Molly (7 page)

“After today,” replied Lord David, “I think that Lady Ann will send them a hurried last-minute invitation to her daughter’s ball. She had no intention of asking them, you know, but after Miss Molly’s performance today I have no doubt she will be all over them.”

Roddy looked slyly at his friend. “Don’t you think you’re going to have a bit of a hard time with the fair Molly?”

“Oh, she’ll come around,” said his lordship with maddening assurance. “I’ve never had any difficulty before.”

Despite all his much-vaunted assurance, Lord David found himself strangely nervous as he stood at the edge of the Abbotts’ ballroom and waited for the arrival of the Maguire sisters.

The long French windows of the ballroom were open onto the gardens. Brightly colored lanterns were strung through the trees. Vincent and His Melody Makers, specially imported from London, were playing a Viennese waltz with gusto. Great banks of hothouse flowers bloomed against the walls of the ballroom. All the most elegant members of the county were present and even a few sprigs of the nobility had traveled in from other summer parts, drawn by Lady Ann’s well-deserved reputation for lavish hospitality.

The band hit a triumphant last chord and the voice of the majordomo could be heard announcing, “Miss Molly Maguire and Miss Mary Maguire.” He looked eagerly around.

The Maguire sisters were coming slowly down the red-carpeted stairs. They were dressed in ball gowns of white and silver gauze, and real white rosebuds were threaded through the glossy black curls of their hair. With their startling blue eyes, creamy complexions, and high cheekbones, they looked strangely exotic—two foreign birds come to ruffle the plumage of the gray English doves. They made every other woman look colorless.

Roddy was already hurrying to the foot of the stairs to meet them. Lord Toby and Lady Fanny followed behind. Lady Fanny was wearing a ball gown of heavy crimson satin, which vaguely hinted at military discipline by having things like epaulets on the hips. She carried a lorgnette with a very long handle, which she brandished like a swagger stick, and her feathered headdress suggested more the scarlet crest of a warlike Roman than a feminine adornment for the dance.

For once, however, Fanny was looking as hunted as her husband. She could not remember one thing about the prize-giving, although everyone had informed her in such
kind
and sympathetic tones that she had done very well.

Lady Ann had been particularly sugary. Lady Fanny had been on the point of refusing the invitation to the ball but the stupendous news that none other than Lord David Manley was to be present had forced her to change her mind. The Maguire girls were looking enchanting and Lady Fanny knew where her duty lay. If only Molly would curb her sense of humor and if only Mary would learn to keep her mouth shut, then they might be married before the summer ended. Mary had quickly adopted the English accent and manners of the aristocracy but the context of her conversation was still pure Brooklynese.

Roddy gloomily retired from the Maguires’ crowd of admirers. “I only managed to get two dances,” he said to Lord David. “All these other damned chappies are scribbling away in the girls’ dance cards. How did you get on?”

“Not any better than you,” said Lord David. “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Before the next dance starts, plunge in there, laddie, and ask to see their dance cards. Tease, you know. Say you can’t believe they’re fully booked. Make a note in that brain of yours of the names of the chappies who have them signed up for the supper dance. Then we’ll take it from there.”

The marquess plunged back into the crowd of admirers. He started chatting and laughing. Lord David noticed that Mary looked at the marquess with glowing eyes and that Molly was even smiling at him with open friendliness. The young Americans had not yet learned to school their expressions.

Vincent and His Melody Makers struck up once again and Lord David was joined by Roddy. “Cuthbert Postlethwaite has got yours,” he said, “and Alfred Bingham has mine.”

“Oh, good,” said Lord David matter-of-factly. “I hate Postlethwaite. I’ll go and get rid of him directly.”

“Hey, what about me?” cried Roddy. “I like old Bingham.”

“Appeal to his better nature,” laughed Lord David, striding off.

Refreshments were being served under various marquees on the lawns. Beneath one, draped inside in great swathes of pink silk, only champagne was being served, and it was into this one that Lord David saw Cuthbert Postlethwaite’s broad back disappearing.

Cuthbert had his large face in a silver tankard. Lord David slapped him heartily on the back and said cheerfully, “And how are you, you silly little man?”

“Quite well, you old turd,” said Cuthbert amiably. Ladies were not present.

