Where Dreams Begin Page 9

  “No, thank you,” Holly interrupted hastily, pressing her hands over her burning ears. “I see your tactic, Mr. Bronson. You are trying to distract me with tales of other mens' disgraceful behavior to divert attention from your own. However, I have set my terms, and I insist that you abide by them. And if you bring one woman of low character to this house and have intimate relations with her, I will break off our arrangement at once.”

  Bronson plucked a slice of toast from a delicate silver rack and proceeded to heap it with marmalade. “For what I'm having to put up with,” he said darkly, “I'd better learn a hell of a lot from you.”

  “I've promised to instruct you to the best of my ability. And please do not gesture with that utensil.”

  Grimacing, Bronson set the spoon back into the crystal preserves dish. “Instruct all you like, my lady. Just don't try to reform me.”

  He was an incorrigible scoundrel, and yet his unrepentant wickedness held a certain charm. Holly wondered why she found him so strangely likable. Perhaps she had been surrounded by honorable men for a little too long.

  “Mr. Bronson,” she said, “I hope someday you'll understand that the sexual act can be so much more than you understand it to be. It is an elevated expression of love…a communion of souls.”

  Bronson responded with a low laugh, as if he were mightily entertained by the notion that she might know something about physical intercourse that he did not. “It's a simple bodily need,” he countered. “No matter how many minstrels and poets and novelists have tried to make it seem otherwise. And it happens to be one of my favorite pastimes.”

  “Do it all you like, then,” she said tartly. “Just not in this house.”

  He gave her a smile designed to cause annoyance. “I intend to.”

  Six

  As Zachary code to town at a breakneck pace, he tried to gather his thoughts in preparation for a board meeting. The day was one he had anticipated for a long time. He would be signing a deal, along with two co-owners of a massive soap factory, to improve the factory as well as build new housing for many of their employees. Zachary's co-owners, both of them born into the aristocracy, had resisted such expenditures, pointing out that production at the factory was at such a profitable level that no improvements were needed. They had called Zachary's insistence on making the improvements a waste of money. After all, they had both remarked, factory workers were accustomed to the squalid conditions they lived and worked in and would expect nothing else.

  It had taken a great deal of stubbornness and bullying for Zachary to make his partners understand his view, that the workers would be even more productive if their daily lives weren't such a damned misery. He knew exactly why his partners had finally caved in to his demands. They considered themselves too refined and gentlemanly to involve themselves in the dirty concerns of factory life. They preferred to leave all that to him, which was fine. More than fine. He would manage the business to his satisfaction, and see that they all made money in the future. In fact, he would make certain their annual profits would double, and their factory would eventually be a model for all others in London. “Just sign and keep your mouth shut,” one of the partners had advised the other in Zachary's presence. “We've done well enough with Bronson so far, haven't we? He's taken my original investment and made it into the largest source of income my family has ever known. Why quibble with success?”

  The upcoming meeting, and his plans for the factory, were all that Zachary should be thinking about. However, his mind was filled with Lady Holly: the air of sweet earnestness that tempted him to ruffle and tease her, and the sad, secretive mouth that sometimes curved into an unexpectedly dazzling smile.

  Zachary found her irresistible, though he was not certain precisely why. He had encountered nice women before, kind and virtuous women whom he had admired. But he had never felt the barest stirring of desire for any of them. Goodness did not excite him. Innocence in any form was not titillating in the least. He preferred to spend his time with sexually experienced women, the ones with naughty gazes and adventurous souls, the ones whose manicured hands strayed beneath the tables at dinner parties. He was especially fond of women who had a strong command of swear words and dirty language, women who might appear ladylike on the outside but were decidedly abandoned in the bedroom.

