When Harry Met Molly

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 happens 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.

And would remain that way indefinitely.

Because Molly, his dear, dear Molly, was lost to him forever.