by Music Box
“So we’re agreed, then.” Bryce walked around the armchair and shoved it across the room until it blocked the door. “I’ll sleep here and make sure you stay put until morning.”
“Will you awaken me before you leave?”
“Yes. I’ll leave at dawn, before the rest of the house is up and about. I’ll awaken you first.”
“All right.” Gaby nodded. “We’re agreed.” She slid down beneath the covers, snuggling into the pillows like a relieved child. “Thank you, Bryce.”
“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Shall I wind your music box for you?”
She shook her head, her voice muffled by the pillows. “It’s not necessary. With you here, I’ll be able to fall asleep without it. After all, I’m just trading one soothing melody for another.”
Bryce lowered himself into the chair.
But long after Gaby’s even breathing told him she was asleep, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling and pondering the conversation that had just taken place—a conversation that, despite his show of indifference, had struck a profound chord inside him.
A chord that was part of an unfamiliar and strangely disturbing melody.
Chapter 7
“I REALIZE IT’S BARELY past seven o’clock, but Chaunce said you were up and about. He told me to just knock and come in. I hope that’s all right.” Bryce wasn’t really waiting to find out. He strode into his aunt’s sitting room and perched on the edge of a chair.
Hermione looked up from the settee upon which she’d been reclining, appraising Bryce’s tense stance with some degree of concern. “Of course it’s all right. My door is always open to you. But you look upset. Is something amiss?”
“In my opinion, yes. Quite amiss.”
“Pardon me, my lady.” Chaunce hovered in the doorway, carrying a tray. “I took the liberty of bringing up a pot of coffee and a small plate of cinnamon cakes with a jar of raspberry jelly. This way, should your conversation with Mr. Lyndley take longer than expected, you’ll have some nourishment prior to breakfast.”
“How thoughtful of you, Chaunce.” Hermione managed a weak smile as her butler crossed over and set down the tray. “And what an excellent idea. Tell the others to begin eating without us. Bryce and I will join them as soon as possible.”
“It’s already been done, madam,” he replied.
“You’re indispensable, my friend.” Her smile strengthened a bit. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He turned to Bryce. “That pressing message you wanted me to send has been dispatched. Miss Talbot should have it alongside her breakfast plate.”
“With time to spare,” Bryce commented dryly. “Lucinda doesn’t awaken until close to noon, especially during the Season. Nonetheless, I appreciate your taking care of the matter so promptly. Lucinda needs to know I’ve been detained. She was doubtless expecting me home by now.” Pursing his lips, he looked away, dismissing Lucinda as he considered the all-important issue he was about to address with his aunt.
“Indeed.” Chaunce’s glance flickered over Bryce’s head to meet Hermione’s. “If there’s nothing else …”
“There is,” Bryce interrupted suddenly, his chin coming up. “Chaunce, if you’re not needed at breakfast, would you mind staying for this conversation? I’d like your opinion—a man’s opinion—of the subject I’m about to broach.”
Chaunce’s eyebrows rose fractionally, but he nodded, posting himself beside Hermione’s settee. “As you wish.”
Clearing his throat, Bryce glanced back to Hermione. “This pertains to Gabrielle. She and I had an interesting chat, out of which emerged a rather disturbing fact.”
“Really?” Hermione looked more curious than worried. “And what might that be?”
“Are you aware that several of your staff members are”—Bryce sought the right words, finally choosing the ones Gaby herself had used—“taken with each other?”
“Ah. You mean Goodsmith and Marion.”
“Among others, yes. You are aware of these relationships?”
“I am.”
“Well, so is Gabrielle. One thing I’m sure you’re not aware of, however, is that Gabrielle has witnessed, and continues to witness, these couples disappearing for what she describes as private displays of affection.”
Hermione leaned forward, taking up the pot of coffee and calmly pouring three cups. “Chaunce, just a touch of cream. Bryce, black. Me, some sugar for energy I should think,” she murmured.
“Hermione, did you hear me?” Bryce demanded.
