met Molly (16 page)

Chapter 21

A lady should be able to conduct conversation anywhere,
a voice in Molly’s head said.

A lady is not afraid
.

Often Molly pretended she was hearing the voice of her mother, saying things she wished Lady Sutton really
had
told her. But obviously, her mother hadn’t. She’d died before she could give her daughter advice about life.

Which might explain why Molly usually made up things as she went along. She was at supper now with the rest of the company. Somehow, she’d muddled through this week.

It came to her then:
a lady
always
muddles through
.

There. Another homemade proverb to add to her repertoire.

“Wine,” Athena was saying in that sultry voice of hers, “is the summation of all that is…eternal.” She cast a mysterious glance around the table and smiled.

The table’s occupants—save Harry, who was brooding, it seemed—appeared suitably impressed.

Indeed, Athena tended to spout inane sayings that Molly was sure that—being a muddler herself—her actress friend made up on the spot. Were her tablemates to review what Athena said, rather than be impressed by her tone of voice and nuance of expression, they would see that she was actually saying
nothing
.

Molly cleared her throat. “Tell me, Athena, what exactly do you mean by saying wine is the summation of all that is eternal?”

Athena clutched at her pearl strand. “Exactly what I said.”

There was a silence.

“Then you mean that wine is…God?” Molly took a swig of her own wine for courage.

Athena’s eyes widened.

“I’d rather not discuss religion,” Joan said.

“I quite agree,” said Sir Richard.

Of course he would. He was the devil himself, as far as Molly was concerned.

Athena opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Lord Maxwell’s mouth turned up, as if he himself had been aware of Athena’s game and was amused that she’d been caught out.

Athena glared at Molly.

But Molly refused to be cowed. She smiled warmly at Athena in apology for understanding her
too
well. “Let us sidestep your remark. But perhaps everyone will consider mulling over
this
saying”—she looked around the table boldly, without any of the nuanced air of her actress rival—“‘All’s fair in love and war.’”

Harry put down his wine glass. “Why should we consider that?”

Molly mentally crossed her fingers. She’d figured out what had been bothering her so much about this week.

What felt…wrong.

What was making her peevish.

Even more so than the risqué nature of the wager.

She took a breath. “I believe this game you gentleman have been playing with us ladies as your pawns is a trifle one-sided. It’s time to make the
men
competitors this week rather than observers. And we women will vote among ourselves to see who wins.”

The other women gasped. The men were silent as stone. But Molly certainly had everyone’s attention now.

“The men, competing?” Athena said, her brows arched high.

Molly nodded.

“And the women, voting?” Joan curled her lip.

Molly nodded again.

Hildur stared at her. “They shoot you in my country!”

“In this one, too,” murmured Harry.

Molly cast a quick glance at him and was glad to see he didn’t appear too terribly vexed with her. He actually had a little twinkle in his eye.

“Are you a bluestocking, Delilah?” Athena said with a bit of scorn, even though mere hours ago she’d been thrilled that Molly had wangled that hundred-pound purse.

“No, I’m not. I’m just a woman here for a week who would like to have more…
fun
.” She smiled at Harry, then took another sip of wine. “If the men dare allow it.”

There was a warm, vibrant silence. She felt all the men’s eyes upon her.

Oh, dear heavens. She believed she was flirting successfully with the entire table of bachelors. On
her
terms, too. She sensed that the women, as well, were finally aware that perhaps there was more to her than they’d assumed.

She took a large sip of wine. There was more to her than she
herself
had assumed!

It was those sayings of hers.
They
were helping her out. Especially the new one, the one about muddling through.

Harry finally spoke. “Delilah, need I remind you, the goal of this contest is to crown the best, er,
companion
.”

“Yes,” she said, hardly able to restrain her excitement. “And you can win points for her in the men’s game. An excellent mistress would choose no less than a skilled protector, would she not? So if everyone agrees, we can choose a game for the men now.”

