When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 34

Harry made sure the day went by in a flurry of recreational activities. A bit of shooting for the men, some lawn bowls for the women while they were gone, and charades in the afternoon. Molly went upstairs to take a nap after tea, and he made sure he’d be nowhere near, or he’d have been tempted to enter her room and repeat what they’d done last night in the tent.

All day he’d had to remind himself not to think about what had transpired in that tent, which of course meant the goings-on there—and Molly—were seldom far from his thoughts.

Now they had about an hour of sunlight left. Harry led the group over the hill to the side of the lake, where Finkle and his two footmen assistants had prepared a crude stage, a rustic dressing area, and a picnic supper to be enjoyed before the dramatic reading.

Each step of the way toward the site of the finale, Harry felt a pang of longing for Molly.

There was the tree on the trail where he’d pulled her hair off a twig and they’d been so happy in their own little leafy world.

And then the campsite Prinny had devised and visited, to his and Molly’s amazement. Although Harry thought the royal welcome paled in comparison to the memories created there after Prinny had left!

A few minutes later, there was the log at the lakeside where Harry and Molly had sat cozily together, discussed their families, and shared blackberry kisses.

And when they all filed by the grassy bank where he’d first introduced Molly to the more intimate delights a man and woman could share, Harry could hardly bear the emotions surging in his chest.

The next day, he and Molly would go their separate ways, and he would miss her. He would miss her very much, but he refused to examine the feeling too closely. He’d immediate responsibilities, after all, as host of this gathering, which was being watched very closely by the Prince Regent himself.

By necessity, Harry kept his churning thoughts to himself, although during the meal, he watched Molly as often as he could without staring. And he laughed. He laughed quite frequently. Lumley and Arrow were particularly witty that night, and the women were sparkling.

Especially Molly.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she whispered in his ear. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he said, forcing himself to grin. She must be in the best of spirits for her performance. “And you?”

“Prepared to win.” Her tone was brisk, but then her gaze softened. “Thanks for the coaching, Harry. And for all your support this week.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice a bit gruff. In the old days, he could always disguise when he wanted a woman. But with Molly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his feelings.

Their gazes locked—and then she ran off because Athena was threatening to pour lake water over her head if she didn’t leave the picnic blankets to ready herself for the entertainment immediately. Their gowns and reading materials awaited them behind the dressing area, which was composed of two blankets tacked onto overhanging tree branches, a small table, and a lantern.

“Good luck, ladies,” Lumley called out to all of them. “We gentlemen shall be waiting with bated breath!”

It was, indeed, time for the show. The footmen had already lit the torches. Two velvet curtains were rigged to open between two trees nearby, forming the makeshift stage. The men sprawled out on the linens, awaiting the fate of their mistresses by lighting cheroots and opening flasks of brandy.

According to the selection of straws, Bunny would go first, followed by Athena, Joan, Hildur, and Molly.

Harry would have to wait longer than any other bachelor to see how his companion fared. But he had faith in her—he’d seen her perform “Kubla Khan.” He took a thoughtful sip from his flask and thought that victory might very well be the last thing they’d share, he and Molly. But the thought didn’t buoy him as he expected it should.

Behind the curtain shielding the makeshift dressing area, Molly and the other mistresses were frozen in place, staring at the tree branch that held the women’s special evening gowns. Someone had slashed through Molly’s, apparently with a knife. The skirt hung in tatters, and there was a gaping hole in the bodice and one on the lower back.

“No,” she whispered.

“Oh, Delilah!” Bunny put her hand to her mouth.

Hildur held up the ruined gown and looked through one of the jagged holes. “It is a fishnet now.”

“I know it was Sir Richard,” Molly said without emotion. She’d known all along Sir Richard was after her. And now he’d made his mark.

Bunny’s eyes were wide. “I saw him over here earlier. But I thought he was simply being nosy, as he always is.”

“He hates me,” Molly said flatly.

Bunny squeezed her hand.

“He hates everyone,” Athena said, her eyebrow raised in a weary arch. “But he does seem to hate Lord Harry especially.”

“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Joan put an arm around Molly’s shoulder. “He thinks he’s a coward. But we all know Lord Harry is worth a thousand Sir Richards. I don’t care what people say about his army disgrace.”

“Do you know what happened there, Delilah?” Athena asked her.

