When Harry Met Molly ib-1

by Kieran Kramer

  Molly nodded, her heart in her throat. “I want to be with you, too, Harry.”

  The loud, condemning voices around them continued, but for at least a few seconds, nothing came between Molly and a huge surge of happiness and love welling inside her.

  But the duke’s voice, commanding everyone to silence, drew her out of her reverie. Harry, too.

  When order reigned once again, Sir Richard continued his speech. “According to the rules of the wager,” he said, “the women at the house party were to compete for the title of Most Delectable Companion. And the bachelor whose mistress won the title at the end of the week would be guaranteed another year of freedom from the marital noose. The rest would have to draw straws to see who would be required to get legshackled.” Sir Richard stared at Harry. “Your younger son, Your Grace, won the wager and was exempt from the drawing.”

  “Yes,” the duke drawled. “We know. As does every disappointed virgin and matchmaking mama in town.”

  There was a ripple of laughter.

  Molly kept her hand on Harry’s arm. His mouth was a thin, threatening line. And his eyes—hard and cold—were locked on Sir Richard’s.

  “But it has come to light, Your Grace,” said Sir Richard, “that your son violated the rules of the contest. And he should thereby forfeit his win.”

  There was another huge rumble from the crowd.

  “How so?” asked the duke equably.

  My goodness, the man was cool under pressure, thought Molly. And she began to admire him.

  Sir Richard scratched his chin. “Your son’s mistress abandoned him at an inn the day the contest was to begin. In fact, she is here, to prove my story.” He looked at Fiona.

  “I am that woman,” she said in a soft, breathy voice. “I did, indeed, leave Harry. There are many witnesses at the inn to support my claim. He wouldn’t let me bring my lapdog to the house party! And he didn’t even care when I cried.” She batted her lashes and put her fists on her curvaceous hips.

  The crowd went mad.

  “Silence!” the duke’s voice rang out once more.

  There was one last gasp from somewhere to Molly’s left, and then utter quiet once again.

  “Do go on, Sir Richard,” the duke said.

  Sir Richard drew a breath. “Your son didn’t know what to do, Your Grace. If a bachelor arrives at the site of the wager without a mistress, he forfeits the wager and must propose to a young lady almost immediately.”

  The men in the ballroom looked warily at each other. What a nightmare! their glances said. And the women in the room seemed to roll a collective eye.

  “As I was saying,” Sir Richard asserted, “your son would forfeit the wager unless he brought a mistress with him. So in place of a real mistress in the competition, he put a false mistress.”

  There were more gasps. Even a shriek.

  “What in the world is a false mistress?” someone near Molly called out to the company.

  “A false mistress,” Sir Richard explained, “is a mistress in name only.”

  “How do you know she was a mistress in name only?” another anonymous nosy-body cried.

  “Because the two parties involved had a shouting match about it outside the inn where they met,” Sir Richard said with a laugh. “Their terms were clearly outlined and overheard by the innkeeper and his barmaid. As well, the imposter masquerading as a mistress barred her bedchamber door.”

  Molly gripped Harry’s arm and her eyes widened.

  “I heard her myself,” said Sir Richard. “Every night, she’d push a large piece of furniture across the floor.” He had the effrontery to yawn. “There were no shenanigans going on in that room, I assure you.”

  There was yet another clamor from the floor. When it died down to a murmur, Sir Richard crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and looked accusingly at Harry. “As a consequence, this woman’s claim to the title of Most Delectable Companion is invalid. Which, in turn, makes your son’s win of the general wager, Your Grace, invalid, as well.”

  More gasps from the crowd.

  Sir Richard raised his hand in the air. “I’m no longer the loser of the wager. And I’ll not propose to the young miss ascribed to me by the board of our club. Your son is the loser, Your Grace, by default. He is the bachelor to be legshackled, and according to the club’s wishes, to none other than Anne Riordan, who is in this very room.”

  Molly’s knees turned to jelly. But she straightened them. She must. If not for herself, then for poor Anne. Granted, she was a squint-faced bore, but to be considered the punishment for the loser of the wager?

