Where Dreams Begin(47)

“…no, that's not a trot, Maude! That's much too slow. This is a trot…”

Peeking around the doorframe, Holly watched as her daughter sat on the carpeted floor with the blond maidservant, the two of them surrounded by toys. Rose was holding one of the toys Bronson had given her, a little horse covered in leather. The horse had a cunning tail, a mane made of real horse hair and bright glass eyes. It pulled a miniature carriage and a group of dolls past buildings fashioned of blocks and books.

“Where are they going, darling?” Holly asked softly. “To the park, or to the shops on Regent Street?”

Rose looked up with a smile, her dark curls bouncing. “Mama,” she exclaimed, and returned her attention to the trotting horse. “They're going to the steel refinery.”

“The steel refinery,” Holly repeated with amusement.

A wry smile appeared on Maude's round face. “Yes, milady. Mr. Bronson has been telling Rose about the lives of working people, and what they do at the refineries and factories he owns. I tried to tell him that a child has no need of hearing such things, but he paid me no heed.”

Holly's first instinct was to be annoyed with Bronson. He had no right to talk to a sheltered child about the circumstances of the working class. On the other hand, it had never occurred to Holly that her daughter was growing up without an understanding of the differences between rich and poor, and why some people lived in fine homes while others lived in the streets and went hungry. “I suppose,” she said hesitantly, “that's not a bad thing. Rose should know a little something about the world…that most peoples' lives are different from her own…”

She rubbed her aching forehead as the pain intensified to continuous jabs. For the first time, she realized that Zachary Bronson was becoming more real, more influential to her daughter than George ever would. Bronson had played hunt-the-slipper and hide-and-seek with Rose, and had sampled the jam that she “helped” the cook make one rainy afternoon, and built her a house of playing cards as they sat on the floor in front of the fire. Things her father would never be able to do with her.

Bronson never ignored Rose or dismissed her questions as silly. In fact, he treated her as if she were equally valuable, if not more so, as any other member of the household. Most adults regarded children as merely half-formed people, undeserving of rights or privileges until they came of age. But Bronson was clearly fond of the child, and Rose was in turn becoming fond of him. It was another unexpected facet of a situation that bothered Holly on many levels.

“Oh, milady,” Maude said, staring at her intently. “It's yer megrims, isn't it? Ye're all white, and ye look ill down to yer toes.”

“Yes.” Holly let the doorframe support most of her weight and smiled wretchedly at her daughter. “I'm so sorry, Rose. I promised to take you for an afternoon walk, but I can't today.”

“Are you sick, Mama?” The little girl's face wrinkled with concern, and she jumped to her feet. She came to Holly and hugged her around the waist. “You should take your medicine,” she instructed, sounding like a miniature adult. “And draw the curtains together and close your eyes.”

Smiling despite her growing misery, Holly allowed the small tugging hand to guide her to her bedroom. Swiftly Maude pulled the heavy drapes closed, extinguishing all trace of light, and helped Holly to undress.

“Do we have the tonic that Dr. Wentworth left the last time?” Holly whispered, flinching as Maude unfastened the buttons at the back of her gown. The slightest movement in the room caused her head to throb violently. When she had had her last attack of megrims at the Taylor household, the family doctor had given her a bottle of tonic that had sent her into merciful oblivion.

“Of course,” Maude murmured, having enough experience with Holly's occasional megrims to keep her voice very soft. “I would never have left it behind, milady. I'll fetch ye a nice big spoonful as soon as ye're settled in bed.”

“Thank God.” Holly let out a whimpering sigh. “What would I do without you, Maude? Thank you, thank you for coming here to the Bronsons' estate with us. I wouldn't have blamed you for staying with the Taylors.”

“An' let you and Rose come to this outlandish place alone?” Maude's low murmur was threaded with a smile. “Truth be told, milady, I rather like it here.”

The dress slipped to the floor, followed by a set of light stays and her stockings. Left only in her chemise and pantaloons, Holly crawled into bed. She bit her lips to stifle a groan of discomfort, and eased herself back to the pillow. “Maude,” she whispered, “you've had so little time off. I'll remedy that when I'm better again.”

“Don't ye worry about a thing,” the stout maid soothed. “Just rest yer head, an' I'll be back with yer medicine.”

Dressed in a crisp blue coat and gray trousers, with a fresh black silk cravat wrapped around his throat, Zachary strode down the grand staircase as he headed out for his evening's entertainment. His mood was one not of anticipation, but determination. All the sensations roused from the afternoon's dance lesson still seethed in his body, demanding to be sated. He was primed for a good hard romp with a willing woman, and after that, perhaps a few hours of cards and drinking. Anything to help him forget how it had felt to hold Holly in his arms.