  Lady Holly was none of those things. In fact, taking her to bed would not be an adventure in any sense of the word. Why, then, did the very thought of it cause him to break out in a sweat? Why was he aroused by the mere fact of being in the same room with her? She was pretty, but he had known women of great beauty before. Her figure was pleasing but not spectacular, and she did not possess the long, elegant lines that were currently so admired. In fact, she was short. A grin tugged at his mouth as he imagined her naked between the silk sheets of his enormous bed. He could imagine no more desirable activity than chasing that short, curvaceous figure from one corner of the mattress to the other.

  But that would never happen. To his great regret, Zachary acknowledged that he liked Lady Holly far too much to seduce her. She would be devastated by the experience. Any temporary pleasure she felt would soon be overwhelmed by guilt and remorse. And she would hate him for it. Better to leave her as she was, content with the happy memories of her late husband, keeping herself for George Taylor until they met again in the next world.

  Zachary could get physical satisfaction from other women, but no one else could supply him with what Holly could. She was intelligent, principled and fascinating, and as long as he didn't misbehave too badly, he could have her company for a year. That was far more important than one night's tumble, no matter how pleasurable it might be.

  At Holly's suggestion, she and Elizabeth strolled in the five-acre garden outside, temporarily delaying their lessons until they became better acquainted. “This is my favorite place to walk,” Elizabeth said, guiding her to a “wilderness path” that was far less structured and formal than the rest of the garden. Walking along a trail paved with limestone, Holly enjoyed the huge drifts of snowdrops all around them. The path was lined with ornamental trees and bunches of winter honeysuckle that flooded the air with fragrance. Lush topiaried hedges were heavily interspersed with rosy splashes of cyclamen and scarlet clematis, luring Holly farther along the curving path.

  As she conversed with Elizabeth, Holly realized that the girl was truly extraordinary. Elizabeth's high-spirited nature did little to conceal her acquaintance with the more unpleasant facts of life. Here was no schoolroom miss who viewed the world through narrow blinders, but a girl who had been born in poverty, the kind of poverty that stripped away all girlish illusions. Her dark eyes were rather too seasoned for a young woman her age, and she seemed to have no desire to please anyone save herself. Both would be extremely off-putting to most prospective suitors, except that Elizabeth also happened to possess a wild, romantic beauty that most men would find irresistible.

  Pushing back dark curls that kept tumbling into her face, Elizabeth began the conversation with what Holly would soon discover was her habitual bluntness. “I hope you don't think too badly of my brother, Lady Holland.”

  “I regard him as an interesting challenge.” Holly quickened her step to match the girl's long, lazy strides.

  “You don't dislike him, then?”

  “Not at all.”

  “That's good,” Elizabeth said with obvious relief. “Because I would understand if you considered him to be perfectly rotten. Zach has many bad habits, and he's a bit wild, not to mention arrogant beyond belief…but underneath he's the gentlest man that ever lived. You'll probably never see that side of him—he only shows it to Mama and me. But I did want you to understand that he is definitely worth helping.”

  “If I didn't believe that, I would never have accepted the position he offered.” They walked up a gentle slope toward a pair of long rectangular ponds. It was early enough that white mist still hovered over the water and frost still clung to the leaves of the hedges. Breathing deeply of the
morning air, Holly cast a smile toward Elizabeth. “I find it remarkable that your brother has accomplished all this,” she said, gesturing at the spectacular beauty all around them.

  “Zach does whatever is necessary to get what he wants,” Elizabeth replied, slowing her pace as they crossed a stone bridge leading to a topiary garden. “No matter what the cost to himself. I never knew my own father—there's only been Zach to take care of Mama and me. All during my childhood, Zach worked at the docks to support us. But there was never enough money for a decent life. Then Zach turned to prizefighting. He was good at it, of course, but the fights were so brutal…Just hearing the accounts of them afterward made me physically ill.” Pausing at a topiary shaped like three balls standing atop each other, Elizabeth scrubbed her fingers through the riot of dark curls on her forehead. She sighed at some painful memory. “After a fight, Zach would come into the smelly old lodging house where we lived…and, oh, the way he looked. All bloody and battered, his body just black and purple with bruises. He couldn't stand to be touched, even to let Mama and me rub liniment on him. We begged him not to do it anymore, but once he's made up his mind about something, he won't be swayed.”

