by Renee Ryan
Oh, honestly.
Did he not see Mrs. Singletary standing beside them, looking…amused? The widow found this situation funny?
Molly frowned.
“You will not speak to Miss Scott in that tone of voice.” Tightening his jaw, Garrett took a step forward. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Now see here, who are you to go ordering me about?”
“Mr. Thomas.” Mrs. Singletary shifted into view, diverting disaster with the move. “And Mr. Ferguson. I say, how very good of you both to stop by my box this evening.”
The two addressed her in return—Marshall with genuine regard, Mr. Thomas with a much more fractious attitude.
Unaffected by his rudeness, the widow chattered away, oh-so-casually moving between him and Garrett. When she took a breath, she wrapped her fingers around Mr. Thomas’s arm and led him toward the exit.
At the curtain’s edge, she mentioned her most sincere wish for a glass of lemonade before the show began, and would he be so kind as to accompany her?
The request was a subtle one, sly even, with the result of leaving Molly alone with Garrett and Marshall.
Wondering at the motivation behind such a tactic, Molly forced down her nerves and performed the introductions. “Garrett Mitchell, I’d like you to meet Marshall Ferguson.”
“We know one another,” they said in unison.
Garret offered his hand to the other man. “Marshall.”
“Garrett.”
They shook respectfully.
If Molly wasn’t mistaken, Garrett was decidedly tenser than their visitor. Marshall, on the other hand, was as cool and unruffled as ever. She’d always liked that about him, had appreciated his ability to negotiate any situation with steady calm, no matter how emotionally charged.
He was a good man, wise enough to see that they were better friends than future spouses. Knowing he was right, Molly felt the shame of self-reproach. She should have never agreed to marry him in the first place.
“I understand the banking business is treating you well,” Garrett said into the silence, taking charge of the situation.
Marshall nodded, smiled. “It’s been a good year for you, too, or so I hear.”
They fell into a discussion over silver mines, railroad stock and water rights. Content to listen, Molly noticed how well the two men seemed to get along, as if they were friends.
Not a surprise; they had a lot in common. Both were handsome, well-educated, at the top in their choice of careers.
Like Garrett, Marshall also came from a large, happy, gregarious family. The oldest of eight children and the only male, if Molly had married him she would have acquired seven younger sisters on the spot.
Melancholy roiled through her, making her question whether she missed the girls more than she missed Marshall.
What did that say about her?
Certainly nothing good.
“Molly.” Marshall took her hand and brushed his lips across her gloved knuckles. “You are looking well.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s good to see you looking so well, too.”
And, oh, wasn’t this remarkably civil? Molly standing between two of the three men who’d rejected her.
Still smiling, Marshall released her hand and took a step back. As he glanced at Garrett, then back to her, a light of understanding glimmered in his gaze.
“Well.” He took a breath. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy your evening together.”
Another quick inhale and he was gone.
Expecting Garrett to make some remark about the scene they’d endured with her ex-fiance, Molly waited.
He said nothing.
When he still didn’t speak, she heaved a weighty sigh. “He thought we were here, together. You didn’t correct him.”
“Neither did you.”
No, she hadn’t.
Shifting to a spot directly in front of her, Garrett lifted her chin with a gentle finger and searched her face. One beat, two, on the third he said, “It had to have been difficult for him to see you with another man, yet he didn’t appear upset.”
How did she respond without revealing her secret shame? Of course Marshall hadn’t been upset to see her with another man. She was easy enough to forget once she was no longer in a person’s life—the quintessential “out of sight, out of mind” syndrome incarnate.
Her own mother, a busy prostitute and madam, had consistently left her in someone else’s care. Until she’d died. At which time, Molly had been shipped off to live with her miner father. When he’d died five months later she’d been sent to Charity House, a home for prostitutes’ by-blows, where she’d lived with her older sister, Katherine.
From the start, Katherine had taken on a mother’s role in Molly’s life. She’d been so successful, many had believed she was Molly’s mother, Molly included.
Despite the safe, loving home her sister had provided, after all that shuffling about as a young child, Molly still felt a little apart, separate, as if she didn’t fully fit in anywhere.
As she wrestled with these thoughts, Garrett took her hand and pulled her back to their seats.
“Molly.” His tone gentled. “Everything I know about Marshall Ferguson tells me he’s a good man.”
“He is a very good man.”
“Then tell me why you broke off your engagement with him.”
“Because…” She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking through her answer, trying to decide how much of the truth to reveal and how much to withhold. “Marshall didn’t believe I loved him.”
With nothing showing on his face, Garrett sat back in his chair. Was he remembering their final argument the day he’d left for school? He hadn’t trusted her feelings for him, either, had claimed her love for him was tangled up inside her love of his family.
The truth was Garrett hadn’t loved her enough, not the other way around. The same had been true of Marshall, and Bart Williams before him. All three men had walked away from her, without a backward glance.