“Certainly.” She handed him his cup, along with a plate containing two cinnamon cakes. “Help yourself to the jelly,” she suggested. With that, she turned to Chaunce, waving away his protest and offering him his refreshment. “You wait on me all the time. It feels good to reciprocate once in a while.”
“Hermione …” Bryce began again.
“Let’s get back to your concern over Gaby,” his aunt responded quickly. “What is it, precisely, that she’s seen?”
“Several couples continually slipping off to …”
“To what? Has she actually witnessed any of these sordid displays you’re envisioning? Have these couples been seen in compromising positions—unclothed or groping tastelessly at each other?”
Bryce’s jaw dropped. “I—I doubt it.”
“Then what exactly is your worry?”
“I don’t think you understand. Because of your staff’s actions, Gaby believes that physical intimacy is a wonderful, enviable activity, something to dream about and aspire to.”
“And you don’t?”
This time Bryce nearly dropped his cup. “Pardon me?”
Delicately, Hermione bit into one of the cakes. “Mmm, delicious, as always. Cook has outdone herself, hasn’t she?”
“Indeed, madam,” Chaunce agreed, having already finished his first cake.
With that, Hermione resumed speaking to Bryce. “I merely asked if your opinion of physical intimacy differed from Gaby’s.”
“What has my opinion got to do with Gabrielle?” Bryce burst out in frustration. “I’m a thirty-one-year-old man who’s been out in the world for an eternity and knows all its rules. Gaby’s an eighteen-year-old woman who’s about to be introduced to that world—in less than a year, may I remind you—and who knows absolutely nothing about those rules and how they could affect her life, her future. Surely you understand the possible ramifications of her misconceptions about physical intimacy?”
“I think that’s where our difference of opinion lies, Bryce.” Hermione set down her cup and saucer, folded her hands primly in her lap. “I don’t think Gaby has any misconceptions about physical intimacy. She believes that two people who care deeply for each other want to be close in every way possible—their minds, their hearts, and their bodies. I happen to share her belief. The key here—and what you’re failing to see—is the inexorable link that Gaby recognizes between love and intimacy, a link that precludes the kind of ramifications to which you’re referring. Gaby would never allow a man with whom she wasn’t in love to touch her or to take any liberties whatsoever. In fact, I think she would find the whole idea reprehensible.”
“But what if she falls in love with a cad?”
Tinkling laughter. “That will never happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because we’ll make certain of it.” Hermione leaned forward, patted Bryce’s arm. “Whichever one of us oversees Gaby’s future will carefully select the gentlemen to whom she’s introduced.”
“We can do that only to a certain extent, Hermione. As you well know, not every scoundrel is instantly detectable as such. Most are too clever to allow their true colors to show. They conceal them beneath flattery and charm. What if Gaby inadvertently meets someone like that?”
“I have faith in our ability to see through such rogues. And ultimately, despite her innocence, I have faith in Gaby. Don’t you, Chaunce?”
“Without question, my lady.”
&
nbsp; Bryce whipped about to face Chaunce. “You agree with all this?”
“Every word, Mr. Lyndley.” Chaunce folded his napkin in one smooth gesture. “Miss Gaby is sensitive, bright, and intuitive. She’ll choose the right man upon whom to bestow her heart. Our job is only to ensure that she meets him. Miss Gaby herself will do the rest.”
“Are you both aware of just how sheltered Gabrielle has been?” Bryce demanded.
“You know the answer to that. It’s the reason I asked you to act as Gaby’s guardian, if need be.” Hermione resumed drinking her coffee. “Still, Bryce, I think your particular concerns are unfounded. Gaby is innocent, yes, but she’s not quite as naive as you seem to think! She understands the significance of physical intimacy. She just doesn’t harbor the same inherent misgivings about others and their motives as you do. The reasons for that are obvious. She’s led a very different life than you have. Trust and love come easily to her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bryce muttered.
“Well, don’t be afraid. As Chaunce said, Gaby is bright and intuitive. With a bit of guidance from us, she’ll know when the right man comes along. Until then, her virtue will remain her own, regardless of what she sees. And, on that subject, am I to take it you disapprove of the relationships within our little family?”
