by Music Box
“You’ve aroused my curiosity, Lyndley,” Averley said, finally giving in to his urge to seek answers. “So if I might be so bold as to ask, who is this guardian angel of yours?”
Unhesitatingly Bryce replied, in a straightforward manner that made Gaby realize he’d rehearsed his explanation: “Lady Nevon—as I’m sure you already suspected.” Bryce turned briefly toward Hermione, raising his glass in tribute before turning back to Averley. “You yourself voiced concern over Lady Nevon’s tender heart and the vulnerable position in which it placed her. And as I reassured you the other night, I don’t blame you for your concern. After all, you’re the one who’s handled her finances all these years; you must be aware that large amounts of her money have been allocated to her servants—those at Nevon Manor as well as those who reside at her other estates. I’m one of the lucky recipients. When my parents died, it was Lady Nevon who ensured that the rest of my education was paid for, that the right doors were open to me. Her loyalty to her staff and their children was and is unparalleled.”
“Bryce, please, you’re embarrassing me.” A becoming flush stained Hermione’s cheeks.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you; I mean to praise you.” Bryce took a deep swallow of brandy. “Heaven only knows you deserve it.”
“In truth, I did suspect something of this nature,” Averley admitted, “especially given how costly your education was and how limited was your parents’ income. Still, I was never formally advised of Lady Nevon’s contributions, to you or any of her staff. I was told only that she was donating funds to various charities, and it was never my place to ask for details. Now that I realize the full extent of her generosity, I quite agree with you, Lyndley. Lady Nevon’s actions were inspiring. More than inspiring; extraordinary. No wonder you feel so indebted to her.”
“Bryce has more than repaid any assistance I granted him,” Hermione clarified at once. “And not only by agreeing to manage my legal affairs. Nothing is better evidence of my sound judgment in electing to help Bryce than seeing the good he’s done, and continues to do, for others. Why, he has more clients than he can handle. In fact, I’m fortunate he was able to grant me these past few days, so busy is his legal practice.”
“Is that the reason you’re hurrying back to London?” Thane asked Bryce. “Pressing business matters?”
“Among other things, yes.” Bryce cleared his throat, leveling his gaze on Hermione. “Which brings me to a favor I must request. Given that I’ll be leaving at first light, would you mind if I spoke with Thane in private for a few minutes? We have a few personal matters to finish discussing.”
“Of course not,” Hermione burst out almost before Bryce had finished speaking. “Gaby and I will entertain Mr. Averley. You two step outside onto the terrace. It’s a lovely evening. Take as much time âs you need.”
Bryce nodded his thanks, his eyes flickering over Gaby before shifting to Thane.
Gaby watched the two men leave the room, shutting the terrace doors in their wake. Studying them through the glass panes, she wondered just what it was that Bryce was so eager to convey to Thane.
“Gaby, would you like more tea?” Aunt Hermione asked. “You look a bit peaked from your romp with Crumpet.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Aunt Hermione.” Gaby proffered her cup.
“Now that I think of it, you also looked exhausted earlier today. Didn’t you sleep well, dear?”
“No.” Gaby stared into her cup, offering as much of the truth as she could without upsetting her aunt. “The trip to Whitshire obviously upset me even more than I realized. I had a fitful night.”
Averley gave an uncomfortable cough, as if deciding whether or not to speak. “Mrs. Darcey was terribly worried about you,” he offered at last. “She reminded me six times to ensure your well-being while I was here and to offer you her good wishes. So did Mrs. Fife. Even Couling followed me out to the carriage tonight, requesting that I send his regards.”
A small smile touched Gaby’s lips. “Goodness. He must be anxious. The Couling I recall would never have lowered his reserve enough to display worry. I’m touched.”
Averley smiled back at her accurate assessment of the Whitshire butler. “You were always a particular favorite of the staff’s, Gabrielle—despite the upheaval you caused. Which, incidentally, was not that dissimilar to what your friend Crumpet provoked today.”
