by Music Box
He frowned, reflexively reaching out to trace the dark circles beneath her eyes. Gone was the tousled man who’d awakened her, Gaby noted. He’d vanished along with his rumpled clothing and shadow of a beard. In his place was the impeccably groomed, strikingly handsome barrister she’d met in Nevon Manors drive, a man who hid his vulnerability so well that even he himself couldn’t perceive it.
“I was speaking with Hermione,” Bryce replied, his fingertips brushing her skin. “I didn’t expect our conversation to last so long. Peter is probably wondering where I am; we were to meet directly after breakfast. But I wanted to check on you before I went off to find him. Now I’m glad I did. You look exhausted. I think you should go upstairs and rest.”
Gaby caught Bryce’s wrist. “You didn’t tell Aunt Hermione, did you? About the sleepwalking?”
“I told you I wouldn’t. Did you doubt me?”
Her lashes drifted downward. “No. Not really. It’s just that neither of you were at the table, and my imagination took over.”
“Well, don’t let it. I said nothing.”
“Thank you. And not just for remaining silent. For everything.” Gaby’s chin came up. “You’re planning to leave Nevon Manor, aren’t you?”
Conflict warred on Bryce’s face. “Not today. But soon, yes.”
She nodded, trying to conceal her disappointment. “I hope you won’t stay away too long. Our family needs you.” And you need them, she added silently.
“I’ll do my best.” His arm dropped to his side. “I’d best get to Peter.”
“Bryce.” She caught his sleeve, staying his retreat. “What about Thane?”
“What about him?”
“Promise me you’ll see him before you leave for London. You two need to spend more time together—time I deprived you of last night.”
“You deprived us of nothing. You had a devastating experience, one that required cutting the evening short.”
“Nevertheless, you and Thane have a great deal to resolve and much time to make up for. And while I realize Hertford is only twenty-five miles from London, I also realize it’s all too easy to lose sight of things once they’re removed from our immediate vision, after which, no matter how good our intentions, more current priorities take over. Time passes. And before you know it …”
“Gaby,” Bryce interrupted, laying his forefinger across her lips, “I will see Thane. I give you my word.”
“Today,” she pressed. “Promise me you’ll see him today—before time has a chance to erode the initial strides you two have made toward a friendship. Once you’ve strengthened yesterday’s tenuous bond, a few weeks of distance won’t matter.”
Bryce studied her intently, his eyes softening to a velvety green. “You’re astounding. So sheltered, yet so wise.”
“Will you give me your word? If so, I promise to go upstairs and rest while you visit with Peter.”
Amusement tugged at Bryce’s lips. “Negotiating, are we?”
“Are my terms acceptable?”
He inclined his head, thoughtfulness supplanting amusement. “What if I were to ask Thane to come here? Given the circumstances, I doubt he’d refuse me, mourning period or not. And the truth is, I do need to see both him and Averley, to conclude our review of Hermione’s records. I’ll ask Chaunce to send them an invitation to tea. That way I can spend most of the day working on Hermione’s will and the provisions she wants outlined for the residents of Nevon Manor. Then I can turn my attention to her other estates once Thane and Averley arrive in the late afternoon.”
“While ensuring that I’m not left alone or excluded from the pleasantries,” Gaby added with quiet insight. She sighed, feeling utterly ashamed at her weakness. “I’d love to be part of your gathering. But don’t alter your plans because I’m a coward—too afraid to return to Whitshire.”
“First of all, I’m not altering my plans. Having Thane travel here allows me more time to concentrate solely on those of Hermione’s legal affairs that pertain to Nevon Manor. And second, you’re not a coward. You’d be a fool to willfully repeat the agonizing experience you endured last night.” Bryce folded his arms across his chest, giving her an expectant look. “So … are my terms acceptable? I’ll see Thane this afternoon, but at Nevon Manor, not Whitshire.”
Gaby smiled, tenderness unfurling inside her like warm mists of smoke. This was the way it had been between them before last night had intruded, an affinity as natural as it was right. “Perfectly acceptable. Better than acceptable—wonderful. Thank you, Bryce, for understanding—and for caring.”
