Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  “I don’t see why not.” Bryce patted his coat pocket. “We’ll set a time to meet right after dinner. I’ll jot it down in my new writing pad so I won’t forget.”

  The elation in the lad’s eyes was humbling.

  “Welcome home, Bryce.” Hermione descended the steps with all the regal grace of a queen, hands extended to seize Bryce’s. “You’ve been deeply missed.”

  “As have you,” Bryce answered, bending to kiss her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

  “Now I am, yes.”

  “Thane said he spoke with you. Have you told the staff and …?”

  “No,” she replied with a quick shake of her head. “Let’s discuss the matter when we’re alone.” Abruptly she paused, darting a brief look over her shoulder. Then, with a determined lift of her chin, she backed away, clapping her hands for attention. “Everyone, please listen. Let’s allow poor Mr. Lyndley to settle in. We’ll have plenty of time to chat with him later.” Hermione’s probing gaze assessed Bryce as the staff immediately, albeit reluctantly, filed back into the manor. “We will, won’t we?”

  “Yes, Hermione,” he replied adamantly. “We will.”

  “Splendid.” She nodded, turning to Chaunce, who was now beside her, extending a personal greeting to Bryce. “Will you arrange for Bryce’s bags to be taken upstairs?”

  They exchanged glances.

  “Certainly, madam,” Chaunce assured her. “You join the others inside. I’ll make sure Mr. Lyndley’s room is properly prepared. Then I shall see to his bags.” He studied the area surrounding the drive, saw that it was now quiet, as the last of the children—and Sunburst—were making their way into the house.

  Satisfied, he turned and offered Hermione his arm. “I’ll escort you up the stairs.”

  “I can do that,” Bryce proposed.

  “No, no.” Hermione had already gripped Chaunce’s elbow and was retracing her steps. “You wait here while we ready things for your arrival.”

  “Very well. But just tell me, how is—”

  “We’ll talk in a few minutes. Be patient.” With that, Hermione entered the manor with Chaunce, muttering something that sounded—at least from where Bryce stood, like “… both so impatient.”

  He frowned, wishing he’d had the chance to ask about Gaby and wondering why whenever he arrived at this house he felt as if he’d walked into the middle of some intricate scheme.

  A flash of color caught his eye, and he looked up at the open doorway to see Gaby hovering on the threshold, watching him with a kind of wary uncertainty. “Hello, Bryce,” she said, giving him a tentative smile.

  “Gaby.” He was taken aback by the surge of emotion that knotted his chest, and he moved forward, not even realizing he was doing so. “I’m so bloody glad to see you. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow you needed me and I wasn’t here to—” He broke off, realizing how absurd he sounded.

  Evidently Gaby didn’t agree. All hesitation having vanished, she gathered up her lime-green skirts and flew down the stairs, not stopping until she stood directly before him. “I missed you,” she confessed softly.

  Bryce didn’t answer. He simply reacted. Unthinking, he reached for her, drawing her against him and pressing his lips into the shining crown of her hair. “And I missed you,” he told her fervently.

  She tilted back her head, those cornflower-blue eyes that had haunted his thoughts now scrutinizing him thoroughly. “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  An impish grin. “Good.”

  Studying her beautiful features, Bryce could make out the dark shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes, the lines of tension etched about her mouth. What had caused them? he wondered. Was it the sleepwalking or the news of Delmore’s death? He didn’t dare ask, just in case Hermione’s decision to remain silent about Delmore’s murder extended to Gaby.

  Gaby startled Bryce out of his thoughts by saying, “You kissed me good-bye. Won’t you now kiss me hello?”

  A spontaneous chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I thought I just did.”

  “On my head? That wasn’t a kiss. Even I know that,” she returned in a teasing voice. “Oh, I realize you hate to act impulsively. Still, you did so once. Couldn’t you make just one more exception?”

  Apparently he could, because what he did next came from anywhere but his mind. He framed her face between his palms, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.

  This kiss was slow, deliberate, possessing none of the abruptness or uncertainty that had tinged its predecessor. Beginning as a tender caress, it soon intensified into something more, something compelling and heated and searching. Wordlessly, Bryce drew Gaby into his arms, deepening the kiss until he felt her lips soften, part, open beneath his gentle pressure.

