When Harry Met Molly

Despite a restless night’s sleep, the next morning Molly was ready to face another day as a contestant in the Most Delectable Companion contest. This time, she told herself, she would do well. She dressed in her least revealing gown, which was still outside the boundaries of good taste as it was a shocking shade of spring green. And she read the note Harry had slipped under her door: Have a good morning. Yours, Harry.

Yours? She blushed, remembering their kissing session last night. She supposed he was hers. At least for this week.

You should let him be yours even more, a tiny voice in her head urged her.

Molly cleared her throat and tried to ignore that wicked voice as she walked downstairs to the breakfast room. Once there she saw only one footman, the same one who’d helped her the day before when she’d first come to the house. Again, he looked right through her, as was appropriate, but she wondered if he were having any illicit thoughts about her or perhaps the other mistresses.

Because they were mistresses. Even if she was simply pretending.

She filled her plate and sat at the table, all alone.

Thankfully, Joan came in a few minutes later.

“Good morning.” Molly smiled and took a sip from her tea.

“I abhor country hours,” Joan muttered, and brushed by Molly rudely on her way to the sideboard.

“The men are already out and about, exploring the countryside on horseback,” Molly said when Joan returned to the table.

But Joan merely gave her a flat stare and stirred sugar into her tea.

The other mistresses trailed in one by one over the next half hour, and none of them ate terribly much. Molly, meanwhile, enjoyed eggs and a rasher of bacon, toast and marmalade.

Athena eyed her plate. “You do eat like a horse, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I have a good appetite.”

Joan snickered and stretched her arms above her head. “I have a good appetite, too.” She winked at Athena again. “But not for breakfast. At least that’s what Lumley tells me.”

Everyone else laughed, especially Hildur, who laughed heartily at everything, probably because she didn’t understand much of what was being said and wanted to fit in.

Molly herself wasn’t quite sure what was funny, so she kept quiet. She remembered her kiss with Harry in the carriage, and that gave her an idea. She had developed an appetite for kissing after that episode and so had given in easily to Harry last night.

Perhaps Joan had meant the same kind of appetite as that!

So she eventually did laugh, but she was a trifle late.

Everyone stared at her.

“For someone vying for the title of Most Delectable Companion, you’re a featherbrain,” said Joan to her. “At least Hildur has an excuse. She can’t understand the language.”

Molly couldn’t think of anything clever to say back. So she said what she was thinking. “You remind me of some teachers I used to know. I never once saw them laugh. Some students said it was because they were naturally hateful. But I think it was because our headmistress was difficult and wouldn’t let them write their families, as penance for their supposed failings. Miss Dunlap thought we were all wicked.”

Joan simply blinked.

There was an awkward silence, which Bunny was good enough to break. “What an interesting story, Delilah,” she murmured, and patted Molly’s hand.

No one else said another word, until Athena suggested they adjourn to the drawing room.

All the women, except Molly, carried bags of some sort. Hildur sat on a sofa and pulled out some knitting. Athena opened a sketchpad and looked out the window. Joan sat at the pianoforte and began a charming prelude.

Molly sat next to Bunny on another sofa and opened a book on ancient Rome which she found on the tabletop. Bunny nudged her. “Don’t you have anything to work on?” She pulled out a lovely piece of needlepoint.

“No,” said Molly. “For five years I went to a very strict school where my chore every day was to peel potatoes for each meal. I never developed any feminine skills. But my father loves a good tart, and Cook never made one to his satisfaction. So I stepped in and learned three years ago.”

“You live at home?” Bunny looked vaguely shocked. “And make tarts for your father?”

Molly felt her heart quicken. “Oh, no,” she said breezily. “I meant in the old days. Before I—before I—” She didn’t know quite how to say it.

“Before you became Lord Harry’s mistress?” Bunny whispered.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you make him tarts?” Bunny asked her, all the while pushing her needle through her canvas.

“Yes, every Tuesday and Friday.” She hoped she wouldn’t go to hell for all the lies she was telling this week.

“That’s wonderful,” said Bunny, sounding wistful.

“Do you do anything…special for Sir Richard?” Molly set aside her book.

Bunny’s eyes darkened. “What he thinks of as special and what I think of as special are two very different things.” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

Molly couldn’t even imagine to what Bunny was referring. “What do you mean?”

Bunny opened her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

Molly felt her skin prickle. “I hope he doesn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Or sad. Or frightened.”

The way he does me, she wanted to say.

Bunny half smiled. “Nothing you should worry about,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”

But Molly could tell it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all.

Bunny cleared her throat. “Let’s talk again about cozy things, shall we? Things that a loving wife would do for her husband, like that baking of yours. Do you also mend Lord Harry’s stockings?”

“No. I’m no good at mending. Just potato peeling. And tart baking.”

Bunny giggled. “I design my own gowns. “

“Really? How fascinating.”

Bunny giggled. “You’re the first person to find me at all fascinating, Delilah.” She paused, took out some thread and a needle from her basket. “Here, I’ll teach you to sew.”

And Bunny proceeded to do just that. She found an old piece of cloth, which she folded in two, and made tiny stitches in it. “See?”

Molly peered at it.

“You can do that, too,” said Bunny. “Give it a try.”

Molly painstakingly sewed the seam. She pricked her finger only twice.

Bunny took it from her and examined it. “Very good!”

Molly smiled. “Thank you for being kind,” she whispered. “No one else is friendly at all.”

“That’s because everyone wants to win the title.”

Molly frowned. “But what good is a crown of paste?”

There was a shocked silence in the room. Apparently, she’d voiced her question a little too loudly.

Bunny gave a nervous laugh. “But Delilah—it’s the very idea that one might be named the Most Delectable Companion. Being an excellent one takes a great deal of skill. Don’t you agree?”

Molly had once again forgotten that she was supposed to be a mistress.

“Oh, yes,” she lied. Because she really wasn’t sure of the skills involved. Although last night was giving her an idea. And of course the idea had to do with her being naked, and Harry being naked. Perhaps on the floor. Or the bed. Or against the door. Any of those places would do.

She felt herself blush. “That’s why if I win, I’d prefer to receive money. A hundred pounds should do it.”