The Music Box (7 page)

Slowly, and without Gaby ever feeling it happen, Hermione Nevon’s devotion had worked its magic, and suddenly, one reassuring day, Gaby had realized that her loss had become bearable.

Although not even her aunt’s love could erase the unshakable, nightmarish memory of how her parents had died …

No, Gaby castigated herself, throwing back her shoulders and staring fixedly at the ivory keys. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. Now was the time for getting to know Bryce Lyndley.

At least as much of him as he would share. He’d been as guarded at the dining room table as he’d been when she’d shown him to his chambers, making polite conversation with everyone, listening intently yet offering nothing of his own life in return. Immediately following the meal, he’d excused himself, returning to his chambers yet again, sending for no one but Peter.

Gaby smiled, remembering how Peter had glowed when he emerged an hour later, a thick legal volume clutched in his hands. Why, his limp had been nearly indiscernible. And all because of the enigmatic Bryce Lyndley.

With a sigh, she resumed playing.

“Pardon me, am I intruding?”

The object of Gaby’s thoughts addressed her from the music room doorway, and her head came up, her gaze darting over to meet his. “No, of course not.” She eased back on the bench, dropping her hands to her sides. “Come in.”

“Please don’t stop,” Bryce requested quietly, crossing over to stand beside her. “You play beautifully.”

His compliment sent a surge of pleasure coursing through her. “Thank you. I love the piano. I’ve played since I was six. Aunt Hermione arranged for me to have lessons the instant she saw how enthralled I became every time I touched the keys.”

“You’re fond of Beethoven’s works?”

“Very,” Gaby answered fervently. “I enjoy the works of many composers, but there’s something hauntingly beautiful about Beethoven’s musical pieces—at least to me. My sentiments are a little difficult to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain.” To Gaby’s surprise, Bryce sank down beside her on the piano bench. “Music is one of the few things that must be felt rather than defined. Some people are capable of doing that, others are not.”

Gaby studied him with solemn insight. “And you’re one of those who are.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “How would you know that?”

“I just do.” A glimmer of humor shone through her gravity, sparkled in her eyes. “Let’s say it’s instinct—another of those things that must be felt rather than defined.”

Bryce chuckled, a deep, husky sound. “A point well-taken.” He gestured toward the piano. “Please, continue. I’m enjoying your recital immensely. ‘Moonlight Sonata’ is one of my favorites.”

“Mine as well,” Gaby agreed. “Beethoven was a perfect example of one who felt his music. Even though he was deaf, he was able to create his masterpieces. ʼTis as if the symphonies just echoed inside him, needing no discernible ear to affirm their beauty.” With that, she fell silent, her fingers repositioning themselves, flowing over the exquisite notes.

All else vanished, and Gaby sank into the music, totally absorbed until the final notes of the piece reverberated through the room.

“Magnificent.” The sound of Bryce’s quiet praise yanked her back to awareness. “And precisely what I needed. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Gaby inclined her head quizzically. “Although, if I remember correctly, what you needed was rest. I assumed you were still in your chambers getting some.”

“I tried—all day, in fact. It’s no use. My mind is racing and refuses to cooperate. So I took a stroll, hoping it would accomplish what hours in my room could not. Your music drifted out to me through the open window. It seemed to offer me the peace I craved. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Bryce leaned forward, gripping his knees and idly rubbing his forefinger over the fine woolen twill of his dark trousers. “I felt a bit self-conscious about entering the room when I did. You play with such emotion—it almost made me feel that I was intruding on something intensely personal. I didn’t want to invade your privacy.” A rueful smile. “But I suppose I did anyway, didn’t I?”

“Not at all.” Gaby shook her head, sending a few stray tendrils of hair tumbling onto her cheeks. “I don’t mind company when I play, especially when that company is someone who appreciates Beethoven’s works as I do. In truth, I forget everyone’s presence, including my own, once my fingers touch the keys.”

“I can tell. Are you equally enthralled when others play?”

“Others?”

“I was referring to the symphony. Do you attend concerts often? I would think you’d revel in orchestral music.”

“I’m sure I would.” Anticipation shimmered through Gaby, an anticipation she had learned to squelch. “I often try to imagine what it would be like, hearing the collective beauty of the piano, the strings, the wind instruments.”

