To her utter humiliation, tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Singletary set the cat on the floor and hurried over to pull Molly into her arms. “I’ve upset you.”
Molly wanted to push free of the widow’s hold. She wanted to claim she was fine, just fine.
But she wasn’t fine at all.
Her discussion with Fanny had reminded her of her own failures, of all her lost dreams and vanquished hopes.
She felt so terribly alone, exposed and raw. Vulnerable, even, as if God Himself had abandoned her.
Sensing Molly’s fragile state, Lady Macbeth rubbed against her leg, a purring, furry ribbon winding around the hem of her dress.
Still holding on tight, Mrs. Singletary gave her a little squeeze. “I would never push you into another romance if I didn’t believe you were ready.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Oh, but you are. You only need a little courage and a bit of faith. God has a distinct plan for your life, and I’m determined to see it come to pass.”
The tears in her eyes trickled to the edges of her lashes. She refused to let them fall. Not in the company of this woman, or anyone else.
It was her own fault she had to bear this secret pain in silence. She’d let everyone believe she’d been the one to break her engagements. As a result, even her own family feared she couldn’t follow through on a promise.
This, she decided, this lack of faith in her character was what came from telling lies. Lies born of pride.
“Molly.” Mrs. Singletary set her away from her. “As the Apostle Paul advises, we must strain toward the future, rather than dwell on the past.”
“I never look back.”
She braced for a lightning bolt, a crash of thunder, something to show God’s displeasure in her. She heard nothing but the incessant ticking of the clock. Slow, melodic, sounding very much like a name. Gar-rett. Gar-rett. Gar-rett.
How would she bear seeing him tonight? In his company her mind wanted to relive old regrets.
There had been moments this afternoon, when he’d stood so close and she’d caught his familiar scent, that she’d felt a spark of hope. The encounter had brought back memories, memories she’d shoved to the dark corners of her mind.
“I will ask you this only once, my dear, and then we won’t speak of it again.” Mrs. Singletary reached out and grasped both of her hands. “Are you absolutely certain you won’t have a problem with Mr. Mitchell working with me, here, in this home?”
“Of course not.” Determined to make her words come true, she added with more conviction, “You’ve chosen well. Garrett is the most capable man I know. He won’t let you down.”
It was the simple truth. Garrett met all of Molly’s criteria for a man of integrity, her formula deceptively simple. He had to be a devoted follower of the Lord, good at heart, brilliant of mind, authentic to the core.
“I would never wish for you to be unhappy.” The widow squeezed Molly’s hands. “I’ve grown quite fond of you.”
Molly smiled, really smiled. “And I you.”
“You would tell me if you were uneasy with this arrangement?”
“Absolutely.” She inwardly cringed, reminded yet again how quickly fibbing had become a part of her character. Thankfully, she was spared from further soul-searching when Mrs. Singletary’s manservant, Winston, entered the room.
Standing at attention, he made his announcement with a dignified flourish. “Mr. Garrett Mitchell has arrived.”
“Thank you, Winston.” Mrs. Singletary released Molly’s hands. “Please send him.”
He sketched a bow. “Very good, madam.”
The moment the butler turned, the clock began chiming the hour.
Of course Garrett would arrive on time. Trying not to sigh, Molly shut her eyes and battled a wave of emotion, only to open them again and find him striding across the ornate rug. He headed straight for her, his golden, tiger eyes unreadable in the dim light.
Trapped in the moment, she drank in the sight of him. He’d shaved recently, his face free of stubble now. He wore elegant evening attire, perfectly appropriate for a night at the opera. The pristine white of his starched shirt stood in stark contrast to the black of his tailored coat and vest.
Halfway across the room, his eyes captured hers. And held.
An unwelcome jolt of longing crawled up her spine and landed in the center of her heart.
Molly’s reaction was the same whenever he was near. Her mind raced. Her thoughts scrambled.
Her vision blurred.
This evening, she had no route of escape, no pressing matter awaiting her in another part of the house.
She was trapped, good and truly trapped.
Panic reared, morphed into a far more complicated emotion. Anticipation. Something different flickered in Garrett’s eyes tonight, something that spoke solely to her. Something she didn’t dare name.
The questions were there, too, questions about his sister’s situation. He wanted to know what Fanny had confessed to Molly in private.
He wasn’t going to like what she had to relay. But would he understand?
She briefly wondered if she could withhold the information from him, and decided the point was moot. If Garrett Mitchell wanted answers, he would get them. His resolve to help his sister was just that strong.
Because of that, Molly’s fondness for the man went up a notch, putting her heart at greater risk than ever before.
Chapter Six
Caught inside Molly’s stare, Garrett nearly tripped over his own two feet. Exquisite in a gown of dark blue silk and silver lace, the modern cut emphasized her trim figure, while the unique color combination made her eyes take on a full shade lighter than usual. The effect was striking.
She was stunning from every angle. The exotic curve of her lips, the shy tilt of her head, called to him.
He took a step closer.
When he nearly stumbled again, he broke eye contact and looked down. A monster ball of black-and-white fur had taken up residence at his feet, hindering further progress.
The creature looked like a cat. But Garrett had never seen one quite so large. Or so fat. A moment more of staring through that mean, narrowed gaze, and the animal crouched low. It swished the fluffy plume of a tail, crouched lower still, danced on its hind quarters and then...
Launched its massive body into the air, landing smack in the middle of Garrett’s chest.
He staggered under the blow, arms instinctively wrapping around the mound of fur. After his own awkward dance, Garrett caught his balance. Frozen in place, he and the beast eyed one another for a taut moment.
A slow blink on his part, another swish of the bushy tail on the cat’s and then the purring began—loud, guttural, uninhibited.
“Garrett Mitchell.” Smiling broadly, Mrs. Singletary peered around his shoulder. “Meet Lady Macbeth.”
The widow had named her pet after one of the most heartless female murderers in all of fiction? Wary now, he angled his head and studied the enormous cat with careful focus. Certainly big enough to be a killer.
Did she have the heart of one, too?
Mrs. Singletary answered his unspoken question on a laugh. “Any mouse