“Archery?” suggested Joan.

“A horse race, perhaps,” Viscount Lumley said.

Several more suggestions were offered to mildly enthusiastic responses.

“How about fencing?” Molly remembered how often she’d seen Harry and Roderick fence as boys, with large sticks rather then real weapons. “I saw a collection of foils in a case in the library.”

“Oh, yes!” said Athena, folding her hands in front of her bosom. “A fencing tournament!”

All the women clapped. “The gentleman who wins shall receive points for his lady,” Molly suggested, “but the women will also be allowed to cast a vote for their favorite gentleman of the day, other than their own consort, of course.”

Biting her lip, she wondered what the men would think. Lumley and Arrow shifted in their chairs. Lord Maxwell cleared his throat. Sir Richard stared at Molly as if she were the most fascinating creature on earth. Harry rubbed his chin and watched her with a small smile quirking his mouth.

“A fencing tournament, eh?” Harry said. “And a woman’s vote at the end of the day? I believe this is a matter for our arbitration committee to discuss.”

While Arrow and Lumley put their heads together, Molly discussed the possibilities with the other mistresses, all of whom were clearly as excited at the idea as she was.

After a moment, Lumley looked up, a big grin on his face. “As Prinny’s arbitration committee, we declare that a slight change in the rules would be welcomed by His Royal Highness, who’s not one to shirk a dare himself. Upon a show of hands signifying a majority, the fencing contest and women’s vote will become an official part of the week’s events, Lord Maxwell to record said changes.”

“What
he
said,” remarked Arrow with a lazy grin, and inclined his head at Lumley.

“All in favor?” Harry looked about the table.

Everyone raised his or her hand, even Sir Richard, who declared he could outfence everyone.

“Shall we adjourn to the library to cast our daily votes, gentlemen?” Harry asked the other Impossible Bachelors.

For the first time, Molly had hopes that she might receive one or more of those votes.

“No,” said Hildur. “We
waltz
.”

“That’s right,” said Viscount Lumley. “The ladies have been clamoring for a dance. Joan, shall you play for us? We can vote afterward.”

Everyone stood up, even Sir Richard, who was rather pulled up from his seat by Lumley, and went to the drawing room. Joan scowled, but she moved to the piano and began to play.

Molly looked for Harry. She felt rather like a dying plant that needed water. Immediately.

He came straight to her side. “Shall we?” he asked her, his eyes a warmer brown than she had ever seen them.

She nodded, unable to speak. She’d always longed to waltz.

He took her waist and they clasped hands. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Especially when you’re causing trouble.”

“Really?” She could barely get the word out. All she could think about when he was near was what magical things he’d done to her with his fingers and lips. And the odd effect he had on her thoughts.

In short, she
had
no thoughts when he was holding her.

Yet at the same time, she had so
many
thoughts when he held her that she was fairly bursting to share them with him and to ask him
his
thoughts, too, about the silliest things, such as what his favorite color was—hers was the fresh spring green of new leaves, of course—and what animal he’d be if he had to choose; she’d be a bird so she could fly, although she despised worms and wouldn’t want to eat them, which meant she might choose to be a squirrel because they leaped through trees and lived off acorns, which weren’t too terribly bad. She’d tasted one once and had never told a soul.

Harry gave her a slow grin, then said, “What? No clever retort?”

She held on to him tighter and shook her head.

All she knew was that she felt…happy.

Free.

And
herself
.

With him.

Chapter 22

The next morning, while the mistresses worked on their dramatic readings in the drawing room, Joan rose from her seat after a few minutes and began to pace by the large bay window.

No one else seemed to notice at first. Molly continued helping Hildur learn to read and recite her Byron poem in English, but all the while, she watched Joan out of the corner of her eye. After a few minutes, Bunny quit rehearsing her passage and looked up, as well.

Joan was still pacing.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Bunny whispered to Molly.

“I don’t know. But she certainly appears more agitated than usual.”

