Where Dreams Begin(36)

“But there she had other children to eat with, didn't she?” Bronson pointed out. “And here she has to take most meals by herself.”

Holly glanced into her daughter's small face. Rose seemed to be holding her breath, waiting with silent excitement to see if her unexpected champion would succeed at gaining her a place at the adults' dinner table. It would be easy for Holly to insist that Rose adhere to the traditional mealtime separation between grown-ups and children. However, as Bronson and the little girl both stared at her expectantly, Holly realized with a flash of amused despair that yet another boundary was to be broken.

“Very well,” she said. “If Rose behaves well, she may take meals with the family from now on.”

To Holly's surprise, Rose flew to Bronson with an exclamation of happiness and threw her arms around his leg. “Oh, Mr. Bronson,” she cried, “thank you!”

Grinning, Bronson disentangled her little arms and sank to his haunches. “Thank your mother, princess. I only asked. She was the one who gave permission.”

Bouncing back to Holly, Rose decorated her face with kisses.

“Darling,” Holly murmured, trying not to smile, “let's go upstairs and change your pinafore and wash your face before dinner. We can't have you looking like a ragamuffin.”

“Yes, Mama.” Rose's small hand took hers, and she skipped eagerly as she led Holly away.

Seven

As Holly began to correspond with a number of friends, many of whom she had not seen since George's funeral, she was surprised by their responses to the information that she was working and residing at the London estate of Mr. Zachary Bronson. Naturally many of the reactions were disapproving, even offering her a place in their own homes if she was truly that destitute. However, an unexpected majority expressed great interest in her new situation and inquired if they might come to call on her at Bronson's estate. It seemed that a great many ladies were eager to view Bronson's home and, more than that, encounter the man himself.

Bronson did not seem surprised by the fact when Holly mentioned it to him. “It happens all the time,” he said with a cynical smile. “Women of your class would go to the guillotine before marrying a mongrel like me…but a surprising number want to be my ‘friend.’”

“You mean they are willing to…with you…?” Holly paused in dismayed wonder. “Even the married ones?”

“Especially the married ones,” Bronson informed her dryly. “While you were secluded in mourning at the Taylors' house, I've entertained a great many fine ladies of London between my sheets.”

“A gentleman does not boast of his sexual conquests,” Holly had said, flushing at the information.

“I wasn't boasting. I was stating a fact.”

“Some facts are better kept to yourself.”

The unusual sharpness of her tone seemed to interest him to no end. “There's a strange expression on your face, Lady Holly,” he said silkily. “It almost looks like jealousy.”

A wave of rising annoyance nearly choked her. Zachary Bronson had a talent for rousing her temper more easily than anyone she had ever known. “Not at all. I was merely reflecting unpleasantly on the number of diseases one must catch from such a dedicated pursuit of gallantry.”

“‘Pursuit of gallantry,’” he repeated with a low laugh. “That's the prettiest way I've ever heard it put. No, I've never caught the pox or any other affliction from my whoring. There are ways a man can protect himself—”

“I assure you, I do not wish to hear about them!” Horrified, Holly had clapped her hands over her ears. As the most sexually indulgent creature of her acquaintance, Bronson was all too willing to discuss intimate subjects that a gentleman should never admit to knowing. “You, sir, are a moral abyss.”

Rather than look shamed, he actually grinned at the remark. “And you, my lady, are a prude.”

“Thank you,” she said crisply.

“That wasn't meant as a compliment.”

“Any criticism of yours, Mr. Bronson, I will definitely receive as a compliment.”

Bronson had laughed, as he did whenever she attempted to provide the smallest tidbit of moral instruction. He was interested only in the superficial lessons of how to behave like a gentleman. And when it suited him, he would be more than ready to shed his mannered facade. However, try as she might, Holly could not dislike him.

As the days of Holly's residence at the Bronson estate lengthened into weeks, there were many things she learned about her employer, including the fact that he had many personal qualities to admire. Bronson was honest about his flaws and remarkably unpretentious about his background and lack of education. He possessed a strange sort of modesty, constantly downplaying his tremendous innate intelligence and his considerable achievements. He often used his sly charm to make her laugh against her will. In fact, he seemed to delight in provoking her until her temper began to show, then he made her laugh in the midst of her frustration.

They spent many evenings together, sometimes with Rose playing at their feet as they talked. Occasionally they conversed alone into the night, after the lateness of the hour had caused Elizabeth and Paula to retire. As the coals glowed in the hearth, Bronson would ply Holly with glasses of rare wine and regale her with vulgar but fascinating tales of his own life. In return, he insisted on hearing stories of Holly's childhood. Holly had no idea why mundane details of her past should interest him so, but he persisted in asking until she told him about ridiculous things, like the naughty childhood cousin who had once tied her long hair to the back of her chair, or the time she had deliberately dropped a wet sponge on a footman's head from an upstairs balcony.