Where Dreams Begin(9)

Then had come Mr. Zachary Bronson's letter, with an opening sentence that had instantly fascinated her:

Although I have never had the honor of making your acquaintance, I find that I have need of your assistance in a matter that concerns my household….

How could a man like the notorious Mr. Bronson possibly need her help?

All of the Taylors considered it an ill-advised decision to meet him. They had pointed out that many ladies of consequence did not condescend to accept introductions to him. Even an innocuous tea might cause a scandal.

“A scandal? From a simple afternoon tea?” Holly had responded skeptically, and George's eldest brother, William, had explained.

“Mr. Bronson is not an ordinary man, my dear. He is a social climber—nouveau—he is vulgar in breeding and manner. There are rumors about him that have shocked and appalled me, and as you know, I am a worldly man. No good could come of your association with him. Please, Holly, don't expose yourself to harm or insult. Send a refusal to Bronson at once.”

In the face of William's certainty, Holly had considered rejecting Mr. Bronson's invitation. However, her curiosity was overwhelming. And the thought of remaining enshrouded in safety while one of England's most powerful men had asked to meet her…well, she just had to find out why. “I believe I shall be able to withstand his corruptive influence for at least an hour or two,” she said lightly. “And if I find his behavior objectionable, I will simply leave.”

William's blue eyes—the same shape and color her husband's had been—flashed with disapproval. “George would never have wanted you to be exposed to such a nefarious character.”

The simple statement devastated her. Holly lowered her head, while emotion tugged at the tiny muscles of her face. She had sworn to live the rest of her life as her husband had wished. George had protected her from everything that wasn't seemly and good, and she had trusted his judgment in all things. “But George is gone,” she whispered, and glanced up at William's set face with tear-filled eyes. “I must learn to rely on my own judgment now.”

“And if your judgement proves to be faulty,” he retorted, “I am obligated by the memory of my brother to intercede.”

Holly smiled faintly, reflecting that ever since the day she had been born, there had been someone to protect and guide her. First her loving parents, then George…and now George's family. “Allow me to make a few mistakes, William,” she said. “I must learn to make decisions now, for Rose's sake as well as my own.”

“Holly…” His tone was threaded with mild exasperation. “What could you possibly gain from visiting a man like Zachary Bronson?”

Anticipation curled inside her, making her realize how badly she needed to escape the blanketing security of the Taylor household. “Well,” she said, “I expect to find out soon.”

The information that the Taylors had managed to glean about Mr. Bronson had clearly not eased their minds as to the lack of wisdom Holly displayed in agreeing to meet him. Friends and acquaintances had been eager to share what little knowledge they had about the elusive newcomer to London society. Zachary Bronson was called a merchant prince in many circles, and this term was not intended as flattery. He was outrageously, incomprehensibly rich, and he displayed nearly as much vulgarity as wealth.

Eccentric, interested not in money but in the power it brought, Bronson happily outwitted and destroyed competitors in the manner of a lion set among the Christians. He did not conduct business as a gentleman, accepting all the usual unspoken understandings and limitations. If one did not spell out every letter of an agreement, it was reported, Bronson would take ruthless advantage. Gentlemen were reluctant to enter into business with him, and yet they were compelled to by the hopes that they might receive a mere fraction of the tremendous profits that flowed his way.

Bronson had started as a pugilist, someone said. A common street fighter. And then he had eventually gotten himself hired as the captain of a steamship and acquired increasing numbers of routes. His toughness and shrewd manipulations had either bankrupted his competitors or caused them to merge with him.

Bronson's budding fortune had exploded when he began selling stock to the public at inflated prices, and he had turned to real estate. Since there had been little available land to purchase in England, he had bought thousands of acres of farmland in America and India. The size of his farms dwarfed the acreage that had been in British aristocrats' possession for centuries, and the massive quantity of goods he produced and imported had multiplied his fortune yet again. Now Bronson had invested in the development of a locomotive railroad in Durham, upon which a steam carriage was reputedly able to pull loaded wagons at the rate of twelve miles an hour. Although everyone knew that steam power would never replace horses for general transportation purposes, the experiment was eagerly followed because of Mr. Bronson's patronage.

“Bronson is dangerous,” said Lord Avery, an elderly friend of the Taylors' who had been invited to supper. A very sat on the boards of several banks and insurance companies. “Every day I see the wealth of England being transferred from fine families and gentlemen farmers to opportunists like Bronson. If he is allowed to mingle with us, become one of us, merely because he has amassed a fortune…well, it will be nothing less than the end of first society as we know it.”

“But should not achievement be rewarded?” Holly had asked hesitantly, knowing that a respectable woman must never enter into political or financial discussions. However, she was unable to resist. “Should we not recognize Mr. Bronson's accomplishment by welcoming him into our society?”