  His tongue claimed hers, and with a shivering sigh Gaby pressed closer, responding to his unspoken demand, giving him her tongue and taking his in return.

  For one brief instant reality receded, hovering in some remote part of Bryce’s brain, allowing him to indulge in this totally irrational, wondrous moment. He molded Gaby against him, tangling his hands in her hair and kissing her with a desperate yearning that seemed to swell rather than diminish, spreading through him like a raw, bottomless ache.

  An ache that throbbed not only through his soul but through his loins as well.

  That awareness brought sanity back with a crashing blow.

  With staunch determination, Bryce tore his mouth away, breathing unsteadily as he stared into Gaby’s dazed eyes. “My beautiful Wonderland,” he muttered, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. “What comes over me when I’m with you?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope it never stops,” she whispered.

  Bryce drank in her delicate features, flushed from the impact of their kiss. “Were my actions impulsive enough for you?” he heard himself ask, stunned to hear his own husky, teasing tone, bewilderedly contemplating this total stranger who seemed to be living inside him.

  Gaby looked neither shocked nor amused. “They were perfect,” she assured him softly. “Absolutely, utterly perfect.” She stood on tiptoe, brushed her lips across his chin. “You’ve given me something new to dream about.”

  Her assertion brought him back to reality. “Have you been sleeping enough to dream?” Bryce’s question was gentle but direct.

  With a sigh, Gaby stepped away, her lashes fanning her cheeks. “There have been some … developments since you left for London.”

  “I know about your visit to Whitshire.” At Gaby’s puzzled look, he carefully added, “I stopped at Whitshire on my way to Nevon Manor. I had some business to review with Thane. He told me what Dr. Briers had suggested—and what you attempted. I’m very proud of you. Was the visit successful? Did it assuage your fears and stop the sleepwalking, at least thus far?”

  Gaby swallowed. “No. Last night was a horror, the images more vivid than ever before. It was excruciating. Even after Chaunce managed to awaken me, I couldn’t seem to break free of that gnawing sense of terror. Neither he nor Aunt Hermione could help me … and they’re both so tired … I’m so worried about their health, especially Aunt Hermione’s—” Gaby’s voice broke.

  “I’m here now.” Bryce tugged Gaby into the circle of his arms yet again, this time offering her his strength as a balm to her pain. Dammit, his instincts had been right. She had needed him. So had Hermione and Chaunce. Well, this time he wouldn’t abandon them.

  “We will combat this, Gaby,” he vowed. “I promise you we will.” His gaze took in the sky, noted that the day was fast slipping away. And he had much to accomplish before he posted himself outside Gaby’s door tonight, which he fully intended to do. But first he had to speak with Hermione, learn everything about Gaby’s experience at Whitshire and the ensuing sleepwalking episode, and touch on some of his questions about Delmore’s business dealings with Richard Rowland, the late Duke of Whitshire. As for today’s murder, it was clear Hermione hadn’t told her niece anything. And seeing the s
tate Gaby was in, he could well understand why.

  “Let’s go inside,” he suggested gently. “I must spend some time with Hermione before dinner. Afterward Peter and I have an appointment to go over some legal terms, and then I want to make sure Sunburst is behaving himself, not destroying what little of Lily’s room Crumpet left undamaged. Once that’s done, you and I will sit down in the music room and talk. All right?”

  Gaby leaned back, studying his face. Bryce, you don’t have to—”

  “I don’t have to. I want to. Besides”—he traced the bridge of Gaby’s nose with his forefinger—“I want to tell you all about the concert I attended—and about the one I mean for you to attend.”

  That had the desired effect, bringing a sparkle of excitement to her eyes. “Really? Have you thought of a way?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Bryce cleared his throat. “How is Marion faring these days? Is she any steadier on her feet?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Gaby replied, a hint of a smile curving her lips. “Her feet haven’t touched the floor in two days—since she and Goodsmith became officially betrothed.”

  “Excellent. That’s just what I was hoping to hear.”

