When Harry Met Molly

highly esteemed Anne Riordan, a sad victim of this brutish bet—and before Sir Richard Bell manages to pit my beloved brother against me to avenge his sister-in-law’s honor—I demand that you restore that honor immediately, by proposing marriage to Lady Molly Fairbanks. She is in this coil because of you, you slimy reprobate.”

And he shook Cedric so hard, his teeth rattled.

“She asked me to elope.” Cedric’s sickeningly beautiful face winced.

Lord Sutton’s mouth dropped open. “You eloped with my Molly? How could that be? She doesn’t even like you!”

Harry dropped Cedric with a thud. “This coward had no intention of ever marrying your daughter, Lord Sutton. Molly made an error in judgment—she felt she’d rather marry Cedric than be a spinster—so they started off on a journey to Gretna Green while you were away. And then the despicable rat”—he snarled at Cedric—“abandoned her at a dangerous inn and took off with her.”

Harry pointed to Fiona.

Molly’s father visibly trembled. “Because of my indifference, my overabsorption in my work—and because I’ve been making her pay the price for years for a silly poem she wrote when she was a mere child—my daughter is suffering this shame.”

“No, Father!” Molly cried out. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears but her voice was strong. “It’s not your fault! You are the best of men!”

Harry’s throat tightened. Molly was so selfless. And good. And brave.

And he loved her.

She was Molly, his Molly, who had read a silly love poem when she was thirteen, a poem that tore straight to the heart of so many different matters in both their families: jealousies, demands, misunderstandings—all stemming from the need to be noticed. To be loved. And to love in return.

Lord Sutton swallowed hard when he looked at Molly. “I won’t turn my back on you this time, daughter. No matter what happens today, you are still my beloved child.” He wagged an index finger at the crowd. “And no one shall cut you without having to cut me first. Is that clear?”

He stared at the crowd over his spectacles, daring them to say anything untoward.

But no one said a word.

Lord Sutton turned back to Fiona. “Is this true what Harry said? Did you go off with Cedric while he was in the midst of eloping with my daughter?”

Fiona stuck out her lower lip. “Yes. Cedric said he’d take me to Gretna in your daughter’s place, but he didn’t. He took me to another inn, ravished me, and deserted me, as well, the villain!”

Several women in the crowd swooned. One had to be carried out by two footmen.

Molly’s father turned to Cedric. “You shall propose to my daughter immediately,” he said in such a dangerous voice that Molly worried for his health.

Cedric inhaled a great breath. And exhaled. “As you wish,” he said dramatically.

Harry saw Molly shut her eyes. He knew she was thinking that being married to a pompous ass like Cedric was a horrible fate. And he agreed. But it was a better fate than her total ruin. As a married woman, Molly would still maintain her respectability, which Harry craved for her above all things. He knew that if she thought long enough, Molly would never want to pull down the reputation of the rest of her family. So she would marry Cedric for Penelope and her father’s sake.

And for the sake of both their families. Harry would never raise a pistol against Roderick, and he knew in his heart that Roderick felt the same way about him. But a duel between brothers, called out of the necessity of avenging Molly’s honor—even if both brothers shot into the ground—was a scenario that neither family would wish. It would be talked about for years.

And Molly knew this.

Harry saw the moment when she’d come to a decision. She opened her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and walked through the crowd, looking neither right nor left.

She ascended the stairs to the balcony and curtsied before Cedric. “I accept your proposal,” she said, loud and clear.

At which point, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

But as Cedric took Molly’s hand and placed a reluctant kiss on it, claiming her for his bride, Harry realized that his soul was empty.

And would remain that way indefinitely.

Because Molly, his dear, dear Molly, was lost to him forever.

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