“I don't know why.” Holly laughed ruefully. “In fact, I don't know the reasons for many of the things I plan to teach you…it's just the way things are done.”
They chatted amiably as they returned to the house, and Holly reflected that she hadn't expected to like Zachary Bronson's sister so much. Elizabeth was entirely worthy of being helped, and so deserving of love. But she needed a very particular sort of man to marry, one who was neither too weak nor too controlling. A strong man who would appreciate Elizabeth's lively spirit and not try to crush it. The girl's natural ebullience was part of what made her so attractive.
There ought to be someone, Holly mused, sorting through a list of her acquaintances. She would write a few letters this evening, to friends she hadn't communicated with in far too long. It was time to step back into the flow of society and renew old friendships, and become au courant with all the news and gossip. How strange, that after the past years of solitude, she was suddenly eager to rejoin the circles she had once belonged to. A sense of buoyant lightness filled her, and she was hopeful, excited, as she had not been since…
Since George had died. Suddenly uneasiness seeped through her, dispelling the warm anticipation. She felt guilty for enjoying herself. As if she had no right to happiness now that George was no longer with her. For the duration of her mourning, he had been in the forefront of her thoughts every minute of the day…until now. Now her mind was being filled with new thoughts and ambitions, and she was mingling with people he had never known.
I won't ever let go of you, dearest darling, she thought fiercely. I will never forget one moment of what we had. I just need a change of scene, that's all. But I'll spend the rest of my life waiting to be with you again—
“Lady Holland, are you all right?” Elizabeth had stopped near the entrance of the mansion, her glowing brown eyes filled with concern. “You've become so quiet, and you're flushed—oh, I was walking too fast again, wasn't I?” She hung her dark head contritely. “Forgive me. I'm going to hobble myself, see if I don't.”
“No, no…” Holly laughed self-consciously. “It's not you at all. It's difficult to explain. My life has moved at a very slow pace for the past three years. A very slow pace. Now everything seems to be changing very quickly, and it's a bit of a struggle for me to adjust.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth looked relieved. “Well, that's what my brother does to people. He meddles and fiddles with their lives, and turns everything upside down.”
“In this case, I'm glad he did. I'm happy to be here, and to be of use to someone other than my daughter.”
“No happier than we are, my lady. Praise heaven that someone will try to make this family a bit more presentable. The only thing I regret is that I won't be able to watch you teach Zach about etiquette. To my mind, that would be jolly good entertainment.”
“I wouldn't mind if you wished to join our lessons,” Holly said, taking to the idea instantly. She wasn't looking forward to being alone with Zachary Bronson, and having his sister accompany them might dispel the tension that seemed to shred the air whenever he was near.
“Zach would mind,” Elizabeth said dryly. “He made it clear that his sessions with you were to remain strictly private. He has a lot of pride, you know. He never allows his weaknesses to be exposed, and he doesn't want anyone, even me, to discover how little he knows about being a gentleman.”
“Being a gentleman is quite a bit more than a few lessons on manners,” Holly replied. “It is a condition of character…it means being noble, kind, modest, courageous, self-sacrificing and honest. Every minute of the day. Whether one is in the company of others or completely alone.”
There was a brief silence, and then Holly was surprised to hear Elizabeth snicker. “Well,” the girl said, “just do your best with him.”
The lessons with Elizabeth went very well, as Holly instructed her in the art of sitting in a chair or rising gracefully. The trick was to keep the body from inclining too far forward during either process, and managing one's skirts with one hand without exposing a provocative glimpse of ankle. Elizabeth's mother Paula came to watch the proceedings, sitting quietly in the corner of a plush settee. “Come practice with us, Mama,” Elizabeth urged, but the shy older woman declined with a smile.
There were several moments of hilarity, as Elizabeth resorted to antics that Holly suspected were designed to amuse her mother…walking and sitting with exaggerated stiffness, then swooping about theatrically, until all three of them were laughing. Toward the end of the morning, however, Elizabeth mastered every nuance of posture and movement, until Holly was more than satisfied.
