The Music Box (3 page)

Hermione smoothed her hair in a light, fluttering gesture. “Goodness, but you’re formidable. I wouldn’t want to face you in a court of law.”

A corner of Bryce’s mouth lifted. “That’s as it should be, given the enormity of your investment. You ensured me the finest education and training—Eton, Oxford, the Inns of Court.”

“I paid only for you to attend. The fact that you flourished at each of those fine institutions was your feat and your feat alone.” Rising, Hermione glided slowly across the library, in that majestic way Bryce remembered marveling at during her visits to the secluded cottage she’d established as the Lyndleys’ home—
his home.

The first and last home he’d known.

Fetching a volume from the bookshelf, Hermione opened it, smoothing out the pages of what appeared to be a scrapbook of sorts. “You finished at the top of your class, year after year,” she cited aloud, flipping through the pages, caressing each one as if it were a precious jewel. “These are letters of commendation from the headmaster at Eton and from countless tutors at Oxford and the Inns of Court. You became thoroughly versed in both law French and law Latin. You were one of the youngest and most avid students to sit at Westminster Hall, and are now perhaps the most eloquent barrister to address the Chancery, King’s Bench, and the Common Pleas Courts.”

Again she turned the page, pointing at a newspaper clipping. “You’re working toward establishing a General School of Law, which would teach both those reading for the bar and articled clerks alike. You’re also making astonishing headway in the area of married women’s property law, which would afford women rights they once never dreamed possible.” Hermione looked up, proud tears glistening in her eyes. “And I have it on the finest authority that you are not only sought after by every respected solicitor in England but that, if the benchers at Lincoln’s Inn have their way, you will one day be the youngest barrister ever to become Queen’s Counsel—an incredible feat, given your humble origins.” A half smile. “Shall I continue?”

“That scrapbook is a history of my life?” Bryce managed, stunned beyond comprehension. “You’ve actually kept records of every step of my schooling and my career?”

“Indeed I have. And not only through letters from the schools you attended and newspaper clippings extolling your fine legal accomplishments. My investigators have been quite thorough, informing me of all those things
not
covered by newspaper clippings and letters: your financial security, your connections to all the right people. So, yes, Bryce. I took—
take
—great pride in your accomplishments. And I follow your life with the utmost care.”

“I see.” His throat felt oddly tight.

“Did you think my only contact with you was through the occasional letter I dashed off?”

“In truth? Yes. Why in the name of heaven would you want to…?”

“Because my investment, as you call it, delves far deeper than you realize; it was more emotional than financial. Yes, I paid for your schooling. Yes, I bought your clothing, books, everything you needed to get by. But you’re forgetting why I did all that, why I sequestered you in my late husband’s obscure little Bedford cottage, selected my trusted servants the Lyndleys to fill the role of your parents while making sure Richard never knew. I did that, Bryce, because I cared about you—as I care about you still. You’re my nephew, the closest thing I have to a child of my own. Were it not for Richard’s coldhearted stubbornness …” Abruptly she swayed, clutching the bookshelf for support.

“Hermione, what is it?” Bryce was by her side in an instant, seizing her elbow and leading her back to the settee. “Are you ill?”

“Not ill. Old.” A tired smile curved her lips. “Old and very, very weary.”

“Nonsense.” A muscle flexed in Bryce’s jaw as he settled her in her seat, perched on the settee beside her. “I’ve never met anyone with more energy than you.”

“You haven’t seen me since you were eight, Bryce. Twenty-three years is a long time. I’ve aged—a lot.” She patted his hand. “Which brings me to the reason why I summoned you. I need your help, if you’ll agree to offer it.”

“Consider it yours. How can I assist you?”

Another smile. “You’re as gallant as you are intelligent and honest. I’ve chosen well.”

“Chosen … for what?”

“To begin with, to revise my will. I have changes to make, things I want to secure, people I want to provide for. ʼTis imperative that all my papers and affairs be put in order. I’m asking you to take care of that for me.”

