Where Dreams Begin(18)

“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.