Where Dreams Begin(40)

“You don't like it.”

Their gazes met as they stood close together, and Holly felt a spill of warmth inside as she stared into his intent black eyes. “Do you like it, Mr. Bronson?” she managed to ask.

He grinned at the question. “I have bad taste,” he said flatly. “My only virtue is that I know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue the point, but closed it abruptly. When it came to matters of style, Bronson did indeed have appalling taste.

A quiet laugh vibrated in his throat as he saw her expression. “Tell me what you would change about the house, my lady.”

Lifting a corner of the top sketch and surveying the sprawling first-floor plan beneath, Holly shook her head helplessly. “I wouldn't know where to begin. And you must have gone to great expense to have these plans drawn up—”

“That expense is nothing compared to having the damn place built.”

“Yes, well…” Holly paused thoughtfully, chewing on her lower lip as she considered what to tell him. His gaze flickered to her mouth, and she gave an uneasy start. “Mr. Bronson, would it be too presumptuous of me to suggest another architect? Perhaps you might commission another set of plans based on a different concept and then decide which you prefer. I have a distant cousin, Mr. Jason Somers, who is becoming known and admired for his designs. He is a young architect with modern sensibilities, although I don't believe he's ever been given a project quite so large as this.”

“Fine,” Bronson said immediately, his gaze still on her mouth. “We'll send him to Devon at once to see what he makes of the property.”

“It may take some time before Mr. Somers is able to oblige you. From what I understand, his services are much in demand, and his schedule is constantly filled.”

“Oh, he'll go to Devon without delay, once you mention my name,” Bronson assured her cynically. “Every architect dreams of landing a patron like me.”

Holly couldn't help laughing. “Does your arrogance know no limits?”

“Wait and see,” he advised. “Somers will deliver a set of plans to me within a fortnight.”

As Bronson had predicted, Jason Somers did indeed come to the estate with a bundle of sketches and partial floor plans in a remarkably short time—sixteen days, to be exact.

“Elizabeth, I'm afraid we'll have to cut the morning lesson short today,” Holly murmured, glancing out the window as she saw Somers's modest black carriage traveling along the drive toward the house. Her cousin drove himself, handling the ribbons with clear expertise. “The architect is arriving, and your brother has insisted that I attend the meeting with them.”

“Well, if you must…” Elizabeth said with apparent regret, shrugging her shoulders.

Holly suppressed a smile, knowing that Elizabeth's sorrow at canceling the lesson was entirely false. The girl had little patience for their current subject, the rules of correspondence. As an energetic young lady with a passion for riding, archery and other physical pursuits, Elizabeth found the act of putting pen to paper exceedingly tiresome.

“Would you like to meet Mr. Somers?” Holly offered. “His work is quite good, and I'm certain your brother would have no objection—”

“Dear me, no. I've better things to do than view the sketches and scratchings of some stuffy old architect. It's just a beautiful morning; I think I'll go for a ride.”

“Very well. I'll see you at midday, then.”

Taking leave of the girl, Holly descended the grand staircase with an eager step. She found herself smiling at the prospect of seeing her distant cousin. The last time they visited had been at a family gathering at least five years earlier, when Jason was barely out of his teens. A warm-natured boy with a ready sense of humor and an engaging smile, Jason had always been a family favorite. From the time he had been a small child, he had drawn and sketched compulsively, resulting in many a scolding for his perpetually ink-stained fingers. Now, however, he was in the process of building a formidable reputation for his unique style of “natural” architecture that was designed to blend into the landscape.

“Cousin Jason,” Holly exclaimed, reaching the entrance hall just as he did.

Somers broke into a smile the moment he saw her, stopping to remove his hat and execute a well-practiced bow. Holly was pleased to see that in the past few years Jason had grown into a wonderfully attractive man. His heavy shock of chestnut-brown hair was cut close to his head, and his green eyes gleamed with intelligence. Although he still possessed the physical lankiness of youth, he had a surprising air of maturity for a man only in his midtwenties.

“My lady,” Jason said in a pleasantly raspy baritone. Holly gave him her hand, and he squeezed it gently. His smile turned regretful as he continued in a softer tone, “Please accept a long-overdue apology for missing your husband's funeral.”

Holly regarded him fondly. There was no reason for Jason to apologize, as he had been traveling the continent at the time of George's unexpected death. Since the journey had been too long for Jason to return for the funeral, he had written a letter of condolence. Sweet, a bit awkward and wonderfully heartfelt, the letter had expressed a sincere sympathy that had touched her heart.

“No apology is necessary, as you well know,” she replied softly.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Burney, came forward to take Jason's hat and coat.