  No one deserved such ignominy.

  “If all you say is true,” said the duke to Sir Richard, “then so it shall be done.”

  Sir Richard smiled and bowed in the duke’s direction.

  Harry’s jaw clenched.

  “Is that all you have to say, Bell?” the duke went on.

  “No,” he said. “Because the perfidy of your son goes beyond this, Your Grace.”

  The crowd was silent, the mood of the room having grown noticeably more tense.

  Harry took Molly’s hand.

  Sir Richard looked directly at them both. “Your son, Your Grace, has ruined a respectable young woman, the one who played at being his mistress. She is in this very room.”

  There were so many gasps, Molly almost screamed at everyone to shut up and raised her hand to confess. But she couldn’t do it. Not with her father looking on.

  “And your son should be challenged to a duel,” Sir Richard said.

  A duel? Why, that was ridiculous! Molly looked helplessly at Harry, but his eyes were frozen on Sir Richard’s face.

  “A duel, my friends,” Sir Richard went on bitterly. “For he shall not be able to reverse the fate of this heretofore respectable young woman. He’s to marry Anne Riordan, after all.”

  Molly’s heart sank at those words.

  Sir Richard lowered his brows. “The pity is, Your Grace, that the girl’s father is too old to avenge her honor in a duel. So her brother-in-law must.”

  And he looked directly at Roderick.

  As one, the whole crowd swung around to look at Roderick. If he was the brother-in-law, then who—

  The mass of people pivoted to look at Molly, including her father, who peered at her from over his spectacles and gave a start so sudden that a footman took his arm to steady him.

  “Molly?” Lord Sutton called out, his voice wavering. “You have nothing to do with this, have you?”

  A spark of understanding traveled through the crowd at lightning speed. If Molly were Harry’s false mistress, then Roderick would have to challenge his own brother to a duel!

  The room broke out in noise so overwhelming, the massive chandelier above the ballroom floor trembled.

  Molly felt her face redden, but she kept her chin high and said nothing.

  Which, as far as the duke’s guests were concerned, was acknowledgment of guilt.

  The duke strode up the ballroom stairs, his hands clenched at his sides, and got in Sir Richard’s face.

  “Who—was—that—false—mistress?” the duke asked, his voice a low growl.

  Sir Richard kept his gaze on Molly. “Lady Mary—Molly—Fairbanks,” he said calmly.

  Harry’s mother fell in a dead faint.

  “No, Molly, no!” Penelope shrieked, and then she fainted, too, right into Roderick’s arms.

  “The baby!” he cried, and lifted Penelope up, cradling her to his chest. “Dr. Krauss. Are you still here?” He began to stroke Penelope’s hair.

  Molly felt the blood fall to her feet. Penelope was to have another baby? And now she’d received a great shock—

  Molly put her hands to her mouth to keep her lips from trembling. She was blinking so hard, she almost couldn’t see. And then it seemed all the women in the audience began to cry, or faint, or yell in Penelope’s general direction.

  The news about the baby couldn’t have come at a worse—or more appropriate—time. Bec
ause Roderick’s life might very well be in danger.

  The house of Mallan was vulnerable!

  Pray that the child is a son!, Molly heard over and over. She leaned into Harry.

  “Hold on,” he said. “Don’t let them—”

  “Penelope—” Molly could barely speak.

  “She’ll be fine. So will Mother. Everyone will be.”

  “But my father—”

  Lord Sutton was still staring at her, thunderstruck.

  And then, in the midst of the chaos—after Dr. Krauss had removed Penelope from Roderick’s arms—Roderick looked at Harry, and Harry looked at him.

  Time stood still.

  And for a moment, Molly felt as if she were back at the Christmas ball when she was thirteen.

  Penelope had fainted again, yes. But her chagrin would be far worse this time around because Harry and Roderick wouldn’t simply exchange punches. If Roderick were to defend her honor, he would be compelled to challenge Harry to a duel.