  “You knew about the betrothal?” Gaby blinked in surprise.

  “Hermione mentioned it as forthcoming, yes.”

  Puzzlement supplanted surprise. “I’m glad you share their joy, just as the rest of us do. Still, I’m confused. What has Marion’s steadiness to do with my attending the symphony?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Bryce caught Gaby’s arm and led her toward the manor. “After dinner.”

  Gaby halted in her tracks. “You intend to keep me in suspense?”

  A grin. “Initially I didn’t. But now that I consider how delightful the anticipation will be—for both of us—I’ve changed my mind.” Bryce’s grin widened. “Something that impulsive people often do.”

  Their shared laughter echoed up the drive.

  At the morning room window, Hermione released the drape she’d pulled aside so she could witness the reunion taking place before her delighted eyes. “Do you know, Chaunce,” she mused aloud, turning around to gaze up at him. “I had originally thought a summer wedding would be lovely. But I’m beginning to think late spring would be even more spectacular. What do you think?”

  Chaunce gave an unequivocal nod. “Definitely spring. In fact, given that rather extreme show of affection, I should think mid-spring rather than late.”

  Hermione laughed. “Don’t be so priggish, my friend. It was only a kiss. A rather wholehearted one, to be sure, but a kiss nonetheless. I wouldn’t worry about Bryce’s intentions. He’s nothing if not a gentleman. Once he recognizes his feelings for Gaby as what they are, he’ll do the honorable thing. Yes, I quite agree. Mid-spring it is. The end of May, perhaps. I’ll begin compiling the guest list this very night. Of course we’ll keep the ceremony private and the reception small and intimate, given that this will all be occurring just a few months after Richard’s death. Still, I’m determined not to let protocol stand in the way of Gaby and Bryce’s future. What’s more, I refuse to allow my brother to thwart Bryce’s happiness ever, ever again.” With that, Hermione gave a dismissive wave of her hand, her eyes growing misty with emotion. “Oh, Chaunce, I can hardly wait to see Gaby in her bridal gown.”

  “Nor can I.” A glimmer of amusement flickered across the butler’s face. “For the time being, however, might I suggest you temper your exhilaration a bit? With all due respect, you are allegedly weak and ailing—a condition that must persist until this union is a fait accompli. Right now you look more like a young girl on the verge of her own coming-out than like an elderly widow clinging to life—a remarkable feat, might I add, given the precious few hours’ sleep you had last night. Nevertheless, I suspect Mr. Lyndley is on his way in to see you, and I don’t think he expects to find you quite so jovial, or so lovely.”

  “Why, thank you, Chaunce.” A becoming blush stained Hermione’s cheeks. “What a charming thing to say. But of course you’re right. I must look suitably depleted.” Her exuberance faded. “Which, in light of this morning’s tragedy, won’t be difficult, even though Bryce arrived in time to soften the shock.” Abruptly she raised her chin, determination emanating from every fiber of her being. “No matter how trying today’s events have been, they don’t alter the fact that Bryce is home and that he and Gaby belong together. I shall therefore give silent thanks to the heavens and pray we can soon celebrate the achievement of our goal.”

  Gathering up her skirts, she moved swiftly toward the door. “I’ll be in my chambers, Chaunce. Give me five minutes to ready myself. Then you may show Bryce up.”

  Chapter 12

  “SO YOU’RE SAYING THAT Gaby was fine yesterday until it began to grow dark. Then her apprehension returned.”

  Pacing about his aunt’s sitting room, Bryce summed up all Hermione had just recounted.

  “Exactly.” Hermione leaned back against the settee cushions, answering Bryce’s questions in a worried voice that was totally unfeigned. “It was as if something came over her the instant she realized night was coming. We all sensed it: Thane, Averley, even Couling. I couldn’t wait to get her home.”

  “And then she endured another horrible night—a more horrible night, according to Gaby. Dammit.” Bryce sliced the air with his palm. “We’ve got to help her. I just don’t know how. She mentioned to me that last night she experienced more vivid snatches of memory than ever before, which I have to assume were brought on by her trip to Whitshire. So do we abandon Dr. Briers’s notion entirely and keep her away from the estate?”

