Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  “Which is …?”

  “Bryce kissed me.” A flush stained Gaby’s cheeks as she recalled those breathless, unexpected moments. “Or, to be honest, we kissed each other. Oh, I’m not sure who kissed whom. Or why. I only know that one minute we were talking and the next minute … we weren’t.” Gaby rose and paced about the clearing. “It lasted only a few seconds. Afterward Bryce was utterly bewildered—and furious with himself for feeling that way. I could see it in his eyes, that refusal to understand why he’d acted on impulse rather than logic. It took every shred of my self-control to make light of the whole occurrence. But I did make light of it—for Bryce’s sake and for mine. That way, he could dismiss the incident as inconsequential, and I could escape without making a total, utter fool of myself.” A self-deprecating laugh. “If I’d given in to the dictates of my body, my knees would have buckled under me and I would have fallen to the ground. The result? I would have died of embarrassment and shown myself to be the very child Bryce perceives me to be.”

  Gaby paused, her fingers brushing her lips. “But, oh, Aunt Hermione, I never imagined such extraordinary feelings—certainly not out of the blue, with no warning, no prelude. And not with a man who views me as a tenderhearted—albeit wise, considering I’m so sheltered—child, a man who’s totally committed to a far more sophisticated woman.”

  “ ‘Wise, considering you’re so sheltered,’ ˮ Hermione repeated offhandedly. “Is that how Bryce described you?”

  “Yes.” Gaby gazed helplessly at her aunt. “Would you please shed some light on what’s happened? Or, at the very least, comment upon it?”

  “What would you like me to say?”

  “Are you shocked?”

  “That you kissed a man? Hardly.” Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “As you yourself pointed out a few minutes ago, you’re a grown woman now. ʼTwas only a matter of time before you enjoyed your first kiss. That you kissed Bryce Lyndley? No. He’s an extraordinarily handsome, charismatic man. That he kissed you? Now, that surprises me least of all. Bryce is desperately in need of a specific kind of sustenance—that of the soul—something he himself doesn’t understand. You are the very embodiment of that sustenance. He seeks you as a flower seeks sunshine. So no, Gaby, nothing you’ve said surprises me.”

  “Did you fall in love with Lord Nevon right away?” Gaby persisted, returning to her original question.

  A soft smile touched Hermione’s lips. “I suppose I did. John was dashing, warmhearted, and relentless in his pursuit. He bombarded me with gifts and visits, declared his intention to wed me within a fortnight—to me, my parents, the world—vowing he’d spend the rest of his days making me happy. And he kept his promise. Our time together was shorter than I would have liked—he was a great deal older than I—but it was no less joyful for its brevity. My memories are wonderful ones, filled with laughter and excitement and passion. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

  “You must miss him dreadfully,” Gaby said softly.

  Hermione studied her folded hands, considering her answer carefully before offering it. “John’s been gone for many years. At first the loss seemed unbearable. Then time wrapped the pain in a soothing cocoon and tucked it away, allowing the happy memories to surge forth. Now I feel only tenderness and nostalgic pleasure.” She raised her head. “I’ve learned something else since then, Gaby. There are many different types of love. None is better or more precious than another, nor does the luster of one dim the radiance of its predecessor. Each is unique and must be cherished as the blessing it’s intended to be. The same is true of you, my dear. You’re a once-in-a-lifetime treasure waiting to be discovered—discovered and reveled in. The right man will do that, Gaby. You’ll see. I’m as sure of that as I am of the happiness that man will bring you.”

  Gaby’s eyes were misty, filled with emotion and uncertainty. “How will I know when I find him?”

  “You won’t. Not right away. You’ll suspect, but you won’t be sure. You’ll ask yourself questions, wonder about your feelings—and his. But later, when it truly matters, you’ll know. Just as I did.” A rueful grin. “Hindsight is a wondrous thing, Gaby. It holds little room for error. Unfortunately, it’s not around when we need it most, which is before the event occurs. If it were, our decisions would be that much easier.”

  “So what do you suggest I do about Bryce? Dismiss what happened as a chance incident?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “No.” Gaby gave an adamant shake of her head. “I’ve been reliving our kiss all week long. Every waking moment. And not only the kiss—everything. Things I gave no special credence to until that magical moment, but which suddenly took on a whole new light.”

