Where Dreams Begin(42)

A bit piqued by the stranger's lack of attention, Elizabeth stood between Jason and Holly and inspected the plans.

“As you can see,” Jason murmured to Bronson, “I've tried to design a place that would be harmonious with the landscape. In other words, one couldn't merely take this house and set it somewhere else and have it look appropriate—”

“I know what ‘harmonious’ means,” Bronson said with a wry smile. He continued to assess the drawings, his keen gaze noting every detail. Having some understanding of the way Bronson absorbed information, Holly knew that in a few minutes he would have nearly as great a familiarity with the floor plans as Jason Somers himself. Bronson had an astonishing memory, although he applied it only to subjects that interested him.

Elizabeth also surveyed the plans, her velvety dark eyes narrowed critically. “What is that?” she asked, pointing to a section of the drawing. “I'm not certain I like that at all.”

Jason replied in a voice that seemed a shade or two deeper than usual, “Kindly remove your finger from my plans, Miss Bronson.”

“Yes, but what is this…this misaligned thing, this odd projection—”

“It's called a wing,” Jason said shortly. “And those little rectangles are what we architects like to call windows and doors.”

“Your east wing doesn't match the west wing.”

“Someday I would love to explain why,” Jason muttered in a tone that implied just the opposite.

“Well, it looks lopsided,” Elizabeth persisted.

Their gazes met in challenge, and Holly suspected that both were secretly enjoying the exchange.

“Stop provoking the man, Lizzie,” Zachary muttered, ignoring the unspoken interplay. His attention was firmly secured on Holly. “What do you think of the plans, my lady?”

“I think the house would be magnificent,” she replied.

He gave a decisive nod. “Then I'll have it built.”

“Not merely because of my liking for it, I hope,” Holly said, vaguely alarmed.

“Why not?”

“Because you must decide on it only as a matter of following your own taste.”

“The plans look fine to me,” Bronson replied thoughtfully, “although I wouldn't mind a tower here and there, and some crenellation—”

“No towers,” the architect interrupted hastily.

“Crenellation?” Holly asked at the same time. Then she saw the twinkle in Bronson's eyes and realized he was teasing.

“Build it the way you've drawn it,” Bronson advised the architect with a grin.

“Just like that?” Jason asked, clearly a bit stunned by the speed of decision. “Are you certain you don't want to look over the plans in private and consider the matter at your leisure?”

“I've seen all I needed to,” Bronson assured him.

Holly could not help smiling at her cousin's surprise. She knew that Jason had never met a man as comfortable with his own authority as Zachary Bronson. Bronson liked to make decisions quickly, rarely wasting time to ponder difficult matters. He had once told her that while ten percent of his decisions turned out to be mistakes, and another twenty percent usually had benign results, the remaining seventy percent were generally fine. Holly had no idea how he had arrived at such figures, but she had no doubt that he could support them with evidence. It was a quirk of Bronson's, that he was fond of applying numbers and percentages to every situation. He had even once calculated that his sister Elizabeth had a ten percent chance of marrying a duke.

“Why only ten percent?” Elizabeth had asked pertly, having appeared near the end of that particular conversation. “I'll have you know that I could land anyone I wanted to.”

“I calculated the number of available dukes, subtracted the ones who were too elderly or infirm and factored in the number of lessons you'll need from Lady Holland to be presentable. I also took into consideration the number of young women on the marriage market you'll be competing with.” Bronson had paused and sent a sly grin to his sister. “Unfortunately, your age skewed the numbers a bit.”

“My age?” Elizabeth had cried in feigned outrage. “Are you trying to say that I'm past my prime?”

“You're over twenty-one, aren't you?” Bronson pointed out, and deftly caught the small velvet cushion that his sister had hurled at his head.

“Elizabeth, a lady does not throw things when a gentleman displeases her,” Holly said, laughing at the boisterous pair.

“May a lady crown her infuriating brother over the head with a fireplace poker?” Elizabeth advanced upon Bronson in a threatening manner.

“Unfortunately not,” Holly answered. “And considering the hardness of Mr. Bronson's head, that effort would likely have little effect.”

Bronson had pretended to look insulted, though a swift grin escaped him.

“Then how is a lady to have revenge?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Indifference,” Holly replied softly. “Withdrawal.”

Elizabeth flopped into a chair, her long legs splayed willy-nilly beneath her skirts. “I was hoping for something more painful.”

“A bashing with an iron poker doesn't cause so much as a twinge of fear,” Bronson had told his sister with a low laugh. “But Lady Holly's indifference…” He pretended to shiver, as if he had suddenly been thrust into an arctic blast. “That's more punishment than any man should have to bear.”