Where Dreams Begin(20)

“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.

Holly kept Rose by her side as they proceeded to a circuit of ornate receiving rooms. They entered a parlor decorated with alternating panels of embossed green velvet and gold panels, and French furniture covered in gold leaf. Two women awaited them, both rising anxiously to their feet. The younger, a tall, strikingly attractive girl with a mass of unruly black curls pinned atop her head, came forward. “Welcome, Lady Holland,” she exclaimed, smiling broadly, although her gaze flickered over Holly in a wary survey.

“My sister Elizabeth,” Bronson murmured.

“I couldn't believe my ears when Zach told us you would be coming to live here,” the girl exclaimed. “You're very brave to take on the lot of us. We'll try not to make it an ordeal for you.”

“Not at all,” Holly replied, liking Bronson's sister at once. “I only hope to be of assistance to you, and perhaps offer some guidance when required.”

“Oh, we'll require a great deal of guidance,” Elizabeth assured her with a laugh.

There was a definite likeness between Bronson and his younger sister. They possessed the same black hair, flashing dark eyes and roguish smiles. They also shared the same sense of barely repressed energy, as if their active brains and supreme physical health would not allow them to relax for more than a few minutes.

It would not be difficult for Elizabeth to attract suitors, Holly thought. However, Elizabeth would require a strong partner, as the combination of her brother's wealth and her own robust spirit would prove intimidating for many men.

Elizabeth grinned, seeming to understand the thoughts behind Holly's discreet assessment. “The only reason Zach wants me to acquire some polish is to make it easier for him to engineer a marriage between me and some well-heeled aristocrat,” she said bluntly. “However, I should warn you that my idea of a good match is vastly different from Zach's.”

“Having heard some of your brother's views on the subject,” Holly said evenly, “I am entirely prepared to take your side, Miss Bronson.”

The girl laughed in delight. “Oh, I do like you, my lady,” she exclaimed, and turned her attention to the child that waited patiently beside Holly. “Why, you must be Rose.” Her voice gentled as she continued. “I think you're quite the prettiest little girl I've ever seen.”

“You're pretty too, like a gypsy,” Rose said frankly.

“Rose,” Holly said reprovingly, afraid that Elizabeth would take exception to the remark, but the young woman laughed.

“What a darling you are,” she exclaimed, sinking to her knees and examining Rose's button string.

As Rose proceeded to demonstrate the wonders of her button collection to Elizabeth, Holly turned her attention to the other woman in the room, who seemed as if she would prefer to shrink back into the corner. Bronson's mother, she thought, and felt a surge of kindly sympathy as she saw how uncomfortable the woman was as her son made the introductions.

It was clear that Mrs. Paula Bronson had once been a beautiful woman, but years of work and worry had taken their toll. Her hands were permanently rough and reddened from physical toil, and her face was heavily lined for a woman her age. The locks of hair that were twisted tightly and pinned at the back of her head had once been jet-black, but were now streaked liberally with silver. The beauty of her bone structure remained, however, and her eyes were warm and velvety brown. Overcome with apparent shyness, Paula managed a murmur of welcome.

“Milady,” she said, forcing herself to meet Holly's gaze, “my son has a way of…of making people do things they don't want to do. I hope you are not here against your will.”

“Mother,” Zachary muttered, his black eyes gleaming with amusement. “You make it sound as though I dragged Lady Holland here in chains. And I never make people do things they don't want to do. I always give them a choice.”

Throwing him a skeptical glance, Holly approached his mother. “Mrs. Bronson,” she said warmly, taking the woman's hand and pressing gently, “I assure you, I have every wish to be here. I take great pleasure at the prospect of being useful. For the past three years I've been in mourning and…” She paused, searching for the right words, and Rose interrupted with what she considered to be a salient comment.

“My Papa's not coming to live here with us because he's in heaven now. Isn't that right, Mama?”