“Was Marshall right?” Garrett asked, his voice barely audible over the din of the theater. “Were your feelings for him…lacking?”
She couldn’t lie, not to Garrett, not about something this important. “Yes.”
“I see.”
But she could tell he didn’t see. He didn’t see anything at all.
She wanted to explain herself, needed to explain herself, but Garrett spoke first. “Since we’re on the topic of broken engagements, did Fanny reveal her reasons for jilting Reese?”
Molly shivered at the shift in his mood. He was so, so distant. She looked away, flinched at the sound of laughter ringing out from the seats below them. Glancing over the railing she saw that the theater was filling up quickly.
The show would begin soon.
Not soon enough.
“Yes, Fanny told me everything.”
Relief crossed Garrett’s face and he rolled his shoulders. “Why doesn’t she want to marry Reese?”
Here came the slippery part, the part that hit far too close to home.
“She claims he doesn’t know her and, worse yet, doesn’t especially want to know her.” The words spilled out of her mouth, tumbling over one another, taking on a personal meaning despite every effort to remain detached. “She believes he loves the image of her, not Fanny herself.”
To his credit, Garrett didn’t immediately respond, but considered her explanation in contemplative silence. “If that’s the case,” he began. “If Reese doesn’t know the real Fanny, then whose fault is that?”
“Fanny’s,” they said as one.
Molly sighed. “From what I understand, Reese has very specific requirements for a wife. And up until recently Fanny has played the part to perfection.”
“It’s a problem easily remedied. All she has to do is stop playing the role and let him get to know her real self.”
“You think it’ll be easy for her to change his perception of her, at this late date? From a young age, Fanny has been
considered the pretty daughter, the adored sister and then, most recently, the treasured fiancee. She’s—”
“Played all those roles admirably,” he finished for her. “And not without benefits.”
“True.” Yet Molly understood the pressure Fanny felt, the burden that came with being labeled one way as a girl and unable to break free of that image as a woman.
Some people—most people—saw what they wanted to see and never bothered looking beyond that initial impression.
Molly knew what it meant to wear a role others had set upon her shoulders. She also knew the burden of falling short of loved ones’ expectations.
At least Mrs. Singletary saw her for who she was, now, today. Not the little girl whose mother had been a highly paid prostitute, or the abandoned child living alone in a mining camp with only a threadbare blanket for warmth, or the woman who used mathematical equations to prevent emotion from ruling her heart.
She wanted to explain all this to Garrett, and thought maybe he would finally hear her. At one time, he’d known her better than anyone.
Unfortunately, the outer curtain swung open with exaggerated fanfare, filling the box with a burst of light and noise.
“Well, now.” Smiling broadly, Mrs. Singletary bustled in and moved hurriedly to her seat. “I hope you two found something to talk about in my absence.”
Garrett answered for them both. “Indeed, we did.”
“Excellent.”
As if the widow had planned her arrival down to the second, the moment she sat down, the orchestra played the first notes of the overture.
The lights dimmed. The curtain began its ascent.
Molly leaned forward, pressed her hand to her heart and lost herself in her favorite romantic tale of love in disguise.
Chapter Seven
After two hours of sitting through excruciating agony, Garrett’s ears throbbed. He’d nearly reached the end of his endurance, yet the heavyset woman playing Rosina continued shrieking out her heart’s most secret desires.
Awful. Truly terrible.
The soprano’s voice grated as it reached an octave unfit for dogs. Her overuse of the dramatic was nothing short of criminal, while her command of the Italian language was questionable at best. In Garrett’s estimation, the only saving grace was that the opera was drawing to a close.
The final notes could not come soon enough.
How did anyone find this tedious form of entertainment enjoyable?
Glancing at Molly, he caught the tragic sigh sweeping out of her, noted how her gaze was riveted to the stage. Her eyes were two pools of watery emotion, demonstrating just how much the evening’s performance moved her.
That unbridled reaction moved him.
He wasn’t sure why he did it, couldn’t fathom what had gotten into him, but he reached over and clasped Molly’s hand.
She turned her head and gave him a tremulous smile.
That look, it brought out all sorts of inconvenient emotions. Tenderness, longing, a need to protect. He wanted to drag her in his arms, beat off the competition and slay her every dragon, whether real or imagined.
He didn’t have the right. Not anymore.
Perhaps he never had.
He’d walked away from her—from them—because he’d realized it wasn’t him she loved but his family. Oh, she’d liked him well enough, had even cared for him. But Garrett had never accepted the status of second best, not in anything, and especially not in Molly’s heart. He’d so wanted to be wrong about her lack of feelings for him. But when she’d failed to ask him to stay home with her, he’d regarded that as proof she didn’t love him in the same way he loved her.
After time and distance, he’d begun to look back and wonder if he’d been wrong, if he’d misjudged her feelings for him. Then, his suspicions had been confirmed when both of her fiances also came from large, happy, loving families like his.
