Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  Thane rested his elbows on his knees, clearly attempting to assimilate all he’d just learned. “Yes, I must. At the moment, however, I’m too stunned to think what those questions might be.” He inhaled sharply, struggling for the control he’d been trained always to display. “Forgive me. I seem to be at a loss. I …” He rose, raking his hand through his hair and prowling the room.

  “Is it confirmation you seek?” Hermione asked cautiously. “Do you doubt what I’ve told you?”

  “Confirmation?” Thane halted. “No, Hermione, what I seek is a way to make sense of all this. I hardly think you’d lie to me about something of this magnitude. On the other hand, Father did, didn’t he? Then again, the two of you are as alike as night and day.” A bitter laugh. “Of course I knew Father was a ruthless man. Still, I never imagined he was capable of something so monstrous. To cast his own flesh and blood into the gutter. … Even if he wanted to keep his bloody indiscretion a secret and to deny his child, why wouldn’t he allow you or some other trustworthy family to adopt him? How could he condemn a newborn babe to the streets or to a workhouse—or worse?”

  “For many reasons. First, Richard didn’t believe that his indiscretion, as you put it, could remain hidden if Bryce was provided for—by anyone. A trustworthy family? Richard didn’t believe such a thing existed. He was convinced that those who adopted the babe would delve until they’d unearthed the facts surrounding the child’s lineage, at which point they would bleed Richard dry. And even if they were unable to learn the truth, someone else would— someone with the cunning and the wealth to do so and with the power to ruin the Rowlands. Why, in Richard’s estimation, the instant the ton caught wind of the fact that a newborn babe of unknown origin had been adopted, his secret was as good as out. Whispers would become speculation; speculation would broaden into prying. Eventually someone somewhere would piece it all together. The result? A scandal, something your father would never tolerate—for himself or for any member of his family.

  “Which brings us to me. The very idea of my providing for Bryce, Richard considered to be not only the riskiest choice imaginable, but a flagrant slap in his face. He nearly exploded when I suggested it.” Hermione frowned, remembering. “And, Thane, in addition to your father’s obsession with averting a scandal, he was also convinced that your opinion of him would be tainted were you to learn that he’d been stupid enough not only to bed a green girl who was also a common actress but to allow her to conceive his child, to boot.” A disgusted sniff. “As if your opinion of him isn’t tainted knowing what he intended for Bryce. And with regard to his allowing Miss Parks to become pregnant, I don’t think she managed that particular feat alone, nor do I believe my brother was coerced into providing his cooperation. The fact is that neither he nor Miss Parks considered the possible outcome of their actions until it was too late.”

  Another sniff. “And the last, but most significant, of Richard’s so-called reasons for disposing of Bryce was his supreme possession: his title. Given that Richard believed everyone’s values were as shallow as his own, he assumed that, were Bryce nurtured into manhood, were there the slightest chance he’d discover who his sire was, he would doubtless have challenged you for the exalted title: Duke of Whitshire. It didn’t appease Richard to hear my reminders that you were his sole legitimate son, nor that you were nearly a year Bryce’s senior, both of which rendered you the indisputable heir to the dukedom. No, my arguments fell on deaf ears. Richard was convinced that Bryce would fight you to the death in order to get what he wanted.”

  Hermione shook her head, her gaze shifting to Bryce, her expression and tone growing warm with pride. “My brother was a cruel and arrogant fool. If he’d only allowed himself the pleasure of getting to know his second son, he would have realized that titles, fortunes, glittering jewels, and elegant estates—all of those are of very little value to Bryce. What Bryce values are the very traits he himself possesses: decency, compassion, and honor, all of which are inborn and can neither be inherited nor measured in pounds. Your father was a hard-hearted scoundrel who cheated himself out of far more than that which he deprived Bryce of.”

  “And you’re an incredibly brave woman.” A bit of Thane’s composure and color had returned, along with a semblance of clearheadedness. “To brazenly ignore Father’s instructions, take on this quest yourself …” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

  “Impossible. The risk was too great. Can you imagine the enormity of Richard’s fury if he’d learned you were privy to my deception? He’d not only have destroyed Bryce and me, he’d have lashed out at you as well. I didn’t dare consider it.”