“Of course. But what about your customary solicitor?”

“He’s perfectly adequate. In this case, however, I need someone superior, someone I trust implicitly to effect these changes. I need you.”

“I’m flattered.” Bryce crossed one long leg over the other. “Very well, Hermione, I’d be pleased to lend my services.”

“Good. Then you’ll stay a few days.”

“A few days?” His brows drew together in puzzlement.

“Certainly. It will take at least that long to review the details. I’ll have Chaunce gather up all the household accounts and we can go through them together.”

Bryce studied Hermione’s earnest expression closely. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn he was being manipulated. But why? What could she hope to gain—unless it was company? Could she truly be lonely, frightened by her weakened condition? If that was the case, Bryce had no intention of denying her what she wished.

“All right,” he agreed. “A few days, then. We’ll revise your will and get your affairs in order.”

“Excellent.” She beamed, a bit of color returning to her cheeks as she lifted her cup to her lips. “That takes care of my immediate dilemma. Once we’ve addressed those issues, we can discuss the rest of your duties—those associated with your inheritance of my estate, your overseeing of my home and loved ones.” Grandly she gestured toward the plate of cinnamon cakes. “Please have another.”

“What did you say?” Bryce demanded, his every muscle going rigid.

“I merely urged you to—”

“Not about the cakes. Before that.”

“Before that …” Hermione pursed her lips as she contemplated Bryce’s question. “I believe I said we can discuss the remainder of your duties later. Is there some problem with that?”

“Hermione.” Bryce gripped his knees. “Let’s stop playing games. Did you just imply you’ll be appointing
me
as beneficiary to your estate?”

“I didn’t imply it. I stated it. Why—is that so surprising? As I said, you
are
my nephew, whether anyone else is aware of it or not. You’re also a brilliant, accomplished, and compassionate man. Knowing you’ll be inheriting my home, looking out for those I care for, will grant me peace of mind as my time draws near.”

“So that’s what this visit is all about.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Bryce tamped down on his exasperation, his trained legal mind striking out in a pragmatic direction. “Wiltshire’s son, Thane—he’s your nephew, too. And were he your beneficiary, your estate could pass down without a shred of scandal. Surely you’ve considered that?”

“Of course I have. And you’re quite right—as my legitimate nephew, Thane is, in the eyes of the world, the obvious choice. Up till Richard’s death, he was my
only
choice. But that’s no longer true, I’m relieved to say.”

“Relieved? Why? Is Whitshire’s son untrustworthy?”

“Oh, no, anything but. Thane is honest, decisive, and intelligent—a most remarkable man. Unfortunately, he’s also overburdened with all the obligations associated with the management of Richard’s empire, which was evidently more vast than any of us realized. The last thing he needs is another estate—and its residents—to oversee.”

“That doesn’t explain your relief that he’s no longer the only possible choice of beneficiaries. If he’s such a fine man, I would think you’d be eager to turn everything over to him—and terribly disappointed that his other commitments preclude him from accepting.”

“That’s why you’re the barrister and I’m the wise old matron,” Hermione replied, sipping at her coffee. “You think with your mind, and I with my heart. And what my heart tells me—what it’s always told me—is that you’re the best, the only, choice.”

The
only
choice?

That prompted another thought.

“Your heart seems to have forgotten your niece,” Bryce inserted dryly. “Even if, for whatever reason, you’ve deemed Thane unsuitable as your heir, that still leaves her.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look surprised. “My niece?”

“Yes. I met her a short while ago as my phaeton rounded the drive. Gaby, I believe she said her name was. I distinctly heard her refer to you as Aunt Hermione.”

Hermione chuckled. “I should have known better than to think Gaby could wait to meet you when the others did. She has an abundance of curiosity—it’s twice the size she is.”

