When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 47

Molly stood next to Cedric and looked out over the crowd. She would keep her head high. She’d made mistakes, yes. But everyone she loved had done the same, hadn’t they?

Her father was standing by her. No matter what. That was something. And she was standing by him.

That, in fact, was what love was all about.

Understanding that the other person is only human.

And forgiving.

She watched as Harry made his way over to Anne Riordan. Her parents flanked her, and it looked as though they held her up by the elbows. Molly wouldn’t be surprised if Anne’s knees were jelly. She’d been humiliated beyond belief, and now the strongest, handsomest, kindest, funniest man in all of England was approaching her to…

To make it all better.

Molly bit her lip as Harry got down on one knee before Anne. He took her slender little hand in his.

“Anne Riordan,” he said loud and clear for all the company to hear, “would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Molly heard the spit of several candles in a wall sconce behind her head. And the labored breathing of the still shaken Cedric. Her own heart pounded in her ears. She clasped her icy fingers together and waited.

Please, God.

She didn’t know what she prayed for. Perhaps an angel, one that could sweep away the general ache she felt inside.

Or was she praying for time to have passed another twenty years, making this horrible scene a distant memory?

“No,” said Anne loudly. Suddenly and with force.

Molly jumped. It seemed everyone did. And then there was a silence that stretched for eternity.

What had Anne said? Molly strained her ears.

“No,” Anne said again. “No, no, no!”

But Harry didn’t move. He held on to her hand and stared at her. He was like a statue.

“Pardon?” he finally croaked.

“I like you, Harry,” said Anne, in a thin but clear voice. “Very much. But like you, I tire of having to fulfill tedious obligations for the sake of my family name.” She turned to her father. “I shan’t have him, Papa. I don’t care what you or Prinny or the fuddy-duddies at your club expect! I want Gregory Westfield, the vicar’s visiting cousin!”

“And I want her!” called out a fop in a pink waistcoat, his cheeks flaming.

Anne burst into tears, yanked her hand out of Harry’s grasp, and ran into her beloved’s arms.

Molly felt her mouth hanging open in shock, and remembered to shut it for decorum’s sake, although the night had been rife with rather…indecorous events.

Harry slowly stood. He looked at his father. Both seemed stunned by the turn of events.

A gentleman stepped forward from the crowd.

Molly looked closer. It was Maxwell. Dear Lord Maxwell! How had she missed his presence?

“As a member of Harry’s club in good standing,” he said, “I submit to the company here that Harry’s obligation to the bet has been fulfilled. He is under no obligation to marry anyone at this time. I request that another member of the club present—Harry’s family excluded—also come forward and concur.”

And he stepped back into the crowd.

“I concur,” said another man. He had the most lovely smile.

Lumley.

Molly broke into a grin.

Another man stepped forward. Oh, dear. It was Captain Arrow! And he looked magnificent in his naval uniform, Molly thought.

“I also concur.” He looked at Harry. “As a member of the Impossible Bachelor’s arbitration committee, I confirm that the bet stipulates only that you propose to Anne Riordan. It makes no provisions for a circumstance in which she rejects you. Therefore, you are free of all obligation to the club and its members, as well as all obligations to the Prince Regent’s wager.”

Molly could see Harry taking a deep breath. Then she saw his gaze scan the room slowly, lingering on his parents and brother, and finally coming to a rest…

On her.

Harry took a deep breath. Good God, was he dreaming? Or was he really still an unfettered bachelor?

One look at Molly’s expression—at the joy he could see in her eyes even from a distance—confirmed the truth that he had, indeed, dodged a bullet that would have made both him and Anne Riordan—dear Anne, to him now—absolutely miserable.

He kept his gaze on Molly’s and wended his way through the crowd toward her. The walk, which took place in total silence—except for the rustle of skirts and squeak of heels as his parents’ guests made room for him to pass—seemed to last a lifetime.

Molly stood near her father, who’d suddenly moved between her and Cedric. Her hands were folded in front of her, and Harry could see her pinky finger fluttering.

She was nervous. It pained him to see her suffer even a moment longer, so he went up the stairs three at a time and stood facing her, mere inches from her beloved face.

The crowd began to murmur.

“What’s going on?” he heard over and over from different corners of the room.

“Molly,” he said. And it was like breathing pure mountain air just to say her name out loud.

“Harry.” Her mouth trembled.

He grasped both her hands in his own and lifted them to his lips. How close he had come, he thought, his mouth pressed to her knuckles. How close he had come to losing her.

Was it yet too late?

Slowly, solemnly, he got down on one knee.

She looked down at him, a misty smile on her face.

“You’re not thinking of Samson, are you?” he asked her, his voice hoarse with emotion—

With love.

She shook her head. “No. Just you.”

“I have something to propose to you,” he murmured for her ears only. “But before I do, would you be patient a moment?”

She nodded. Smiled.

Little did she know, her trust in him was all his strength. Harry stood again, strode ten feet over to where Sir Richard cowered, still craven, behind a footman.

“Wait!” someone called from the crowd. “Please! Don’t punch him! At least not yet!”

A woman strode to the front of the crowd. It was a maidservant—the one, in fact, who had served Harry a cup of punch and greeted him so warmly.

He looked closer at her. Who was she? He recognized her vaguely, but—

She took off her cap.