  “Such as?”

  Gaby fingered the folds of her gown, contemplating her response. “This is very difficult to explain, but I’ll try. It’s as if Bryce and I understand each other in some fundamental way that has no name or explanation. When we talk, it’s like two musical notes blending in perfect harmony. The tones are entirely different, yet when combined, the melody is that much richer, the strains that much fuller, for resounding together. Does that make any sense?”

  Despite her best intentions, Hermione felt her lips quiver. “Perfect sense.”

  “Bryce seems to know precisely when I need him, and somehow he always manages to come to my rescue. Even more significant is the fact that he allows me to do the same for him, even if he doesn’t realize he’s allowing it.” Gaby released her skirts, found Hermione’s gaze with her own. “Such as when he told me about his past. I realize you asked him to do that so I’d accompany him to Whitshire. But I don’t believe your request alone would have induced him to reveal all the details he shared with me. He told me not only the facts but also his feelings, his fears. He’s never discussed any of that with anyone, not even Miss Talbot. She doesn’t know the truth about his heritage, nor does he intend to tell her. I’ve pressed him on the subject, but he immediately shuts me out. Bryce is complex; there are layers I have yet to reach, let alone to completely fathom. Sometimes he’s a reserved stranger who’s intent on keeping his distance. But other times he’s warm, open, tender, not only with me but with everyone at Nevon Manor. It’s as if he’s afraid to care.”

  “He is,” Hermione replied softly. “Surely you can understand why.”

  “Of course I can. His childhood, his entire life, he’s been alone. Caring involves risk, risk Bryce is not willing to take. What I can’t understand is his anger. Not at the others but at me. Whenever he feels most vulnerable, he reacts. With the others he pulls back. But with me he becomes coldly detached, almost biting. Why?”

  “Experience has taught me that acute feelings incite acute reactions.”

  Gaby sucked in her breath. “You think it’s because he cares for me—maybe more than he wants to?”

  Hermione shrugged. “It’s possible, given your description of his behavior.”

  “So what should I do?” Gaby spread her arms helplessly. “He’s committed to another woman, a woman who’s probably far better suited to him than I. And while I refuse to interfere in that relationship, my heart refuses to heed the dictates of my mind. The result is that I can’t act—and I can’t not act.”

  “Then you have your answer,” Hermione concluded.

  “What answer?” Gaby asked in bewilderment. “Aunt Hermione, what if I’m falling in love with—”

  “Gaby,” Hermione interrupted, “stop. Don’t inundate yourself with questions or rack your brain for solutions that are still out of reach. Wait. See what happens, what the future holds in store. Your answers will come to you—I promise.”

  “Will they?”

  “Yes.” And so will Bryce, Hermione added silently, making a mental note to seek Chaunce out the instant Dr. Briers had finished talking to Gaby.

  Given these exhilarating circumstances, it was time to expedite Bryce’s return to Nevon Manor.

  “Physically, you’re fine, except for a clear case of exhaustion,” D
r. Briers announced, rising from the edge of Gaby’s bed and giving his diagnosis to both her and Hermione. “However, we knew this problem wasn’t a medical one, which, makes it even more difficult to treat, given there’s no medicine you can swallow to alleviate your symptoms.”

  Gaby pushed herself up on her elbows. “Are you saying the situation is hopeless?”

  “Not at all.” The physician scowled, stroking the coarse whiskers that had once been black but were now gray. “I’m saying that we must seek an emotional remedy to your condition.”

  “We know what prompted Gaby’s relapse,” Hermione inserted, leaning forward in the tufted chair. “Our trip to Whitshire and the memories it evoked. The question is, how do we reverse the damage that was done that night?”

  “How indeed?” Dr. Briers murmured. “Gabrielle is correct in saying that the method which worked when she was five is obviously no longer effective. Nightly vigils are a mere safety precaution now, not a cure.”