Bryce frowned, beginning to feel like a cad himself. The way Hermione phrased it made him sound like a coldhearted bastard who would deny her staff even a modicum of emotional fulfillment. “Of course I don’t disapprove. I think it’s splendid that your residents are happy. It’s only that I—”
“They are happy, Bryce,” Hermione interjected quietly. “They’re also not carrying on as you suspect. Let me put your mind at ease. First, little that transpires at Nevon Manor escapes my notice. So rest assured, if there were improper goings-on here, I would know it. Second, my family might be unusual, but they’re highly moral. As a result, nothing inappropriate is occurring. The only couple on the verge of serious involvement are Goodsmith and Marion. And, if you promise to keep a secret, I’ll tell you that Goodsmith has already sought me out and asked for Marion’s hand. He’s a good man. Just as all the other men at Nevon Manor are. None of them would take advantage of women—most particularly women they cared for. Nor would they permit Gaby to witness anything indecent. The displays to which you refer are merely long strolls and occasional embraces. Is that too indelicate for your taste?”
Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “I think not, given the tidbits I’ve inadvertently overheard Chaunce’s friends passing along to him regarding your liaisons—and I don’t mean the innocent calls on Miss Talbot, but rather the less virtuous, albeit discreet, visits to those whose seasoned reputations make it possible for Miss Talbot to keep hers.”
“Damn,” Bryce hissed, indignity eclipsed by amazement. “Why do I ever think I can spar with you and win?” A corner of his mouth lifted. “ ‘Inadvertently overheard’? That I doubt. Nothing you do is inadvertent, Hermione. When am I going to learn that?”
A beatific smile. “As I said, little that transpires here escapes my attention. But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a worldly man who understands a person’s need for companionship. What occurs here is nothing more than that: men and women enjoying each other’s company, in the purest sense of the word. Now, does that pose a problem for you?”
“All right, Hermione, you’ve accomplished your goal,” Bryce muttered, giving it up. “You’ve made me feel like a snake.”
“Good.” A self-satisfied nod. “And have I also alleviated your concerns?”
“Indeed you have.” Now that Bryce’s fervor had diminished, he found himself wondering at the intensity of his reaction to this whole matter. It was thoroughly unlike him to be so irrational, not to mention judgmental and prudish. What the hell had possessed him to swoop down on Hermione like some sort of avenging angel?
“Don’t look so distressed, sir,” Chaunce advised, smoothing his mustache. “Your reaction is both understandable and natural. Miss Gaby has a way of kindling one’s protective instincts. There’s an unspoiled beauty about her that one yearns to preserve.”
“There certainly is,” Bryce concurred, his unsettled mood intensifying. Abruptly he pushed away his refreshment and rose. “On that note, I’ll take my leave. I promised Peter I’d explain some legal terms to him after breakfast. Also, I want to begin drawing up the various documents we discussed. I’ve already been away from London too long. My plan is to finish up here in a day or two, then head back to Town.”
“So soon?” Hermione asked, inclining her head in surprise.
“I can’t stay here indefinitely, Hermione. I have obligations awaiting me.” Bryce drew a slow breath.
“And a great deal to ponder—a whole bloody life to sort out.” With that, he turned and left the sitting room.
“He’s overwhelmed,” Hermione murmured, her lips pursed with concern.
“Indeed. Overwhelmed and confused,” Chaunce agreed.
“I don’t blame him, with all that’s happened—all that’s still happening. It’s no wonder he’s eager to leave.”
“He’ll be back—sooner than he imagines, I suspect.”
New lines of worry creased Hermione’s forehead. “You don’t think the allure in London is too great?”
Chaunce sniffed. “Certainly not. I don’t even deem it an issue. Nor should you.”
“I don’t.” Hermione’s lips curved. “I just needed reassurance from you.” She leaned forward, her eyes dancing like a young girl’s. “He’s begun calling her Gaby—have you noticed?”