“You’ve never been to a concert?” Bryce’s brows shot up in surprise. “Why? Do you prefer the ballet?”

“I’ve never been to the ballet, either.”

At this point Bryce looked thoroughly stunned. “Why in heaven’s name not? London is only a few hours’ carriage ride from here.”

“That’s what Aunt Hermione says. She keeps insisting that we go. But thus far I’ve managed to discourage her.”

“Why would you discourage her?”

Silence.

“Is it because of her weakness?” Concern tightened Bryce’s hard masculine features. “Is Hermione so depleted that a mere trip to the ballet or the symphony would exhaust her?”

“No.” Hastily Gaby dispelled his worry. “It’s not that.” She hesitated, trying to find the most tactful way to explain. “Aunt Hermione is needed here. Many of the staff members become … upset when she disappears for too many hours at a time. She’s the foundation of our family, a family that thrives on constancy.”

“Are you implying that Nevon Manor’s residents never leave the estate?”

A small smile played about Gaby’s lips. “It’s not nearly as ominous as you make it sound, Mr. Lyndley. The truth is. they don’t choose to leave, not when everything that’s dear and familiar—and safe—is right here.”

“Safe,” Bryce repeated reflectively. “Odd, neither you nor Hermione strikes me as someone who would be intimidated by venturing into the world. In fact, I’d have guessed quite the opposite.”

His perceptiveness is uncanny
, Gaby thought, studying his keen, appraising expression.

“Your presence here is necessary.” He verified her assessment by supplying his own answer, and Gaby felt a peculiar tightening in her chest.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Not only
my
presence but, more importantly, Aunt Hermione’s. Although she does make occasional visits to Whitshire,” Gaby added quickly, lest Mr. Lyndley think they were totally reclusive. “That’s Aunt Hermione’s brother’s estate—pardon me, her
late
brother. The duke recently passed away. Whitshire now belongs to his son, Aunt Hermione’s nephew, Thane. She’s always made periodic visits there, so the staff is used to it. Besides, Whitshire is a mere five or six miles ride from Nevon Manor. So her jaunts there take her away from us for only a few hours at a time.”

“ ‘Us’—don’t you go with her?”

A more familiar tightening, this time in Gaby’s stomach. “No. I haven’t been able to bring myself to—at least not yet.”

Realizing how odd her answer sounded, Gaby half expected Bryce to grill her further. But he surprised her, merely studying her pensively and murmuring, “I see,” before clearing his throat and addressing the original subject: “Perhaps I can conjure up a way for you to attend a concert without upsetting the staff. Let me mull it over for a while and see if I can devise an acceptable solution.”

Gaby felt a wave of gratitude—and a surge of hope. “Thank you, Mr. Lyndley. With your brilliant legal mind, I haven’t a doubt you’ll find a way. I can practically hear the first strains of the music.”

“ ‘My brilliant legal mind’?” Amusement laced Bryce’s tone. “That sounds like one of Hermione’s biased assessments. Let’s just say I’m resourceful.” He adjusted his frock coat, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles before turning back to Gaby. “Hermione says you’ve lived at Nevon Manor for thirteen years.”

“I have.” Gaby recognized that he was again trying to understand her, and she resolved that this time she would not attempt to evade him. After all, he had no way of knowing how painful the incident was that had brought her to Nevon Manor. Besides, he’d been so kind; she owed him her honesty. Very well, she’d merely answer his question, then put the subject to rest. “My parents were killed in a fire when I was five,” she stated, keeping her voice even, her gaze fixed on Bryce’s silk necktie. “The fire occurred at Whitshire, destroying the servants’ quarters and everyone in them. My father was the duke’s head groom; he and my mother were trapped in their quarters when the blaze tore through. Its cause was never determined. It could have been anything: an overturned lantern, a smoldering cheroot—Lord only knows. I haven’t returned to Whitshire since the day my parents died—which is why I’ve never visited the estate with Aunt Hermione.”

“Dear God.” Bryce’s voice sounded strangled, and Gaby could feel her composure slip.

She pushed on, determined to have done with it. “The important thing is, Aunt Hermione took me in, gave me a whole new life and a deluge of love. When I first arrived at Nevon Manor, I was devastated; I had no one and nothing. Now I have a family. Despite my loss, I feel incredibly blessed.”

There, she’d said it.

