Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  In a way, Gaby was relieved. True, she felt like a fish out of water, but at least she wasn’t expected to participate in the conversation. That gave her the opportunity to confront the unsettled feelings she was experiencing being back here—feelings that were far more intense than she’d anticipated, given that she’d never so much as set foot in Whitshire’s dining or drawing rooms. In fact, during the five years she’d lived here, she had entered the main house solely for meals and even then had come in through the rear, her movements restricted to the kitchen and the servants’ dining quarters. To her recollection, she’d never even seen the elegant rooms she was frequenting tonight. She would not have forgotten plush Oriental rugs, opulent furnishings, and glittering chandeliers such as these. So why were her insides tied in knots?

  Perhaps it was the painfully remembered faces of those servants who had been at Whitshire thirteen years ago and had escaped the fire: Couling, the solemn butler, Mrs. Fife, the cook, and Mrs. Darcey, the kindly housekeeper who’d found Gaby’s unconscious body and who’d rocked her in her arms during those first horrifying moments when Gaby had realized her parents were gone. Odd, how these three servants—together with Mr. Averley and one or two familiar-looking footmen and maids—no longer resembled the towering giants her five-year-old eyes had perceived them to be. Now they were mere mortals with slowing steps and graying temples, greeting her with a touch of uncertainty and a reserve that was typical of people who hadn’t seen each other in years. Unsure of Gaby’s status, they bowed hesitantly, murmured about what a lovely, mature young woman she’d become, then scurried off to resume their duties.

  God forgive her, but all Gaby could think about was how lucky these people were—how lucky she was—to be alive. Why couldn’t her parents have been equally lucky—had the evening off on that fateful night or been anywhere other than in their chambers when the fire blazed through to claim their lives?

  Bile rose in her throat.

  “Is the mutton not to your liking, Gabrielle?”

  Thane’s voice interrupted her rampaging emotions, his blue-gray eyes filled with concern.

  “Pardon me?” Gaby had no idea what he’d asked her. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

  “We’re boring you.” A smile curved his lips, and Gaby was struck at that moment by how very much Thane and Bryce resembled each other. The hard aristocratic features, the dark coloring, the disarming smiles—yes, there was a definite family likeness. Even their builds were similar: both men were tall with broad shoulders and powerful stances. But their eyes were different, not only in hue but in intensity as well. While Bryce’s eyes were deep and probing, Thane’s were more aloof, less enigmatic.

  Brothers, yes. But different men with different backgrounds.

  “No, of course you’re not boring me,” she replied. “Please, go ahead and talk. I’m concentrating on my dinner.”

  “Which you’ve scarcely touched,” Hermione said gently. She leaned over, squeezing Gaby’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Gaby suddenly found herself the center of attention, which was the last thing she wanted.

  “Forgive us, Gabrielle. Of course you’re bored.” It was Bryce who came to her rescue, his penetrating gaze appraising her from across the table. “A discussion of my legal accomplishments hardly makes for fascinating dinnertime conversation.”

  “The fault is mine.” Averley, the stout, ruddy-cheeked Whitshire steward, laid down his fork with a cordial smile. “I’m the one who has kept Mr. Lyndley talking about himself. It’s just that I’m extraordinarily impressed with his obvious business acumen and his outstanding credentials.”

  “You sound surprised, Averley,” Hermione noted aloud. “I know you’re protective of my interests, but certainly Bryce’s reputation precedes him. Delmore and Banks, and Newsham and Satterley—two of London’s most prestigious soliciting firms, both of whose names are undoubtedly familiar to you—are constantly clamoring for his services. Articles verifying that fact have been written up in all the newspapers, as have many of Bryce’s court appearances, not to mention the superb advancements he’s made in married women’s property law—”

  “Hermione,” Bryce interrupted, his lips twitching with amusement, “perhaps Mr. Averley doesn’t commit small newspaper articles to memory. I respect the man for worrying over your financial well-being. If he has concerns, let him voice them. After which”—he inclined his head in Gaby’s direction—“we’ll change the subject to something more interesting than business.”

