Where Dreams Begin Read online

  Everything will be all right, Mr. Bronson had murmured to her just before she left his estate. He had known that she would second-guess her decision, that even the fortune he had offered would not be enough to convince her to work for him, unless…

  Unless there was something wild and reckless in her, something that would not allow her to retreat from this leap into the unknown. And the truth was, she wanted to take Rose and Maude and leave the Taylors. She wanted to break from the predictable path she had always followed until now.

  What was the worst thing that could happen to her if she did so? She would face social disapproval…Well, what did that matter? The one person whose approval had mattered most to her was dead. The reaction of George's family was a concern, of course, but she could always insist that she did not want to be a burden to them any longer. There was Rose to consider, but Holly knew that she could persuade her daughter to look upon this as an adventure. And Rose would have such a magnificent dowry someday, and she would indeed be looked on as a highly desirable match for some well-titled peer.

  Holly groaned and covered her face with her hands, knowing that she was not going to renege on her promise to Zachary Bronson. Because all her reasoning boiled down to one thing—she wanted to work for him.

  Although everyone in the Taylor household, including the servants, was clearly eager to know what had transpired during the tea with Zachary Bronson, Holly said very little. In reply to the multitude of questions, she said that Bronson had been a gentleman, that his house was remarkably grand and that the conversation was perfectly pleasant. Rather than make a general announcement that she would be leaving soon, Holly decided that it would be easiest to break the news to George's brothers and let them tell the rest of the family. After supper, she asked to meet William and Thomas in the library, and they agreed, both of them surprised by the unusual request.

  Port was brought for the brothers and a cup of tea for Holly, and she sat in a heavy leather chair by the fire. Thomas occupied the chair next to her, while William stood and leaned an elbow on the white marble mantel. “Well, Holly,” William said in a quiet, friendly way, “out with it. What in God's name did Bronson want with you? I think we've been kept in suspense long enough.”

  Faced with the two men who looked so achingly similar to her husband, their blue eyes containing identical expressions of curiosity, Holly felt the teacup tremble in the saucer she held. She was unexpectedly glad that she would no longer live here. Perhaps it would be better, easier, not to be surrounded by so many constant reminders of George. Forgive me, my darling, she thought, wondering if George was watching over her right now.

  Slowly, taking care not to sound uncertain, Holly explained that Bronson wished to employ her as a social guide and instructor for his family, for the period of a year.

  For a moment the Taylor brothers stared at her in surprise, and then Thomas burst out laughing. “I'll just bet he wants to hire you,” Thomas gasped between spurts of laughter. “To think he could employ one of us—George's wife, no less! I hope you told the arrogant ape that you have far better things to do than teach him manners. Wait until I tell the fellows about this—”

  “How much did he offer?” William asked, not sharing Thomas's amusement. As the elder and more perceptive of the brothers, he had seen something in Holly's face that gave him cause for concern.

  “A fortune,” Holly said softly.

  “Five thousand? Ten?” William pressed, setting his glass of port on the mantel and turning to face her fully.

  Holly shook her head, refusing to name the sum.

  “More than ten?” William asked in disbelief. “You told him you couldn't be purchased, of course.”

  “I told him…” Holly paused to swallow a burning mouthful of tea, then set the cup and saucer on a nearby table. She folded her hands in her lap and spoke without looking at either of George's brothers. “I've lived here for three years, and you both know of my concern about being a burden on the family—”

  “You're not a burden,” William interrupted swiftly. “We've told you that a thousand times.”

  “Yes, and I appreciate your kindness and generosity more than I could ever say. However…”

  As she paused in a silent search for words, both brothers wore identical expressions of disbelief as they realized what she was trying to convey. “No,” William said softly. “Don't tell me you're considering his offer.”

  Holly cleared her throat nervously. “I accepted his offer, actually.”

