As Bronson had predicted, Jason Somers did indeed come to the estate with a bundle of sketches and partial floor plans in a remarkably short time—sixteen days, to be exact.
“Elizabeth, I'm afraid we'll have to cut the morning lesson short today,” Holly murmured, glancing out the window as she saw Somers's modest black carriage traveling along the drive toward the house. Her cousin drove himself, handling the ribbons with clear expertise. “The architect is arriving, and your brother has insisted that I attend the meeting with them.”
“Well, if you must…” Elizabeth said with apparent regret, shrugging her shoulders.
Holly suppressed a smile, knowing that Elizabeth's sorrow at canceling the lesson was entirely false. The girl had little patience for their current subject, the rules of correspondence. As an energetic young lady with a passion for riding, archery and other physical pursuits, Elizabeth found the act of putting pen to paper exceedingly tiresome.
“Would you like to meet Mr. Somers?” Holly offered. “His work is quite good, and I'm certain your brother would have no objection—”
“Dear me, no. I've better things to do than view the sketches and scratchings of some stuffy old architect. It's just a beautiful morning; I think I'll go for a ride.”
“Very well. I'll see you at midday, then.”
Taking leave of the girl, Holly descended the grand staircase with an eager step. She found herself smiling at the prospect of seeing her distant cousin. The last time they visited had been at a family gathering at least five years earlier, when Jason was barely out of his teens. A warm-natured boy with a ready sense of humor and an engaging smile, Jason had always been a family favorite. From the time he had been a small child, he had drawn and sketched compulsively, resulting in many a scolding for his perpetually ink-stained fingers. Now, however, he was in the process of building a formidable reputation for his unique style of “natural” architecture that was designed to blend into the landscape.
“Cousin Jason,” Holly exclaimed, reaching the entrance hall just as he did.
Somers broke into a smile the moment he saw her, stopping to remove his hat and execute a well-practiced bow. Holly was pleased to see that in the past few years Jason had grown into a wonderfully attractive man. His heavy shock of chestnut-brown hair was cut close to his head, and his green eyes gleamed with intelligence. Although he still possessed the physical lankiness of youth, he had a surprising air of maturity for a man only in his midtwenties.
“My lady,” Jason said in a pleasantly raspy baritone. Holly gave him her hand, and he squeezed it gently. His smile turned regretful as he continued in a softer tone, “Please accept a long-overdue apology for missing your husband's funeral.”
Holly regarded him fondly. There was no reason for Jason to apologize, as he had been traveling the continent at the time of George's unexpected death. Since the journey had been too long for Jason to return for the funeral, he had written a letter of condolence. Sweet, a bit awkward and wonderfully heartfelt, the letter had expressed a sincere sympathy that had touched her heart.
“No apology is necessary, as you well know,” she replied softly.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Burney, came forward to take Jason's hat and coat.
“Mrs. Burney,” Holly murmured, “can you tell me where Mr. Bronson is at present?”
“I believe he's in the library, milady.”
“I will show Mr. Somers there.” Taking her cousin's arm. Holly guided him through the house, while he carried his plans beneath his other arm.
Glancing at his surroundings as they walked, Jason emitted a sigh that combined amazement with distaste. “Incredible,” he murmured. “Excess upon excess. My lady, if this is the style that Bronson prefers, you would have done better to approach another architect. I couldn't force myself to design something like this.”
“Wait until you talk with Mr. Bronson,” Holly coaxed.
“All right.” Jason smiled at her as they strolled together. “Lady Holly, I know it is because of your influence that I am here, and for that opportunity I thank you. But I must ask…what caused you to work for Bronson?” A note of amusement lightened his voice. “As you're no doubt aware, the family in general is ‘not pleased.’”
“My mother has informed me of that fact,” Holly admitted with a rueful smile.
Upon being informed of Holly's plans to accept employment from Bronson, her parents had made their disapproval clear. Her mother had actually questioned her sanity, suggesting that prolonged grief had undone Holly's ability to make rational decisions. Her father, however, being an exceedingly practical man, had ceased his objections once Holly had described the trust Bronson was providing for Rose's future. As the father of four daughters, three still unmarried, he was all too cognizant of the importance of a large dowry.
“Well?” Jason prompted.
“It's difficult to refuse Mr. Bronson,” Holly said dryly. “You'll find out soon enough.”
She brought her cousin into the library, where Bronson was waiting. To his credit, Jason showed no sign of intimidation at the sight of the brawny man rising from his massive chair. As Holly knew from her own experience, meeting Bronson for the first time was nothing if not memorable. Few men possessed his powerful larger-than-life presence. Had no one ever told Holly a single thing about Bronson, she would have instinctively known that he was a man who shaped not only his own fate, but the destinies of other men.
Meeting Bronson's sharp black gaze directly, Jason shook his hand. “Mr. Bronson,” he said in his frank, friendly way, “let me thank you at once for the invitation to your estate, and for the opportunity of showing you my work.”
“Lady Holly is the one you should thank,” Bronson replied. “It was her suggestion that I approach you.”
Holly blinked in surprise. Something subtle in Bronson's manner had implied that her suggestions, her opinions, held great value for him. To her consternation, the implication had not escaped Jason Somer's notice. He threw her a quick speculative glance, then returned his attention to Bronson.
“Let us hope that I've justified Lady Holly's faith in me, then,” Jason said, hefting the bundle of drawings a bit higher beneath his arm.
Bronson indicated his wide mahogany desk, which had been cleared, and the architect spread his drawings over the polished surface.