by Lisa Kleypas
“Yes, I did,” the girl crowed, wriggling in joy and triumph. “Jason loves me, and I return his feelings a hundred times over. I never thought love would be so glorious!”
“My dear Lizzie, I'm so happy for you, as I'm certain your family must be.”
The comment seemed to bring Elizabeth plummeting back to unpleasant reality. “There is one member of my family who is not happy,” she said grimly. “Zach has forbidden the match. He says under no circumstances will he support a union between Mr. Somers and I.”
“He did what?” Holly shook her head incredulously. “But why? My cousin is a perfectly respectable man with excellent prospects. What reason did your brother give for his objections?”
“Zach said that Jason isn't good enough for me! He said I must marry a man with a title and a fortune, and I can do better than a mere architect from a family of mediocre origins. It's the most appalling piece of snobbery I've ever witnessed, and from my brother, of all people!”
Holly stared at her in bewilderment. “How did you respond, Elizabeth?”
The girl's face hardened with resolve. “I told Zach the truth, that it doesn't matter whether he approves the match or not. I intend to marry Jason Somers. I don't care if Zach comes forth with a dowry or not—Jason says he will be able to provide for me, and it doesn't matter to him if I'm an heiress or a pauper. I don't need a carriage or jewels or a large house to be happy. But my lady, what kind of beginning to a marriage is this? My mother is distraught, my brother and fiancé are enemies…the family is being torn apart, all because of…” She stopped and buried her face in her hands, on the verge of frustrated tears.
“Because of what?” Holly prompted softly.
Elizabeth glanced through her fingers, dark gaze glimmering. “Well,” she mumbled, “I suppose I was going to say ‘because of you,’ although that sounds like an accusation, and I certainly don't mean it that way. But my lady, it's a fact that Zach changed when you left. I suppose I was too self-absorbed to notice what was happening between the two of you, but now I realize…my brother fell in love with you, didn't he? And you wouldn't have him. I know you must have had good reason for leaving us, you're so clever and wise, and you must—”
“No, Lizzie,” Holly managed to whisper. “I'm not clever or wise, not in the least.”
“—and I know you're accustomed to a very different sort of man than Zach, which is why I would never dare presume that you might care for him in the same way. But I have come here to ask you something.” Elizabeth bent her head and blotted a few leaking tears with her sleeve. “Please go to him,” she said huskily. “Talk to him, say something to bring him to his senses. I've never seen him behave like this. And I think you may be the only person in the world he might listen to. Just make him reasonable again. If you don't, he's going to ruin himself and drive away everyone who cares for him.”
“Oh, Lizzie…” Compassionately, Holly slid her arm around the girl's narrow back and held her close. They sat together for at least a minute. Finally Holly spoke in a quiet voice. “He won't want to see me.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed with a sigh. “Zach doesn't allow your name to be spoken. He pretends you don't exist.”
The words made Holly feel hollow and afraid. “All I can promise you is that I will try. He may refuse to speak with me, however.”
Elizabeth sighed and glanced out the window at the approaching daylight. “I must be off—I have to return home before breakfast. I don't want Zach to suspect where I've been.”
“You'll allow one of the Taylors' grooms to escort you back home,” Holly said firmly. “It's too dangerous to ride by yourself.”
Elizabeth hung her head with a wobbly, repentant smile. “All right, my lady. I'll let him come with me to the very end of the drive, as long as he takes care not to be visible from the main house.” She glanced at Holly hopefully. “When will you go to see Zach, my lady?”
“I don't know,” Holly confessed, while excitement and fear and hope meshed inside her. “I suppose when I can summon the nerve.”
Sixteen
In the whirlwind of her thoughts, Holly had forgotten that she had agreed to go riding with Ravenhill, her wouldbe fiancé, that morning. Long after Elizabeth Bronson had departed, Holly sat in the receiving room with a lukewarm cup of tea in her hand. She stared into the tepid milky liquid and groped for words, the right words to convince Zachary to forgive and trust her once more. It seemed there would be no graceful way to address the subject. She would simply have to throw herself on his mercy and hope for the best. A bleak, ironic smile curved her lips as she reflected that her own social training had included a hundred polite ways to rebuff a gentleman, but no instruction on how to win one back afterward. Knowing all about Zachary's fierce pride and his formidable defenses, she knew he would not succumb to her easily. He would make her pay for the way she had fled from him—he would demand unconditional surrender.
“Good Lord, what thoughts are putting such a dour expression on your lovely face?” Vardon, Lord Ravenhill advanced in the room, his tall, athletic form dressed in a dark riding habit. Golden-haired, quietly dashing, his movements spare and confident, he was any woman's dream of the perfect man. Staring at him with a wistful smile, Holly reflected that it was time to begin burning bridges.
“Good morning, my lord.” She gestured for him to sit beside her.
“You're not dressed for riding,” he observed. “Am I too early, or have you changed your mind about this morning?”
“I've changed my mind about a good many things, I'm afraid.”
“Ah. I sense you're leading into a gravely important discussion.” He gave her a teasing smile, but the gray eyes turned watchful.
“Vardon, I'm so afraid I'll lose your friendship after you hear what I wish to say.”
Gently he took her hand, turned it and bent his head to press a kiss to her palm. When his gaze returned to hers, it was serious, kind and steady. “Darling friend, you won't ever lose me. No matter what you do or say.”
A month of companionship had built a great sense of trust between them, allowing Holly to speak with the blunt honesty that Ravenhill deserved. “I've decided that I don't want to marry you.”
He did not blink or exhibit any flicker of surprise. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said softly.
“You deserve nothing less than a love match,” she continued in a rush. “A true, passionate, wonderful love with a woman you cannot live without. And I…”
“And you?” he prompted, retaining her hand in a careful grip.