“Last time I saw you was at Cannes,” said Lord David, staring at Cuthbert’s frilled shirt. “That gigolo at the hotel must have been a damned decent chap.”

“Why?”

“I see he gave you his shirt,” said Lord David, helping himself to champagne.

Cuthbert’s broad face became puce. “If your lungs weren’t rotting in your chest, you’d answer for that,” he said wrathfully.

“I got the all clear from the hospital. Everyone knows that,” said Lord David. “Of course, a lot of chaps pretend not to know it. You know the sort. Frightened they’ll get hurt.”

Cuthbert was smaller in height than Lord David but he was powerfully built. He put down his tankard and stared at his lordship in blank amazement.

“Are you calling me a c-coward?” he stammered.

“Y-yes,” mimicked Lord David. “I am calling you a c-coward.”

“Outside,” said Cuthbert. “I’ve wanted to smash your face in for years and now I’m going to do it.”

They marched outside the tent and into the shrubbery while the band played on.

Molly swayed elegantly in the arms of her partner and assured herself that she was glad that that horrible Lord David had chosen to disappear. Perhaps he would stay away and not turn up to claim his two dances after supper. She was conscious of a faint sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She put it down to worrying about her sister. Mary was floating in Roddy’s arms, looking like a child at Christmas. Molly distrusted Roddy. First, of course, because of his friendship with Lord David. Secondly, because he seemed somehow insincere. It was rather like watching someone flirting in a play, Molly decided.

She whirled to a stop and gave her partner an abstracted smile and refused his offer of refreshment. She wandered over in the direction of the chaperons, meaning to have a word with Lady Fanny. Then she saw a young girl sitting forlornly on her own beside a pillar. She was dressed in a very dashing Paris gown that was much too old for her and much too daring for her obviously retiring manner. She had a very young, freckled face that bore the traces of tears. Molly’s warm heart was touched. She plumped herself down beside the girl, ignoring the fact that her next partner would be searching for her, and asked, sympathetically, “Are you all right?”

”Yes, thank you,” said the girl in a faint voice.

“I guess we haven’t been introduced, and you British set such store by introductions so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Molly Maguire, and the one out on the floor that looks like me is my sister, Mary.”

“I know who you are,” said the girl in a low voice. “
He’s
done nothing but look at you all evening.”

“He? Who?” asked Molly somewhat incoherently.

“Lord David.”

“That bully,” scoffed Molly. “Oh, here, for land sakes don’t start crying again. Tell me all about it. Start by telling me your name. Come on. I’m not going to eat you.”

“My name is Jennifer Strange,” said the girl, speaking in such a low whisper that Molly had to bend to hear. “I have been sent down here to stay with my Aunt Matilda, only because Lord David is here. My—my mother is very ambitious and—and—persuaded my aunt that there was a good chance of me marrying Lord David so they bought me a dashing new wardrobe and—and—sent me here—and—and he won’t even l-look at me.”

“But your mother can’t
force
you to marry just anyone,” exclaimed Molly.

“N-no one is f-forcing me,” said Jennifer, hiccuping. “I
love
him. He’s s-so strong and masterful.”

At first Molly thought this a bit theatrical but then she put it down to the British attitude.

“Well, you won’t attract his attention sitting behind this pillar,” Molly couldn’t help pointing out.

“H-he won’t even see me with you and your sister around. And—and—my aunt’s so furious, I’m hiding from her.”

Another bully! Another dragon to fight. Molly’s blue eyes gleamed. “You just relax,” she said, laying a comforting hand on the girl’s knee. “Leave everything to Molly.”

Jennifer raised adoring eyes to this new, strong personality in her life. Molly smiled down at her. She was really very engaging. Rather like a small Pekingese. Resisting an impulse to pat her on the head, Molly returned to the floor just as the supper dance was being announced and found herself looking up into the tanned and somewhat battered features of Lord David.

She forgot her dislike of him as she stared at his face. “You look as if you have been in a prize fight,” she exclaimed as he led her unresistingly into the steps of the waltz. And then, “Say, isn’t this someone else’s dance?” She tried to tug her hand free to look at her dance card but he kept her hand in a strong clasp.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” he murmured.

