Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  Deferring the adamant refusal to meet Whitshire’s son that hovered on his lips, Bryce confronted this more important subject head-on. “Before we say another word, I want to understand precisely what the status of your health is. You just implied that your life could be nearing an end. Yet a moment ago you reassured me you’d be here next spring for Gabrielle’s coming-out. Which is it, Hermione? Are you ill? If not, why do you keep referring to your demise as if it’s imminent? And while we’re on the subject, what is that medicine you’ve been taking?”

  A pulse fluttered at Hermione’s throat, a clear indication that she was unnerved. Seeing that, Bryce frowned, accosted by the distressing possibility that perhaps Hermione’s illness was indeed serious, that her entire plan had been devised in an attempt to protect those she loved—providing for their future while shielding them from the truth for as long as it was feasible to do so.

  Squelching his concern, he awaited her reply.

  When it came, it was with a quavering lift of her shoulders. “To my knowledge, I’m not ill, only weak. According to Dr. Briers, the medicine is a tonic that will help sustain my strength. Whether that’s the truth or simply his kindhearted attempt to placate an old woman, I’m not sure. Nor does it matter. To be blunt, my intentions and fate’s might not concur—at least not with regard to my health.”

  Hermione paused, resting a moment to recapture her strength. “I’m not planning to succumb overnight,” she continued. “However, I must be practical. At my age, how much remaining time could there be? I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been feeling increasingly peaked these past few weeks. It’s almost as if I’m being prepared. I’m a fighter, Bryce; I intend to hold on to life with every fiber of my being. But Richard’s death made me realize we’re all mortal—even I. Fighter or not, I can’t stop the passage of time or change the course of nature. I’ve lived a long, full life. With a modicum of luck, my pluck and my medicine will help sustain me a few years longer. Nevertheless, I want my affairs to be in order, and, more important, I want those I love to be provided for, physically and emotionally. And that, my dear boy, includes you.” Hermione’s hands dropped to her lap. “Have I sufficiently answered your question?”

  Bryce rubbed the back of his neck, his head pounding with conflicting emotions. “You have.”

  “Good. Then perhaps you’ll answer mine. Will you give me the peace of mind I seek?”

  How in God’s name could he say no? “You seek a great deal,” he heard himself say.

  “Very well,” Hermione responded. “Then let’s address each of my requests separately. You’ve already agreed to revise my will and look over my accounts. So it seems to me my requests are down to three.” She counted them off with quiet dignity. “One, will you allow me to appoint you my beneficiary? Two, will you agree to act as Gaby’s guardian in the event of my death? And three, will you meet with your brother, forge a relationship that should have begun thirty-one years ago?” A whisper of a smile curved her lips. “Since you don’t want me to die, why not give me something to live for?”

  Bryce sucked in his breath. “Your requests are bloody unconscionable, do you know that? Fine. I’ll serve as your beneficiary and as Gabrielle’s guardian, should that prove necessary. Which I fully intend that it won’t be.”

  “And Thane?” Weak or not, Hermione wasn’t backing down an inch. She raised her chin, determination etched into the fine lines of her face. “Will you meet him?”

  Years of denial refused to be silenced. “I know you mean well, Hermione, but I harbor no secret yearning for acknowledgment, not at this point in my life. To the contrary, I’m quite comfortable with who I am, and I neither want nor need acceptance from Whitshire’s son to validate my sense of self-worth.”

  “Self-worth is not the issue. Family is.” Slowly Hermione rose, clutching the arm of the settee as she steadied herself on her feet. “Bryce, the man is your brother. Aren’t you the least bit curious about him? His stature, his mannerisms, his beliefs? I’ve just told you he’s a good, decent man, one who’s nothing like his sire. Given your probing, inquisitive mind, wouldn’t you like to see for yourself that I’m telling the truth?” She reached up, touched Bryce’s jaw. “He has your coloring, you know. Also your hard, bold features, your height and build. I’ve seen you in him so many times, and each time my heart cried out at the injustice of you two never having met.”

