Where Dreams Begin(102)

“That's right. Making the employees intelligent and reasonably healthy will result in greater productivity.”

“And the bill you're secretly sponsoring in Parliament to outlaw all employment of orphans in mills and factories,” Holly continued, “that is also purely for business reasons?”

“How do you know about that?” he asked with a faint scowl.

“I overheard you talking to Mr. Cranfill the other day,” she said, naming one of his political friends. Sitting on his knee, Holly loosened his starched necktie and played with the dark hair at his nape. “Why does it embarrass you for other people to know about your good works?” she asked softly.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “It serves no purpose. You know what they say.”

Holly nodded thoughtfully, remembering the article published in the Times the previous day that had criticized Zachary's support of the workingmens' college:

Mr. Bronson has made it his ambition to see that the middle and even lower classes are allowed to run the country. People who haven't the slightest understanding of responsibility or morality are to be given power over the rest of us. He wants the sheep to lead the shepherds, and in this pursuit, he is actively working for uneducated brutes like himself to be elevated above men of intellect and refinement.

“Everything I do causes controversy,” Zachary said matter-of-factly. “In fact, there are times when my patronage almost becomes a liability for the causes I'm trying to help. I've been accused of everything short of trying to lead a great lower-class conspiracy that will end up overturning the monarchy.”

“It isn't fair,” Holly murmured, feeling a wash of guilt as she realized that there were respectable men of the upper circles she used to frequent who were actively fighting against measures that would educate and protect people so much less fortunate than they. How strange that she and George had never discussed such problems, had scarcely been aware of them. It had never occurred to them to worry about children being forced to work in mines at ages three and four…that there were thousands of widows trying to support their families by selling matches or braiding straw…that there was an entire class of people who had no chance to rise above their circumstances unless someone fought for them. Sighing, she rested her head against her husband's shoulder. “How selfish and blind I've been for most of my life,” she murmured.

“You?” Zachary sounded surprised. He bent to kiss the curve of her cheek. “You're an angel.”

“Am I?” she asked wryly. “It's becoming clear to me that I've done very little in my life to help other people…but you…you've done so much, and you're not being given any of the recognition you deserve.”

“I don't want recognition.” He shifted her in his lap and kissed her.

“What do you want?” she asked softly, a smile playing on her lips.

His hand curled around her ankle and began to roam farther beneath her skirts. “I should think it's fairly clear to you by now.”

To be certain, Zachary was far from a saint. He was not above manipulating others to obtain the results he desired. Holly was both amused and appalled as she uncovered evidence of his maneuvering, such as the invitation they received to the annual after-Season country weekend party held by the earl and countess of Glintworth. The invitation was wholly unexpected, as Lord Glintworth was a member of high standing in the ton, and the Bronsons had earned too much notoriety to merit a place on the exclusive guest list. But once they were received publicly at a ball given by the Glintworths, it would be difficult for anyone in first society to cut them afterward.

Holly brought the invitation to Zachary with a questioning frown on her face. He was lounging in the music room while Rose plunked the keys of the gleaming little mahogany piano that had been installed specifically for her use. For some reason Zachary claimed to enjoy hearing the child's efforts at learning scales, and he spent at least two mornings a week listening to her.

“A messenger just delivered this,” Holly told him quietly, showing him the invitation while he listened to Rose's cacophony as if it were a performance of some heavenly choir.

“What is it?” he asked, sprawling more comfortably in the chair near the piano, while Rose began yet another set of scales.

“An invitation to the earl of Glintworth's country weekend.” Holly stared at him suspiciously. “Did you have something to do with it?”

“Why do you ask?” he countered a little too blandly.

“Because there is no reason we should be invited. Glintworth is the greatest snob in the civilized world, and he would never voluntarily condescend to invite us to anything, even if it were merely to watch his boots being shined!”

“Unless…” Zachary murmured, “he wanted something I could do for him.”

“Listen to this, Uncle Zach,” Rose commanded. “It's my best one!” The piano fairly vibrated from her enthusiastic playing.

“I'm listening, princess,” Zachary assured her, then spoke to Holly in a soft undertone. “I think you'll soon see, my love, that many in the ton will be forced to overlook our little transgressions. There are too many peers who are financially entangled with me—or would like to be. And friendship, like anything else, has a purchasing price.”