Amusement danced in Gaby’s eyes. “I see now why you were all so exasperated with me, and why Mama and Papa continually chastised me for my disappearances.”
“They would be grateful that one of those disappearances saved your life.”
All semblance of humor vanished, raw emotion tightening Gaby’s throat. “But not theirs.”
“Forgive me,” Averley murmured, a flush staining his already ruddy complexion. “I’ve overstepped my bounds. I apologize. I certainly didn’t mean to make things worse. I only wanted to remind you how very much your parents loved you, in the hope that it would ease the painful memories that made last night so difficult for you to bear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Averley.” Gaby inhaled deeply, feeling horrible to have incited his guilt, yet unable to dispel her anguish, which seemed to be intensifying rather than abating. “It isn’t your fault,” she assured him. “It’s just something I must overcome on my own. Please don’t apologize. I appreciate your concern, and the rest of the staff’s as well. Please thank them for me.” Another shaky breath. “Perhaps someday I’ll feel strong enough to visit Whitshire again and thank them myself.”
“But not for a long while,” Aunt Hermione said, taking Gaby’s hand in hers. “For now you’ll remain at Nevon Manor with those who love you and with a lifetime of happy memories—those already made and those yet to come.”
Gaby clung to her aunt’s words like a lifeline. “Yes,” she concurred in a fervent whisper. “I’ll stay right here at Nevon Manor, where I’m safe.”
Chapter 8
THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK CHIMED three, a sure indicator that Bryce should be asleep rather than prowling about his chambers, contemplating the dawn.
A dawn that would sweep him back to the comfort of his familiar life and away from the bewildering emotions he’d encountered these past three days at Nevon Manor.
His second talk with Thane had gone well. He hadn’t known what sort of reaction to expect when Thane learned that Hermione had bequeathed her entire home to her illegitimate nephew—a man she hadn’t seen in years. He’d only known that, given how much she’d already revealed at Whitshire last night, Thane had a right to know this key piece of information about his newly acknowledged brother, as well as how Bryce’s future would, at least peripherally, touch his. And he had a right to know now, before Bryce left for London.
So Bryce had told him.
Thane’s reaction was surprising, rooted not in the shock or resentment Bryce had anticipated but in genuine concern.
Leaning against the terrace railing, he’d let out a long, low whistle. “Beneficiary to Nevon Manor—that’s quite a responsibility Hermione’s handed you. Is it what you want?”
Bryce had stared out over the grounds of Nevon Manor, an estate that would one day be his. “I don’t know what I want, Thane. Needless to say, I have a great deal to think about. That’s part of the reason I must leave Hertford so abruptly.”
“To consider your decision?”
“No.” Bryce shook his head. “I’ve already agreed to Hermione’s request. And it is a request—I want you to know that. I have no designs on Hermione’s home or her assets, nor, quite frankly, do I need the income associated with either one.”
Thane’s brows arched. “That possibility never occurred to me.”
“It should have. You don’t know me very well. You have every reason to question my motives. Therefore I’m elaborating more than I ordinarily would in the hope of easing any doubts that might creep into your mind. The basis for my decision has nothing to do with money. It has everything to do with the fact that I
owe Hermione my life. She’s never asked for anything in return … until now. Consequently, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—refuse her.” A pause. “If I’m to be completely honest, that’s not the only reason I chose to honor Hermione’s request. Having spent these past few days with the residents of Nevon Manor, I find I’ve developed a great deal of respect and admiration for them. Given that fact, it’s very likely I would have agreed to Hermione’s request of my own accord.”
“I’m sure she counted on that fact,” Thane remarked dryly.
Bryce shot him a wary look, uncertain whether Thane intended the comment to be an observation or a barb. “Knowing Hermione, I don’t doubt it,” he’d carefully replied. “In any case, I felt you should be told about the situation. I also wanted to make it clear that Hermione did not overlook you as a probable beneficiary. Her concern was that you might be overburdened managing your father’s holdings, and she was loath to add such an enormous obligation to that burden.”