“Twice,” Chaunce confirmed. “And the depth of his outrage is clearly not something one would expect from someone who is no more than a casual acquaintance or, at best, a benevolent friend and potential guardian.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Hermione’s expression grew wistful. “They need each other, Chaunce. More than even I realized.”
“They’ve found each other, my lady,” Chaunce assured her, rising to gather the dishes. “We have only to make them realize it.”
Downstairs in the music room, Gaby wandered about, unable to concentrate on anything, Beethoven included, other than the fact that Bryce and Aunt Hermione had been glaringly absent from breakfast. Where were they? What were they discussing? Was Bryce advising Aunt Hermione of last night’s sleepwalking incident?
No. Gaby shook her head, sinking down on the piano bench and clasping her hands in her lap. He’d promised he wouldn’t. And breaking his word was something Bryce would never do.
But the incident had happened. And Gaby was terrified it would happen again.
There had been no recurrence last night, she consoled herself. She’d slept peacefully until dawn, when Bryce had awakened her before he returned to his own quarters. But whether her uninterrupted slumber was due to mere coincidence, sheer exhaustion, or Bryce’s comforting presence in her room, Gaby wasn’t certain. She could only pray that the episode had been a onetime event, triggered by her upsetting visit to Whitshire.
Tracing the piano keys with the tip of her finger, Gaby found her thoughts returning to Bryce. He’d said nothing about his intention to skip breakfast, but then again, he hadn’t said much of anything this morning. He’d merely awakened her, looking tired and rumpled from his uncomfortable—and, Gaby suspected, sleepless—night in the armchair, verified that she was all right, then stiffly excused himself and left.
Why was he suddenly so uncomfortable in her presence? Was this all because he’d broken his cardinal rule of protocol? Or was he angry with her for wreaking such havoc on his life, then insisting he take on the responsibility of not only hearing but keeping her secret?
If he was angry, she couldn’t blame him. He’d arrived at Nevon Manor a virtual stranger and had, in a matter of days, been besieged with emotional obligations. Taking on Aunt Hermione’s burdens was one thing. Taking on hers was quite another.
Troubled, Gaby chewed her lower lip, feeling gu
ilty for adding to Bryce’s strain and sad at the tension that had sprung up between them. They’d shared such a warm and wonderful rapport, an almost instant affinity. Yet, after last night, Gaby instinctively knew that Bryce wanted nothing more than to finish his business here as quickly as possible and be on his way.
Was that what he and Aunt Hermione were discussing? Was he trying to wrap up her aunt’s legal affairs and put everything in order so he could return to London?
And if so, was his eagerness spawned by what he was escaping from or what he was returning to?
For the dozenth time, Gaby reflected on Bryce’s description of his relationship with Lucinda Talbot, a description he seemed to apply to all his past courtships. Baffled, she tried to imagine existing in such an ordered, emotionless world. She couldn’t. And it made no sense for Bryce to do so, either. Beneath his composed veneer, he was a passionate man—passionate about his beliefs, his commitments, his work. Surely that passion had to extend to something more.
What, she wondered, was Bryce’s life like—truly like? Oh, she knew the details of his activities, thanks to Hermione’s newspaper clippings. But newspaper clippings couldn’t describe joy or introspection, restlessness or contentment. Nor could they describe fervor. It was clear that Bryce was intense about his work, but was he equally intense about anything else? Clearly not about Miss Talbot, whom he spoke of with all the detached regard one would grant a respected business associate. What about his home, his rituals, his diversions? Did he savor the open waters when he sailed? Gaze out his office window, reveling in the sounds of busy London carriages as they passed? Did he unlock his door at night and feel a gratifying sense of belonging as he crossed the threshold?
Somehow she thought not. And if not, how very many of life’s offerings Bryce Lyndley was missing.
Odd, she mused. London is so vast, and Nevon Manor so small. How is it that I’ve been exposed to so much more of what matters than he has?
“Gaby?” Bryce’s voice interrupted her unanswerable question. “Are you all right?”
Her head came up, and she jumped to her feet, crossing over to him at once. “I’m fine.” She minced no words. “Where were you during breakfast?”