  “My God,” William exclaimed. “Didn't you hear a word Lord Avery said about him last night? He's a wolf, Holly. And you're as helpless as a lamb. He preys upon people far more knowledgeable and worldly than you. If you don't think of yourself, at least think of your daughter—have you no motherly instinct to protect her?”

  “I am thinking about Rose,” Holly said fiercely. “She's all I have left of George—she's all I think about.”

  “She's all that we have left of George, too. It would be cruel, a sin, to take her away from the only family she's known.”

  “You have your own wives and children to protect and look after. I have no husband. I have no means of providing for myself. And I don't want to be dependent on you forever.”

  William looked as though she had struck him. “Has it been so terrible, living here? I didn't realize our company was so unpleasant for you.”

  “Of course it hasn't. I didn't mean…” Holly sighed in frustration. “I will always be grateful for the way you've sheltered me since…but I must think of the future.” She glanced at Thomas, who remained in the chair beside her. Although she hoped for an ally, Thomas was obviously in agreement with his older brother.

  “I cannot conceive that this is happening,” Thomas said, his tone containing not anger, but anguish. “Holly, tell me how to stop this. Tell me what it is about Bronson's offer that made you accept. I know it isn't the money. You're not the kind to be swayed by that. Is it the family? Has someone said or done something to offend you? To make you feel as though you're not welcome?”

  “No,” Holly said instantly, feeling horribly guilty. “Dear Thomas, I don't believe I could have survived George's death without your help. It's just that lately I—”

  “Bronson will want more than etiquette lessons from you,” William interrupted coldly. “I hope you realize that.”

  Holly threw him a look of rebuke. “I find that remark distasteful, William.”

  “You need to know what to expect, living in the household of a man whom all society knows is not a gentleman. You'll be at his mercy, and your desire for his money will lead you to do things you can't begin to imagine.”

  “I'm not a child.”

  “No, you're a young widow who has gone three years without the attentions of a man,” William said with a brutal bluntness that caused her to gasp. “You'll never be as vulnerable as you are right now, and therefore any decision you make should not be trusted. If it's money you want, we'll find some way to increase your income. I'll find some investment that will earn greater interest for you. But I won't allow you to take a shilling from that unscrupulous bastard Bronson. I won't let you do this to yourself, or to my brother's child.”

  “Enough, William,” Thomas snapped. “She needs sympathy, and instead you are doing your utmost to bully and alienate her—”

  “It's all right, Thomas,” Holly said calmly. Although part of her wanted to allow George's brothers to make the decision for her, another part of her remembered the teasing challenge in Zachary Bronson's eyes, and his admonition not to lose her courage. “I understand that William is concerned for my welfare. He doesn't want me to make a mistake. I have had the luxury of being protected by the both of you ever since George died. And I will always be grateful. But I want to step out from beneath your wing. I want to make choices. I even want to make a few mistakes.”

  “I don't understand,” Thomas said slowly. “Why are you doing this, Holly? I never thought that money was so important
to you.”

  Before Holly could reply, she was interrupted by William's cold, flat voice.

  “For the first time I'm glad my brother is dead. I'm glad he can't see what is happening to you.”

  Holly turned white with shock. She expected to feel a blow of pain from his words, but instead there was only numbness. Unsteadily she came to her feet and backed away from the two of them. “There is nothing to be gained by discussing this further,” she said with difficulty. “I have made my decision. I will leave within the week. I would like to take my servant Maude with me, if I may.”

  “You're going to live with Bronson,” William said softly, undercutting his brother's protests. “Now I understand exactly what is going on. Yes, take Maude with you, by all means. But what of Rose? Will you discard her as easily as you have discarded my brother's memory, and leave us to take care of her? Or will you bring her with you, and allow her to watch you become a rich man's paramour?”

  No one had ever spoken to her in such an insulting way. To hear it from a stranger would have been bad enough, but for it to come from George's brother was nearly unendurable. Steeling herself not to cry, Holly strode to the door. “I would never leave Rose for any reason,” she said over her shoulder, her voice shaking only a little.

