When Harry Met Molly

by Kieran Kramer

  And then she stopped breathing.

  The same thing.

  She had an idea—a very good one!

  If she didn’t lose her nerve.

  She blew out an unsteady breath. “I’ll read your poem, Hildur.”

  “But Delilah.” Athena gave a light laugh. “She tore it up.”

  “I know.” Molly’s heart beat faster. “But it’s not that long, and we went over it so many times, I—I think I can do it.”

  She blinked rapidly.

  “I know you can,” Bunny said, and gave her a hug.

  Hildur patted her on the back. Too hard, of course. Joan fixed one of her stray curls, and Athena squeezed her hand. “Break a leg,” she urged her.

  Molly walked briskly to the stage. Alone. Except for a poem inside her that she must get out if she wanted to have any chance to win the Most Delectable Companion contest.

  Harry noted, with a sort of wondrous pride, that Molly carried herself with confidence when she entered the makeshift stage, even though—

  Good God. Even though the torchlight illuminated a goodly portion of her left breast! And there was another gaping hole in her gown, slightly above her thigh…

  No. He wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing. It was a trick of the light. Or perhaps it was the brandy.

  “God help me,” he muttered. It was bad enough that as she performed tonight, he’d be recalling the morning she’d read ‘Kubla Khan’ in his arms. Now he’d also be dreaming of her in that gown, imagining reaching his hand into one of those holes cut in the fabric and playing with that pert breast and—

  He forced himself to stop indulging in such a fantasy. In less than an hour, Molly’s time as his own very delectable companion would be over.

  And they would be back to being country neighbors related by marriage.

  But he had to give her credit. Without even trying, over this week she’d developed a mistress persona and protected her true identity. That was a marvel in itself. No one had come forward and unmasked her.

  She’d managed to preserve the mystery.

  Yet she’d also done the opposite. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve, told everyone what she was thinking—most noticeably, about the inequality of the games—and offered her friendship to the whole company.

  And in private, she’d held nothing back, either—when they’d kissed and explored each other’s bodies, when she talked about her family and his, and most touching of all, when she’d told him what was in her heart.

  Harry sighed. How had she inverted everything he thought he’d known best about women and men and created something…better?

  That Molly, he must admit—the generous-hearted, imaginative Molly—was the one who had him and everyone else here ( save Sir Richard) wrapped around her little finger.

  “Hello,” she said, and made a small arc with her right hand.

  “Hello,” Harry and the other men said back.

  There was a long silence.

  There she stood, wringing her hands and staring out at her small but captive audience. Harry smiled encouragingly at her, but she seemed distracted. Unfocused.

  Almost bleak.

  “You can do it.” He willed her under his breath to remember the morning they’d looked out her bedchamber window and pretended that Xanadu was just through the woods.

  He saw her visibly inhale and exhale.

  What was wrong, exactly? Something seemed off…missing.

  Wait—

  Where was her copy of “Kubla Khan”? There was no way she could have memorized it! It was much too long, and she hadn’t had time—

  Harry half leaped up from the picnic cloth. “Delilah!” he whispered loudly.

  It was a question of sorts. But how would she answer it?

  She looked directly at him, then said with a surety that stunned him, “‘When We Two Parted,’ by Lord Byron.”

  Harry sensed immediately that the steely way she eyed him was her way of telling him to sit down—

  Behave—

  And believe.

  In her.

  Slowly, he sank back down to the ground, worried. Not so much about losing the competition. He was more concerned about Molly’s own state of mind. Ever since the Christmas incident, she hadn’t been able to speak in public.

  So why was she changing course? Putting herself in what for her must be a terrifying position?

  He didn’t know. But he certainly couldn’t ask her now.

  She folded her hands in front of her and looked out over the men’s heads toward the lake and the moon, where it had risen over the opposite shore.

  “‘When we two parted,’” she began. “‘In silence and tears…’”

  Her voice quavered—not a good start for her—and Harry’s stomach clenched. But he forced himself to smile at her in support.

  “‘Half broken-hearted,’” she said. “‘To sever for years…’” She didn’t seem to notice him or anyone else at all.

  “‘Pale grew thy cheek and cold,’” she struggled on. “‘Colder than thy kiss.’”

  She was twisting her hands now, and he began to sweat. But then she took a breath: “‘Truly that hour foretold sorrow to this.’”

  Thank God. She’d made it through a whole verse, with little pause. Harry forced himself to sprawl on the blanket and listen to her start the next verse as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But he was seriously agitated. She might know the words, but she must relax more—put more feeling into the lines—if she were to charm his fellow Impossible Bachelors.

  Then again, this particular poem wasn’t one he’d have chosen to charm anyone, especially careless gentlemen. It was sad, after all. About two lovers parting ways—

  Harry closed his eyes. Tried not to think.

  Oh, God.

  Two lovers.

  Parting ways.

  “‘The dew of the morning,’” she said with more strength now. “‘Sunk chill on my brow. It felt like a warning of what I feel now.’”

  When he opened his eyes again, she was looking directly at him. Not at the lake. Not at anyone else. And it was as if she’d woken from a long slumber. Her eyes were expressive now, not distant. And her mouth, too. It was soft. Vulnerable.