  Bryce swallowed hard. “I doubt he’d want to meet me, his father’s bastard son.”

  “You’re wrong. Knowing Thane, he would have sought you out on his own, had he known of your existence.”

  “With Whitshire alive? That I doubt. Your brother would have had his head.”

  “That wouldn’t have stopped Thane. Like you, he doesn’t compromise his principles—not even for his father.”

  Bryce’s curiosity and his commitment to Hermione were fast outpacing his stubbornness. “When did you want this meeting to take place?”

  “Tomorrow night.” Hermione smiled, sensing victory. “I’ve already written to Thane, asked if we might hold a small dinner at Whitshire despite the fact that we’re all in mourning. I explained that my legal adviser is visiting and that I’d like him to speak with Mr. Averley, the Whitshire steward, in order that he might discuss my business affairs. As you know, Chaunce handles my household accounts, but for anything more complicated, I, like Richard, consult with Mr. Averley, who has advised my family in matters of business for years. Thane, of course, agreed. I received Thane’s confirming note while you were in the music room chatting with Gaby. We’re expected at Whitshire tomorrow evening at seven o’clock.”

  Bryce’s jaw dropped. “You’ve already arranged this?”

  “I kept your true identity a secret, but yes. I couldn’t afford to waste time. Time would give you the opportunity to change your mind.”

  “I hadn’t even made up my mind!”

  “Well, now you have.” A sunny smile. “Besides, you’d be doing a great service to Gaby.”

  “To Gaby.” Once again, Bryce felt as if he were being dragged under by a great muddling wave. “Where does Gabrielle fit into this?”

  “She hasn’t been back to Whitshire since the fire.”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “It’s time she confronted her past. The best way to do that is by convincing her that she’s needed, that she’d be visiting Whitshire as a favor to someone other than herself.”

  “And that someone is me.” Bryce shook his head in amazement. “You think Gabrielle’s protective instincts will rush forward if she thinks I need emotional support on my first excursion to Whitshire.” A frown. “Does she know my true parentage?”

  “No. That is something no one knows.” Hermione hesitated. “With the exception of Chaunce.”

  “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “The point is, we needn’t hide the facts any longer, need we?”

  That brought Bryce up short. “Hermione, don’t even consider making a public announcement.” He clenched his fists at his sides, a gesture as totally unyielding as his demand. “The reality might be that Whitshire died last week, but to me he’s been dead all my life. Nothing’s changed, nor do I choose that it should. I am Bryce Lyndley. Were I to agree to meet Whitshire’s son, it would be a concession to you, not a bid to alter my status. Is that clear? I mean it, Hermione. No newspaper tidbits, no gossip whispered among servants—nothing. If any of those things should occur—”

  “I would never reveal anything that was solely your right to tell,” Hermione interrupted. “Nor have I the slightest inclination to proclaim the truth to the world. This isn’t about status, Bryce; it’s about family. Rest assured, the only people I was suggesting we confide in were Gaby and Thane, both of whom would be directly affected by your announcement and both of whom are thoroughly discreet. Why, if you consider it, you’d be doing Gaby a great service and bringing me an abundance of joy—and all without relinquishing one iota of Bryce Lyndley.” A twinkle. “S
urely that wouldn’t pose a threat to someone with as strong a sense of self-worth as you?”

  Bryce opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. “And you wouldn’t want to face me in court?” he muttered.

  A serene smile was his only reply.

  “All right. All right.” Bryce shook his head in exasperated disbelief. “But I must say that my life was singularly uncomplicated before today.”

  “That’s what family does. It complicates your life, turns it upside down, and brings you more fulfillment than you could possibly imagine.” Hermione gazed up at him, her eyes growing damp. “I mean to give you a family, Bryce. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

  As if on cue, a crisp knock sounded at the door, and an instant later Chaunce entered, crossing the sitting room while gingerly balancing a pile of six or seven books. “Our ledgers, sir,” he pronounced, placing the books on the end table.