“It was Cuthbert’s dance, but he… er… met with an accident in the grounds and had to go home.”

“Ran into a fist, by the look of things,” said Miss Maguire with an irritating lack of femininity.

Lord David decided to ignore the remark. Instead he smiled down into her eyes and tightened his grip around her slim waist. “You know you really are a most beautiful girl,” he said.

Molly felt that something odd was happening to her breath. It must be because he was holding her so tightly. She also felt as if she had just been filleted. Her body seemed to be boneless as it automatically followed his every movement. They danced in silence, but Molly felt that this disturbing man was making love to her without opening his mouth. She was glad when the dance finally ended and they walked out into the garden toward the marquee that held the supper tables.

“And how do you find England?” asked Lord David, when they were finally seated.

“I only know this part,” said Molly. “Well, it’s quaint and kinda pretty. Everything’s so small. Small cottages, small fields, and then after you stay for a bit it seems to get bigger and bigger.”

“You must be expanding the horizons of your mind,” teased Lord David, helping her to lobster patties. “For Heaven’s sake, don’t gulp your champagne like that. It isn’t lemonade. You’re too young to know what strange things too much alcohol can make respectable people do!”

Molly suddenly thought of Lady Fanny as she had appeared at the prize-giving under the influence of Maguires’ Leprechaun Dew and blushed.

“Oh, so you
do
know,” teased Lord David, appreciatively eyeing the blush. “Now, I wonder why.”

Molly racked her brains for some way to change the subject and then remembered poor Jennifer.

“Do you ever dance with wallflowers?” she asked abruptly. His slanting brows almost vanished into his black hair.

“Do I
what
?”

“You heard me. Do you dance with wallflowers?”

“No, I don’t, you strange girl,” he said. “And if I did,” he added with simple arrogance, “then that girl would not be a wallflower much longer.”

“Why?”

“Because I set the fashion.”

“Oh!” said Molly, looking at him thoughtfully. “Say, do you feel like doing me a favor?”

“Anything,” he replied.

“Then, lemme see,” said Molly, looking in her dance card.

“Your English accent is slipping,” he murmured.

Molly chose to ignore his remark. “I have promised you two dances in the second half of the gig. Okay?”

“Okay,” repeated his lordship politely.

“Well, see here,” said Molly, putting her gloved elbows on the table and leaning toward him. “There’s this little girl called Jennifer Strange and her auntie’s the bullying sort. Furious with her because no one’s dancing with her. So why don’t you. I mean, dance with her instead of me. Get it?”

“I would much rather dance with you,” said his lordship, feeling somewhat piqued. Never in his well-bred life had any woman suggested that he should spend his time with anyone else.

He leaned back in his chair and drew patterns on the damask tablecloth with his knife. Molly watched his tanned face above his shirt-front. His face was unreadable.

“You must do me one favor in return,” he said at last.

“Surely,” cried Molly.

“You must promise to drive out with me tomorrow.”

Molly bit her lip. She did not really want to be alone with this disturbing man.

“I-I can’t,” she said. “Lady Fanny says I am not to go out with a man, unchaperoned.”

“She’ll let you go with me,” he said confidently. “After I’ve had a little talk with her.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Quite.”

“Oh, okay,” said Molly while he watched her dismal face with wry amusement.

“Cheer up, dear girl,” said Lord David. “It’s not a visit to the dentist, you know. Now lead me to your wallflower.”

Molly had at least the pleasure of watching Jennifer’s face light up as Lord David bowed to her. She found a chance to speak to Jennifer before the ball ended. “There you are,” said Molly. “He noticed you after all.”

“No thanks to you,” said Jennifer triumphantly, looking at Molly out of the corners of her eyes. “I did it all myself.”

Molly felt all the rage one usually feels when a doormat type of person gets uppity. Harsh and bitter words rose to her lips. Several choice phrases nearly escaped her. She resolutely choked them all back, except one. “Well,” said Molly Maguire, “you can’t win ’em all,” and walked off primly on her little French heels and left Jennifer to stare after her in surprise.

Roddy, Marquess of Leamouth, awoke with a groan. Someone was roughly shaking him by the shoulder. What uncouth servants Lord David must have.