“Bryce, stop,” Thane had interrupted, holding up his palm. “I don’t require this prolonged explanation. What’s more,” he added, putting an end to Bryce’s doubts and surprising him with the depth of his insight. “I understand Hermione’s motives better than you think. I believe she made a wise choice, the best choice, for reasons far more crucial than my taxing responsibilities. Nevon Manor requires someone special at its helm, someone who can continue what Hermione began. Our two meetings and my fine instincts tell me you’re that person.”
Relief, more vast than Bryce had imagined feeling, surged through him, along with a strong wave of respect. “I’m glad you feel that way. I was half afraid you’d think I was trying to divest our aunt of her funds.”
“Hardly. First of all, I’m aware that you’re far from financially needy. I do read the newspapers, you know. In addition to which I also have, as I just mentioned, fine instincts, instincts that tell me you’re much too ethical even to consider what you’re describing.” Thane folded his arms across his chest, giving an unequivocal shrug. “After all, only an ethical man would have thought to initiate this conversation.”
“Or a guilty one who was anxious to cover his tracks.”
“Spoken like a true barrister.” Thane’s lips curved. “I’m beginning to enjoy this sparring of ours. Unfortunately, the next round will have to wait. Before I left Whitshire, Couling placed a huge stack of papers on my desk, all of which need my immediate attention. So I must be getting back. Suffice it to say I’m delighted with Hermione’s choice of beneficiaries and can scarcely wait to continue our heated debates on politics, gaming tactics, and moral ethics the instant you return to Hertford.” A pause. “Whenever that will be. You never did say what unresolved issues are driving you to London—or should I say, away from Hertford? Or how long it will take you to resolve them.”
Bryce’s gaze had flitted toward the window, and he was assessing Gaby’s delicate features with a brooding expression. “No,” he’d replied, besieged by a multifaceted conflict that ranged from consternation over her nightmares to doubt as to whether he was the right choice to serve as her guardian. “I never did.”
Now, ambling about his quarters, Bryce reexamined that conflict, wondering if it had been a mistake to agree to that portion of Hermione’s request. True, the guardianship would probably never come to pass, given that next year’s Season was less than a year away. But still, what had he gotten himself into?
The truth was that he and Gaby had a unique affinity for each other that he found both unsettling and unfamiliar. She inspired an odd protective instinct in him that was getting out of hand, partly because it was so unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, and partly because he feared Gaby was misreading it as something far more serious. All those questions about Lucinda, about being in love, about private moments, intimate moments, between a man and a woman … Gaby was so very young and such an unwavering romantic; Lord only knew how she interpreted his regard for her well-being. But whatever was transpiring in that lovely head of hers, it wasn’t good. It was time to put things in perspective—for both their sakes. And the only way to do that was to place some distance between himself and Gaby’s imaginary Wonderland. Now. Because the longer he stayed at Nevon Manor, the worse things were going to get.
A muffled sound from the hallway brought his head up, and he tensed, straining to hear the noise again. A sense of foreboding knotted the pit of his stomach— although why, he hadn’t a clue. One of Gaby’s house pets was probably out there—maybe one of the kittens who slept in Lily’s and Jane’s rooms. They often wandered about the manor getting into mischief.
A thud, closer to his quarters this time, followed by a choked whimper and the sound of padding feet. Human feet.
Bryce crossed over and yanked open his door, stepping into the hall in time to see Gaby round the corner, her nightgown billowing about her slight form, her music box clutched to her chest.
She was asleep.
He reached her in a half dozen strides, tugging her into an alcove and out of sight. “Gaby.” He shook her, anxiously searching her face, awaiting some kind of response.
Her exquisite eyes were vague, obscured by sleep, her hair tumbling in waves about her shoulders. “Fire …” she gasped, her entire body trembling with fear. “Flames … high … too high … I can’t—”
“Gaby.” Bryce’s voice was hushed but insistent, his fingers digging into her arms. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to wake up.” Another hard shake.
“What …?” Awareness jolted through Gaby’s limbs, crept into her eyes, and she gazed up at him, pressing the music box against her as if it could ward off oncoming pain. “Bryce?” she asked blankly.