Their gazes locked.
Abruptly Bryce stiffened, an odd expression crossing his face. He took a reflexive step backward, something akin to confusion and astonishment mirrored in his eyes. Then shutters descended, and Gaby could actually feel him erect an invisible wall between them. But why? What had she done to prompt him to withdraw from her again?
“Bryce?” she questioned hesitantly.
He cut her off with a slight shake of his head. “I’ll be leaving for London tomorrow, Gaby,” he announced, his tone strained.
“Tomorrow?” She could no longer hide her distress. The suddenness of his announcement, the severity of his reaction … What had just happened that she had missed? “I don’t understand. You said—”
“I said I’d be leaving Nevon Manor soon.”
“Soon, yes. But tomorrow? Why?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I must. For many reasons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find Peter. Get some rest. I’ll see you at tea.”
With that, he was gone.
Teatime came later than expected for Gaby.
Troubled by Bryce’s unexpected decision and stymied by its cause, she spent a good portion of the day trying to rest, only to find she was unable to do so. At last she gave up her pondering and her attempts at slumber, instead donning her gown and leaving the manor for a long stroll about the grounds, hoping that the fresh air would clear her mind and the walk would allow her to expend some energy.
Both the air and the walk failed miserably.
As a last resort, she headed off to Crumpet’s warren, certain that frolicking with her pet would provide the welcome balm she needed.
That attempt yielded far more than she bargained for.
Delighted to be released from confinement, Crumpet exploded into freedom, leading Gaby on a merry chase, first across the gardens, where he promptly destroyed Wilson’s primroses, then into the woods, where he disappeared among the trees.
It took ages to find him, much less catch him. And now … Gaby frowned at the grass stains on her tattered gown, gathering up her skirts and sprinting toward the manor. Now it was ten minutes before five, nearly an hour past the time she’d been expected for tea. And she had yet to change her clothes—a necessity, given her soiled and sorry state. Mentally she chastised Crumpet, more for his poor timing than for the shambles he’d made of her gown. Why did he always pick the most inopportune moments to perform his antics?
Scarcely turning the door handle, Gaby eased her way into the house, praying that Aunt Hermione was having refreshments served in the blue salon, way at the far end of the corridor and well past the flight of steps she was about to dash up. Their guests were here; she’d seen Thane’s carriage round the drive a full hour ago when she’d been crawling through the trees, groping for her mischievous, elusive rabbit.
Gaby tiptoed inside the entrance hall, turning to shut the door behind her, grateful to notice that the area was deserted.
A light tap on her shoulder made her jump and whirl about. “Chaunce,” she gasped, nearly sagging with relief when she saw who her discoverer was. “You startled me.” She glanced swiftly about. “Thank goodness it’s only you. I was afraid one of our guests had come upon me, someone less apt to fathom how a grown woman would willingly take part in a diversion that resulted in her looking like an unkempt waif.”
“ ‘One of our guests’—ah, you’re referring to Mr. Lyndley.” Cha
unce’s tone said he harbored not a shred of doubt over which guest Gaby was referring to. “Need I remind you that you two met after you’d taken a similar romp and that Mr. Lyndley was hardly offended by your refreshing and unaffected appearance?”
“Refreshing?” Gaby couldn’t stifle a giggle as she pointed at the shredded hem of her gown, the huge stains that decorated her skirts. “Perhaps then, but certainly not now. I wouldn’t call this refreshing, Chaunce; I’d called it filth.”
“I see your point.” The butler’s lips twitched. “Well, fear not. It was only I who heard you enter the manor—I who am quite used to seeing you in this informal though no less lovely state.” He kept his voice hushed. “I was waiting to tell you that Marion laid out your lemon-yellow day dress and prepared a basin of warm water for your use. I suggested she let you dress unassisted, because—despite your customary practice of allotting extra time for her to trip over your skirts and spill your hairpins—I’m afraid Crumpet has depleted whatever extra time Marion might have had, and then some. Also, I made certain to show our guests to the blue salon, so no one need see you rush upstairs.” With that, Chaunce clasped his hands behind his back.