  “Oh, Chaunce, I’m glad you’re back!” Hermione exclaimed, easing herself onto the settee. “I have wonderful news. Bryce and Gaby will be joining me when I ride to Whitshire for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “That’s splendid, madam.” A polite smile touched the butler’s lips. “His Lordship … Forgive me, His Grace will be pleased.”

  “His Grace,” Bryce reminded Chaunce dryly, “is expecting Lady Nevon’s legal adviser.”

  “Which, among other things, is precisely what he shall get.” Chaunce tapped the pile of books. “These are the most current household accounts, covering the past few years. The items listed range from staff wages to the cost of food and supplies to specific extras required by individual staff members. As you’ll see, the entries have undergone very little change from year to year. However, in the ledgers we’ll be compiling for the current year, we must provide for several additional items with regard to Miss Gaby’s first London Season: namely, an extensive new wardrobe—gowns, accessories, and whatever else a lady requires for her debut—plus the commencement of dance lessons, coupled with her customary pianoforte lessons, of course.”

  Chaunce paused in his explanation, indicating the three thicker books on the bottom of the pile. “To continue. These three sets of ledgers contain information that is more complex than those I’ve just described to you. Rather than the day-to-day workings of Nevon Manor, they itemize the incomes received from Lady Nevon’s various properties, as well as the expenses necessary to run those properties. The estates concerned are extensive—including everything from Nevon Manor to the small Bedford cottage in which you were raised—and were, for the most part, willed to Lady Nevon by her late husband. The majority of them house tenants as well as servants. My suggestion with regard to these books is that you take them to your room and review them tonight, after which you can discuss the details with Mr. Averley when you visit Whitshire tomorrow. As the late duke’s steward, he’s handled the entire Rowland family’s more intricate household accounts for decades.”

  “Rowland,” Hermione interrupted, “is your … pardon me, is Thane’s family name.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Bryce returned stiffly, lifting the top four books from the pile and setting them aside so he could gather up the heavier ledgers beneath. “Very well, Chaunce. I’ll go over these three volumes in detail, first on my own, then with Mr. Averley.” Raising his head, he glanced at Hermione. “I want to understand the full extent of income derived from all your estates, including the rent you receive from your tenants. The more knowledge I have of your assets, the better able I’ll be to advise you, both on amending your will and on setting up Gabrielle’s trust.”

  “Excellent.” Hermione smoothed a strand of silvery hair from her cheek. “And speaking of Gaby, when do you intend to speak with her? Not about the trust, of course—I don’t want to cause her any additional worry over my health—but about our visit to Whitshire tomorrow and its purpose.”

  Bryce frowned, contemplating how he was going to relay a past he’d never before shared with anyone. “I suppose the sooner I confront this the better.” He set his jaw. “Let’s review the household accounts now. We can probably do a fairly thorough job before dinnertime. Immediately following dessert, I’ll take Gabrielle for a stroll. I’ll explain the whole ugly situation to her then.”

  “Don’t sound so grim,” Hermione appeased him gently. “The facts aren’t changed by being uttered aloud, any more than you’re changed by uttering them. You are as you are, Bryce: an extraordinary man who is willing to reopen his own wounds in order to help others heal theirs.”

  Bryce shot her a look, pulling up a chair and lowering himself into it. “I’m not nearly as self-sacrificing as you choose to believe, Hermione. Had anyone but you made these particular requests, my compassion alone would not have been enough to convince me. I would have long since been gone from Nevon Manor, my refusal echoing in your ears.”

  With that, he shoved aside the heavier ledgers and opened the first book of household accounts.

  “Spring is my favorite time of year.” Gaby paused at a budding oak, gently touching one of its newborn blossoms. “ ʼTis as if everything comes alive all at once.”

  “Hmm? Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Bryce’s reply was vague, his mind preoccupied with the conversation he was about to commence.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, the brooding humor that had clung to him all evening heightening as he contemplated the untenable subject he was on the verge of broaching. Opening up this particular chapter of his life was both an unforeseen and an unpleasant step, one he’d never before considered taking, and he wondered why in the name of heaven he’d allowed Hermione to talk him into it.