Garrett must keep that in mind, or he would never be able to keep much-needed distance between him and Molly.
Then why was he still holding her hand?
And why, if her heart had never truly been his, was she clutching his in return?
The screeching came to an abrupt halt. Praise God.
A pause, a moment of poised silence and then…
Applause exploded throughout the auditorium.
The clapping grew louder, and louder still, all but vibrating on the air and shaking the rafters.
Wrenching her hand free, Molly jumped to her feet and joined in the audience’s enthusiastic response to the performance.
Garrett and Mrs. Singletary remained seated.
The widow swung her amused glance in his direction. “Not a fan of the opera, I take it.”
“Not even a little.”
They shared a smile.
She leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “And yet, here you are.”
Garrett held her stare, his face a cool mask wiped free of all emotion. “You requested my presence.”
“Do you always put your clients’ needs above your own?”
“Not always, no.” He waited a beat. “However, you can’t deny my being here this evening served a mutually satisfying purpose for us both.”
Her lips twitched as she tried to contain her smile. “I dare to ask, what is this mutually satisfying purpose?”
“You wanted to see how I handled myself in a social setting, and I had no objection to appeasing your curiosity.”
“I’m wounded.” She let out a tinkling laugh that belied her words. “You think me that calculating?”
A smile was his only answer.
“Well, yes. I suppose I am a bit calculating.” She winked at him. “But only a little.”
She made to continue, but Garrett spoke over her. “We both know you are a woman who cares not one fig what others think of you. Thus, no matter how I handled myself this evening, you would have retained my services if you so desired.”
“Very shrewd.” She relaxed back in her chair and snapped open her fan. “But, tell me, Mr. Mitchell, what was your reason for attending the opera this evening? Don’t pretend you didn’t have one.”
After assuring Molly’s attention was still fastened on the stage, he answered. “I merely wished to get to know you better.”
The enthusiastic applause continued as the cast trooped out onto the stage, one at a time, the least important role first.
“Did you succeed in your goal?”
“I did.” Yet, he still hadn’t discovered the widow’s true reason for seeking his counsel in the first place. He was good at sniffing out a lucrative venture, and calculating the odds of success. But so were others in this town.
He had an idea why she’d chosen him, and it had little to do with advancing her fortune. Increasing her charitable giving was a worthy goal, but there was something else driving the widow’s actions. He would know more once he gathered additional evidence.
“I believe, Mr. Mitchell, you are not being completely forthright.”
That made two of them.
“You had another reason for accepting my invitation this evening. One that was strictly…” The widow’s gaze slid past him, brushed over Molly, then slid back. “Personal?”
Well, well. Mrs. Singletary had just revealed her hand and proved herself far more conventional than most realized.
The woman was matchmaking, evidently assuming that by simply throwing Garrett and Molly together as often as possible they would fall in love.
He nearly called the widow out on her scheme, but knowledge was power only if wielded with wisdom. And caution. Caution was key. For now, Garrett decided to bide his time. And watch to see what Mrs. Singletary’s next move would be.
The applause died to a low roar.
“Wasn’t that magnificent?” Molly spun around to smile at him, her eyes shining with awe.
She sighed appreciatively, the soft sound dreamy and very, very appealing.
Garrett was slung back in time.
This moment isn’t real, he told himself. She will always hold a portion of herself back. He knew this. Accepted it. And yet his pulse sped up anyway.
* * *
The evening in Garrett’s company wasn’t turning out to be as dreadful as Molly initially feared. Despite expectations to the contrary, his presence had actually added to her overall pleasure.
When he’d taken her hand during the final song of the opera everything in her had simply stopped and sighed.
The moment had been perfect.
Although she knew he would disagree, the opera had been equally perfect. The production had met every variable in Molly’s formula for engaging entertainment—colorful costumes, superb acting, wonderful music and dazzling drama.
Ah, yes, the drama. Even now, an hour after leaving the opera house, Molly shivered in remembered delight.
Still humming with pleasure, she wanted Garrett to take her hand again, wanted to feel his warmth spread through her gloves. But he sat on the opposite side of Mrs. Singletary’s formal sitting room, conversing with the widow in low, even tones. He paid Molly no heed whatsoever.
A flare of frustration swirled in her stomach. Garrett had cooled considerably toward her since arriving back at the house.
There he sat, oh so relaxed, with his legs stretched out before him, perfectly at home on the fragile brocade-covered settee. He should have looked ridiculous, surrounded by the frills and lace of the room. Instead, he was masculinity personified, all hard angles, broad shoulders and sharp features.
The attractive boy had grown into quite a handsome man.
Molly appreciated why the cat had been instantly smitten and thus decided to let him into her stingy world. Curled up beside him, eyes closed, chin on her paws, Lady Macbeth allowed him to rub her ears. The animal allowed no one to rub her ears.
Molly drew in a shaky breath.