“I’m so terribly sorry.” Sympathy—and something more—rumbled through Bryce’s deep voice. “Hermione told me you were orphaned, but she never mentioned how … or where.” He sucked in his breath, jumping to his feet and pacing restlessly about, surprising Gaby with the intensity of his reaction. “I didn’t mean to pry or to make you recall difficult memories.” He came to an abrupt halt, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring broodingly down at her.

To Gaby’s mortification, hot tears sprang to her eyes. “You didn’t pry; you asked. Nor did you make me recall difficult memories. I think about Mama and Papa all the time, with no instigation from anyone.” Self-consciously, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “But after all these years I generally think about them with a full heart and dry eyes. I haven’t a clue as to why I’m crying now. I suppose pondering something and giving voice to it are two different things.” She inhaled, brought herself under control. “Honestly, I’m quite recovered, thanks to Aunt Hermione.”

“There are some things from which one never fully recovers.”

Startled by his fervent proclamation, Gaby raised her chin, her gaze darting back to his as a glimmer of realization sparked. “You’re right,” she replied softly. “What’s more, you’re speaking from firsthand experience, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“You were orphaned at a young age as well, were you not?”

“When I was ten, yes. But my situation was far less traumatic than yours. My parents, like so many other people, died of influenza. I mourned their loss—deeply—but it didn’t destroy my life. I wasn’t even living at home when they died. I was at Eton.”

“Being on one’s own and being alone are two entirely different things,” Gaby inserted quietly. “Before your parents’ death, you’d been on your own. Afterward you were alone.”

Silently Bryce ingested her words, a veiled expression crossing his face. “You’re right,” he agreed at length. “I was alone.”

“Then why didn’t Aunt Hermione—” Gaby bit her lip to silence the unwelcome question. “Never mind. I won’t ask.”

“Thank you.”

She inclined her head. “You’re an intriguing man, Mr. Lyndley. I know so much about you and, at the same time, so little.”

“You’re far less in the dark than I,” he reminded her, resting his elbow atop the piano. “And you did promise to answer all my questions.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Gaby’s smile returned, impish and teasing. “And I shall—
if
you’ll do the same for me.”

Bryce’s lips twitched, although his expression became guarded. “What is it you’d like to know?”

“Everything. Your experiences at school, in court, in society—everything but the secrets you clearly choose not to discuss.”

To her surprise, he began to laugh. “I’ve never met anyone quite as direct as you, Gabrielle.”

“Does my candor offend you?”

“Not in the least. I find it incredibly refreshing. Very well, I’ll accept your terms. Your revelations in exchange for mine. Now, who shall begin?”

“I shall,” Gaby said at once. “After all, my answers to your questions are far more essential than yours to mine. I’m suffering only from an excessive bout of curiosity, while you’re suffering from a lack of information that will obviously affect your life, given the inner peace you’re seeking.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Therefore, Mr. Lyndley, what would you like to know?”

An odd light flickered in his eyes. “You’re very insightful. And before we begin, please call me Bryce. After all, we’re practically related, if only through our love for Hermione.”

“I’d like that … Bryce.” Gaby rather enjoyed the sound of his name as she spoke it. “Shall I begin by explaining the makeup of our little family?”

“That would be ideal. It’s unmistakable that Hermione cares deeply for everyone at Nevon Manor. It’s also clear that …” He broke off, seeking a subtle choice of words.

“That everyone is in some way impaired?” Gaby supplied. “That’s equally true, although I don’t think any of us notices the others’ limitations anymore. We simply see the person within.”

“That’s as it should be.” Bryce frowned. “I don’t want you to misunderstand my concerns. It’s not an issue of judgment; if anything I was extremely impressed by the loyalty and unity I witnessed in the library this morning. I’m simply trying to assess the situation. Suffice it to say I have a decision to make—a decision that will affect not only me but all the residents of Nevon Manor. In order to make the right determination, I need to know all I can about the staff. Their limitations—and my abilities to handle them correctly—will have a direct impact on what I decide.”

“Aunt Hermione wants to leave Nevon Manor to you,” Gaby realized aloud. “Of course. It makes perfect sense. You have just the right combination of strength, insight, compassion, and, of course, humor, without which life, here or anywhere else, would be unbearable. Bequeathing Nevon Manor to you is the only way for Aunt Hermione to ensure that things stay as they are.”