Where Dreams Begin(91)

“It doesn't matter,” Holly assured him with a choked laugh. “My perfect sterling reputation was cold comfort in the years after George passed away. I'll trade it gladly for the chance to be loved. I'm only sorry that it's taken me so long to realize what is truly important. Since George, I have been terrified to risk my heart again, and because of that, I've lied to myself and everyone.”

“Then go to Bronson and tell him the truth.”

She smiled at him, astonished by the simplicity of the answer. “Vardon, you are supposed to tell me about my duty. About honor, and what I owe to George.”

“Darling Holland,” he said, “you're facing an entire lifetime without George. Use your God-given sense to decide what is best for you and Rose. If you decide to cast your lot with Bronson, I'll accept your choice.”

“You surprise me, my lord.”

“I want you to be happy. There are few enough chances in life for that, and I wouldn't be churl enough to stand in your way.”

Ravenhill's matter-of-factness, his gentlemanly acceptance of her wishes, seemed to ease the painful vise that had clamped around her heart. Holly threw him a brilliant smile of gratitude. “I wish everyone would react the same way you have.”

“They won't,” he assured her dryly, and they both smiled at their joined hands before Holly gently drew hers away.

“Would George have liked Mr. Bronson, do you think?” she heard herself ask.

A glint of laughter appeared in his silver-gray eyes. “Well, no. I don't think they would have had enough in common for that. Bronson is a little too raw and unprincipled to have suited George's taste. But does that really matter to you?”

“No,” she confessed. “I still want Mr. Bronson.”

Taking her hands, Ravenhill pulled her to her feet. “Then go to him. But before you leave, I want a promise from you.”

“No more promises,” she said with a groaning laugh. “They cause me such misery.”

“This one I'll have from you, though. Promise me that if something goes wrong for you, ever, you'll come to me.”

“Yes,” Holly said, closing her eyes as she felt his warm lips touch her forehead. “And Vardon, you must believe me, in my view you have completely fulfilled the vow you made to George. You were a good, true friend to him, and an even better one to me.”

He slid a strong arm around her and hugged her tightly for answer.

Holly's nerves were shredded by the time her carriage rolled to a halt at the crown of the Bronson estate drive. The footman opened the door and assisted her to the ground, while another went to knock at the door. Mrs. Burney's face was visible at the front door, and Holly suppressed a shaky laugh as she reflected that she would never have expected to feel such gladness at the sight of the housekeeper. The house, and every servant in it, seemed wonderfully familiar. She felt as if she were returning home. However, her stomach tightened with a fearful pang as she considered the possibility that Zachary Bronson might dispatch her from the estate as soon as he saw her.

The housekeeper wore a distinctly uncomfortable expression as Holly approached her. She curtsied and then stood with her hands twisted together. “My lady,” she said, “it is good to see you.”

“Mrs. Burney,” Holly replied pleasantly, “I trust you are doing well?”

The housekeeper gave her an evasive smile. “Well enough, although…” Her tone lowered. “Nothing has been quite the same since you left. The master…” She fell abruptly silent, clearly recalling that a servant must respect the privacy of the family she or he served.

“I've come to see Mr. Bronson.” In Holly's anxiety, she flushed and stammered like a girl in her teens. “I—I'm very sorry not to have given advance notice of my arrival and for coming at such an early hour, but it's rather urgent, you see.”

“My lady,” Mrs. Burney said softly, regretfully, “I don't know how to tell you this, but…the master saw your carriage from the window, and he…well…he is not receiving visitors.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her wary gaze flickered to the footman waiting in the distance. “He is not well, my lady.”

“Not well?” Holly was startled. “Has he fallen ill, Mrs. Burney?”

“Not precisely.”

The housekeeper must mean that he had been drinking, then. Perturbed, Holly considered the situation. “Perhaps I should return another time,” she said softly, “when Mr. Bronson is a bit more clear-headed.”

Mrs. Burney's expression was brittle with distress. “I don't know when that will be, my lady.”

Their gazes met. Although the housekeeper would never dare express her own opinions or wishes, Holly had the feeling Mrs. Burney was silently urging her to stay. “I would not wish to disturb Mr. Bronson, of course,” Holly said. “But I fear that during my previous residence here, I may have left a few, er…odds and ends in my room.

Would you have any objections if I went to search for them?”

The housekeeper was clearly relieved by the suggestion. “No, my lady,” she said at once, seizing on the excuse, “no objections at all. Of course you must find your belongings if you've left them here. Shall I accompany you, or are you able to remember the way?”