  By God, the words tumbled out of her, one by one, monuments each to something big and true and…aching inside of her. Harry couldn’t stop listening, as much as he wanted to. And neither, apparently, could the other bachelors.

  There was another verse—and more agonizing truth spilling from her whole being. She was talking about him, wasn’t she? About loving him. And having to separate from him.

  Him.

  Harry swallowed hard. He saw Arrow cast a glance in his direction. And then Lumley and Maxwell and Bell. He sensed the mistresses were probably staring at him, as well.

  “‘In secret we met—’” Molly said, as earnest and open as a flower. “‘In silence I grieve, that thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive.’”

  A gust of wind blew off the lake and shook the torch flames.

  Molly was looking at her entire audience now. And it seemed as if it were composed of more than the bachelors and the mistresses…it was the very stars and moon above her head. The trees leaning in. The crickets chirping softly in time with the cadence of her words.

  “‘If I should meet thee, After long years.’” She swallowed hard. “‘How should I greet thee?’”

  “‘With silence,’” she eventually whispered, “‘and tears.’”

  Harry couldn’t move, even as the other bachelors began clapping for Molly—all of them but Sir Richard, of course. He sat sulking.

  “She’s something,” Lumley called to Harry above the sound of the clapping and whistling.

  “You’re a lucky man,” Arrow leaned over to say.

  “I know it.” Harry could barely utter the words.

  He tensed his jaw to keep from showing any emotion. He felt too many. And they threatened to overwhelm him. So he began to clap—

/>   For Molly.

  When she finally looked up from her slippers, out at him and the other Impossible Bachelors, a soft smile played about her lips. A smile of triumph, of pride.

  Not of sorrow.

  The other mistresses came and hugged her close.

  “We did it,” Harry heard Molly say to them. “We all did it.”

  And they all began to laugh and talk at once.

  They don’t need us as much as we need them. Prinny’s words echoed in Harry’s mind as he uncorked his flask and found it empty.

  Lumley tossed him his.

  “Thanks.” The brandy burned a hot trail down Harry’s throat, and he wiped his mouth. “Let’s get the votes counted,” he said perfunctorily and tossed the flask back to Lumley.

  Harry decided then and there he wouldn’t try to understand. Anything. He simply needed to make it through this night. And get back to the life he had before this week began—a life that seemed far away and rather pathetic, but was most certainly easier to live.

  Chapter 38

  Molly walked with the other women to the log she and Harry had sat on so recently, and she felt a wisp of loneliness curl in her belly.

  She and Harry would never sit on this log together again.

  In a few moments, she’d find out if she had won the Most Delectable Companion contest. If so, Harry would win another year of freedom. If not, he’d be among those bachelors forced to pull straws, one of whom would find out tonight if he was to get legshackled to a woman of his club’s choosing.

  “How will you feel,” said Molly to the other mistresses when she sat down, “if your bachelor is the one forced to marry?”

  Bunny squeezed in next to her. “You know I wouldn’t care. I shall be leaving him anyway.”

  “Really?” Athena was astounded. And so it seemed were Joan and Hildur.

  Bunny nodded. “Yes. I was on the verge of telling Delilah earlier that I’ve a friend I can stay with in London. She’s an assistant to a seamstress with a thriving business. I think she might be able to get me work.”

  Molly hugged her. “That would be too, too wonderful!”

  Bunny smiled. “You inspired me, Delilah. Thank you for believing in me.”

  “The truth is, ladies,” said Athena, “whether or not Maxwell draws the short straw, we shall soon part ways. He’s not the sort to stay with one woman for long. And my career as an actress is providing me with sufficient income to live comfortably. I shall no longer require a protector.”

  “That’s marvelous!” Molly said, and everyone clapped.

  “Perhaps I can help with your costumes?” Bunny asked Athena. “And your gowns, as well, if you’d like.”

  Athena smiled and tossed her hair. “You must come to Drury Lane to visit me at your earliest convenience.”

  When it came to Joan’s turn, she chuckled. “I have great affection for Lumley, of course. Who wouldn’t?”

  Molly knew exactly what Joan meant. Lumley had such a big heart.

  “But he is more like a brother to me now,” Joan went on. “And I say that as the highest compliment.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “He’s providing me with sufficient funds to move north and be with my son and my sister. And then he’s sending my son to a good school not far away from home.”

  There were gasps along the log, and happy tears were shed by all for some few minutes.

  “And you, Hildur?” Molly eventually asked. “What will you do if Captain Arrow must marry?”

  “I go where it’s hot. I’m a pirate.”

  “You mean you’ll find a pirate protector on an island somewhere?” asked Bunny.

  “No,” said Hildur, pointing to her chest. “I steal gold.”

  “Arrow told her he’d arrange her passage,” Athena said, rolling her eyes.

  Molly grinned. She could actually imagine Hildur as a female pirate!

  “What are your plans, Delilah, if Lord Harry must get legshackled?” Joan asked. “Will you stay with him? When you performed tonight”—she hesitated—“it seemed as if you would be truly pained to be parted from him.”