“Perfect. How graceful you are, Elizabeth,” Holly exclaimed.
The young woman flushed, clearly unaccustomed to such straightforward praise. “I'll forget every bit of this by tomorrow.”
“We'll practice until everything becomes second nature,” Holly replied.
Folding her long, slender arms across her chest, Elizabeth lounged in a chair, her legs sprawled in a completely unladylike manner. “Lady Holland,” she asked with a smile, “have you ever thought that all these manners and social rules were invented by people with entirely too much time on their hands?”
“You may be right,” Holly said with a laugh.
As Holly left the Bronson women in search of her daughter, she continued to ponder the question. Everything she knew about first society and the behaviors associated with gentlefolk had been instilled in her since birth. She had never thought to question those long-ago lessons until now. Many of the social graces, such as courtesy and self-composure, were undoubtedly necessary for a civilized society. But as for the countless little affectations that Elizabeth had been referring to…was it truly important how a person sat or stood or gestured, or what phrases were fashionable and what clothes were in style? Or was it really all just a way for certain people trying to prove themselves superior to others?
The idea that a man like Zachary Bronson might be inherently equal to a man like…well, like one of the Taylors, or even her dear George…it was a provocative notion. The great majority of aristocrats would immediately dismiss the idea. Some men were born with blue blood, with generations of noble ancestors behind them, and this made them better, finer than ordinary men. This was what Holly had always been taught. But Zachary Bronson had started in life with no advantage whatsoever, and he had made himself into a man to be reckoned with. And he was trying very hard to better himself and his family, and soften the coarseness of his own character. Was he really so inferior to the Taylors? Or to herself?
These ideas would never have occurred to her had she not agreed to work for Bronson. For the first time, Holly realized that this year of closeness with Bronson and his family might change her, just as it would change them. And that troubled her. Would George have approved?
After a pleasant afternoon of reading books and taking a walk in the gardens together, Holly and Rose sat in the library and waited for Zachary Bronson. Rose devoured a snack of milk and buttered bread, and proceeded to play on the floor while Holly sipped tea from a flowered china cup. A blazing fire in the huge green marble fireplace mingled with the shafts of afternoon light coming through the velvet-draped windows.
Not daring to sit at Bronson's huge masculine desk, Holly occupied a chair at a nearby side table as she made a few notes regarding the proper forms of address for the various tiers of aristocracy. The subject was a complicated one, even for those who had been born into the peerage, but it was important for Bronson to understand it thoroughly if he desired to mingle successfully with the ton. She concentrated so hard on the task before her that she would not have noticed Bronson's entrance into the room were it not for her daughter's delighted exclamation.
“There he is, Mama!”
Glacing upward, Holly tensed at Bronson's approach, while her nerves responded to his presence with a strange, pleasurable jangle. He was such a large, vital man, bringing the fresh scent of outdoors with him. As he stopped close to her and bowed, she couldn't help noticing the alluring fragrance that clung to him, a masculine blend of horses and starched linen and sweat. With his swarthy complexion and sparkling black eyes, and the shadow of bristle beneath his close-shaven skin, he seemed more potently virile than any other man of her acquaintance. Bronson smiled at her, his teeth gleaming white in his tanned face, and Holly realized with renewed surprise that he was handsome. Not in a classical sense, and not in a poetic or artistic sense…but he was definitely attractive.
Holly was perturbed by her own reaction to him. He was not at all the kind of man she should find appealing, not after having known and loved someone like George. Her husband had been faultless in his easy confidence and his golden good looks. Holly had even been amused by the way women stared and swooned over George. It had not been George's dazzling looks, however, that had made him so compelling. It was his utter refinement, both of character and manners. He had been polished, courteous, a gentleman from the inside out.
Comparing George to Zachary Bronson was like comparing a prince to a pirate. If one spent ten years doing nothing but