  “I deserved to know.” Thane sounded more remorseful than accusing.

  “Yes, you did. But you also deserved to be protected. I opted for the latter, for both our sakes. So if you’re angry with me, I understand.”

  “Angry with you?” Thane’s brows shot up. “No, Hermione, to the contrary, I’m touched and amazed by you, by what you’ve managed single-handedly all these years. It’s my father I’m angry with. I realize one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Nevertheless, I cannot forgive him for this. God … a brother.” He turned slowly, focusing his full attention on Bryce, assessing him from an entirely new perspective. “We resemble each other,” he noted after careful scrutiny.

  Gaby’s glance followed Thane’s, and she was relieved to see that sometime over the past few minutes the grim lines about Bryce’s mouth had softened and a hint of compassion had warmed the chill from his eyes.

  “Yes,” he returned in a measured tone, “I suppose we do.”

  Without further hesitation, Thane walked forward, withdrawing his hand from his pocket, and extending it to his brother. “Bryce, I’m not sure what to say. So I’ll just welcome you and apologize that the welcome is coming thirty-one years too late.”

  Bryce clasped Thane’s hand, looking astonished and, for the first time since Gaby had met him, totally off-balance. “I’m less certain than you what to say,” he admitted. “Other than to accept your gracious welcome. Hermione was right about you. I’m glad I gave in to her request and came to Whitshire tonight.”

  Thane’s lips twitched. “You’ll find Hermione has a way of getting what she wants.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  The two men shared their first comfortable chuckle since entering the sitting room.

  “Before we go any further, I want something understood.” Bryce abruptly withdrew his hand and held his arms rigid at his sides. “I agreed to come here to tell you the truth, and as I said, I’m glad I did, but that doesn’t mean I want anything in my life to change. I want no announcements, no acknowledgments, no attempts by you to make amends for your father’s actions. As I told Hermione, what’s done is done, and the results are a fait accompli. I like my life, and I don’t intend to alter it. I want this point clarified for both our sakes,” he added in a milder tone, “so that both our lives can continue without upheaval. You’re not responsible for what Whitshire did to me any more than you’re responsible for his being the kind of man he was. In many ways the conversation that just took place here was more difficult for you than it was for me. I’ve had over twenty years to adjust to the truth. You’re first being burdened with it. The point is, I want nothing from you—not your assets or your feelings of guilt and obligation. I simply want things to go on as they are.”

  “I understand,” Thane replied, pursing his lips, “and I respect your decision as well as your attempt to absolve me of any responsibility or obligation. Now let me tell you where I stand.” He drew a sharp breath, an earnest expression tightening his features. “With regard to my father—our father—you’re right. I cannot answer for his contemptible behavior, nor, even if I tried, could I begin to make up for his renunciation of you and whatever hardships that caused. I won’t insult you by saying otherwise. Nor will I insult you with an offer of monetary compensation, which I presume is what you were refer
ring to when you said you wanted nothing of my assets. Let it be known, however, that anything you ever need or want is yours—and I’m not making that offer out of guilt.”

  Thane’s gaze was unwavering, his stance as uncompromising as Bryce’s. “We don’t know each other, Bryce. I want to change that. The first thing you’ll discover about me is that I’m nothing like our father. I don’t view wealth and titles as life’s ultimate achievements. I understand honor, decency, and integrity as well as you do. And based on that fact … no, I cannot promise you I’ll feel no sense of obligation or commitment toward you. If I could make that promise, I’d be no better than Father, and you’d have no respect for me as a human being. You’re my brother, a reality I cannot simply dismiss as if it were inconsequential. What’s more, I’m hoping you’ll not only understand that fact but also agree with it, and that, despite your adamant stipulations, you’re as eager as I to become acquainted—without any announcement being made,” he added hastily, holding up his palm to ward off Bryce’s objections. “In public we’ll present ourselves as business associates and friends, neither of which, I’m beginning to suspect, will be a fabrication. As for our relationship as brothers—that we will acknowledge only in private and only among those who are privy to the facts. Would that be acceptable?”