  She heard the two brothers arguing as she left, Thomas berating William for his cruelty, and William responding in the clipped tones of a man suppressing great anger. What would George have wanted her to do? Holly wondered, and knew the answer immediately. He would have desired her to remain in the shelter of his family's home.

  Holly paused at a window overlooking a small courtyard. The deep sill was scarred by a thousand tiny nicks and scratches. One of the servants had told her that George used to stage battles between his toy soldiers at this very window. She pictured his small hands manipulating the little painted iron men, the same hands that in manhood had caressed and held her. “I'm sorry, darling,” she whispered. “After this year is through, I'll live exactly the way you wanted me to. And Rose will want for nothing. Just this one year, and then I'll keep all my promises to you.”

  Five

  Lady Holly emerged from the carriage, stepping lightly to the ground with the assistance of a footman. As Zachary watched her, he was aware of a peculiar sensation in his chest, a deep throb of pleasure. She was here at last. His gaze drank in the sight of her. She was perfectly turned out, her little hands encased in gloves, her dark brown hair smooth and shining beneath a small-brimmed hat trimmed with a wisp of a veil at the front. Zachary was tempted to disarrange her demure facade, plunge his hands into her hair and unfasten the prim row of buttons at the neck of her chocolate-hued gown.

  Another brown dress, Zachary thought, a frown working between his brows. The signs of her continued mourning— “slight mourning,” as such austere garments were called—caused him a stab of annoyance. He had never personally known a woman who had chosen to grieve so long. His own mother, who had undoubtedly loved his father, had been more than ready to relinquish her smothering dark mourning garb after a year, and Zachary had not blamed her for an instant. A woman did not bury all her needs and instincts along with her husband, much as society would like to pretend otherwise.

  Excessively devoted widows were much admired, kept on pedestals as examples for others of their sex to follow. However, Zachary suspected that Lady Holly did not cling to mourning because it was the fashion, or because she wished to earn admiration. She sincerely grieved for her husband. Zachary wondered what kind of man had inspired such passionate attachment. Lord George Taylor had been an aristocrat, to be certain. One of Holly's own kind, someone well bred and honorable. Someone completely unlike himself, Zachary thought grimly.

  A maidservant and a child descended the movable steps placed at the carriage door, and Zachary's attention lingered on the little girl. As he watched her, a smile came unbidden to his lips. Rose was a doll-like replica of her mother, with the same pretty features, and long brown curls adorned with a pale blue bow at the crown of her head. Appearing a bit anxious, Rose clutched something in her hands—something that sparkled like jewelry—as she stared at the grandeur of the house and grounds.

  Zachary thought that perhaps he should remain in the house and receive Lady Holly in the parlor, or even the entrance hall, rather than greet them outside. What the hell, he thought grimly, and strode down the front steps, deciding that if he made a faux pas, Lady Holly would certainly let him know.

  He approached Holly as she murmured instructions to the footmen who unloaded trunks and valises from the carriage. The brim of her hat lifted as she glanced at Zachary, and her mouth curved with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Bronson.”

  He bowed and gave her an assessing glance. Her face was strained and pale, as if she had not slept for several nights, and Zachary understood at once that the Taylors must have put her through hell. “That bad?” he asked softly. “They must have convinced you that I'm the devil incarnate.”

  “They would prefer that I work for the devil,” she said, and he laughed.

  “I'll try not to corrupt you beyond recognition, my lady.”

  Holly rested her fingertips on her child's tiny shoulder and urged her forward. The note of motherly pride in her voice was unmistakable. “This is my daughter Rose.”

  Zachary bowed, and the little girl bobbed a perfect curtsy. Then Rose spoke without taking her eyes from his face. “Are you Mr. Bronson? We've come to teach you your manners.”

  Zachary flashed a grin at Holly. “I didn't realize when we struck our bargain that I was getting two of you.”