“She’s not exactly the sunny type as it is,” Bunny quipped.

“No. But she’s worse today, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Something’s amiss.”

Molly gathered her courage. “Joan,” she said in a clear, polite voice, “is everything all right?”

Joan whirled around. “I thought I told you—I don’t want to be
friends
.”

She went back to her pacing.

Athena and Hildur were watching her now.

Joan stopped. “Would you all leave me alone? I’m simply taking a turn about the room.”

“But you’re not turning,” said Athena.

“You are a fish,” said Hildur. “Flopping on the deck.”

Joan made a noise. “So?”

“In
Macbeth
there’s a great deal of pacing,” said Athena. “On stage one paces when one is thinking deeply about something important. And it’s usually troublesome.”

Joan drew in a deep breath. “Whatever is important to
me
shouldn’t matter a whit to any of
you
.”

“But your reading,” said Molly. “You must work on it for the finale.”

Joan blew out a breath. “I don’t care about the finale!”

There were gasps from Hildur and Athena.

“Why don’t you care?” asked Bunny.

Joan trembled visibly. “Because as Athena said, I have other things on my mind, and they’re burdensome.”

“Joan,” said Molly, “can you not tell us? I know you don’t want—”

“Leave—me—
alone
.” Joan’s cheeks were bright red. She began to gather her reading materials, but in her haste to depart the room, she kept dropping things. First, a lovely red shawl. And then all her papers.

“Oh, bother!” she said and threw everything onto the floor.

Everyone was silent. No one dared move.

And then Joan collapsed in a chair. She inhaled and exhaled loudly, as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

Molly flung aside her book and jumped up to go to her. Bunny did the same, even putting an arm around Joan’s shoulders and saying, “There, there.”

“You must tell us.” Molly knelt before her. “Something’s wrong, and we want to help.”

“All right.” Joan’s hands were tightly clenched. “I’m going to be honest with all of you because”—her shoulders sagged—“as you said once, Delilah, we could be thrown over. At any time. There’s no real security, is there, in our occupation?”

Her eyes looked so sad.

“Unfortunately not,” Molly said. “But what security is there for women in
any
position?”

She felt a pang of guilt lying so handily. After all, she was no mistress and had no idea how Joan truly felt. But she had a good idea because she felt somewhat of a commodity herself. If her father weren’t so preoccupied with his passion for treasure hunting, he could barter her through marriage to any man he saw fit.

“It’s a man’s world,” said Athena.

Hildur and Bunny nodded their heads.

“It is,” agreed Molly. “But we have this one week together. Let’s use it to help each other. If we can.”

She waited for Joan to speak.

Joan’s brow was deeply furrowed, her mouth pressed in a long, thin line.

“My sister,” she finally said, “lives in a small hamlet several miles to the north of the village nearest here. I haven’t seen her in five years.” She swallowed.
“Five whole years.”
She looked up at Molly with large, unguarded eyes. “I’ve been in London all that time.”

“How difficult for you.” Molly would hate going that long without seeing Penelope.

Bunny rubbed Joan’s shoulder.

“It’s worse,” said Joan. She took a deep breath. “My sister has had to be mother to…my baby boy.”

Molly’s heartbeat quickened. “A baby boy?”

Joan gave a little cry and nodded.

Bunny rubbed her shoulder even harder.

“Is he Lumley’s?” Athena asked.

Joan shook her head. “A previous lover’s. But I would like to see him.
And
my sister.” She wiped at her eyes. “It’s why I have been so wicked this week—I mean, more wicked than usual. I can hardly bear being here. It’s torture to be so close and yet so far away.”

“Oh, poor Joan!” Hildur squeezed in between Bunny and Molly and gripped Joan’s hand.

Athena’s jaw worked. She appeared to want to help, Molly noticed, but she didn’t move.

“We must make a plan,” Molly said. “We must get Joan to her child.”

