When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 36

Molly was last in the lineup, her stomach in knots. Last night, when she’d let slip that crazy idea that Harry should marry her, and he’d soundly but kindly rejected the notion, she’d faced up to facts. She and Harry were best together as friends. Friends who occasionally removed each other’s clothes and kissed each other senseless.

It sounded rather like an arrangement between a man and his mistress, didn’t it? A romp between the sheets, a good laugh, and…

No commitment.

If she won tonight, his inevitable fate—marrying Anne Riordan—would be delayed. But only for another year. Anne was bound to catch up with him sometime.

And if Molly lost, he would help her find another man to marry.

She released a shaky breath. Why was there no good solution? She was damned if she won and damned if she lost.

Either way, she and Harry would be apart. Forever.

But friends, she consoled herself, until one of them got married.

Friends of a special nature.

He didn’t know it, but that was what she was going to tell him after this week was over, that she would be his mistress. And just as he did last night when she’d suggested the same thing, he would balk, he would say no, and she would simply carry the day by kissing him and getting him to change his mind.

It was as fine a solution as any to her constant emotional turmoil.

Wasn’t it?

From behind the makeshift dressing room’s curtain, Molly could see Bunny walk on stage in her extremely revealing gown. She curtsied to her male audience, all of whom clapped madly for her and whistled. The light from the torches flickered over her body, highlighting her curves, exposing flesh beneath the gaping holes in her gown, and leaving shadows in all the right places. The jewels she wore in her hair, on her neck, and on her wrists glinted and sparkled.

She’d never appeared more beautiful, Molly thought.

The men quieted for a moment, the mood expectant, as Bunny opened the book Tristram Shandy. But when she began to read a portion of the familiar and hilarious tale of the long-nosed stranger from Strasbourg, they chuckled.

“‘I have made a vow to St. Nicholas this day, said the stranger, that my nose shall not be touched,’” read Bunny in a pompous voice, and as she continued the tale, the bachelors laughed—everyone but Sir Richard, that is. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, and his lower lip stuck out.

And no wonder. He could be the long-nosed stranger from Strasbourg!

Molly wondered if that was Bunny’s intent all along.

When she exited the stage with a bright smile on her face, Molly hugged her. “Were you doing what I think you were doing?”

“Yes,” Bunny said, her voice catching, “and I’m never going to be alone with him again. Lord Harry’s promised me a footman to guard my bedchamber tonight, and he’s also informing Sir Richard he has the choice of sleeping in the stables or leaving this evening after the program. He assures me Sir Richard will stay far away from me from now on, and he’s teaching me how to shoot a pistol just in case he ever shows up again!”

“Wonderful!” Molly hugged her again.

Athena strode past them to the stage. “I need silence,” she hissed.

“Sorry,” whispered Molly—too late—and looked at Bunny.

They both had to bite their lips to keep from laughing. Athena, much as they’d come to appreciate her, was always…Athena.

She positioned herself center stage, her shoulders thrown back. And with a twist of her lips, an arch of her brow, and an unholy glint in her eye—transformed herself into Lady Macbeth.

“Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts! unsex me here,

And fill me from the crown to the toe top full

Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood…”

Of course, Molly noted with envy, Athena had refused to read her passage. She’d memorized it, as all good actresses do. And at the moment she was living and breathing it, as all great actresses do.

She’d positioned herself so the torchlight cast shadows under her face, making her appear even more evil and demented than she sounded. The tattered, gaping dress added to the effect, especially when she swung her arms madly as she stalked about the stage.

“She appears possessed by a demon,” Bunny whispered, and grabbed Molly’s arm, which had gotten goose bumps as soon as Athena had begun speaking.

“Look at the men,” Molly whispered back.

The bachelors sat in stunned silence. Sir Richard loosened his cravat. Lumley cringed as Athena swept by him, and even Lord Maxwell’s stoic expression faltered. He blinked several times and drank from his flask when she demanded:

“Come to my woman’s breasts,

And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers…!”

At one point, she made a face so frightening that Hildur announced quite loudly, “She is a hound from hell!” into a void of silence. For at that exact moment, Athena ceased her performance.

She stood there, trembling, and for a few seconds, no one spoke or moved. But Lord Maxwell began a slow clapping. And all the other bachelors joined in until they were all applauding madly—with admiration and possibly a little relief, Molly surmised.

She couldn’t help being glad the performance was over herself. When a moment later, a depleted Athena rejoined the mistresses, Molly swallowed and tried to say, “Well done,” but she only got as far as “Well—” before her throat tightened.

“Yes, very—” Bunny began, but her voice trembled so much, she shut her mouth.

“Oh, it’s just me now, you ninnies,” Athena said. “Not Lady Macbeth.”

But her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. Apparently, she was well pleased to have frightened them so.

The whole mood changed when Joan walked onto the crude stage next.

“She’s so different now, isn’t she?” Molly asked Bunny. “She’s no longer bitter and angry. She seems…at peace.”

“Tonight, especially,” Bunny replied. “And she looks glorious.”

Yes, she did, thought Molly. Joan’s gown was slit every which way, a chaotic golden backdrop in deep contrast to her stark beauty.

“I shall read ‘Lullaby of an Infant Chief,’” she said in a clear, strong voice, and smiled serenely at her audience. “Composed by Sir Walter Scott.”

Molly drew in a sharp breath of recognition. She suspected Joan had chosen the poem in honor of her own son. No wonder she wouldn’t share any information with the ladies about what she was to read! Up until a few days ago, hers had been a private pain.

Joan knelt on the ground, bowed her head, and closed her eyes, as if preparing herself. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, she made a curve of her left arm and gazed at the empty space there, as if she were cradling a baby.

“Oh!” said Bunny, and looked at Molly, little tears in her eyes.

Molly immediately welled up, too.

Joan began to rock slowly back and forth. And from a paper held in her right hand, she read:

“O hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright.

The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,

They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee…”

The men were silent, but Molly could tell by their respectful faces they enjoyed Joan’s solemn but heartfelt reading. Lumley even surreptitiously wiped at his cheek with a handkerchief.

When she was done, the men again clapped madly. She curtsied, threw them kisses, and left the stage.

“You were wonderful!” Bunny told her.

Molly hugged Joan. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thank you both,” she said with a sniffle.

Athena came running up. “Where’s Hildur? She goes on next! We can’t have a delay.”

But she’d disappeared. Molly’s heart skittered. She’d worked so hard with Hildur on her poem! What could have happened to her? Where could she be?

Thirty seconds passed, which was an age in the theater, according to Athena. With the aplomb of a seasoned actress, she walked onto the stage area, folded her hands, and said, “We shall have a brief intermission as it seems that Hildur is missing—”

“Wait!” Hildur cried from somewhere in the shadows. “I am here!”

And she entered stage left, a large scroll in one hand, as well as a stripped tree branch in the other.

Before Athena exited stage right, she threw a brief, concerned glance at the other mistresses.

“What’s Hildur about?” Molly said. “The scroll is her poem, but why the branch?”

“And the sly smile?” Joan added.

“I’ve no idea,” Bunny replied, “but I’m worried.”

Athena shuddered. “Up close, she had a fierce Icelandic look in her eye that almost struck fear in my bold English heart. I believe it was the same look her ancestors had when they invaded other countries.”

“Everything all right, Hildur?” Captain Arrow called out to her from the audience.

Hildur’s brow was smooth, like an ice queen’s, but then it furrowed. She stamped the butt of the tree branch on the ground and said, “No! It’s not all right!” And she threw the branch to the ground.