Though she had decided to remain neutral while viewing her cousin's work, Holly could not prevent a pleased exclamation as she leaned over the plans. With its romantic gothic overtones, the house was charming but sophisticated, with an abundance of windows—long sheets of what seemed to be undivided plate glass—to bring the landscape “inside.” Large main rooms and airy conservatories would provide spectacular settings for parties, but there were also wings that allowed privacy and seclusion for the family.
Holly hoped that Bronson would appreciate the design's unpretentious style, and that he would not make the mistake of thinking elegance was synonymous with heavy embellishment. She was certain that he would at least be pleased by the abundance of modern technology, including running water on all floors, a large number of water closets and tiled shower-bath rooms, and “hot walls” to give warmth and comfort in the winter.
Bronson showed no expression as he stared at the plans, only asked a question or two that Jason hastened to answer. In the midst of the
inspection, Holly became aware of someone entering the room. It was Elizabeth, dressed in a smart rose-colored riding habit trimmed in scarlet. The clothes, with their simple but dashing cut, and the feminine froth of white lace at her throat, were especially becoming. With her black curls tightly braided and topped with a scarlet hat, and her dark, heavily lashed eyes, Elizabeth looked young, fresh and exotically alluring.
“I couldn't resist having a look at the plans before I went out…” Elizabeth began to say, but her voice faded as Jason Somers turned and bowed. Quickly Holly made the introductions, watching with pride as Elizabeth returned Jason's bow with a perfectly executed curtsy. With the initial greeting concluded, they paused to study each other in a moment of brief but electric curiosity. Then Somers turned back to the table and focused his attention on a question Bronson had posed. He seemed not to notice Elizabeth at all.
Puzzled by his apparent indifference, Holly wondered how he or any other healthy young male could fail to be captivated by the girl's dazzling looks. As the girl joined them at the table, however, Holly noticed that Jason's gaze returned to Elizabeth in a rapid but thorough sweep. He was interested, Holly thought with well-concealed amusement, but he was clever enough not to show it.
A bit piqued by the stranger's lack of attention, Elizabeth stood between Jason and Holly and inspected the plans.
“As you can see,” Jason murmured to Bronson, “I've tried to design a place that would be harmonious with the landscape. In other words, one couldn't merely take this house and set it somewhere else and have it look appropriate—”
“I know what ‘harmonious’ means,” Bronson said with a wry smile. He continued to assess the drawings, his keen gaze noting every detail. Having some understanding of the way Bronson absorbed information, Holly knew that in a few minutes he would have nearly as great a familiarity with the floor plans as Jason Somers himself. Bronson had an astonishing memory, although he applied it only to subjects that interested him.
Elizabeth also surveyed the plans, her velvety dark eyes narrowed critically. “What is that?” she asked, pointing to a section of the drawing. “I'm not certain I like that at all.”
Jason replied in a voice that seemed a shade or two deeper than usual, “Kindly remove your finger from my plans, Miss Bronson.”
“Yes, but what is this…this misaligned thing, this odd projection—”
“It's called a wing,” Jason said shortly. “And those little rectangles are what we architects like to call windows and doors.”
“Your east wing doesn't match the west wing.”
“Someday I would love to explain why,” Jason muttered in a tone that implied just the opposite.
“Well, it looks lopsided,” Elizabeth persisted.
Their gazes met in challenge, and Holly suspected that both were secretly enjoying the exchange.
“Stop provoking the man, Lizzie,” Zachary muttered, ignoring the unspoken interplay. His attention was firmly secured on Holly. “What do you think of the plans, my lady?”
“I think the house would be magnificent,” she replied.
He gave a decisive nod. “Then I'll have it built.”
“Not merely because of my liking for it, I hope,” Holly said, vaguely alarmed.
“Why not?”
“Because you must decide on it only as a matter of following your own taste.”
“The plans look fine to me,” Bronson replied thoughtfully, “although I wouldn't mind a tower here and there, and some crenellation—”
“No towers,” the architect interrupted hastily.
“Crenellation?” Holly asked at the same time. Then she saw the twinkle in Bronson's eyes and realized he was teasing.
“Build it the way you've drawn it,” Bronson advised the architect with a grin.
“Just like that?” Jason asked, clearly a bit stunned by the speed of decision. “Are you certain you don't want to look over the plans in private and consider the matter at your leisure?”
“I've seen all I needed to,” Bronson assured him.
Holly could not help smiling at her cousin's surprise. She knew that Jason had never met a man as comfortable with his own authority as Zachary Bronson. Bronson liked to make decisions quickly, rarely wasting time to ponder difficult matters. He had once told her that while ten percent of his decisions turned out to be mistakes, and another twenty percent usually had benign results, the remaining seventy percent were generally fine. Holly had no idea how he had arrived at such figures, but she had no doubt that he could support them with evidence. It was a quirk of Bronson's, that he was fond of applying numbers and percentages to every situation. He had even once calculated that his sister Elizabeth had a ten percent chance of marrying a duke.