“If I could just
touch
him,” Joan said. “Even for an hour. To hold him in my arms.”

Hildur began to howl.

“Ssh,” Molly soothed her. “We don’t want the men to hear.”

Hildur sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose.

“But how can Joan leave here?” Bunny asked, her beautiful almond eyes filled with worry. “Sir Richard watches
my
whereabouts very closely.”

“The men have big eyes,” said Hildur, shaking her head sadly.

“We’ll have to make something up,” said Molly. “Any ideas?”

“She can’t take a horse,” Athena finally contributed, her manner a little less stiff than a few minutes previous.

“It will take me over an hour to walk the trail to the village close by,” said Joan. “And then another two hours to get to my sister’s village. If I leave early in the morning, I can stay until early afternoon. Then I can make it back by nightfall.”

“We still need a good story,” Molly said.

They sat and thought. But no one could come up with anything.

“Can you not tell Lumley?” Bunny eventually asked.

Joan shook her head. “Never.”

“He seems very kind.” Molly waited for a sharp retort.

But Joan was quiet. “He is,” she said eventually. “Which is why I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to have any excuse to”—she swallowed—“to get rid of me. He’s the kindest protector I’ve ever had.”

“I understand.” Molly sighed. “Now, today we’ll be doing other things, but don’t despair. Everybody will be thinking. We’ll come up with a plan for you to be gone tomorrow, all day.”

Everyone murmured their agreement and went back to work on their dramatic readings. The atmosphere was noticeably charged, yet it was also a happier one.

While Hildur practiced her pronunciations, Molly wondered how to get Joan to her baby.

“I have an idea,” Athena said a few moments later, her eyes sparkling. “Are you a good actress, Joan?”

“No. I’ve never done
any
acting.” Joan’s mouth drooped.

“Come now,” Athena said with a conspiratorial smile. “We all act every day, don’t we?”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Bunny.

Athena chuckled. “Bunny, do you care deeply for Sir Richard?”

Bunny’s eyes widened. “Why, no, but—”

“Don’t you pretend…at certain times to be
wild
about him?”

Bunny’s face reddened. “Well, yes.”

“When I’m bored with a protector, I do the same,” said Joan. “Although I haven’t grown bored with Lumley.” She actually giggled.

“Captain Arrow is not like other men. He reads women like sea charts. He always finds his destin—” She furrowed her brow.

“Destination?” Bunny asked.

“Oh, yes!” Hildur said with a broad grin.

Athena turned to Molly. “How about you, Delilah?”

Molly could hardly swallow. “I—I”—she struggled to say something—“I don’t know what you mean,” she finished lamely.

“You act like a virgin, Delilah.” Joan chuckled. “Which men must find intriguing. You
are
a good actress, aren’t you?”

Molly nodded hastily.

But Athena would not be dissuaded from her question. “Have you not had some experience, Molly, with faking your pleasure? Every mistress must be adept at this skill.”

Molly had a small coughing fit. “No, actually,” she said. “Um, Lord Harry is my first protector.”

“That explains it,” said Joan. “You’re new to this. You
are
practically a virgin.”

Hildur leaned in. “So he is good?” She waggled her eyebrows.

Molly’s stomach was in knots. “He—he’s quite nice,” she said, remembering how she felt when he touched her. She got quite melty inside at the thought. “He’s an amazing kisser. I—I quite enjoy it. And we—we laugh a lot together when we…kiss.”

She blushed.

There was a big silence.

“You’re not in love with him, are you, Delilah?” asked Joan.

“No,” she said instantly. “Of course not.”

“I hope not,” said Athena. “That would be the worst thing for you.”

“I know,” said Molly. “I could be—”

“Abandoned,” offered Joan.

“At any time,” finished Molly.

“So don’t let your heart get involved,” Athena urged her.

Molly felt vaguely depressed, although why should she? She was only pretending to be a mistress. And she knew she and Harry would part after this week anyway.