  With a terse nod, Hermione resumed eating, her every motion conveying disapproval of Averley’s tactics.

  Averley was far from oblivious to that disapproval. Shifting uncomfortably, he refilled his wineglass, casting a rueful glance at Bryce. “I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Lyndley. My intention was not to make you feel as if you were being interrogated or judged. Of course I’ve read of your fine contacts and your legal achievements. I also know what an excellent judge of character Lady Nevon is. I’m just a very cautious man.”

  “No apology is necessary,” Bryce assured him.

  “Still, I’d like to offer you an explanation. A very frank one, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I prefer candor to evasion.”

  “Good.” Averley lowered his glass to the table. “Then I’ll be blunt. The truth is, I’ve known Lady Nevon for many years. Yes, she’s a fine judge of character. However, she’s also incomparably loyal to those who work for her. One of the responsibilities assigned to me by the late duke was to ensure that his sister’s compassion didn’t compromise her business interests. Thus, when her message arrived at Whitshire yesterday, stating the surname of her new business and legal adviser, I was plagued by the possibility that her commitment to you stemmed not from her awareness of your credentials but from her longstanding ties to your parents. I’m delighted to learn just how wrong I was.”

  Bryce’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t realize you knew my parents.”

  “I didn’t. Not personally, that is. But I am quite familiar with them as a result of Lady Nevon’s glowing descriptions. According to her, your father was an exemplary valet, indispensable to Lord Nevon until the day he died. And your mother was a highly respected, extraordinarily efficient housekeeper. I recall what a difficult task it was to replace her when she and your father moved to the cottage where you were born. In any case, Lady Nevon made it no secret that she held your parents in the highest regard. It stood to reason she’d feel the same way about their son. Hence my concern.” Averley cleared his throat, feeling Hermione’s less than subtle glowering stare. “Nevertheless, I’ve exceeded my bounds and upset Lady Nevon with my overprotectiveness.”

  “Your commitment to Hermione is admirable,” Bryce replied, in an obvious effort to diffuse Hermione’s annoyance. “No offense was taken.” He swallowed the last bite of his mutton. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s move on to another topic.”

  “I think we should defer dessert,” Hermione announced suddenly, easing back her chair. “I’d like to have that chat with Thane and Bryce now.”

  Gaby blinked at the abruptness of Hermione’s decision, although she well understood its cause. Clearly Mr. Averley’s choice of topics had provoked her aunt further, making her all the more determined to get on with a reunion she believed would permanently obliterate any doubts about Bryce’s place in her life.

  Very well, Gaby concluded. ʼTis time to make my exit. “If you’ll excuse me,” she began, laying her napkin on the table. “I’ll use this time to stroll the grounds.”

  “No.” Bryce came to his feet, shaking his head as he did. “I’d prefer you join us.”

  Slowly Gaby raised her head, met his gaze. For whose sake? she wanted to cry out. Yours or mine?

  Perception registered on Bryce’s handsome features. “It would ease my mind if you didn’t go off on your own. After all, the grounds of Whitshire span countless acres, and it is getting dark. So, for b
oth your sake and mine, please stay.”

  “I spent many childhood hours dashing about the grounds of Whitshire; I won’t get lost,” she assured him, her legs already trembling at the prospect of wandering back to the spot where she knew they would take her. What’s more, she was sure Bryce had guessed her destination and was attempting to spare her the pain that would result from going there alone. She swallowed. Perhaps he was right.

  “Your dashing about Whitshire’s grounds—now that is something I do recall,” Averley remarked with a faint reminiscent smile. “You were a tiny slip of a child, Gabrielle, but you caused the rest of the staff immense anguish on a daily basis by disappearing from your quarters time and again, only to be found tending to one animal or another somewhere on the estate, usually in the woods, the barn, or the stables.”

