Where Dreams Begin(98)

Zachary felt his brows lift slightly. He couldn't help but be impressed by the young man—it wasn't often that someone dared to stand up to him this way. “If I may ask,” he said quietly, “why do you love Elizabeth?”

“She's my perfect match in every way that matters.”

“Not socially,” Zachary pointed out.

“I said,” came the young man's calm reply, “in every way that matters. I don't give a damn what her social status is.”

The answer satisfied Zachary. His instincts told him that Somers was a decent man who truly loved Elizabeth. “Then you have my approval to marry Lizzie—if you'll do one thing for me.”

Somers seemed too stunned to reply at first. “What is it?” he eventually asked in a suspicious tone.

“I have another project for you.”

Somers shook his head immediately. “I won't spend the rest of my career taking commissions from you and being accused of nepotism. I respect my own abilities too much for that. I'll do well enough designing for other men—and I'll recommend another architect to suit you.”

“It's a humble project, actually,” Zachary said, ignoring the refusal. “I'm tearing down some tenement slums on a block of real estate I own on the east side of town. I want you to design a new one, like nothing that currently exists. A large building to house dozens of families—rooms with windows—decent housing where they can cook and eat and sleep. And a facade attractive enough that a man can enter or exit the place without shame. On top of all that, I want it to be economical, so that others will be inspired to imitate it. Can you do something like that?”

“Yes, I could,” Jason replied quietly, seeming to grasp the importance of the idea, the number of lives it could change. “And I will, although I may not want my name attached to the project. You see—”

“I understand,” Zachary said without rancor. “You'll never get commissions from the aristocracy if they perceive that you design for the commoners as well.”

Somers regarded him curiously, a strange expression entering his green eyes. “I've never met a gentleman in your position who gave a damn about the living conditions of the ordinary man.”

“I am an ordinary man,” Zachary pointed out. “I just happen to have had a bit more luck than most.”

A half-smile played on Somers's lips. “I'll reserve opinion on that, sir.”

Taking it for granted that the arrangement was settled, Zachary unlaced his fingers and drummed them idly on the desk. “You know, Somers, you could do worse than spend the rest of your career accepting my commissions. With your talent and my money—”

“Oh, no.” A sudden laugh escaped the younger man, and he regarded Zachary with the first flicker of real friendliness. “I respect you, Bronson. But I won't be owned by you. I don't want your money. I just want your sister.”

A hundred admonitions came to Zachary's mind, concerning how he wanted his sister to be treated, about all that Elizabeth needed and deserved, about the dire consequences if Somers ever disappointed her. But as he stared into Jason Somers's handsome, self-assured young face, the words remained locked inside him. Zachary realized he could no longer control every detail of his family's life or manage every minute of their days. It was time for each of them—including himself—to lead their own lives. A strange feeling came over him as he contemplated the novelty of handing his sister into someone else's care, and trusting that she would be happy and loved.

“All right,” he said, rising from the desk and extending a hand. “Take Lizzie with my blessing.”

“Thank you.” They shook hands heartily, and Somers seemed unable to repress a grin.

“Regarding the dowry,” Zachary said, “I would like to—”

“As I told you,” Somers interrupted, “I don't want the dowry.”

“It's for Elizabeth,” Zachary said. “A woman should have a bit of independence in a marriage.” Not only was this his personal view, but he had witnessed such circumstances in ton marriages, when wives who had come into the union with their own property and money were accorded far more consideration by their husbands. Moreover, women were legally entitled to keep their own property when their husbands died, regardless of what the deceased's will might stipulate.

“Very well. I want whatever is best for Elizabeth, naturally. If you don't mind, Bronson, I'll take my leave now. Regardless of the matters you and I should still discuss, I'd like to share the good news with your sister.”

“Thank you,” Zachary replied in a heartfelt tone. “I'm damn tired of being painted as the unloving ogre she has accused me of being for the past few days.” As Zachary exchanged a bow with Somers and watched the architect stride toward the door, one last thought occurred to him. “Oh, Somers…I trust you'll have no objections if I arrange the wedding.”

“Arrange it however you like,” Somers replied without breaking stride, clearly eager to find Elizabeth.

“Good,” Zachary muttered in satisfaction, and seated himself at his desk. Picking up his pen, he dipped it in an inkwell and began to make a list. “One thousand doves for the church, five orchestras for the reception…fireworks, a dozen trumpeters—no, better make that two dozen…”