The maid's face was blank with surprise. She took the bag, felt its weight in her hand, and stared at him with wide eyes. “Ye don't need to pay me to do that, sir.”
“Take it,” he insisted brusquely.
A reluctant smile curved her lips, and she dropped the little bag into her apron pocket. “Ye've been a good master, sir. Don't fret about Lady Holland and Miss Ro
se, I'll serve them faithfully, and send for ye if any trouble arises.”
“Good,” he said, and turned to leave. He paused and looked back at her as a question occurred to him. “Why did you try to hide the miniature from me, Maude?”
She blushed a little, but her gaze was direct and honest as she replied, “I wished to spare ye the sight of him, sir. I know how ye feel about Lady Holland, ye see.”
“You do?” he said neutrally.
The maid gave a vigorous nod. “She's a dear, gentle lady, and a man would have a heart of stone not to care for her.” Maude lowered her voice confidentially. “Betwixt ye and me, sir, I think that if my lady were free to choose any man for herself, she might well have set her cap for ye. 'Tis plain as day that she's fair taken with ye. But Master George took most of her heart with him to the grave.”
“Does she look at his miniature often?” Zachary asked, keeping his face expressionless.
Maude's round face puckered thoughtfully. “Not so often since we came to live on yer estate, sir. To my knowledge, she hasn't taken it out at all in the past month or so. Why, there was even a bit of dust that settled on it.”
For some reason the information comforted him.
“Farewell, Maude,” he replied, taking his leave.
“Good luck to ye, sir,” she said softly.
Returning from the garden, Holly went to her room and found her main sorting through a pile of carefully folded stockings. “What progress you've made, Maude,” she commented with a wan smile.
“Aye, milady. I'd be even further along except that the master came to the room and interrupted my chores.” The words were spoken casually, and Maude continued busily with her task.
Holly felt her jaw slacken with surprise. “He did?” she asked faintly. “Whatever for? Was he looking for me?”
“Nay, milady, he only bade me to take care of ye and Miss Rose, and I promised him I would.”
“Oh.” Holly reached for a linen underskirt and attempted to fold it efficiently, but it ended up in a wadded bundle that she clutched against her midriff. “How kind of him,” she whispered.
Maude slid her an amused, vaguely pitying glance. “I don't think it was kindness that moved him, milady. He looked as lovesick as a green lad. In fact, he wore the same expression as ye this very moment.” Seeing the damage that Holly's clutching fingers were inflicting on the neatly pressed underskirt, she clucked and reached out to rescue it.
Holly surrendered the garment without protest. “Do you have any notion where Mr. Bronson might be right now, Maude?”
“On his way to Durham, I would guess. He seemed in no mood to tarry, milady.”
Holly flew to the window, which afforded a view of the front of the mansion. She made a small sound of distress as she saw Bronson's huge black-lacquered carriage rolling away along the sprawling tree-lined drive that led to the main road. Her hand flattened on the pane of glass, palm pressed hard against the coolness. Her mouth trembled violently, and she fought to contain her emotions. He was gone, she thought, and soon she would be, too. It was all for the best. She was doing the right thing for herself, and for him, too. Best to let him start a marriage with a young, unspoiled girl with whom he could share all the “first” with: the first vows, the first wedding night, the first child…
And as for herself, she knew very well that once she returned to the Taylors, it might well be her fate to stay there forever. She did not intend to hold Ravenhill to his promise to marry her—it was hardly fair to deny him all chance of finding someone he truly loved.
“Back to where I started,” Holly whispered with a wobbly smile, thinking of how it would be to resume her life with her husband's family. Except that now she was sadder and a bit wiser, no longer so assured of her own moral infallibility.
She stared hard at the carriage until it reached the end of the drive and seemed to disappear in the mass of trees.
“All ye need is a bit of time, milady,” came Maude's comforingly matter-of-fact voice from behind her. “As ye well know, time takes care of pert' near everything.”
Holly swallowed and nodded wordlessly, but she knew that the maid was wrong in this instance. No amount of time would soften the passion she felt—a blinding need of body and soul—for Zachary Bronson.
Fifteen
The Taylors accepted Holly's return as a prodigal daughter being welcomed back into the fold. There were comments, of course, as none of them could resist airing their collective opinion that it had been a grave mistake for her to leave in the first place. She had left with a solid gold reputation and the admiration and respect of their entire wide circle of acquaintances, and she had returned sporting a great deal of tarnish. Financially, the association with Zachary Bronson had done her a great deal of good, but morally and socially, she had fallen.
Holly didn't care. The Taylors would be able to shield her from some, if not all, of the snubs that would come her way. And by the time Rose was eighteen and possessing of an enormous dowry, there would be suitors aplenty for her, and the long-ago scandal involving her mother would have faded.