“I'm going to somehow gather the courage to go to Mr. Bronson and ask him to take me as his wife.”
A long, thoughtful silence ensued as he absorbed the words. “You realize that if you join with him, many in the ton will deem it a complete fall from grace. There are circles that will no longer accept you—”
“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?”
“I remember the way.” Holly gave her a brilliant smile. “I'll just slip upstairs unaccompanied. Please, would you tell me where Mr. Bronson is, so that I may be able to avoid disturbing him?”
“I believe he is in his room, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burney.”
Holly walked into the house, which had the atmosphere of a mausoleum. The massive central hall, with its towering gold columns and silver-coffered ceiling and flower-scented air, was gleaming and dark. Not a single soul was visible amid the opulent gloom. Afraid that she might encounter Paula or Elizabeth and be distracted from her mission, Holly ascended the great staircase as rapidly as her feet would allow. The exertion, not to mention her own trepidations, caused her heart to pound wildly in her chest, until she felt its reverberations in every limb. The thought of seeing Zachary again caused such excitement inside her that she nearly felt ill. Trembling all over, she went to his door, which had been left slightly ajar. She considered knocking, then decided against it, as she did not want to give him the opportunity of shutting her out.
Gently she pushed the door open, and it gave a faint, almost unnoticeable squeak. She had never actually stepped inside Zachary's bedroom during the period of her residence at the estate. Rich blue brocade and velvet draped the massive mahogany bed. Dark cherrywood paneling gleamed from the light shed by the row of four towering rectangular windows. Zachary was standing at one of the windows, having parted a fringed velvet curtain to stare down at the front drive. He held a glass of liquor in his hand. His hair was still wet and gleaming from a morning bath, and the scent of shaving soap lingered in the air. He was dressed in a plum silk robe that reached nearly to the floor, bare feet protruding from beneath the hem. Holly had forgotten how impossibly large he was. She was glad his back was still turned, so he wouldn't see the yearning shiver that ran through her.
“What did she say?” he asked in a low growl, evidently thinking she was Mrs. Burney.
Holly fought to keep her voice steady. “I'm afraid she insisted on seeing you.”
Zachary's broad back stiffened, muscles bulging beneath the thin covering of silk as he realized the identity of the intruder. It seemed to take him a moment to find his voice. “Get out,” he said quietly, without heat. “Go back to Ravenhill.”
“Lord Ravenhill has no claim on me,” she whispered, her throat clenching, “nor I on him.”
Slowly Zachary turned around. There was a slight tremor in his fingers that sent the amber liquid in his glass sloshing against the sides. He took a deep swallow of the liquor, his cold black gaze never leaving her. He looked composed, though his face was undeniably haggard. There were circles beneath his eyes, and the healthy bronze color of his skin had turned ashen from too much time spent drinking indoors. Holly's gaze swept over him hungrily, and she ached to run to him, stroke and soothe and hold him. Please, God, don't let him send me away, she thought desperately. She hated the way he looked at her, the black eyes that had once been filled with teasing warmth and passion now so flat and indifferent. He regarded her as if she were a stranger…as if he had no feeling left for her.
“What does that mean?” He spoke in a monotone, as if the subject held no interest for him.
Marshaling her courage, Holly closed the door and approached him, then stopped a few feet away. “Lord Ravenhill and I agreed to remain friends, but there will be no wedding. I told him that I could not keep my promise to George, because…” She paused and nearly shriveled from dismay as she saw Zachary's complete lack of reaction to the news.
“Because,” he prompted in a monotone.
“Because my heart is otherwise engaged.”
A long, nerve-wracking silence followed her admission. Oh, why didn't he say something? Why did he look so callous and indifferent?
“That was a mistake,” he finally said.
“No.” She stared at him beseechingly. “My mistake was in leaving here…leaving yo
u…and I've come to explain things and ask you—”
“Holly, don't.” Zachary let out a taut breath and shook his head. “You don't have to explain a damned thing. I understand why you left.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “After a month of reflection—and swilling like a pig at his trough—I accepted your decision. You made the best choice. You were right—it would have come to a bad end between us. God knows it's better to preserve a few enjoyable memories and leave things as they are.”
The finality in his voice stunned Holly. “Please,” she said unsteadily, “don't say another word. Just listen to me. I owe you the complete truth, and after you hear it—if you still want to send me away—then I will go. But I won't leave until I've said my piece, and you'll stand right there and listen, and if you don't…”
“If I don't?” he asked with a ghost of his old smile.
“Then I'll never let you have a moment's peace,” she threatened in suppressed panic. “I'll follow you everywhere I'll shout at the top of my lungs.”
Zachary finished his drink and went to the night table, where a bottle of brandy awaited. The sight gave Holly a tiny thrill of hope. He wouldn't still be drinking if he had lost all feeling for her, would he? “All right,” he said brusquely, refilling his glass. “Say your piece. You have my attention for the next five minutes, after which I want your troublesome little arse off my estate. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Holly bit her lip and lowered her hands to her sides. It was difficult to strip her soul bare before him, but that was precisely what was required if she was to win him back. “I loved you from the beginning,” she said, forcing herself to look directly at him. “I can see that now, although at the time I didn't realize what was happening. I haven't wanted to face the truth, that I am exactly what you called me—a coward.” Her gaze searched Zachary's dark face for a reaction to her admission, but there was no sign of emotion. He downed another two fingers of brandy, consuming the distillation with slow, deliberate swallows. “When George died in my arms,” Holly continued raggedly, “I wanted to die, too. I never wanted to feel such pain again, and I knew the safest thing would be to never let myself love anyone that way. And so I used my promise to George as an excuse to hold you at bay.”