  Molly looked around at the other mistresses. She’d been kidding herself, hadn’t she? She’d tried so hard not to care about Harry beyond their friendship and kisses and jokes, but she loved him.

  She loved him, and she wanted to be more than his mistress.

  She did!

  She wanted to be his wife.

  She sighed. “I believe Harry, once settled into marriage, won’t be the type of man to seek out a mistress. He would devote himself to his wife, whoever she is.”

  Whoever is lucky enough to win him, she thought.

  There was a long silence.

  “For Impossible Bachelors, this group is certainly more serious-minded than anyone thought, aren’t they?” Joan said.

  “Except for Sir Richard, of course,” Bunny interjected.

  “Yes,” said Athena. “Except for him, they’re all good men.” She put her hand over Molly’s. “If Lord Harry decides to have both wife and mistress, will you stay with him?”

  Molly shook her head.

  And then she had to shut her eyes. She felt that hot sand welling behind them that signaled tears about to flow. She squeezed her eyes shut harder, but one, lone tear escaped.

  There was a painful silence.

  “You do love him, don’t you?” said Bunny.

  Molly nodded, still unable to speak.

  There were many sighs from the other mistresses.

  “I understand why you wouldn’t want to share the man you love with another woman,” said Athena gently. “But sometimes it’s the only way.”

  “That’s the lot of the mistress,” Joan reminded her.

  Molly blew out a shaky breath. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I would rather be…alone.”

  And now she realized that she would. She couldn’t be Harry’s mistress. Not when he was a bachelor or married. Not when there were other women in his life.

  Hildur patted her shoulder. “Start over.”

  “In a new life,” said Bunny.

  Or in her old one, Molly thought. Could she pick up where she’d left off? Could she go back to being the person she was before she’d taken off with Cedric on their ill-fated elopement?

  She wasn’t sure she could. She would have to take each day as it came. At least for now.

  Athena stared at her, a thoughtful crease on her brow. “You’re the only one of us here who really has a stake in this competition,” she said. “If you won, it would mean another year of freedom for Lord Harry. A year he could spend with you.”

  Molly wished she could tell them that tonight, no matter what, was her last night with Harry. Because if she won, he was obligated to help her find a husband. And he’d made no promises to her that he’d be anything but his old, dissolute self, biding his time until he had to marry Anne Riordan.

  But she couldn’t tell her new friends. She’d promised Harry she would play the role of his mistress.

  And she must play it to the end of the competition.

  Would the other mistresses hate her if they found out her true identity was not that of a mistress at all? She hoped not, but she wouldn’t blame them if they did.

  “I want you to know,” she said carefully, “your friendship has meant the world to me this week. The absolute world. I was so scared. And—and you made me feel at home.”

  Hildur wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know what you say, but it’s sad.”

  Molly patted her hand. “Whatever happens, I hope you know that I care for you all. Very much.”

  “And we, you, Delilah,” said Bunny.

  “It’s time, ladies!” Harry’s voice rang out.

  The women exchanged hugs and best wishes.

  And for the last time, they journeyed to the curtain.

  Chapter 39

  Once at the curtain, Molly noticed right away that the men had moved back far enough from the torches so their faces were in shadows.

 
; “Ladies,” she heard Harry say, “you’ve all done marvelously well this week. We wish all of you could win the title of Most Delectable Companion.”

  Lumley clapped and hooted.

  “But we must choose only one winner,” Harry went on. “We’ve tallied the votes, double-checked our figures, and now are proud to announce…”

  Molly felt as if time slowed down then, even though Lumley slapped his thighs in a rapid tattoo, in imitation of a drum roll.

  “The winner of the Most Delectable Companion title is—” Harry paused.

  Molly clutched hands with Bunny and Athena.

  “Delilah!”

  Molly blinked. It didn’t seem possible! She? The most delectable companion?

  The other mistresses hugged her and congratulated her. But it was as if she were in a dream. She felt the same way when the men came forward. All of them wished her many happy returns, except Sir Richard, who stood alone, his lip curled.

  Harry had a pleasant smile on his face but his gaze was carefully neutral. She supposed as host he didn’t want to go overboard showing his joy at being the lucky bachelor whose name didn’t have to go into the hat. That wouldn’t have been sporting of him.

  But she knew, however much she pretended not to care, that he must be thrilled to have another year of freedom. He despised the parson’s mousetrap. He’d made that clear in his words and actions for years.

  He held out the sparkling tiara. It was beautiful, Molly, thought, but it was made of worthless paste.

  It was a sham.

  Like her.

  Like her week with Harry had been.

  “Congratulations, Delilah,” he said, rather formally.

  “Thank you,” she responded in kind.

  And he kissed her cheek. It was a polite kiss, nothing more, signifying no connection between them beyond their obligations to each other as coconspirators in a fraudulent endeavor.

  When Harry pulled back, Bunny took the crown from him and placed it on Molly’s hair.

  Lumley draped a beautiful purple cape over her shoulders, patted her back, and said, “Well deserved! You’ve got some money coming to you, you know. Don’t forget that hundred pounds.”

  She leaned over to Bunny. “I’m giving you the money.”