  Holly meandered to a cone-shaped hedge. “How long did his prizefighting last?”

  “About two years, I think.” A heavy swath of curls dropped from the pile on Elizabeth's head, and she scowled. “Oh, this wretched hair…there's nothing to be done with it.” She reached up, twisted the offending locks and pinned them back into the unruly mass. “By the time I was twelve,” she continued, “we moved out of the lodging house and into our own little cottage. Then Zachary became part-owner of a steamship and started acquiring more wealth, and…well, he seems to have the Midas touch. Zach has accomplished almost every goal he's set for himself. Except…he hasn't changed much since his prizefighting days. Often he behaves as if he's still in the rope ring. Not that he's physically violent, but…can you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Holly murmured. Zachary Bronson was still struggling and striving, unable to let go of his tightly coiled aggression. Now it was being applied to the world of business rather than pugilism. And he was horribly self-indulgent, taking his pleasure with many women in order to reward himself for all he had been deprived of. He needed someone to tame him enough that he could live comfortably in a civilized society. However, that person would certainly not be herself—all she was capable of was polishing the surface a little.

  “Zach wants to marry, and marry well,” Elizabeth said wryly. “Tell me truthfully, Lady Holly, do you know any woman that would be able to manage him?”

  The question made Holly uncomfortable, because she did not. And she knew that none of the legion of sheltered young girls coming out this Season would have any idea of how to handle a man like Bronson.

  “I thought so,” Elizabeth said, reading the answer in Holly's face. “Well, we've our work cut out for us, don't we? Because Zachary also wants me to marry, and not just any old baron or viscount will do.” She gave a merry, unrestrained laugh. “He won't rest until he's foisted me off on a duke!”

  Holly seated herself on a small marble bench and stared at the girl expectantly, not sharing her amusement. “Is that what you want for yourself?”

  “Good God, no!” Elizabeth's laughter quieted somewhat, and she strode around the topiaries. Her restless energy would not allow her to sit. “What I want is impossible…so I shall probably become a spinster, and travel 'round the world for the rest of my days.”

  “Tell me,” Holly insisted gently. “What is it that you dream of?”

  Elizabeth flashed her a strangely defiant glance. “It's simple, really. I want a man who will love me, without having an eye on my brother's damned fortune. An honest, decent man who is strong enough to deal with my brother. But I'll never have that, no matter how many manners you might try to teach me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I'm a bastard,” Elizabeth blurted out. She gave a sudden shaky laugh at Holly's blank face. “Zach didn't tell you? Of course not—he thinks that ignoring the fact will make it go away. But the truth is, I am the result of a brief affair my mother had long after her husband died. A scoundrel came into her life, seduced her with pretty words and a few paltry gifts, and he disappeared when he tired of her. I never knew him, of course. But I was a terrible burden on the family, until Zachary grew old enough to start taking care of us.”

  Holly felt a wave of compassion as she saw the girl's shamefaced expression. “Elizabeth, please come here.” She indicated the seat next to her.

  After a long hesitation, the girl complied. She stared at the scenery before them, her profile set, her long legs stretched out before them. Holly spoke with extreme care. “Elizabeth, illegitimacy is hardly an unusual circumstance. There are many such offspring of the aristocracy that have found places for themselves in good society.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth said gruffly, “it doesn't exactly add to my appeal, does it?”

  “It's not something one would wish for,” Holly admitted. “But neither does it have to ruin all chance of making a good marriage.” She reached out and patted the girl's long, slender hand. “Therefore, I wouldn't count on becoming a spinster just yet.”

  “I'm not going to marry just anyone,” Elizabeth said. “He'll be a man worth having, or I'll remain unattached.”

  “Of course,” Holly replied equably. “There are many things worse than having no husband, and one of them is having a bad or insufficient husband.”