“You were sleepwalking,” he told her, struggling to keep his voice calm. Then, seeing her anguish, feeling tension grip her, he relented, drawing her to him and enfolding her in his arms. “You’re all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re inside the manor, down the hall from my quarters. I stopped you on your way to the stairs.”
“It’s not over, then,” she whispered, clearly fighting back tears. “Last night was only the onset.”
“You don’t know that,” Bryce heard himself saying—he who never diluted the truth. “It could be the aftermath, like echoing rumbles of thunder. If so, it will fade.”
“When, Bryce? When will it fade?”
With a harsh sigh, Bryce rested his chin atop her head. “I don’t know.”
“Gaby?” Hermione’s voice reached their ears, hushed but audible—and filled with worry. “Dear, are you out here?”
“It’s Aunt Hermione.” Gaby tensed, her fingers digging into Bryce’s shirt. “She must have heard the commotion and checked my room, only to find it empty.” A choked sound. “Force of habit from the past.”
Bryce nodded, knowing what had to be done, wondering if Gaby was going to fight him.
She answered his question before he asked it.
Drawing back, she gazed up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “We have to tell her. We have no choice.” Her lips trembled. “Oh, Bryce, what if she’s too weak to take this? What if I make her illness worse?”
“Stop it.” Bryce framed Gaby’s face between his palms. “Hermione is stronger than all of us combined. She’ll cope splendidly. And she’ll help you, be there for you since I …” His voice trailed off.
“Since you can’t?”
Guilt surged inside him. “Gaby.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “I want to be here, to offer you the strength you need. But I … It’s just that … dammit,” he muttered as Hermione called out again, this time more urgently. “We can’t talk about this now.”
“No, we can’t. I don’t want Aunt Hermione to think I’ve disappeared into the dead of night.” Gaby gave him a long, searching look. “I just wish I understood why you continually withdraw from me, erect a wall between us. Perhaps you can explain it to me when you return to Nevon Manor.”
With that she stepped away from him, squaring her shoulders
and walking into view. “I’m here, Aunt Hermione,” she called softly, beckoning to her aunt. “Please don’t worry. I’m well, truly.” She glanced behind her as Bryce emerged from the alcove. “Thanks to Bryce,” she added, indicating his presence.
Even across the ten yards of hallway that separated them, Bryce could perceive Hermione’s absolute sweeping relief. She halted in her tracks, obviously having been contemplating the worst, and sagged weakly against the wall. Her face was drawn, her stance unsteady, and her fingers fluttered over the belt of her dressing robe, tightening it reflexively.
An instant later her inner strength prevailed, and she steadied herself on her feet, making her way toward them even as Gaby rushed to her side.
“Aunt Hermione,” she demanded anxiously, clutching her aunt’s hands. “Are you all right?”
“I’m more than all right, now that I know you are.” Hermione enfolded Gaby against her, her lips trembling with emotion. “Thank God,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping the heavens. Drawing back, she smoothed a gentle palm across Gaby’s cheek. “What happened?”
“It’s the sleepwalking again.” Gaby minced no words. “This is the second time it’s recurred. The first time was last night, after returning from Whitshire. I …” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s I who am sorry,” Hermione replied. Her troubled gaze flickered up and down the deserted hallway, then settled on Bryce. “Let’s the three of us go to my sitting room and talk.”
Bryce nodded his understanding. There was no point in awakening any of the others and alerting them to the situation.
He cupped the women’s elbows and led them to Hermione’s quarters.
Once there, Hermione insisted Gaby lie down on the settee, where she covered her with a blanket. Minutes later Bryce saw why, as Gaby’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.
“This used to happen sometimes,” Hermione explained quietly to Bryce, her own face ashen. “After a particularly upsetting bout of sleepwalking. Dr. Briers described it as an emotional reaction, not a chill.” She pointed at a small cabinet beside the settee. “You’ll find a bottle of sherry in there. I’d appreciate your pouring Gaby a glass.”