  “I don’t know, Bryce.” Hermione sighed. “That visit seemed like such a good idea. It was a good idea—until the end. You should have seen her: laughing and romping about the grounds as she relived the happy moments of her childhood.”

  “Until she realized dusk was falling.” Pensively, Bryce rubbed his jaw. “I’m not a physician, Hermione, but common sense tells me Dr. Briers was right. The visit to Whitshire did do Gaby some good. It just didn’t address the problem. In fact, I’m beginning to think we’re approaching this whole dilemma backwards.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Gaby’s sleepwalking episodes are happening for a reason. Keeping her away from Whitshire obviously didn’t solve the problem, nor did countering her bad memories with good ones. Maybe what Gaby needs is not to silence the memories but to draw them out.” With that, Bryce nodded, suddenly quite sure of the direction in which he was headed. “The first night I spotted Gaby sleepwalking and took her to her room, she was physically hurt and emotionally overwrought. But little by little she began telling me details of the night of the fire: how she’d left her bed to check on the robins and soothe them with the notes of ‘Für Elise,’ how she’d eventually sought shelter in the shed, how she’d awakened to see flames leaping around her, and how desperately she’d tried to get to her parents. Forcing herself to talk about all this was painful, yes, but at the same time it seemed to give her a measure of peace. Maybe these worsening episodes are a sign that she needs to bring to the surface the rest of her pain and contend with it. And maybe it’s our job to help her do just that.”

  With each passing word of Bryce’s theory, Hermione sat up straighter, her eyes now wide with wonder and disbelief. “Gaby spoke to you of that night?” she breathed in amazement. “To my knowledge, she’s never confided those details to anyone. Not even to me. Heaven knows I’ve tried, delved as gently as I could. But to no avail. She simply refused to discuss it. Yet she told you.”

  “It wasn’t a matter of trusting me over her family,” Bryce countered swiftly, misinterpreting Hermione’s reaction as one of hurt. “Surely you know how much Gaby adores you, but she’s worried sick about burdening you with more than you’re able to withstand. And—”

  “Bryce, stop.” Hermione held up a deterring—and trembling—palm. “I’m so relieved, so grateful, that Gaby finally spoke to someone. And I’m overjoye
d that someone was you.” Wetting her lips, Hermione paused, clearly bringing herself under control. “So she’d gone to tend to some robins. How very like Gaby. And how wonderfully ironic that because she cared for others, her life was spared.” A determined lift of her chin. “In any case, you’re right. Given what you’ve just told me, it’s clear that Gaby needs to give voice to whatever she’s remembering, the anguish those memories incite. You’re also right that I’m not the one to provide that much-needed ear. She’s too preoccupied with my failing health.”

  “An obstacle that doesn’t apply to me,” Bryce pointed out with a meaningful look. “Thus, it’s my responsibility to see this plan through.”

  Hermione’s brows rose ever so slightly. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “By taking over for you and Chaunce tonight. You’re both exhausted; Lord knows you need the relief. I’ll stand vigil outside Gaby’s room. Should she experience another sleepwalking episode, I’ll deal with it. Perhaps when the memories and the panic are fresh, I can coax them out. Maybe that will enable her to make peace with them.”

  “And how do you suggest we explain this to Gaby? She’ll be expecting Chaunce at his customary station outside her door.”

  “No she won’t. I’ve already told her I’d be taking over for Chaunce, to give you both an opportunity to rest.”

  “Did you?” Another lift of Hermione’s brows. “And she was amenable to the idea?”

  “Yes.” Bryce cleared his throat. “As I said, she’s very worried about your well-being—yours and Chaunce’s.”

  Silently Hermione gazed at her nephew. “You care a great deal for Gaby, don’t you?”

  A prolonged pause. Then: “Yes, I do. I also feel for her, comprehend at least some of the internal anguish she’s struggling to combat. Making peace with the past can seem like an insurmountable challenge— especially in Gaby’s case, where the past consisted of losing her parents to a violent death.”

  “Or in your case, where the past consisted of losing your identity and having your entire foundation snatched away,” Hermione added softly.