  A flicker of something—wary relief, perhaps—registered on Bryce’s face. “It would.”

  “Good.” Thane looked equally relieved. “Then suppose you tell me who else knows our secret.”

  “Only those in this room.”

  “And Chaunce.” Clearly Thane considered that to be a certainty.

  “Ah, yes. And Chaunce.” A corner of Bryce’s mouth lifted. “I think I’m going to enjoy the opportunity to further our acquaintance, Your Gr … Thane.”

  “As am I.”

  “Thank God,” Hermione murmured. She stirred on the sofa, excitement bringing a tinge of color to her ashen complexion. “I believe a toast is in order. Thane, retrieve your brandy and sherry immediately. We still have a few minutes before we’re to meet Averley in the music room. Let’s secure your new relationship with Bryce with a proper flourish.”

  “Right away.” With a mock salute at his aunt, Thane crossed over to the sideboard and poured sherry for Hermione and Gabrielle, and brandy for himself and Bryce. “Shall I make the toast?” he asked Hermione as he finished distributing the drinks.

  “No, I claim that honor.” She looked thoroughly smug and elated. “To my two nephews,” she pronounced, raising her glass high. “May you forge the kind of brotherhood you both deserve, and may all I wish for you come to pass.”

  “Uh-oh,” Gaby heard Bryce mutter into his brandy. “All you wish for us? Lord only knows what that means.”

  “I heard that, Bryce,” Hermione admonished.

  “Did you?” His eyes were twinkling as he swirled the contents of his snifter about. “Then I don’t suppose you’d care to divulge whatever it is your clever mind is dreaming up this time?”

  “Why, I have no idea what you’re implying.”

  “You never do.”

  Listening to their good-natured banter, seeing Bryce’s earlier tension rapidly ebb, Gaby felt a warming combination of comfort and delight. She knew how terribly difficult this discussion had been for him—both anticipating it and enduring it—and while she’d been certain of Thane’s ultimate acceptance of his brother, she was still very glad the entire ordeal was over.

  Now if they could only skip over the rest of the evening and head straight home to Nevon Manor, perhaps her own disquiet could ease.

  Even as that fleeting thought wafted through her, the anxiety she’d experienced earlier—temporarily held at bay by her concern for Bryce—resurged. Rational or not, being back at Whitshire was proving to be far more distressing than she’d envisioned. In truth, all she wanted to do was bolt.

  Several timeless minutes passed—minutes that seemed more like an eternity.

  Glancing at the mantel clock, Gaby was dismayed to see that it was only half after nine. She’d been certain it was nearing eleven by now. Still, even half after nine was late for Aunt Hermione, given her weakened state—wasn’t it?

  She opened her mouth to say just that—and was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” Thane called.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace.” Couling hovered in the doorway, his eyes widening in astonishment as he surveyed the occupants of the room, who were engaged in what was obviously a small celebration, hardly what he’d expected given the recency of the late duke’s passing. “Averley asked me to inquire if you were ready for him yet.” The butler awaited Thane’s reply, his curious gaze wandering from the new duke to Bryce to Hermione and finally settling on Gaby, where it lingered.

  Gaby could just imagine what Couling was thinking. He was probably wondering how she, the orphaned child of Whitshire’s late head groom, came to be part of this seemingly momentous discussion.

  She was wondering the same thing herself, not because she doubted her place by Aunt Hermione’s side nor because she regretted having been able to offer Bryce her support, but because now that she was no longer needed, her own dilemma was thrusting its way into the forefront, making it increasingly evident that the peace she sought was not forthcoming—at least not tonight.

  “Tell Averley we’re on our way,” Thane was instructing Couling. “We’re about finished here. We’ll meet him, as planned, in the music hall.”

  “Very good, sir.” With a final quizzical look, the butler turned and retraced his steps.

  Gaby seized her chance posthaste.

