When Harry Met Molly

When Harry Met Molly (The first book in the Impossible Bachelors series) A novel by Kieran Kramer

To my wonderful husband Chuck

Prologue

1808

Thirteen-year-old Lady Mary “Molly” Fairbanks, daughter of the widowed Earl of Sutton, seethed with emotion on a daily basis, whether she was cleaning her teeth, breaking the shell on her morning egg, or riding her favorite mare. She was sure no one else felt quite as deeply as she did—about anything. Which was why she must vent her passions to all the company at the Duke of Mallan’s annual Christmas ball.

If she didn’t, she would die.

At the very least, her soul would.

The tradition went back well over a hundred years. She wouldn’t be the first child to present a riddle, joke, or poem to the adults before they withdrew to the ballroom. But she would be the first to recite an original verse signifying her deep, fervent love for Roderick, the duke’s eldest son.

She’d called him Robert in the poem. A little subtlety was required; otherwise, she feared he’d have to break off his engagement with her sister Penelope right then and there at the ball, and that wouldn’t be proper.

He should wait until after the ball was over. Molly hoped she could stay awake that late, in case he felt the need to ride over to her father’s neighboring mansion and propose after midnight, which would be Christmas Day.

Penelope wouldn’t care anyway. She’d been kissing Roderick’s younger brother Harry in the arbor. All that would go into the poem as well. Because a woman in love must speak the truth, mustn’t she?

Although, of course, in Molly’s poem Penelope had become Persephone and Harry, Barry. No one would ever know of their perfidy.

Except Molly. And through gorgeous verse, Roderick would guess that she and he were meant to be together—that is, after she grew a little taller and started and finished her four years at Miss Monroe’s Academy for Young Ladies in London, where, according to Penelope, the girls had chocolate and brioche every morning and were encouraged to buy fine lace and new bonnets whenever the mood struck them.

Molly couldn’t wait to go to London!

It was time. The company was clapping for a little boy who’d just told a silly riddle. Molly wiped her hands on her new white muslin gown with the bottle-green sash and scalloped hem and stared at the company gathered before her, imagining them in their underthings so she wouldn’t be nervous.

Then she drew a deep breath and began to recite the poem she was sure would change her life forever, and for the better:

A LOVE RECTANGLE OF TRAGIC PROPORTIONS

Robert, Robert, wherefore are thou, Robert?

While Persephone’s in the arbor,

Bestowing kisses on young Barry,

You clutch the golden ring

She’s to wear when you marry.

Persephone, Persephone, why does thou wound

Robert so?

Barry is but the moon

While Robert is the sun.

Can’t you see Robert is all

And Barry is, um, none?

Barry, oh, Barry, why not find your own true love?

My sister isn’t yours

She belongs to another,

But if you steal her away,

Perhaps I’ll marry your brother!

There.

Molly folded her paper up and noticed that silence reigned in the ballroom. She knew she was a good poet, but really, was she that good?

She looked up at Roderick and saw that his was mouth hanging open. As was Penelope’s. And Harry’s.

Indeed, everyone’s mouths were hanging open.

She swallowed a happy lump in her throat.

Love had lent her verse…wings.

She blinked several times. Still, no one spoke. Yet no one clapped, either.

Roderick looked at Harry. His lips became a thin line. “You slimy bastard,” he said quietly.

Harry backed up a step. “Roderick—”

Penelope stared at Molly. “How could you?” she choked out. And then her face turned beet red and she began to cry—loud, gusty sobs.

Roderick jumped over the tabletop. “I’ll kill you!” he roared at Harry, his fists clenched, eyes wild. And then he leaped on Harry and began pounding him.

Harry socked him in the jaw.

There were cries from all the women. The duchess fainted in a heap on the floor. Immediately, a footman picked her up and began to carry her from the ballroom.

The duchess lifted her head. “Boys,” she said weakly. “No incidents, please. Especially not at Christmas.”

Molly clutched her throat. What was happening? Why—why—?

“Roderick! Harry!” shouted the duke. “Stop this instant!”

But they didn’t stop. They careened around the head table, wrestling, punching, kicking.

“Roderick!” Molly yelled, her heart racing. “My love!”

But she couldn’t get to him. The room filled with noise: talking, shouting, crying, screaming, the sounds of breaking glass. Crowds of adults and children alike surged toward the fight.

Molly squeezed through and saw Harry lying on his back on the floor, surrounded by smashed china and broken goblets. Roderick swayed unsteadily on his feet. Both of them breathed hard and loud, their chests heaving.

Lord Sutton stood from the head table. “Lady Mary!”

Oh, no. Mary. When Papa used her formal name, Molly knew she was in trouble. He pointed to the door leading to the ducal grand hallway. “Go—to—your—room!”

“But I don’t live here, Papa!” Molly cried.

Lord Sutton’s face was white. “I don’t care. Go to any room. Any room but this one!”

Molly’s eyes flooded with tears. She blinked them away and began to walk slowly backward.

But then Harry stood up and grabbed Roderick’s shoulders. He pushed him back, parting the crowd with the force of his shoves, until Roderick’s body slammed against a wall.

Molly didn’t even feel her feet hit the floor as she rushed across the room. She jumped on Harry’s back, locked her legs around his waist, and pulled on his hair until his eyes were looking straight into hers, albeit upside down.

“You beast!” Molly screamed, and tugged harder on his hair. “Leave him alone!”