“Which reminds me,” said Athena, “this whole conversation started when I suggested that you are more of an actress than you realize, Joan.”

“And?” Joan looked intrigued.

“You must employ some of those same acting skills to convince the gentlemen you’re ill.”

“Moaning and groaning,” said Hildur. “They love! Shrieking, too.”

Athena smiled but shook her head. “That would appear unattractive in a female—in
this
situation.”

Molly sat up straighter. She’d moaned when Harry had kissed her. And when he’d touched her. She’d thought that was a particular quirk—actually, a shortcoming—of hers. But perhaps the other women made…noises, as well.

She was afraid, however—and a little curious, she admitted—to contemplate in what circumstances shrieking would be considered appealing.

“We’ll tell them you’re indisposed for the day,” said Bunny to Joan.

“But I won’t be in my bedchamber,” she replied. “What if Lumley comes looking for me?”

“We can tell him we put you in the nursery,” said Bunny.

“Is there one?” asked Molly.

Bunny laughed. “Not that I know of.”

Joan laughed, too.

“If Lumley goes searching for you, we’ll tell him you need absolute quiet and that he should go have a brandy or two,” said Molly.

The atmosphere was much more congenial now. The women continued practicing their dramatic readings, each pacing about in her own little corner, except for Molly and Hildur, who sat together on the couch. But this time, Athena intervened and told Molly that Hildur would be much better off whispering a certain line of her poem than speaking it at a normal volume.

“Thank you, Athena,” Molly said. “What a wonderful tip.”

Joan stopped pacing and looked at Athena with worried eyes. “When should I…act sick?”

“You’ll know,” said Athena in a comforting tone. “And when you do, you’ll have four nurses ready to take you to your bed.”

Everyone chuckled.

But Molly realized something. “This plan seems most logical, but we don’t want Joan to lose any ground in the contest, do we?”

“She shouldn’t have to fall behind in the gentlemen’s assessments as a result of her visiting her sister,” agreed Bunny.

“But sick women aren’t seen as very…tempting,” said Athena thoughtfully.

“No man likes—” Hildur pointed to her throat and gagged.

“Exactly,” said Molly. “So we need to find a way to make Joan’s illness…alluring.”

“Moaning and groaning,” Hildur said again. “And shrieking.”

“No,” said Athena firmly. “Although I’m sure you mean well, Hildur.” And Athena actually smiled at her.

“I agree with Athena,” said Molly, pleased to see everyone being kind. “We don’t want the men to see Joan…in an unappealing way.”

“So how do you make illness
appealing
?” asked Bunny.

Molly thought for a moment. “It must be the circumstances in which she gets ill. You know how mothers”—she swallowed because this was her earliest memory of her own mother—“tell their children not to go out in the cold without wrapping up?”

Everyone nodded.

“So we can say Joan stripped off her clothes and bathed in the stream,” Molly said. “And caught a chill as a result.” She paused. “And I believe I’ve the perfect circumstance by which we can create that very scenario. One that will give us a few laughs—at the men’s expense.”

“Really?” Joan’s brows were arched high, and she grinned.

“Really,” said Molly. “Listen closely.” She took her time explaining, and when she was done, the women laughed and clapped.

“It’s perfect,” said Athena.

“You’re a genius, Delilah,” said Bunny, and Hildur thumped Molly on the back.

“You’re not nearly the featherbrain I thought you were,” Joan admitted.

Molly bit her lip, incredibly pleased that they were all becoming friends. The easy companionship of other women might be the only type of intimacy she would have for the rest of her life.

She couldn’t think about having a great love. Marriage was a contract. It was business. And dreaming about finding a husband who loved her and whom she loved back was crazy. The best she could hope for was a husband who was trustworthy. Hopefully fun and kind, too.

And if she won the Most Delectable Companion title, Harry was obligated to help her find him—a thought which didn’t make her as happy as it had when she’d first come up with it.