Where Dreams Begin(85)

Holly felt her jaw slacken with surprise. “He did?” she asked faintly. “Whatever for? Was he looking for me?”

“Nay, milady, he only bade me to take care of ye and Miss Rose, and I promised him I would.”

“Oh.” Holly reached for a linen underskirt and attempted to fold it efficiently, but it ended up in a wadded bundle that she clutched against her midriff. “How kind of him,” she whispered.

Maude slid her an amused, vaguely pitying glance. “I don't think it was kindness that moved him, milady. He looked as lovesick as a green lad. In fact, he wore the same expression as ye this very moment.” Seeing the damage that Holly's clutching fingers were inflicting on the neatly pressed underskirt, she clucked and reached out to rescue it.

Holly surrendered the garment without protest. “Do you have any notion where Mr. Bronson might be right now, Maude?”

“On his way to Durham, I would guess. He seemed in no mood to tarry, milady.”

Holly flew to the window, which afforded a view of the front of the mansion. She made a small sound of distress as she saw Bronson's huge black-lacquered carriage rolling away along the sprawling tree-lined drive that led to the main road. Her hand flattened on the pane of glass, palm pressed hard against the coolness. Her mouth trembled violently, and she fought to contain her emotions. He was gone, she thought, and soon she would be, too. It was all for the best. She was doing the right thing for herself, and for him, too. Best to let him start a marriage with a young, unspoiled girl with whom he could share all the “first” with: the first vows, the first wedding night, the first child…

And as for herself, she knew very well that once she returned to the Taylors, it might well be her fate to stay there forever. She did not intend to hold Ravenhill to his promise to marry her—it was hardly fair to deny him all chance of finding someone he truly loved.

“Back to where I started,” Holly whispered with a wobbly smile, thinking of how it would be to resume her life with her husband's family. Except that now she was sadder and a bit wiser, no longer so assured of her own moral infallibility.

She stared hard at the carriage until it reached the end of the drive and seemed to disappear in the mass of trees.

“All ye need is a bit of time, milady,” came Maude's comforingly matter-of-fact voice from behind her. “As ye well know, time takes care of pert' near everything.”

Holly swallowed and nodded wordlessly, but she knew that the maid was wrong in this instance. No amount of time would soften the passion she felt—a blinding need of body and soul—for Zachary Bronson.

Fifteen

The Taylors accepted Holly's return as a prodigal daughter being welcomed back into the fold. There were comments, of course, as none of them could resist airing their collective opinion that it had been a grave mistake for her to leave in the first place. She had left with a solid gold reputation and the admiration and respect of their entire wide circle of acquaintances, and she had returned sporting a great deal of tarnish. Financially, the association with Zachary Bronson had done her a great deal of good, but morally and socially, she had fallen.

Holly didn't care. The Taylors would be able to shield her from some, if not all, of the snubs that would come her way. And by the time Rose was eighteen and possessing of an enormous dowry, there would be suitors aplenty for her, and the long-ago scandal involving her mother would have faded.

Holly made no effort to contact Ravenhill, knowing that the rumors of her new location would reach him quickly enough. He came calling not a week after she had moved back to the Taylor home, and he was welcomed eagerly by Thomas and William and their wives. Tall and blond and prosperous-looking, Ravenhill had the appearance of a knight coming to rescue a damsel in distress. As she joined him in the Taylors' formal receiving room, Holly intended to tell him that she had no need of rescuing. However, he soon let her know in his to-the-point way that George's last wishes was also his own.

“So you've left the den of iniquity,” Ravenhill commented, his face serious except for the teasing glint in his gray eyes.

Holly couldn't suppress a sudden laugh as his irreverence caught her by surprise. “Be careful in your association with me, my lord,” she warned lightly. “Your reputation might be damaged.”

“After three years of unholy carousing in Europe, I assure you I have no reputation left to salvage.” Ravenhill's expression seemed to soften as Holly smiled at him. “I don't blame you for going to live with the Bronsons,” he said. “How could I, when it's my fault you were there? I should have come to you years ago, and taken care of you as I promised George I would.”

“Vardon, regarding that promise…” Holly stopped and stared at him helplessly, her cheeks reddening as her thoughts became too entangled to voice.

“Yes?” he prompted gently.

“I know we agreed to discuss it,” she said, distressed, “but now I think…there's no need…after all, you and I—”

Ravenhill hushed her gently, his long fingers touching her lips in a feather-light caress. Stunned, Holly did not move as he took her hands in a firm, warm grip. “Think of a marriage between intimate friends,” he said, “who have an agreement to always communicate honestly with each other. A couple who have the same ideals and interests. Who enjoy each others' company and treat each other with respect. That is what I want. There is no reason we can't have it together.”