  “Not to mention that I refuse to have Aunt Hermione and Chaunce sitting up all night overseeing me,” Gaby insisted, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rising. “Aunt Hermione is weak enough as it is. Which reminds me …” She turned to Dr. Briers. “Aunt Hermione needs a fresh supply of medicine. When Chaunce took down the bottle this morning, I noticed it was almost empty. Please leave a fresh supply with him before you go.”

  “Hmm?” Dr. Briers’s forehead wrinkled. “Medicine?”

  “Yes, Henry, my medicine,” Hermione prompted swiftly.

  “Ah, yes, your medicine. Of course.” Realization erupted on his face, and Dr. Briers nodded emphatically. “Forgive me, I’m just preoccupied with Gabrielle’s dilemma. Certainly I’ll leave another bottle with Chaunce. Continue taking it as I directed.”

  “I will.” Hermione folded her hands in her lap. “But my weakness is not what we’re here to discuss. Gaby’s sleepwalking is. Now, what do you suggest we do about it?”

  “Something that might surprise you.” The physician paused, pursing his lips as he contemplated the advice he was about to offer. “I suggest that Gabrielle return to Whitshire as soon as possible.”

  “What?” Gaby paled.

  “Hear me out.” Dr. Briers held up his palm, warding off her protest. “I think you should go back—but under different circumstances. In my opinion, the mistake you made was not in returning but in how and when you did so, under conditions too apt to elicit the wrong kind of memories.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Think about it, Gabrielle. Except for that final horrible day, your experience at Whitshire was a warm and loving one among your parents and their friends. Some of those friends are still working at the estate, are they not?”

  “Yes. A small number of the staff survived the fire and remained on.”

  “Excellent. Then I suggest that you plan a visit with them—and not at night but during the day. Even under optimum conditions, the darkness tends to bring with it a sense of foreboding that, for most of us, is absent during the day. This is especially true in your case, when you equate the night with pain and loss. Therefore, schedule a visit to Whitshire during the late morning or early afternoon. Seek out as much that is familiar and good in your old home as possible. Duplicate the pleasant situations you enjoyed there. Meet with your old friends. Stroll with them across sections of the grounds on which you romped as a girl. Don’t, under any circumstances, return to the servants’ quarters or any part of the wing that stands where the fire took place. Perhaps by reliving your happier memories, you can help counter the effects of your last visit.”

  Hermione’s eyes were gleaming. “It’s worth a try, Gaby. I can alert Thane, tell him what we intend to do—if you’ll allow me to discuss your dilemma with him. I’m sure he’ll be more than sympathetic. I know he’ll agree to involve the entire staff, especially those servants who were employed at Whitshire thirteen years ago.” She rose, walked over to clasp Gaby’s cold hands. “I realize how frightening the idea of returning to Whitshire is for you,” she said quietly, studying her niece’s bowed head. “Lord knows, I myself was dead set against it. But after hearing what Dr. Briers just had to say, I now believe it does make sense. If you still feel you can’t put yourself through the ordeal, I won’t press you. We’ll simply find some other way.”

  “But this could be our answer,” Gaby replied, raising her chin.

  “Yes. It could.”

  “On the other hand,” Gaby continued, “revisiting Whitshire could make things worse.” A humorless laugh. “What an absurd statement. Three sleepwalking attempts in one night—how much worse could the situation get?”

  Hermione glanced from Gaby to Dr. Briers and back to Gaby. “Going back will take a great deal of courage on your part—courage that only you can muster. So the decision must be yours. Shall we give it a try?”

  For a long moment Gaby remained silent, her expression veiled. Then she nodded. “Yes. Let’s follow Dr. Briers’s advice. And let’s pray that it works.”

  Chapter 10

  WHOEVER CLAIMED THAT TIME and distance brought all things into focus was a bloody fool.

  Tossing back his drink, Bryce slammed his glass down on the balcony railing and stared broodingly into the night sky, only minimally aware of the sounds of the ball commencing behind him, instead wondering if he had lost his sense of reason.

  He’d been back in London for a week. Everything was precisely as he’d left it, yet nothing was the same. He’d come back to gain some perspective, to immerse himself once again in his life, his work.

  Instead all he’d done was worry about Nevon Manor—Hermione’s weakness, the staff’s ability to function if she fell ill, and, most of all, Gaby’s sleepwalking.