  Elizabeth laughed in surprise. “I've always thought your kind believed that any marriage, no matter how good or bad, is better than no marriage at all.”

  “I've seen too many unhappy unions, in which an ill-suited husband and wife cause each other terrible misery. There must be liking and respect between two partners.”

  “What kind of marriage did you have, my lady?” As soon as the question left her lips, Elizabeth flushed, fearing she might have given offense. “I'm sorry—do you mind my asking—”

  “No, of course not. I take great pleasure in talking about my late husband. I want to keep him alive in my memory. We had the most wonderful marriage imaginable.” Smiling wistfully, Holly stretched out her short legs and regarded the worn front edges of her shoes. “Looking back on all of it now, it almost seems like a dream. I'd loved George always—we were distant cousins, and during my childhood I had only brief glimpses of him. George was a handsome young man, and he was very kind, and he was adored by his friends and family. I was a plump child, and very shy, and I doubt I ever exchanged more than ten words with him. Then George went on his Grand Tour, and I didn't see him for the longest time. When he returned four years later, I was eighteen. We met at a ball.” Smiling, Holly put her hands to her warm cheeks, finding that the pleasurable memory still caused her to blush. “George asked me to dance, and I thought my heart would stop. He had a sort of quiet charm and confidence that I found irresistible. For the next few months he courted me most ardently, until my father gave his consent for us to marry. We had three years together. There wasn't a day of our marriage that I didn't feel loved and cherished. Rose was born not long before George died. I am so thankful he was able to spend a little time with her.”

  Elizabeth seemed enthralled by the story. “Oh, Lady Holland.” She stared at Holly with sympathy and wonder. “How lucky you were to have such a man.”

  “Yes,” Holly said softly. “I certainly was.”

  They were both quiet for a minute, staring out at the rustling flower beds beyond the topiaries, until Elizabeth seemed to shake her private thoughts away. “Let's make the most of the bad material you've been given to work with, Lady Holland,” she said briskly. “Shall we return to the house and begin our lessons?”

  “Certainly.” Holly stood and brushed her skirts. “I thought we might begin with sitting, standing and walking.”

  That drew a burst of laughter from the young woman. “I thought I already knew how to do those things!�
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  Holly smiled. “You do them quite well, Elizabeth. However, there are a few little things…”

  “Yes, I know. I swing my arms when I'm walking. As if I'm in a rowing competition.”

  The description caused Holly to smile. “I assure you, it's not nearly that bad.”

  “You're very diplomatic,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “But I know very well that I have all the feminine grace of a soldier under the command of his drill sergeant. It will be a miracle if you can help me.”

  They began the walk back to the mansion, and Holly hurried to keep up with Elizabeth's ground-covering strides. “For one thing,” she said breathlessly, “you might try slowing a bit.”

  “Sorry.” Instantly Elizabeth checked her free pace. “I always seem to be in a hurry, even when there's nowhere for me to go.”

  “My governess always taught me that gentlemen and ladies should never walk fast—it's a mark of vulgarity.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't know why.” Holly laughed ruefully. “In fact, I don't know the reasons for many of the things I plan to teach you…it's just the way things are done.”

  They chatted amiably as they returned to the house, and Holly reflected that she hadn't expected to like Zachary Bronson's sister so much. Elizabeth was entirely worthy of being helped, and so deserving of love. But she needed a very particular sort of man to marry, one who was neither too weak nor too controlling. A strong man who would appreciate Elizabeth's lively spirit and not try to crush it. The girl's natural ebullience was part of what made her so attractive.

  There ought to be someone, Holly mused, sorting through a list of her acquaintances. She would write a few letters this evening, to friends she hadn't communicated with in far too long. It was time to step back into the flow of society and renew old friendships, and become au courant with all the news and gossip. How strange, that after the past years of solitude, she was suddenly eager to rejoin the circles she had once belonged to. A sense of buoyant lightness filled her, and she was hopeful, excited, as she had not been since…