Zachary forced himself to laugh, though the sound was hollow. His mother might not be educated or polished, but she was an intelligent woman, and he couldn't dismiss her words easily. “I have no intention of bringing her to ruin. I've never touched her.”
“A mother knows her son,” Paula insisted. “I see how you are with her. You can hide it from the world, but not from me. Zach, it's not right. You're not meant to be with her any more than a…a donkey should mate with a Thoroughbred.”
“I gather I'm the donkey,” Zachary muttered dryly. “Well, in light of your sudden talkative mood, tell me why you've never raised any objections before when I've spoken of wanting to marry a well-born bride.”
“You can have a well-born bride, if that's what you want. But Lady Holly isn't the one for you.”
“What's your objection to her?”
Paula considered her words with great care. “There's a streak of hardness inside you and me and even Lizzie—and thank God for it. It's the only reason we survived those years in the East End. But Lady Holly is soft all the way through. And if she marries again, she needs a man who is soft, too. A real gentleman, like her husband was. You'll never be like that. Now, I've seen a few titled women that I've thought would suit you well enough. Take one of those, and leave Lady Holly be.”
“You don't like her?” Zachary asked quietly.
“Don't like her?” Paula repeated, staring at him in surprise. “Of course I like her. She's the most gracious, kind creature I've ever known. Maybe the one true lady I've ever met. It's because I like her so well that I'm saying these things to you.”
In the silence that ensued, Zachary applied himself to finishing his port. The truth in his mother's comments was undeniable. He was tempted to argue the case with her, but that would force him to voice things he hadn't yet dared to acknowledge even to himself. So he gave her a brief, wordless nod, a bitter recognition that she was most likely right.
“Oh, Zach,” Paula murmured compassionately. “Be happy with what you have. Can't you learn how to do that?”
“Apparently not,” he muttered grimly.
“There must be a word for men like you, who reach too high…but I don't know what it is.”
Zachary smiled at her then, despite the leaden weight in his chest. “I don't, either, Mother. But I have a word to apply to you.”
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously, waggling a warning finger at him.
Standing and crossing the distance between them, Zachary bent to kiss the top of her graying head. “Wise,” he murmured.
“Then you'll heed my advice and forget about Lady Holly?”
“I'd be a fool not to, wouldn't I?”
“Does that mean ‘yes’?” Paula persisted, but he laughed and left the room without replying.
Ten
In the weeks that followed the episode of megrims, Holly became aware of some changes in the Bronson household. The most obvious difference was the attitude of the servants. Although their service had formerly been sloppy, inconsistent and indifferent, it seemed that they had begun to take a sort of collective pride in their work. Perhaps the result of Holly's discreet education of the Bronsons on what to expect from their hired help.
“I understand your reluctance, Mrs. Bronson,” Holly had murmured one afternoon, when the maids had brought a tea tray containing a pot of lukewarm water, a jug of offscented milk and stale cakes. “However, you must send it back. There is nothing wrong in refusing unacceptable fare.”
“They do so much work already,” Paula protested, already fussing with the tea service as if she fully intended to make do with it. “I can't put them to more trouble, and this isn't so bad, really.”
“It's terrible,” Holly insisted, smothering a frustrated laugh.
“You send it back,” Paula implored.
“Mrs. Bronson, you must learn to manage your own servants.”
“I can't.” Paula surprised Holly by catching at her hand and holding it tightly. “I used to be a rag-seller,” she whispered. “Lower than the lowest scullery maid who works in the kitchen downstairs. And they all know it. How can I give them orders?”
Holly regarded her thoughtfully, feeling a surge of compassion as she finally understood the source of the woman's timidity toward everyone outside the immediate family. Paula Bronson had lived in wretched poverty for so long that she did not feel worthy of the circumstances she now found herself in. The fine house with its rare tapestries and artwork, the elegant clothes she wore, the lavish meals and expensive wines, only served to remind Paula of her humble beginnings. Yet there was no way for her to go back. Zachary had raised his family to a level of wealth far beyond anything Paula had expected or imagined. It was imperative that Paula learn to change along with her circumstances, or she would never find any comfort or happiness in her new life.
“You're no longer a rag-seller,” Holly said in a purposeful voice. “You're a woman of means. You're Mr. Zachary Bronson's mother. You brought two remarkable children into the world and reared them with no help from anyone, and anyone with their wits intact will admire your accomplishment.” She returned Paula's grip with a strong one of her own. “Insist on receiving the respect you deserve,” she said, staring directly into the woman's troubled brown eyes, “especially from your own servants. Along this vein, there are many other things I intend to discuss with you, but for now…” She paused and tried to think of a curse word to give her statement emphasis. “Send the damn tray back!”
Paula's eyes rounded, and she put a hand to her mouth to smother a bubbling laugh. “Lady Holly, I've never heard you swear before.”
Holly smiled back at her. “If I can make myself swear, then you can surely ring for the maids and ask for a proper tea.”