  Why had he become so irrationally and personally involved with these people? In comparison with his long-standing day-to-day existence, the three days at Nevon Manor had been an isolated speck of unreality, a deluge that had carried him into a wealth of unfamiliar circumstances amid a multitude of unfamiliar people. A lot like poor fictitious Alice when she’d been carried off by a river of her own tears, Bryce thought, his own analogy eliciting a wry grin. Hell, three days at Nevon Manor and he might as well have toppled down that rabbit hole to Wonderland with Alice.

  Still, the “wonder” part of it was undeniable, he mused, rolling his empty goblet between his palms. Wonder permeated Nevon Manor, right down to the smallest detail.

  The contrast had struck him full force the instant he arrived at his London town house and mounted the stairs to his bedchamber. Standing in the doorway, he’d scrutinized the room, seeing it as if for the first time—a pleasant blend of color and texture, rich walnut and tasteful decoration.

  But a room; nothing more.

  Conversely, he recalled the loving care and attention to detail that had been given to his chambers at Nevon Manor—the legal texts and other personal touches, even clothing that was designed just to his liking. All right, he admitted to himself. He’d become attached to the quarters and everything in them. True, it wasn’t like him to find comfort in possessions, yet those possessions were different, just as Nevon Manor, its owner, and its residents were different. As for the uncharacteristic nature of his response, that shouldn’t have surprised him. His visit to Hermione’s estate had resulted in his experiencing a wealth of peculiar responses—all foreign, some of which he was having a difficult time understanding.

  Some of which he didn’t want to understand, only to dispel.

  Those involving Gaby.

  He hadn’t forgotten the unexpectedly startling way they’d said good-bye.

  Forgotten it? Unlikely. The truth was, he’d dwelled on it incessantly from the minute he’d driven away from Nevon Manor.

  And he was dwelling on it still.

  What in God’s name had he been thinking of, kissing her like that? Had he been insane? And his self-censure didn’t only stem from the fact that he had a commitment to Lucinda, although Lord knew he felt guilty
as hell on that score. More importantly, it stemmed from the decision he’d made about Gaby herself. One of his intentions in leaving Hertford was to discourage any romantic illusions Gaby might be harboring about the two of them. Instead he’d heightened them by giving in to a demented, inexcusable impulse.

  And the most ironic part was that, after all his worry over Gaby’s potential daydreams, he’d been more deeply affected by the kiss than she. He had spent all week worrying over it, whereas she had strolled off, secure in the belief that she’d opened some new door between him and his true self.

  So much for protecting Gaby. Evidently she was less fragile than he’d realized. And she’d certainly minced no words in her blatant assessment of his weaknesses and all that Nevon Manor could do to eliminate them.

  That memory stirred up an oddly bereft feeling in his gut, a hollow ache he couldn’t fathom much less explain. Why did he feel as if he’d lost something far more precious than a mere kiss when he drove away from Nevon Manor? It wasn’t as if he had gone away forever, nor, for that matter, had he been there that long. He had a life to return to, one that had been established years before he ever journeyed to Hermione’s home. Conversely, he had no intention of disappointing any of them—Gaby, Hermione, or the others. He was going back, as soon as his work, his thoughts, and his reality allowed. Nonetheless, he continued to feel a strange sense of emptiness that transcended his affinity for Gaby. Why?

  “There you are.” Lucinda glided onto the balcony, gloved hand outstretched. “I thought perhaps you’d been swallowed up by the crowd inside.”

  With more than a twinge of guilt, Bryce turned, dutifully capturing Lucinda’s fingers and bringing her to stand beside him. “Nothing so exciting as that. I merely needed some air—although one could easily drown in that crowd. There must be six hundred people in that ballroom.”

  Lucinda laughed, a light, sparkling sound that suited her perfectly. “Not quite that many, although I do believe five hundred were invited. I rather enjoy Lord and Lady Wilcox’s elaborate parties. Each year they add at least one extra touch to outdo themselves. This year, it’s the three additional musicians and a second roomful of refreshments. I suppose the two correspond—one must do a considerable amount of extra dancing in order to make up for consuming that amount of food.”