  An answering smile touched Gaby’s lips. “Your memory is accurate, sir. And I needn’t ask why, at least not with regard to me. I can remember at least three occasions when the servants had to abandon their chores for a full day to comb the grounds of Whitshire in the hopes of recovering me. While I, in turn, unaware and unbothered by the havoc I was wreaking, was blissfully chasing after a rabbit, a fawn, or a bird. I can’t imagine I made your job easy.”

  He chuckled. “No, you didn’t. But your antics weren’t intentional. The fact was that your affinity for animals overshadowed your sense of judgment.”

  “It still does,” she admitted.

  “In that case, I’d take Mr. Lyndley’s suggestion and accompany him, Lady Nevon, and His Grace to the sitting room. I’m not nearly as young as I once was, nor are the other servants. We wouldn’t want to have to organize a search party to retrieve you from parts unknown.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree.” Hermione smoothed her skirts, giving Averley his first approving look of the evening. “In the interim, Averley, I’d appreciate your fetching whichever business records of mine you deem important. Once my conversation with Thane is concluded, I’d like you to fill Bryce in on everything he needs to know in order to put my legal affairs in order.”

  “Of course.” Averley nodded. “Where shall I bring the records?”

  “Is the music room convenient?” Bryce broke in to inquire.

  Gaby’s chin came up, simultaneous with Averley’s puzzled “Pardon me?”

  “I assume an estate this size has a music room,” Bryce repeated smoothly, his questioning glance on Hermione. “I was merely asking if that would be a convenient place for us to reconvene.”

  A heartbeat of silent communication passed between them, so brief in duration that no one even noticed it.

  No one but Gaby.

  “What a splendid idea, Bryce,” Hermione concurred at once, satisfaction lacing her tone. “Whitshire’s music room, which is just down the hall from the sitting room, is warm and comfortable. In addition, it boasts a magnificent Broadwood grand piano, one I’m sure Gaby would enjoy seeing. Indeed, that is precisely where we’ll review the records. Averley, give us an hour. Then join us there.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Averley took his leave.

  Gaby swallowed, touched by the generosity of Bryce’s gesture. Regardless of how subtle he thought he’d been, she knew precisely why—and for whom—he’d suggested the music room. By securing her in an environment that, by her own definition, she deemed a warm haven, he was hoping to put her at ease, to alleviate the heartache she was experiencing as she confronted the demons of her past. Given the difficult reunion he himself was about to face, his display of concern was more than admirable—yet another clear indicator of what kind of man Bryce Lyndley really was.

  In contrast, however, he neither expected nor accepted anything in return. Not from her, not from anyone. Of that, Gaby was certain. In fact, she was willing to bet that, with the exception of Aunt Hermione, whose financial support had served as his very lifeline from boyhood to manhood, Bryce had never accepted anything from anyone in his life. Not materially and not emotionally. Gaby was more sure of that with each passing moment in his company, and now that she’d heard the full details of his background, her conviction had strengthened tenfold, as had her determination to teach him the beauty of accepting in return, to allow him a taste of the give-and-take that defined caring.

  The kind of caring in which she’d been enveloped at Nevon Manor, thanks to Aunt Hermione and the extraordinary staff that had become her family.

  With that, Gaby lowered her lashes, studying Bryce as inconspicuously as possible, trying to decide how best to offer him the same comfort he was offering her.

  Oblivious to Gaby’s thoughts, Thane had risen and was addressing Hermione with undisguised curiosity. “Now that that’s settled, shall we adjourn to the sitting room? Whatever this discussion is about, it’s obviously important.”

  “Very important,” Hermione said with quiet emphasis.

  Given that Gaby was scrutinizing Bryce so closely, she could actually discern the ever-so-subtle change in his demeanor effected by Thane’s words. His jaw set as he steeled himself, and his shoulders went rigid, a veritable soldier preparing to do battle.

  Or preparing to defend himself in one.

  Without further deliberation, Gaby acted. Casually she made her way around to the other side of the table, pausing before Bryce and giving his arm an indiscernible squeeze.

  He looked startled, his chin snapping down until his gaze settled on her hand, then lifted to meet her eyes.