That hair.

That hair.

He looked at Sir Richard’s hair. It was the same burnished chestnut color.

“Peggy!” Sir Richard cried. His upper half appeared from behind the footman.

“Dickie!” she called back.

Harry looked between them.

Sir Richard’s sister.

Now Harry knew who she was! The colonel’s wife. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in six years.

Or so he’d thought. She was apparently a servant in his father’s household.

He looked at his father, wondering if he knew—

Gad. He did know. His expression was resigned, bemused. As if it were all out of his hands now.

And Sir Richard appeared totally confused but delighted to see his sister. Peggy, on the other hand, was looking at her brother with distress evident in her eyes.

“You’ve made a huge mistake!” she cried up to him. “And it is all my fault.”

Sir Richard grabbed at his cravat. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Peggy pointed to Harry. “This man has been nothing but good to me. Six years ago he saved me from being ravished by two French soldiers who were among the first to ambush my husband’s regiment. While the rest of the regiment defended themselves, Lord Harry heard me scream and came to my immediate defense in my husband’s tent. When it was over, I begged him to tell no one else how close I had come to being completely ruined. And he’s kept his promise all these years, despite the fact that telling someone my secret would have absolved him of all false accusations against him.”

There was a big murmur of interest from the crowd.

The maid waited until the buzzing ceased. “My husband refused to believe my wretched story,” she continued. “He chose to divorce me instead and spread malicious, unfounded gossip about Lord Harry. When I heard how pitilessly he was treated by the army and the ton, how he was vilified for being a lecher and a coward, I should have stepped forward. But I did not. I was frightened. And alone. I’m ashamed of my conduct. Terribly ashamed.”

She looked at the duke. “And then one day, I received an unexpected blessing. Until that point, the vengefulness of my husband had almost destroyed me. He’d ensured I had no place to stay. No means of earning my bread. No friends. But the Duke of Mallan found me. He said he didn’t believe a word that anyone was saying about his son. The duke knew Lord Harry was protecting a lady’s honor and couldn’t speak. Rightfully assuming I was the lady in question, the duke offered me a respectable position in his household, where I have been now for five years. Tonight is the first time he’s heard what truly happened.”

“You’ve been here five years?” Harry asked Peggy.

She nodded.

Harry made eye contact with his father. The duke allowed himself a smile, and Harry felt a tear form in his eye. Not that he would let it fall, of course. He was of the house of Mallan, made of stern stuff. “Thank you, Father,” he said gruffly.

The duke nodded, a gleam of something warm and…and loving in his gaze. “You’re welcome, son.”

Peggy smiled. “I’ve been safe here. And quite happy.” She looked at Sir Richard. “You never knew where I was. I was afraid to let you know.”

“I wish you had,” Sir Richard rasped. His face was extremely red.

She smiled at him. “I love you, Dickie, but what used to be your playful naughtiness as a bachelor has turned into villainy. I’ve heard wretched stories about you. I couldn’t contact you for fear of losing my position.”

“Me?” Sir Richard laughed. “A villain? Of course I haven’t been.”

Peggy frowned. “I don’t believe you. And while I appreciate your caring for me, Dickie, you really must stop being such an ass to the rest of the world. Once you have, feel free to contact me again.”

She stepped back into the crowd.

Harry punched Sir Richard solidly in the nose, and he fell to the floor with a thunk.

“I propose Sir Richard Bell be removed from the club roster,” Harry said to the company.

“Done,” said his father.

Lumley, Maxwell, and Arrow stepped forward. “We needlessly concur,” said Maxwell, “but it gives us great pleasure to do so.”

“Indeed,” said Captain Arrow.

“We propose that we remove him right now from the premises of the ducal estate,” said Lumley, rolling up his sleeves.

“Agreed,” Harry said. “Along with his companion, if you don’t mind.”

Fiona gasped. “Me?”

Harry looked at her. “Yes, you. How did Bell ever uncover you and your role in the events that transpired?”

She sniffed. “I’m beautiful, remember? Innkeepers aren’t likely to forget me. Or the people with me. I’m quite easy to track down.”

Lord Sutton stepped forward. “I would appreciate the removal of another beautiful but soulless person from the premises—Mr. Cedric Alliston, whose duplicity is such that I hope he will never feel welcome in this corner of England again.”

The duke laughed. “I shall ensure he’s welcome in no part of England. Be gone with you, Alliston.”

“But—” Cedric spluttered, his face beet red.

“I’m sorry, Cedric,” Molly said sweetly. “But it is what it is—isn’t it?”

Cedric narrowed his eyes at her, and Harry chuckled.

The minx!

As much as Harry enjoyed watching Cedric exit the ballroom as fast as his feet could carry him, he also regretted not punching him before he went. But really. He was tired of the endless delays. He wanted to get to Molly.

His false mistress.

And his one, true love.

With the atmosphere, should he say, restored to a congenial one, he once again took up his position in front of his intended bride. His knee was taking rather a beating. But it was all for a good cause, wasn’t it?

His and Molly’s future happiness.

He grinned up at her and took that dear hand of hers. What was he talking about, future happiness? They were already happy.

Here.

She smiled a breathtaking smile.

Now.

She nodded, even before he could ask the question.

And for always.