  One glance at Gabrielle, now caressing the oak’s blossom as if it were a priceless gem, provided him with his answer. In truth, his revelation would cost him nothing more than a few moments’ discomfort while, for Gabrielle, it could provide an opportunity to make peace with her past.

  And who better than he knew how important that was? He, who had faced that very challenge himself.

  Well, that challenge was behind him now. The facts surrounding his true lineage had long since been put to rest, relegated to a place where they lay dormant, tangible but unable to cause him pain. So if sharing the truth with Gabrielle would help silence her own ghosts, the effort would be worth the discomfort.

  Sucking in his breath, he turned his attention back to Gabrielle, frowning as he noted her continued fascination with the oak. “Is this the first time you’ve walked this particular path?” he demanded.

  Gabrielle looked surprised. “Of course not. I go by here every day, often at a dead run. This grove of trees leads directly to Crumpet’s warren. Why do you ask?”

  “Because clearly that oak has been standing here for years. Yet you’re acting as if you’re seeing it for the first time.”

  “In a way I am.” She stroked the delicate blossom, then released it. “This bud wasn’t here yesterday. Nor will it look exactly the same tomorrow.” She turned her gaze to Bryce, her cornflower-blue eyes bright with insight. “A great deal depends upon the way one views life, I suppose. It can either be very mundane, or exciting, new, like …”

  “Wonderland?” Bryce suggested, amusement lacing his tone.

  “Only those aspects of Wonderland that are truly remarkable,” Gaby replied, as solemn as Bryce had been teasing. “The other aspects—the loneliness, the confusion, the turmoil—those we have right here on earth. But then, you know that already, don’t you?”

  His amusement faded. “I’ll say it again. For one so young, so isolated from life, you’re surprisingly astute.”

  “Perhaps.” She leaned back against the tree trunk. “I’m certainly astute enough to deduce there was a reason you asked me to go strolling.”

  “You’re right.” Bryce cleared his throat, realizing for the first time that his whisking her away from the manor might have proved disconcerting. Unlike Lucinda and the other sophisticated women of his acquaintance, Gabrielle hadn’t endured years of instruction on how to prope
rly conduct herself with a gentleman. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was not only entirely unexposed to the subject, she was unaccustomed even to visiting with a man, much less taking a solitary stroll with one. And here he’d rushed her from the dining room into the evening and into a secluded grove of trees without so much as an explanation.

  “I apologize for ushering you away so quickly,” he said, determined to put her at ease. “Not to mention without benefit of a chaperon. But what I need to speak with you about is both pressing and private. Please believe me when I say that my motives are entirely honorable, and Hermione is fully aware of our whereabouts.”

  Astonishment flashed across Gaby’s face. “I never imagined otherwise. From all I know of you, and from all I’m learning firsthand, it never occurred to me that your intentions would be anything but honorable. Besides,” she added, an impish grin curving her lips, “even if they weren’t, I’m perfectly safe and well protected right here where we stand.”

  “By whom?”

  “Screech and Brick.”

  With a quick glance about, Bryce asked, “Who?”

  Gaby patted the tree trunk behind her, raising her eyes upward. “Two of my animal friends. Screech is hovering in the hollow just over our heads, and Brick, the last time I spied him, was scurrying along the branch of a sycamore tree several yards down.”

  Bryce followed her gesture, tilting back his head and examining the lowest hollow of the oak.

  A sharp-billed woodpecker peered down at him, its black eyes piercing and alert.

  “Screech is not at all shy,” Gaby assured Bryce. “If he felt I was in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to shriek the leaves off the trees, then swoop down and hammer my assailant until he fled. And Brick”—she glanced off to the left, indicating a sleek red squirrel poised in the branch of a sycamore several trees down, a half-eaten nut clasped between his paws—“his color alone isn’t responsible for his name. Do you see that nut he’s clutching? When Brick decides to pelt people, they bear the scars for days.”