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 tonigh
t. 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.
Chapter 41
An hour later, Molly slipped out of Harry’s bed before he awoke and met the mistresses for an early breakfast. Molly doubted she would ever see them again. She couldn’t very well give them her address at Marble Hill, could she?
But saying good-bye to Bunny was proving to be too difficult. The footman left the dining room to bring several platters back to the kitchen, and the other mistresses excused themselves to finish packing.
Both Molly and Bunny stood in the doorway, watching Athena, Joan, and Hildur ascend the stairs.
Bunny turned back to her. “Before I go, I must thank you again, Delilah, for the money.” She hugged Molly, then drew back and took her by the shoulders. “I know I’ll never forget you. And I hope you shan’t forget me.”
Bunny’s gaze was warm, trusting. It was enough to make Molly come to a decision.
“Of course I won’t forget you,” she said. “And perhaps I’m rash to confide in you, but—” She swallowed hard. How could she tell her friend that she’d lied all week?
Bunny took her arm and drew her deeper into the drawing room, to the corner by the sideboard. “Please do tell me what’s bothering you,” she said, affectionate concern in her voice. “You’ve always been such a help to me.”
Molly bit her lip. “Would you hate me too terribly much if”—she turned to face her friend squarely—“if I told you that I’m not a real mistress?”
Bunny blinked several times. Then she put her hand to her mouth, which was open in a wide O, and after an awkward few seconds, she dropped her hand and chuckled. “Delilah, are you telling another amusing anecdote?”
Molly shook her head. “It’s true. I—I’ve been an imposter. All week.”
Bunny went back to the dining room table and sank into a chair. Molly sat down next to her, took Bunny’s hand, and squeezed it. Then she proceeded to explain, in a low voice, how she’d come to be at the house party.
Bunny pressed a palm to her chest. “So your real name is Molly.” She smiled. “It suits you.”
Thank God. Thank God she hadn’t gotten up and walked away in a huff.
“Yes,” said Molly weakly. “I like it better than Mary. I’m actually…Lady Mary Fairbanks. My father is the Earl of Sutton.”
Bunny’s mouth fell open again. “No.”
Molly nodded vigorously.
Bunny clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. But she couldn’t. She laughed aloud, her beautiful face alight with mirth. “Oh, Molly!”
Molly laughed, too. She should have known—Bunny was a true friend.
Bunny sighed. “What a tale. But I’m delighted. I’m so happy to know that”—she hesitated, looked around to make sure the footman hadn’t come back, nor any other guests—“perhaps you have a chance with Lord Harry.”
Molly’s heart sank. Just thinking of Harry and how unattainable he was made her depressed. “I don’t think so, Bunny. He enjoys being a bachelor.”
Bunny squeezed her elbow. “They all fall at some point. And I—I think he has feelings for you. In fact, I’m sure of it. Please don’t give up hope.”
The footman came back then, and their cozy talk was over. But when Molly hugged Bunny good-bye this time, she felt worlds better, even as her heart was heavy about Harry. If he had feelings for her, nothing would stop him from acting upon them! And he hadn’t acted. So that was Molly’s answer.
She gave Bunny her address at Marble Hill and begged her to write as soon as she got settled into her new situation, which Bunny promised to do.
And then it was time to leave.
The subsequent journey to London was a miserable affair. Molly had to endure the powder and rouge and kohl for another day, and she wore Fiona’s most voluminous bonnet. It wasn’t safe to be seen so far from home without a disguise.
Harry had to exit the carriage twice within the first hour of leaving the hunting box to be sick. Eventually, he decided to ride on top of the carriage with his coachman.
But Molly wasn’t alone in the interior of Harry’s vehicle. He’d procured a maid from the village to act as chaperone. All morning, she chattered away. Molly barely listened. Instead, she reflected on the fact that she was going back home to her old life.
Without Cedric, thank God.
But still. Her old life.
She tried to be excited about the possibilities, but she couldn’t. What possibilities were there? Too much had happened in the past week, the main thing being that she’d fallen in love—with the wrong man.
“You all right, miss?” the maid asked her sometime after the sun had risen above the trees.
Molly sighed. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“We’ll be stopping soon.” She took Molly’s shawl and draped it over her. “You seem a bit ill. Perhaps a special punch would do you good.”
An hour later at a small posting inn, Molly shared a “special punch,” prepared at the maid’s direction, with Harry.
“Good afternoon,” he said to her, his voice rough. He drained his cup of punch and stared at her, quite as if he didn’t see her at all.
It was the first they’d spoken all day.
“Good afternoon,” she said back, and took a reluctant sip of her punch. But it was good, and powerful. It warmed her, so she finished it quickly.
“It seems we’re both under the weather.” The corners of Harry’s eyes were etched with creases.
“Perhaps the punch will do the trick and return us to fine fettle.” Molly gave him a wan smile to mask how little she believed that.
“Indeed.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you: I haven’t forgotten our bargain.”
“Oh?” She pretended she’d forgotten, when really, it had been all she could think about since she’d won…Harry going back to his disgraceful ways. And Harry using those selfsame skills to weed out bad potential mates for her.
“Yes,” he said rather stiffly. “Our bargain. You won the contest, so I shall be looking for a suitable husband for you in London.”
“Oh. How kin
d of you.” She didn’t know what else to say.
His eyebrows lowered. “I’m not being at all kind. A man doesn’t go back on his word.”
She clenched her reticule and backed away. “Very well. I think I shall go back to the carriage now. If you don’t mind.”
He seemed to realize he’d been not as charming as he should. “Wait. Please.”
She hesitated.
He attempted a smile. “Pray forgive me my ill manners today. I was foolish to overindulge in spirits the night before a long journey.”
She nodded and withdrew her hand. “Apology accepted.”
Oh, well.
Her ills wouldn’t be cured after a day, that was certain.
She hastened back to the carriage.
Chapter 42
Harry sat at his club, nursing a brandy a little past noon. He was reading the newspaper and contemplating how he would spend the rest of his day. Gaming right here at the club? More boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s? Or finally calling upon the widow who’d been pestering him for a discreet affair?
None of those options appealed to him—the affair, least of all.
Clamoring in his brain was a tiny yet strong voice, the one he’d first heard in Molly’s presence. Dare he? Dare he attempt to follow through on what he’d told her?
He wanted to do something—be something—of value.
After all, look at the other Impossible Bachelors: Maxwell, with his scientific papers; Arrow, the brave sea captain.; and Lumley, who was capable of running more than several estates and managing a very large fortune.
Tentatively, Harry put aside his newspaper and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. He would call for a quill and some ink. And then he would write down all his plans.
“Enjoying yourself, eh?” said an old gent, Lord Humphries.
Harry raised his glass and quirked his mouth in a pleasant grin. “That I am, sir.”
Lord Humphries laughed and punched his shoulder.
Dear God. The shoulder punch. Harry knew what that signified. He forced himself to smile at Lord Humphries…and waited to hear the dreaded words.
When Harry Met Molly Page 28