Molly’s face reddened. She couldn’t tell any of them why Sir Richard hated Harry. Or that Harry was innocent of all accusations. “No,” she said. “But I know Harry. And he is a good man. He’s told me he’s done nothing to hurt Sir Richard, and I believe him.”

“We kill Sir Richard,” Hildur said. “Right now.” She pulled Molly toward the curtain.

“No,” said Athena firmly. “Not now. The show must go on. Kill him later.”

Hildur hesitated, and Molly released her hand. “Thank you”—she smiled at Hildur, then looked at Athena—“but you’re right. The show must go on. And I can wear the gown I have on now.”

It was the bishop’s blue muslin, the first dress of Fiona’s she’d ever worn. She’d donned it this afternoon especially for Harry, a parting gift to him. Because after tonight, he wouldn’t see her in scandalous gowns anymore! He’d be married to Anne Riordan, and Molly would be on the shelf, still pouring out tea for Cousin Augusta.

Or he’d be carousing about London with not a care in the world, the winner of the Impossible Bachelors wager—and if not that, at least one of the losing bachelors who’d slipped past parson’s noose by drawing a saving straw at the end of the bet.

She’d be without Harry, of course. Either way. And wearing modest gowns as the years passed and this week’s contest became a distant memory.

She bit her lip. She must stay focused on what was happening now. Not depressing thoughts of the future.

“I know this is probably a silly question, but is the gown at all fixable, Bunny?” Joan asked.

“No, not even if I were near my sewing box.” Bunny looked sadly at Molly. Then she gazed around at the others. “But I have an idea. And if you’re willing to go along with it, Delilah will have as much a chance as any of us to win the finale.”

“Then let’s do it,” said Athena.

Bunny’s face lit up. “I’ll be right back.” And she lifted up her gown and ran to the men. When she reappeared a minute later, she said, “I brought something that will allow us to remove beauty from the criteria for judging.” Her eyes sparkled. “Or, depending on your perspective—that is, if you’re a male—we might use this tool to accentuate our beauty.”

She opened her palms to reveal three small knives. “Every man had one on his person, of course. I brought several back and told them some of us needed to clean our fingernails and teeth.” She giggled.

“None of them particularly enjoyed hearing that, I’m sure,” said Joan with a grin.

Bunny nodded. “Sir Richard was the most horrified of all. I think it’s because he could see from my expression that I knew exactly what he’d done to Delilah’s gown.”

“And that we kill him with these knives,” said Hildur between gritted teeth.

Molly laid a hand on her arm. “It’s all right to hate him on my behalf, but I really don’t think we have to, um, kill him.”

Hildur’s shoulders sagged.

“We can cope with this ourselves in the way women do, Hildur,” said Bunny. “We shall simply outsmart Sir Richard.”

“Yes,” said Joan, her eyes bright with interest. “Are you proposing what I’m thinking you’re proposing with these knives?”

“I think she is,” said Athena. “And I do believe she’s brilliant!”

“You mean—” Hildur made a cutting motion with her hand. “To my dress. And yours.”

Bunny nodded, her mouth curved in a mischievous smile.

“Goodness, no!” Molly blurted out. “I couldn’t ask that of any of you.” She laid a hand on Bunny’s arm. “Thank you so much for the thought. But…no. I can wear what I have on.”

“But Delilah,” exclaimed Bunny in the most impassioned voice Molly had ever heard her use, “Lovely as you appear, your gown isn’t nearly as splendid as these creations made by Prinny’s orders! I want us to match, all of us.” Bunny’s eyes grew a bit shiny, and she looked around at all the women. “I haven’t known any of you longer than this week, but I—I feel like we’re sort of…sisters. And—”

“And sisters, on special occasions, wear matching dresses,” interjected Athena.

“Exactly,” replied Bunny. “We shall all be almost naked…together.”

“And no one mistress will look better than the other,” said Joan.

“They’ll be driven mad with indecision.” Athena laughed.

“So many tits to choose from!” Hildur threw her arms wide.

Molly chuckled and wiped her eyes. “You’re too kind. All of you.”

She’d feel special romping about near-naked with these suddenly dear friends—Athena, Joan, Hildur, and Bunny. They were going to ruin their gowns on purpose—to help her.

One of their own.

Molly got a lump in her throat. Maybe she wasn’t a real mistress, but she’d been included in their number, and it felt like the highest honor. She would miss them all deeply, she thought, as she hugged each of them separately, saving Bunny for last.

Because Bunny was her very special friend.