“Oh, thank you.” Gaby stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. “What would I do without you?”
“I shudder to think. Now hurry and get dressed. By the way,” he added in a whisper, “Mr. Lyndley and His Grace are getting on famously. They’re in the process of disagreeing over gaming techniques and arguing over political views.”
Gaby frowned. “That’s getting on famously?”
A profound sniff. “For gentlemen? Without a doubt.”
“I see. Very well, thank you for telling me, Chaunce. I’ll go change now.”
“Excellent. And I’ll fetch tea.”
Twenty minutes later Gaby made her way downstairs, tucking one last tendril of hair into her yellow satin ribbon, wondering what kind of reception to expect. She still hadn’t figured out the cause of the baffling change in Bryce’s behavior. And while he had asked her to join them for tea, that was before his abrupt emotional withdrawal. Perhaps she should leave well enough alone and stay away, she mused, slowing her steps as she neared the blue salon. The amiable murmur of voices emanating from inside seemed to indicate that all was going well. Perhaps her appearance would only complicate matters.
She stopped, then turned away.
“They’re awaiting you, and the tea is getting cold,” Chaunce informed her, blocking her path.
Gaby blinked. “This is the second time you’ve emerged out of nowhere. Have you discovered a splendid new hiding place?”
“Really, Miss Gaby,” Chaunce responded with an offended frown. “You know better than to think I’d resort to covert scrutiny of our family. I simply do my job, overseeing the household from my customary post by the entranceway door or wherever else I happen to be at the moment. And what I witnessed this time was your step faltering as you neared the blue salon. As a result, I hurried down to suggest you dismiss any foolish notion of vanishing. Mr. Lyndley’s business with His Grace and Mr. Averley is about to conclude. That means it’s time for refreshments; I delivered the tray while you were changing clothes. What’s more, your aunt is becoming increasingly more concerned over your absence. I’ve reassured her time and again that you’re fine and on your way, but she needs to see that fact for herself. If not…” Chaunce’s voice trailed off, as if leaving the upsetting prospects to Gaby’s imagination.
“Oh, dear. Then of course I’ll go.” Gaby chewed her lip, gazing anxiously up at Chaunce. “Did you explain what detained me?”
“I mentioned something about Crumpet being lost. The details I left for you to provide.”
“Wonderful,” Gaby muttered. “I feel like a fool.”
“You look absolutely lovely.”
Gaby eyed him skeptically, her lips curving into an impish grin. “That helped fortify my courage—truthful or not.”
“It’s very much the truth,” Chaunce assured her. “One would never know that the beautiful young woman standing before me was a half hour ago, to quote your words, an unkempt waif.”
Laughter bubbled up in Gaby’s throat. “You are quite the charmer, Chaunce. Also quite convincing.” So saying, she pivoted. “Wish me luck,” she requested. Squaring her shoulders, she took the remaining steps to her destination.
Chaunce smoothed his mustache, staring after Gaby with a frustrated frown. “Luck is not what you need, Miss Gaby,” he murmured to himself. “What you need is opportunity. Our job is to provide it. Yours is to seize it.”
Unaware of Chaunce’s reflections, Gaby paused outside the blue salon.
“Have Averley and I answered all your questions?” she heard Thane asking.
“Absolutely.” It was Bryce’s voice. “I’ll take the notes I’ve jotted down, and of course Averley’s ledgers, with me to London.”
“You shouldn’t have any problem determining what each of my entries represents,” Averley assured him. “The books are in perfect order. The late duke insisted that they be clear and precise.”
“Yes, Father was nothing if not insistent about things being done his way,” Thane muttered dryly, more than a trace of irony in his tone.
“What could be keeping Gaby?” Aunt Hermione chimed in, her anxious voice implying she’d asked the question several times already.
That was Gaby’s cue.
Walking into the room, she glanced at her aunt with a rueful smile. “Crumpet kept me, Aunt Hermione. He was missing for hours. I had to find him before dark. Please forgive me.”
All three gentlemen rose to their feet.
