When Harry Met Molly by Kieran Kramer Page B

conversation.”
    There was a chorus of boos.
    Viscount Lumley looked only a bit dejected.
    Molly whispered in his ear, “Remember, the tart .”
    “Oh, yes!” he said, and grinned.
    Harry looked at Molly with a bemused expression.
    And then it was Joan and Sir Richard’s turn. Of course, Molly doubted Joan would ever be afraid of anyone, but couldn’t she sense the malevolence rolling off Sir Richard in waves? No one else seemed to, either, except Harry, who spoke to him as little as possible.
    Their kissing episode went off without a hitch, and it was thankfully time for supper. Molly knew she must make a good impression in the dining room if she were to win any votes for the day’s best mistress.
    But she didn’t know how.
    The other women were sparkling, almost giddy—except for Joan, who maintained her intense, subtle allure—and Molly could hardly put two words together. Neither could Hildur, of course, but she said many incongruous things that made people laugh, like, “Aye, aye, Captain,” to the footman who served her. She also oozed exotic, sensual charm with that jesting pout of hers.
    Supper was plentiful and delicious, but by its end, Molly was weary from watching the others enjoy themselves. Her brain hurt from all the thinking she’d done, as she tried to figure out ways to enter the conversation and sound witty and charming all at the same time.
    “Pass the salt, please,” she said at one tiny lull. Everyone turned to look at her, which she supposed was good. She stared back, searched for something else to say, and finally came out with, “I read a very good book the other day.”
    It had actually been quite dull. Her father didn’t approve of her reading novels, so she’d read a tome on Egyptian embalming methods. Which she knew backward and forward, thanks to her father and Cedric, so it was nothing new.
    “What was the title?” Harry asked politely.
    She couldn’t very well tell them. “I forget,” she said. “But—”
    She took a moment to think of a proper way to describe the way the Egyptians pulled people’s brains out of their noses.
    But it was too late. Hildur made a funny remark, and the conversation turned to other directions. Molly was never able to interject again.
    Finally, after another hour of sheer torture for her, Harry rose from the table. “It’s time for the men to adjourn to the library,” he said, standing tall and straight.
    All the men had been drinking profusely, as well as the women, except for Molly. But no man appeared to be showing any ill effects, except for Sir Richard, who had the effrontery to belch at the table and then immediately demand a kiss from Bunny.
    Molly sensed every woman at that table shuddering beneath their festive exteriors!
    “Each day we’ll cast a vote for the one lady who stands out above the rest,” Harry said. “We’ll sign our voucher to ensure that we can’t choose our own companion, of course.”
    “What if there’s a tie?” Joan asked.
    “Prinny’s advisors have ruled that we shan’t name a daily winner,” Harry explained. “We’ll leave the votes to accrue in a jar until the end of the week. The daily vote counts three points. You’ll also be able to win points for the occasional game you shall compete in during the week, as well as at the finale. When all the points are totaled, we shall have our winner. If there is a tie at the conclusion, we’ll cast another vote until someone wins the Most Delectable Companion title. Fair enough?”
    Everyone nodded, although Molly felt that somehow things were still not very fair. She wasn’t sure how, though.
    “Right, then,” said Harry. “Men, follow me for our first vote.”
    All the men stood.
    “When will you come back to us?” Athena asked in a dramatic stage voice, her arm raised and extended toward Lord Maxwell. She looked and sounded exactly like Rapunzel in her castle, crying out to be saved.
    Molly couldn’t help but draw her eyebrows together.