  For a moment, all Molly knew was a swirl of color, and loud, jangling noises. But then she felt Harry’s hand touch hers. And he gripped it. His hard, warm palm cradled her own.

  She would focus on the warmth of Harry’s hand and not on what was happening on the stair landing. Yes, she would hold on to Harry’s hand for all she was worth. And she would think about how much she loved him, that despite everything going on around her—despite her world crashing around her shoulders—she loved Harry. And always would.

  With a capital L.

  And it seemed that maybe—oh, bother with maybe, she was sure!—he loved her, too.

  She lifted her chin and stared defiantly at Sir Richard. At Roderick. At the duke. At her father. At the world. She would endure the clamor and pray her father and sister and Harry’s family would forgive her. But if they didn’t—what was done was done.

  She was Harry’s forever.

  “That despicable vermin said it rightly, Father,” Harry’s voice rang out, more threatening than she had ever heard it. “Molly Fairbanks was my false mistress, emphasis on false. She incurred no wrong. And she will pay no price.”

  Molly trembled next to him.

  Harry’s words were heroic, but she knew that she would pay a price, as much as Harry hated for it to be so.

  Sir Richard chuckled. “How naïve of you, Traemore. Rest assured, at the very least, you shall certainly pay a price. There are members of our club here tonight who—if they value obeying their Prince Regent—will step forward and demand you make restitution for your perfidy by immediately proposing to Anne Riordan.”

  The duke’s face was grave. “As I am well aware of the details of Prinny’s wager—having read the Impossible Bachelors decree numerous times at my club—I must validate Bell’s concerns.”

  Molly’s fingers went icy as the duke turned to look at her father and said, “Forgive me for what I am about to demand, Sutton.”

  Molly knew what that demand was. And with all her being, she wished it didn’t have to be so.

  The duke looked at Harry. “You shall propose marriage to Lady Anne Riordan immediately.”

  Molly swallowed hard. Lord Sutton looked about to cry. She was ruined. Completely. And she and her father both knew it. Any plans he had to marry her off to Cedric would be cast aside now. She was a fallen woman. No respectable man would have her.

  Thank God Penelope had been carried out of the room.

  Harry looked at Molly, a world of pain and regret in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  She knew he was. The whole thing had gotten out of control, hadn’t it? They’d both made stupid decisions, but somehow in the middle of it all, she’d discovered the center of her being, the place where you knew you were whole.

  And Harry was there. Harry was a part of her. No matter what happened.

  “I understand you have no choice,” she whispered back. “I knew it all along.” She squeezed his hand. “Harry, you must propose to Anne.”

  He squeezed her hand back so hard, she wanted to wince. But she wouldn’t. She would remain strong for him. She would never let him know how much it hurt to let him go.

  He left her side, and something inside Molly went numb, in the very center of her heart. She knew she would never be truly happy again.

  Chapter 46

  Harry looked at the duke. It was time to do his duty. He’d avoided marrying because he knew his father would be happy to see him married, and no matter what, Harry hadn’t wanted to make his father happy.

  Because he’d thought the duke didn’t love him.

  But he saw today that he did. His father may never have said it out loud, but the cool way he’d handled Sir Richard—his entire commanding demeanor—suggested to Harry that his father loved his family above all things and would defend it to his dying breath.

  Harry was part of that family. He was the one who seemed to make a mess of things, but his father had never thrown him out of his life. He’d always included Harry, in his own way.

  “I shall do my duty, Father,” he said to the duke. “A man of honor must always satisfy his obligation to a bet.” He paused. “But in hindsight I see that he has an even greater obligation to question a wager which compromises the dignity of so many, a duty which I shirked. Perhaps, had I spoken up, I could have steered Prinny in a different direction.”

  The duke cleared his throat. “As a longtime acquaintance of the Prince Regent, I should have requested a meeting with him to air my concerns, especially as his plan involved my son. Had I been more attentive, perhaps it wouldn’t have come to this…end.”

