Where Dreams Begin(99)

Seventeen

As Holly had expected, none of the Taylors could bring themselves to attend the small chapel wedding held on the Bronson estate. Understanding their feelings about her marriage to Bronson, and their disappointment over her failure to carry out George's wishes, Holly did not blame them at all. In time, she thought, they might come to forgive her, especially when they saw how Rose would benefit from the alliance. And Rose, certainly, had made little secret of her joy.

“Are you going to be my papa now?” the child had asked Zachary, sitting with her arms looped around his neck. She had flown to him with shrill cries of delight when Holly had brought her to visit the estate, and he had swung her in the air until her little petticoats and white stockings had been a white blur. Touched by the obvious happiness of the pair, Holly had felt a great settling of comfort and peace inside. If she had had any lingering doubts about the rightness of this new life for her daughter, they dissolved at the sight of Rose's beaming face. The child would be spoiled, undoubtedly, but she would also be loved wholeheartedly.

“Is that what you'd like?” Zachary said in answer to Rose's question.

She wrinkled her face thoughtfully, and her doubtful gaze flickered to Holly before returning to Zachary. “I should like very much to live in your big house,” she replied with all the candor of a young child, “and I don't mind that Mama will marry you. But I don't want to call you Papa. It would make my papa in heaven sad, I think.”

The words stunned Holly, and she fumbled for a reply. Helplessly she watched as Zachary touched the little girl's round chin and turned her face toward him. “Then call me whatever you like,” he said matter-of-factly. “But believe me, princess, I'm not going to replace your papa. I'd be a fool to try, fine man that he was. I just want to take care of you and your mother. I imagine—I hope—that your papa will be somewhat relieved to see that someone will be looking after you down here while he's unable.”

“Oh,” Rose said in obvious satisfaction. “I think that's all right, then, as long as we don't forget him. Isn't that right, Mama?”

“Yes,” Holly whispered, her throat tight with emotion, her cheeks flushed with happiness. She stared at Zachary with glittering brown eyes. “You're absolutely right, Rose.”

On the day of the wedding, they were accompanied by Elizabeth, Paula, and Jason Somers, as well as Holly's own bewildered parents. They had traveled from Dorset for the occasion, and while they did not seem disapproving of the match, they were obviously astonished that their eldest daughter was marrying into a world so different from the one she had been destined for. “Mr. Bronson appears to be a decent man,” her mother whispered to her before the ceremony, “and his manners are pleasing enough, though they may lack polish…and I suppose he is fine-looking, albeit a bit too coarse to be considered truly handsome…”

“Mama,” Holly asked with a wry smile, long accustomed to the woman's diffidence, “are you trying to say that you approve of him?”

“I suppose I am,” her mother admitted, “although Mr. Bronson certainly bears no resemblance in appearance or character to your first husband.”

“Mama…” Impulsively Holly embraced her and smiled against the feathery plumes of her mother's hat. “In time you'll come to realize, as I have, that Mr. Bronson is a wonderful man in every regard. His character is a bit tarnished in some places, but in other places it shines more brightly than George's or my own.”

“If you say so,” her mother said doubtfully, and Holly laughed.

As they gathered in the chapel, Holly being flanked by Elizabeth and Rose, and Zachary by Jason Somers, who had agreed to stand up for him, they were all surprised by a last-minute addition to the wedding party. Holly smiled brilliantly as she saw Lord Blake, the earl of Ravenhill, enter the chapel. After stopping to make a precise bow, Ravenhill moved to stand beside Holly's parents. His warm gray eyes seemed to contain a quiet smile as he glanced at Holly and then at Zachary.

“What is he doing here?” Zachary asked beneath his breath.

Holly reached for his tense arm and held it lightly. “It's a very great favor,” she whispered back. “By attending our wedding, Lord Blake is publicly showing his support of our marriage.”

“More likely taking his last opportunity to ogle you.”

Holly cast Zachary a shaming glance, but he seemed not to notice her disapproval as his gaze wandered avidly over her gown. She was dressed in pale yellow gros de naples, a finely textured silk with a tiny bouquet of spring flowers pinned at the center of her straight banded neckline. The short puffed sleeves were overlaid with long transparent ones made of crêpe lisse. The effect was youthful and fragile, requiring no ornamentation save a few orange blossoms pinned in her dark upswept curls.

The vicar began to speak: “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Zachary's reply was quiet and steady. “I will.”

And as the ceremony progressed, Holly was changed from a widow to a bride once more.

They exchanged vows, placed rings on each other's fingers and knelt together as the vicar began a lengthy prayer. Holly tried to focus on the vicar's words, but as she glanced into Zachary's serious face, it seemed the world had vanished except for the two of them. His grip on her hands was warm and strong as he pulled her to her feet, and hazily she realized that the vicar was finishing the ceremony: “…those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”