“It was Crumpet. Then Chaunce wasn’t just trying to placate me.” Aunt Hermione sagged with relief. “I suppose my aged mind is beginning to play tricks on me, conjuring up nonexistent possibilities over which to worry.”
“Your mind is as sharp as a tack,” Gaby declared loyally, crossing over and seating herself on the Chippendale sofa beside her aunt. “Crumpet was gone an exceptionally long time today. He covered far more territory than usual: the garden, the woods—everywhere but his warren. I only just recovered him a short while ago.” She squeezed her aunt’s hand, then looked from one gentleman to the next, acutely conscious of Bryce’s commanding presence where he stood at the far end of the adjacent settee. “I apologize for delaying your tea. If it’s cold, I myself will prepare another pot.”
“Nonsense,” Thane chuckled, reseating himself in the chair closest to Aunt Hermione, propping his elbow on the chair’s cushioned arm. “Your timing is perfect. We just concluded our business. As for the tea being cold, you needn’t worry. Chaunce only brought it in five minutes ago.”
“Besides,” Averley added, settling himself in a walnut side chair and rolling a half-filled goblet between his palms. “We’ve contented ourselves with a brandy in the interim. I, for one, intend to forgo my tea in favor of another.”
“As do I,” Bryce concurred quietly.
Gaby’s gaze slid over, finally meeting Bryce’s. He was clasping an open ledger, watching her with an intent, unreadable expression.
“How did Peter fare with his morning’s lesson?” Gaby asked carefully.
“Brilliantly.” Bryce closed the ledger, depositing it atop the others on the end table. A look of genuine pride crossed his face. “The lad is a born barrister. His mind is lightning quick, and his grasp of legal theories is so keen it astounds me. I have to keep reminding myself he’s only nine years old, else I might be tempted to take him on as a partner.”
“Someday, perhaps,” Aunt Hermione suggested brightly as she poured tea for the ladies.
“Perhaps.” Bryce nodded, moving to fetch the bottle of brandy from the sideboard in order to refill the gentlemen’s glasses. “I’d be very fortunate. It isn’t often one finds Peter’s level of intelligence and compassion in one person, much less one so young.”
“It is rare,” Hermione agreed. “But it can be found, ofttimes in one who has had great obstacles to ove
rcome.”
Bryce’s jaw tightened, a clear sign that he was aware of Hermione’s affectionate, pointed analogy—and that he had no intention of acknowledging it. “Peter’s lameness doesn’t hinder him,” he responded, his attention fixed on replenishing his drink. “He simply accepts it as a given and presses on in spite of it.”
“Or because of it,” Hermione amended softly, undeterred by her nephew’s reaction. “Obstacles have a way of inspiring people—the right people.”
This time there was no ignoring her obvious reference to Bryce. Only Averley looked puzzled, rubbing his chin and inclining his head in Hermione’s direction.
“I agree.” Thane nodded his thanks as Bryce refilled his goblet. He cleared his throat, studying his brother’s face. “Speaking of formidable obstacles, Hermione mentioned at dinner the other night that you’re heavily involved in the area of married women’s property law. I recall reading in the newspapers that you’re working on an amendment that would afford women greater rights. Is that correct?”
“It is.” Bryce replenished Averley’s drink, then set down the bottle with a determined thud, lifting his chin to meet Thane’s gaze. “It troubles me that women are required to turn over all their assets to their husbands when they wed—actually, even before they wed. No one should be reduced to living as another person’s chattel. It strips people of their dignity, makes them feel like victims.”
Thane’s blue-gray eyes grew thoughtful. “Your point is well taken, but unfortunately, I doubt many husbands support your theory. And given that most women rely on their spouses for income, I suspect you receive little or no compensation for your time and services in this area.”
Bryce shrugged. “That’s often true, yes. My interest in this matter doesn’t stem from a desire for monetary gain, however, nor is it spawned by altruism. It arises from firsthand knowledge of what it’s like to be vulnerable, to be at the mercy of circumstance and to realize that, but for your own guardian angel, you’d be penniless and cast into the streets. If I can offer that same security to others, I consider it my duty to do so.”