  Cautiously Rose reached up for her mother's gloved hand. “Is this where we're going to live, Mama? Is there a room for me?”

  Zachary sat on his haunches and stared into the little girl's face with a smile. “I believe a room right next to your mother's has been prepared for you,” he told her. His gaze fell to the mass of sparkling objects in Rose's hands. “What is that, Miss Rose?”

  “My button string.” The child let some of the length fall to the ground, displaying a line of carefully strung buttons…picture buttons etched with flowers, fruit or butterflies, ones made of molded black glass and a few of painted enamel and paper. “This one is my perfume button,” Rose said proudly, fingering a large one with velvet backing. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Mama puts her perfume on it for me, to make it smell nice.”

  As Rose extended it toward him, Zachary ducked his head and detected a faint flowery fragrance that he recognized instantly. “Yes,” he said softly, glancing up at Lady Holly's blushing face. “That smells just like your mama.”

  “Rose,” Holly said, clearly perturbed, “come with me—ladies do not remain talking on the drive-”

  “I don't have any buttons like that,” Rose told Zachary, ignoring her mother's words as she stared at one of the large solid gold buttons that adorned his coat.

  Gazing in the direction of the child's dainty finger, Zachary saw that a miniature hunting landscape was engraved on the surface of his top button. He had never looked closely enough to notice before. “Allow me the honor of adding to your collection, Miss Rose,” he said, reaching inside his coat to extract a small silver folding knife. Deftly he cut the threads holding the button to his coat and handed the object to the excited little girl.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Bronson,” Rose exclaimed. “Thank you!” Hurriedly she began to thread the button onto her string before her mother could offer an objection.

  “Mr. Bronson,” Holly spluttered, “a gentleman does not pull out w-weapons in the presence of ladies and children—”

  “It's not a weapon.” Casually he replaced the knife in his coat and rose to his feet. “It's a tool.”

  “Nevertheless, it's not—” Holly broke off as she saw what her daughter was doing. “Rose, you must return that button to Mr. Bronson this instant. It is far too fine and costly for your collection.”

  “But he gave it to me,” Rose protested, her short fing
ers working frantically until the button was safely knotted on her string.

  “Rose, I insist—”

  “Let her keep it,” Zachary said, grinning at Holly's perturbed expression. “It's just a button, my lady.”

  “It looks to be solid gold, and part of a matched set—”

  “Come with me,” he interrupted, crooking his arm invitingly. “My mother and sister are waiting inside.”

  Frowning, Lady Holly took his arm. “Mr. Bronson,” she said in a crisp undertone, “I have tried very hard to ensure that my child is never indulged or spoiled. Therefore—”

  “You've succeeded,” he said, walking her up the front steps while the maidservant followed behind with Rose. “Your daughter is delightful.”

  “Thank you. But I have no wish for Rose to be caught up in your extravagant lifestyle. And I want my instructions concerning her to be followed to the letter. She must have a disciplined, well-ordered life just as she did at the Taylor estate.”

  “Of course,” he said at once, trying to look chastened and humble, while the jaunty jangle of Rose's button string dragged the ground behind them.

  Holly's trepidations were not calmed as she entered the house and saw once more how impossibly opulent it was. Good Lord, she thought with a pang of worry, how are ordinary people to live here? She glanced back at Maude, who stared speechlessly at the two-story gold columns that lined the entrance hall, and the gigantic chandeliers that shed sparkling light over the scene.

  “Listen, Mama,” Rose exclaimed, and began to make peeping noises that rebounded from one side of the cavernous hall to the other. “It echoes in here!”

  “Hush, Rose.” Holly glanced at Mr. Bronson, who seemed to bite back a smile at her daughter's antics.

  A heavyset woman in her forties appeared, rather brusquely identifying herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Burney. Wearing a look of bemusement, Maude accompanied Mrs. Burney up the baroque top-lit staircase to the upstairs rooms, where she would oversee the unpacking of the trunks.