  “Aunt Hermione,” she blurted, placing her glass on the side table. “Perhaps we should postpone whatever legal matters need evaluating for another time. It’s getting late and—”

  “Nonsense.” Hermione shattered Gaby’s plan to bits without ever realizing she was doing it. Shaking her head, she rose slowly from the settee, intent on her own course of action. “I want Bryce to spend the better part of an hour with Averley—and a bit of private time with Thane. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll still be home long before midnight.”

  “But your medicine …”

  “Chaunce will leave it at my bedside. I’ll take it the instant I return.” Hermione smoothed her snowy hair into place, regarding first Thane, then Bryce with an expression of profound joy. “Truly, Gaby, I’m feeling more myself tonight than I have in ages.”

  “Of course you are.” Guilt knotted Gaby’s stomach. Here she was, encouraging her jubilant aunt to leave Whitshire under false pretenses, when it was really she herself who wanted to leave. Shame mingled with guilt, reminding her what a pivotal occasion this was for her aunt. Hermione had waited all these years for Bryce and Thane to meet, and now that they had, now that they even seemed to like each other, Hermione was positively elated. She deserved to be here to bask in the glory of her family being united at last. Gaby would simply have to overcome her own unease—this instant. Even if it meant remaining at Whitshire for hours. She owed that much, and more, to her aunt.

  “Darling, are you all right?” Hermione was asking, concern lining her forehead as she studied Gaby’s face. “You’re as white as a sheet. Are you not feeling well? Then perhaps we should go.”

  “No.” With a bright smile, Gaby gathered up her skirts and made to rise. “I’m feeling fine, truly.”

  “Wait.” Bryce halted Gaby’s motion with a wave of his arm. Purposefully, he crossed over to the settee, goblet in hand. “Sip at this,” he instructed quietly, pressing the brandy snifter to her lips. “It will restore your color—and your reserves.”

  Gaby’s lashes lifted, and she met Bryce’s gaze. “Thank you,” she murmured, referring to far more than just the brandy.

  “You’re welcome.” He waited until she’d complied, watching as the spirits did their job. “Better?”

  “Yes.” Gaby felt the chill that had pervaded her subside a bit, more from Bryce’s solid presence than from his brandy, she suspected.
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  “Let’s not keep Averley waiting,” Bryce suggested, when it was clear Gaby felt more herself. Casually he set down his goblet and guided Gaby to her feet, seizing her elbow in a firm, steadying grip that belied his seeming nonchalance. “I’ll make sure you reach the music room without incident.”

  “Excellent.” On the heels of Bryce’s declaration, Hermione made her way to Thane’s side and slipped her arm through his. “Then my other handsome nephew shall be my escort.”

  “My pleasure,” Thane agreed with a smile.

  “The music room is two doors down on your right,” Hermione called over her shoulder, already urging Thane toward the hallway.

  “Are you able to do this?” Bryce asked Gaby the moment his aunt and brother were out of hearing range.

  Her indrawn breath was shaky. “I must do this. It means so much to Aunt Hermione.” She balled her hands into tight fists of frustration. “I don’t understand it, Bryce. I was doing much better while you and Thane were talking. Then suddenly, when I contemplated the rest of the evening, that dreadful apprehensive feeling returned. Why? It’s not as if I’ve encountered anything since we arrived that would incite my uneasiness. Even the rooms we’ve been in tonight hold no memories for me; I’ve never so much as seen them before. When I lived at Whitshire, the only sections of the manor I was permitted to enter were the kitchen and the servants’ hall. So why am I reacting like this? I expected this visit to be trying, but I also assumed it would ease, not worsen, as the night wore on. I’m baffled, but more important, I’m determined not to let these misgivings interfere with Aunt Hermione’s joy.”

  Reflexively, Bryce brushed a strand of hair off Gaby’s face. “Maybe your distress will ease in the music room. You yourself claimed you lose yourself while playing the piano.”

  “So I did.” Gaby’s train of thought shifted abruptly as she recalled Bryce’s earlier insight and sensitivity. “You remembered our conversation about Beethoven—that’s why you suggested meeting Averley in the music room.” She inclined her head, studying Bryce with open wonder. “Aunt Hermione is right. You are an extraordinary man. I don’t know what astounds me more, your ability to see inside people or your ability to soothe them.”