Holly wandered to the sideboard, where Zachary Bronson was filling his plate with a selection of eggs, cold meats, breads and vegetables. Although he was dressed in the gentlemanly attire of a charcoal-gray morning coat, black trousers and a dove waistcoat, there was something a bit piratical about him. She supposed he would never completely be able to rid himself of the street-seasoned air that lurked beneath his well-groomed facade. His assessing dark gaze caused a tickling flutter just beneath her lower ribs. “Good morning,” he murmured. “I hope you rested well?”
Remembering the scandalous allegations of his wild behavior, Holly responded with a polite, rather distant smile. “Very well, thank you. I see we've joined you in time to start breakfast together.”
“I started a while ago,” Bronson replied cheerfully. “This is my second plate.”
Holly felt her eyebrows inch upward as she saw the mountain of food he intended to consume.
The housekeeper entered the room just at that moment, and Holly gave her an inquiring glance. “Good day, Mrs. Burney…as you can see, I've brought my daughter downstairs for breakfast, as no one seems able to answer the bellpull. I wonder if perhaps the mechanism is broken?”
“We've a very busy household, milady,” the housekeeper replied, her face expressionless except for the taut pull of displeasure around her eyes and mouth. “The maids can't answer the bell every instant after it is pulled.”
Resisting the temptation to ask if the maids ever answered the bell, Holly resolved to take up the matter with Mrs. Burney later in the day. The housekeeper set out more silver and left the room.
Having loaded his own plate, Bronson lingered at the sideboard as Holly chose a few delicacies for her own breakfast—a slice of toast, a spoonful of eggs, a tidbit of ham. “I have business to attend to this morning,” he remarked. “I'll be able to start our lessons after lunch, if that's pleasing to you.”
“That will be fine,” Holly said. “In fact, why don't we plan a similar schedule every day? I will instruct your sister during the morning hours, and your lessons will take place during Rose's afternoon nap.”
“I won't always be available during midday,” Bronson replied.
“Perhaps on those occasions, you and I could meet during the evening hours, after Rose's bedtime,” Holly suggested, and Bronson nodded in agreement. With those arrangements settled, Holly handed Bronson her plate. “You may carry my plate to the breakfast table, sir. On the occasions when a footman is not available to perform this service, a gentleman may offer his assistance to a lady.”
“Why should I carry a woman's plate when she is perfectly capable of carrying it for herself?”
“Because a gentleman must act as a lady's servant, Mr. Bronson. He must make all possible convenience for her convenience and comfort.”
One of his dark brows arched. “You ladies have things rather easy.”
“Hardly,” Holly replied, matching his dry tone. “We spend every other minute of our lives bearing children, managing the household accounts, attending the sickroom when necessary, supervising the mending and laundry and meals and planning our husbands' social schedules.”
Bronson stared at her with laughing dark eyes. “Is that what I can expect of a wife? I'd like to get one soon, then.”
“Someday I'll instruct you as to the rules of proper courtship.”
“I can hardly wait,” he replied softly.
Bronson carried their plates to the same table that Elizabeth and Rose occupied. Before Holly could instruct him as to how to seat a lady, Rose glanced at Bronson with bright, inquiring eyes and asked a question that nearly caused Holly to faint.
“Mr. Bronson,” the little girl chirped innocently, “why did you sleep with two women at your party?”
Stunned, Holly realized that Rose had overheard her earlier conversation with Maude.
Maude paused in the act of filling the child's plate, the fine china slipping from her hands and clattering on the sideboard.
Elizabeth choked on a mouthful of food, somehow managed to swallow and concealed her crimson face with a napkin. When she was able, she glanced at Holly with eyes brimming with equal parts of dismay and mirth, and spoke in a strangled murmur. “Excuse me—my right shoe is pinching—I believe I'll change into another pair.” She fled the scene hastily, leaving the rest of them to stare at Bronson.
Of all of them, Bronson was the only one who showed no visible reaction, save for a thoughtful quirk of his mouth. He must have been a very, very good card player, Holly thought.
“At times the guests become very tired at my parties,” Bronson said to the child, his tone matter-of-fact. “I was merely helping them to rest.”
“Oh, I see,” Rose said brightly.
Holly managed to find her voice. “I believe my daughter is finished with her breakfast, Maude.”
“Yes, milady.” The maid rushed forward in a panic to gather up the child and quit the mortifying scene.
“But Mama,” Rose protested, “I haven't even—”
“You may take your plate to the nursery,” Holly said firmly, seating herself as if nothing untoward had occurred. “Right this minute, Rose. I want to discuss something with Mr. Bronson.”