Where Dreams Begin(59)

The matter of the gowns, for example.

On the day that Holly had arranged to take Elizabeth and Paula to her own dressmaker, to order styles a bit more elegant than those they currently wore, Bronson had taken Holly aside and made an astonishing offer.

“You should have some new gowns made up as well,” he said. “I'm tired of seeing you in all that halfmourning—gray, brown, lavender…No one expects it of you any longer. Order as many as you like. I'll take care of the expense.”

Holly stared at him openmouthed. “Not only are you daring to complain about my appearance, you are also insulting me by offering to pay for my clothes?”

“I didn't mean it as an insult,” he countered warily.

“You know very well that a gentleman would never purchase items of apparel for a lady. Not even a pair of gloves.”

“Then I'll subtract the necessary amount from your salary.” Bronson gave her a cajoling smile. “A woman with your looks deserves to wear something beautiful. I'd like to see you in jade green, or yellow. Or red.” The idea seemed to spark his imagination as he continued. “I can't imagine a finer sight in the world than you in a red gown.”

Holly was not mollified by the flattery. “I most certainly will not order new gowns, and I'll thank you to spare me further mention of the subject. A red gown, indeed! Do you know what would become of my reputation?”

“It's already tarnished,” he pointed out. “You may as well enjoy yourself.” He seemed to enjoy her spluttering outrage at the comment.

“You sir, may…may…”

“Go to the devil?” he suggested helpfully.

She seized on the expression with enthusiasm. “Yes, go right at once to the devil!”

As she should have expected, Bronson ignored her refusal, went behind her back and ordered a selection of new gowns for her. It had been easy enough, as the dressmaker already had her measurements and knew her tastes.

On the day the boxes of finery arrived, Holly was livid to discover that fully a third of them were for her. Bronson had ordered just as many for her as he had for his mother and sister, complete with matching gloves, shoes and hats. “I won't wear any of this,” Holly declared, glaring at Bronson from behind a tower of boxes. “You've wasted your money. I can't begin to describe how vexed I am with you, sir. I won't wear a single ribbon or button from any of these boxes, do you understand?” Laughing at her annoyance, Bronson offered to burn them himself, if it would serve to restore her good humor.

Holly considered giving the garments to her sisters, who were of similar build and size. However, as unmarried girls, they were consigned to wearing mostly white. These were gowns intended for a woman, a worldly one at that. Only in private had Holly allowed herself to examine the gorgeously, beautifully made garments, so different from her mourning weeds or the styles she had once worn as George's wife. The colors were rich, the styles dashing and feminine, and wonderfully flattering to a woman with her full-hipped figure.

There was the jade-green Italian silk, with its full sleeves that narrowed to neat cuffs with cunning triangular points that lay over the backs of her hands. And the dark rose watered-silk promenade dress, with its matching broadbrimmed hat trimmed with delicate white lace. The lavender-striped morning gown, with crisp white sleeves and double-flounced skirt, and the yellow silk gauze with sleeves and hem thickly embroidered with roses.

Worst of all was the red silk, an evening gown of such impeccable simplicity and elegance that it nearly broke her heart to know that it would go forever unworn. The daring scooped neckline flowed into a smooth, unadorned bodice, while the skirts cascaded in a majestic fall of red, the shade somewhere between fresh apples and rare wine. The gown's only ornamentation was a red velvet sash trimmed with silk fringe. It was the most beautiful garment she had ever seen. Had the gown been made in a more circumspect shade, even some quiet dark blue, Holly would have accepted the gift, and propriety be damned. However, Bronson, true to form, had made certain it was a color that she could never wear. He did it for the same reason he ordered her plates of cakes: He enjoyed tempting her, and watching her struggle miserably with her conscience.

Well, not this time. Holly did not try on a single gown. Instead she ordered Maude to store them in an armoire, to be given away at some future date when the opportunity presented itself. “There, Mr. Bronson,” Holly murmured, turning the key in the armoire lock with a decisive click. “I may not always be able to resist your infernal temptations, but in this matter, at least, I have succeeded!”

Almost four months had passed since Holly had come to reside at the Bronson estate, and now it was time to test the results of her patient tutoring. The night of the Plymouth ball had finally arrived. It would serve as Elizabeth's introduction to society. It was also an opportunity for Zachary Bronson's newly polished manners to be displayed to the ton. Holly was filled with pride and hopeful anticipation, suspecting that there were many in first society who would be pleasantly surprised by the Bronsons this evening.

At Holly's suggestion, Elizabeth wore a white gown trimmed with swaths of pale pink gauze, with one fresh pink rose pinned at her waist and another fastened in the piled-up curls of her hair. The girl looked fresh and graceful, her slender figure and considerable height lending her a queenly air. Although Zachary had given his sister many gifts of jewelry in the past, Holly had looked over the priceless array of diamonds, sapphires and emeralds and realized they were too heavy and expensive for an unmarried girl. Instead, she had selected a single pearl on a delicate gold chain.