Molly by M.C. Beaton Page B

thought briefly of Cynthia. How on earth had he ever managed to let himself get embroiled? All he could do was to keep postponing the wedding date until she became tired of him. He had a longing to cycle slowly along the country lanes with Molly Maguire.
    Far away along the curve of the beach, the sturdy horses were still pulling the brightly colored bathing machines into the sea, the women screaming with mock fear as they teetered down the wooden steps into the water. He wondered if Molly went bathing and was stirred by the age-old aphrodisiac of the sea, and the thought of Miss Maguire in a bathing dress.
    Roddy’s voice broke into his thoughts. “This should be easy,” said the marquess. “Now this type of hero doesn’t go in for any strong, silent clutching. He actually presses her hand fervently at Almack’s on page one hundred and two.”
    “You mean in the gambling club?”
    “No, silly. Almack’s assembly rooms. Marriage market of Regency days.”
    “According to my old rip of a grandfather, they got up to a lot more than holding hands, even at Almack’s,” said Lord David testily, “and what
is
this Marquess of Maidstone’s downfall?”
    “His downfall,” said Roddy, reading quickly, “is a shy country girl who is fresh and natural and not like those other painted hussies. Her name is Belinda and she blushes and faints a lot.”
    “Forget it,” said Lord David. “Molly is not going to faint and blush.”
    “Don’t interrupt,” said Roddy. “The marquess is described as having an indolent manner, with indolent eyelids that seem to be closed half the time. Occasionally his eyes glint with mocking laughter as he flicks a speck of dust from the high gloss of his Hessians.”
    “Sounds like a twit,” said Lord David. “How does the fair Belinda react to this half-awake lord?”
    “‘He smiled down at her from under heavy drooping lids and she trembled with an awakened passion,’” read Roddy. “I’ll tell you why the girls like this sort of book and why maybe they don’t like us—particularly with them being Americans. We don’t behave like aristocrats. That’s what! Where is our languid indifference? One minute you’re swearing at Molly, the next you’re trying to play on her sympathies. As for me, I’m down on my knees in the wet grass asking Mary to marry me. We must be standoffish. Born to command and all that rot.”
    “But how does this marquess eventually get to first base?—as the Maguires would no doubt say.
    “He clasps her firmly and tenderly in his strong arms and kisses her passionately on the mouth. She trembles at his touch and faints from an excess of emotion. That’s on the last page.”
    “She sounds like a bore in bed,” said Lord David.
    “Tut, tut. They don’t get as far as that! Oh,
I
see. He rescues her from a highwayman.”
    “Well, that’s out for a start,” said Lord David moodily. “Come along. We’re invited to the Holdens for dinner. At least that way we’ll get to look at them.”
    But there was no sign of the Maguire sisters at the dinner table. Cynthia looked particularly glowing and beautiful. Giles was moody and silent—Molly Maguire had paid him no attention at all at the ball and had laughed at all his very best compliments. Lord Toby was staring moodily down at his dish of
Coquilles St. Jacques
, already seeing in his mind’s eye the scallop shells being scrubbed and cleaned in the kitchen so that the soulless Scottish gnome gardeners could regiment another flower bed. Roddy was plainly disappointed and showed it. Lady Fanny fretted over the lack of discipline in the young in general and in two American misses in particular, and it was left to Lord David and Cynthia to keep the conversational ball rolling.
    Cynthia had been to a dress rehearsal of the pageant and was being very witty and amusing at the expense of the local yokels. She was indeed very funny and Lord David found to his irritation that he was becoming defensive about