  He looked so sorrowful that Harry had to choke back a lump in his throat.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he told the duke. “Soon I shall fulfill my obligations to the bet and restore honor to the family—but meanwhile, I’ve an even higher duty to heed. A duty of the heart.”

  Harry strode up the stairs two at a time to the balcony. Sir Richard jumped behind a footman and cowered, but Harry wasn’t wasting any more time on him.

  “You jackal,” he said, grabbing Cedric’s lapels. “Before I propose marriage to the highly esteemed Anne Riordan, a sad victim of this brutish bet—and before Sir Richard Bell manages to pit my beloved brother against me to avenge his sister-in-law’s honor—I demand that you restore that honor immediately, by proposing marriage to Lady Molly Fairbanks. She is in this coil because of you, you slimy reprobate.”

  And he shook Cedric so hard, his teeth rattled.

  “She asked me to elope.” Cedric’s sickeningly beautiful face winced.

  Lord Sutton’s mouth dropped open. “You eloped with my Molly? How could that be? She doesn’t even like you!”

  Harry dropped Cedric with a thud. “This coward had no intention of ever marrying your daughter, Lord Sutton. Molly made an error in judgment—she felt she’d rather marry Cedric than be a spinster—so they started off on a journey to Gretna Green while you were away. And then the despicable rat”—he snarled at Cedric—“abandoned her at a dangerous inn and took off with her.”

  Harry pointed to Fiona.

  Molly’s father visibly trembled. “Because of my indifference, my overabsorption in my work—and because I’ve been making her pay the price for years for a silly poem she wrote when she was a mere child—my daughter is suffering this shame.”

  “No, Father!” Molly cried out. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears but her voice was strong. “It’s not your fault! You are the best of men!”

  Harry’s throat tightened. Molly was so selfless. And good. And brave.

  And he loved her.

  She was Molly, his Molly, who had read a silly love poem when she was thirteen, a poem that tore straight to the heart of so many different matters in both their families: jealousies, demands, misunderstandings—all stemming from the need to be noticed. To be loved. And to love in return.

  Lord Sutton swallowed hard when he looked at Molly. “I won’t turn my back on you this time, daughter. No matter what happe
ns today, you are still my beloved child.” He wagged an index finger at the crowd. “And no one shall cut you without having to cut me first. Is that clear?”

  He stared at the crowd over his spectacles, daring them to say anything untoward.

  But no one said a word.

  Lord Sutton turned back to Fiona. “Is this true what Harry said? Did you go off with Cedric while he was in the midst of eloping with my daughter?”

  Fiona stuck out her lower lip. “Yes. Cedric said he’d take me to Gretna in your daughter’s place, but he didn’t. He took me to another inn, ravished me, and deserted me, as well, the villain!”

  Several women in the crowd swooned. One had to be carried out by two footmen.

  Molly’s father turned to Cedric. “You shall propose to my daughter immediately,” he said in such a dangerous voice that Molly worried for his health.

  Cedric inhaled a great breath. And exhaled. “As you wish,” he said dramatically.

  Harry saw Molly shut her eyes. He knew she was thinking that being married to a pompous ass like Cedric was a horrible fate. And he agreed. But it was a better fate than her total ruin. As a married woman, Molly would still maintain her respectability, which Harry craved for her above all things. He knew that if she thought long enough, Molly would never want to pull down the reputation of the rest of her family. So she would marry Cedric for Penelope and her father’s sake.

  And for the sake of both their families. Harry would never raise a pistol against Roderick, and he knew in his heart that Roderick felt the same way about him. But a duel between brothers, called out of the necessity of avenging Molly’s honor—even if both brothers shot into the ground—was a scenario that neither family would wish. It would be talked about for years.

  And Molly knew this.

  Harry saw the moment when she’d come to a decision. She opened her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and walked through the crowd, looking neither right nor left.

  She ascended the stairs to the balcony and curtsied before Cedric. “I accept your proposal,” she said, loud and clear.

  At which point, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

  But as Cedric took Molly’s hand and placed a reluctant kiss on it, claiming her for his bride, Harry realized that his soul was empty.