  She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “Have faith,” she whispered, wishing she could reach up and erase the grim lines of tension from about his mouth. “You’re not alone. Music rooms are but one type of haven. Solace comes in all forms, as do those who offer it.” With that, she released him, following her aunt and Thane into the sitting room, holding her breath until she heard Bryce’s purposeful strides behind her.

  Once they were all inside, Thane shut the door, rubbing his palms together and assessing the others. “We’ll forgo brandy and the like and get to the point. What is this private discussion about?”

  Bryce stood at the window, staring across the grounds, hands clasped behind his back.

  With a sigh, Hermione lowered herself onto the settee, gesturing for Gaby to join her. “Bryce,” she said, addressing his profile, “the armchair is unclaimed.”

  “I’ll stand.”

  With a baffled expression, Thane gazed at Bryce’s unyielding back. “Lyndley,” he stated flatly, “like you, I pride myself on being a frank and intuitive man. So before we begin, I’m going to be as blunt as Averley was. It’s apparent that you resent me, despite the fact that we’ve gotten on quite well since your arrival. Why? Have I done something to offend you?”

  “I don’t resent you, Your Grace.” Bryce pivoted slowly. “I’m just bloody uncomfortable about meeting you.”

  “Why?”

  Silence.

  Hermione wet her lips. “Bryce … may I?”

  A shrug. “Feel free.”

  She nodded, clearing her throat. “Thane, we both know your father was a stubborn and difficult man. Sometimes difficult to the point of brutality. We don’t speak of it aloud, but we know it to be true.”

  Thane looked incredulous. “I hardly think this is the time to discuss Father’s flaws.”

  “I beg to differ with you. It is precisely the time. Because your father is at the core of this discussion and at the core of Bryce’s resentment.” Folding her hands in her lap, Hermione lifted her chin, speaking with the regal dignity that was hers and hers alone. “What I’m about to reveal to you is going to come as quite a shock. I trust you to receive it with a full heart and the realization that it was entirely my idea that you be told. Bryce was against it. And, given that he’s been privy to this information for over two decades, I think you’ll agree he’s had more than sufficient time to divulge the truth, if he had chosen to. Which he didn’t, for many reasons. Some of those reasons I concurred with, others I did not. Well, those that I concurred with died along with your father. Bryc
e has his own private reasons for remaining silent, which I understand but cannot accept. Out of respect for me, he’s agreed to forgo his own reservations and share the truth with you. It wasn’t an easy decision for him to make, nor will it be an easy truth for you to hear. Nevertheless, I fervently believe you must and should be told.”

  By this time, Thane had gone pale. “For God’s sake, Hermione, what is it?”

  “Bryce is your brother.”

  “What?”

  “I said, Bryce is your brother. Your half brother, to be exact.” With that, she proceeded to relate the entire story of Bryce’s birth and the controversy surrounding it, from Anne Parks’s futile attempts to elicit the late duke’s help to Richard’s brutal rejection of his child to the drastic abandonment that brought Bryce to Nevon Manor and, ultimately, to Hermione’s Bedford cottage and the Lyndleys. Without pause, Hermione explained how she’d provided for Bryce’s future, her tone firm and without the slightest hint of an apology for the actions she’d taken. She didn’t stop until she had disclosed every detail, right down to her summoning Bryce after Richard’s death. “So,” she concluded, watching Thane sink down on the sofa, his face chalk-white. “That is why we’re here tonight—at my insistence. For your sake and for Bryce’s. ʼTis time you met your brother—and he you.”

  A hush settled over the sitting room, and only Gaby, sitting beside her aunt, could see by the trembling of Hermione’s fingers how much that speech had cost her.

  Worriedly, she leaned forward, clasping Hermione’s hands in hers, terrified that this had all been too much for her aunt’s failing health. At the same time she sneaked a peak at Bryce, trying to assess his reaction to the events as they’d unfolded thus far.

  Bryce hadn’t moved a muscle. His posture remained as stiff and unyielding—and self-protective—as it had been before.

  “Thane?” Hermione pressed gently, looking from Thane to Bryce and back again. “You must have questions.”