“Actually, she didn’t intend to meet me. She was pursuing a rabbit and rushed into my path. She specifically asked that we not make our introduction a formal one so she wouldn’t disappoint you.”

“She could never disappoint me,” Hermione amended warmly. “Gaby is the most precious person in my life—with the exception of you.”

“Is she related to you through your late husband?”

“No. She’s not related to me at all—at least not by blood. But as you yourself just said, blood ties are not always the most meaningful. I love Gaby every bit as much as if she were my daughter. In fact, I’ve raised her for thirteen years, ever since she was orphaned at five.”

“I see.” Actually, Bryce saw very little. Something was going on here, something quite odd. The problem was, he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that his head was reeling, both from what he
had
been told and from what he
hadn’t.
He needed time to ponder this entire arrangement as well as to consider Hermione’s implications and her motivations.

“You’re troubled,” she determined, scrutinizing Bryce’s brooding expression.

“No, I’m taken aback. I’d like a chance to digest everything we’ve just discussed.”

“I assumed you might.” Hermione set down her coffee cup, dabbing delicately at each corner of her mouth with her napkin. “So I took the liberty of having your chambers made up. Chaunce can show you to them as soon as you’ve met the staff.” A warm smile. “ ʼTis the one favor I ask of you before you retire to contemplate our chat. The servants are all terribly excited about meeting you, having heard years of praise regarding your achievements. I think you’ll find my staff equally as exceptional as I do. As for your chambers, I think you’ll be pleased with those as well. The wardrobe and chest have been stocked with every article of clothing you’ll require, sized and styled to your precise needs and tastes, of course. As for the adjoining sitting room, it’s been furnished with your most frequently consulted legal texts as well as a desk full of quills with which to pen your ideas, and paper upon which to pen them. In addition, the kitchen contains all your favorite foods, which Cook has been advised to prepare in whatever order you prefer. The wines—”

“Stop.” Bryce rose from the settee, eyeing Hermione with equal amounts of wonder and disbelief. “You went to all this trouble for a few days’ stay—and its intended outcome?”

“No, I went to all this trouble because pleasing you pleases me. As for the rest …” Hermione spread her hands with an optimistic sweep. “I can only pray that, once you’ve met my little family, pondered my request, you won’t refuse what I’m asking of you.”

“Family? What family?” Bryce was beginning to think he’d lost his mind.

“Why, the staff, of course.” With that, she rang the bell beside her. “You will agree to meet them, won’t you? Of course you will,” she decided for him, gazing expectantly at the door, her expression brightening as she heard approaching footsteps. “Ah, Chaunce.” She beamed as the butler entered the library.

“Yes, madam?”

“You’ve assembled everyone?”

“Indeed I have.”

“Excellent. Then show them in.”

“Certainly, madam.”

Watching his retreating back, Hermione clapped her hands together, looking for the moment like an excited schoolgirl. “At last. All those I love will finally have the opportunity to meet one another.”

Bryce remained silent, wondering at Hermione’s choice of words as well as her enthusiasm. Obviously her staff meant far more to her than mere employees. That shouldn’t astound him; after all, she’d always treated the Lyndleys as if they were dear friends rather than a housekeeper and a valet. Still, he’d always assumed that was a special affinity reserved just for his parents. It had never occurred to him that Hermione felt the same fierce commitment and affection for very member of her staff.

Perhaps that was because he’d never imagined so much love could exist inside one person.

Bryce’s attention snapped to the doorway as a flurry of footsteps sounded from the hall, accompanied by a profusion of excited voices and an occasional “ssh” when the din got too loud.

An instant later Chaunce reentered the room, a dozen pairs of curious eyes peering around him. “We’re all accounted for, my lady.”

“Then by all means come in.” Hermione gave a regal wave. “Everyone—come in.”

B
RYCE HAD NO IDEA
what he’d expected.

But whatever it was, it hadn’t been this.

Hands clasped behind him, he stood beside the settee, keeping his expression carefully nondescript as the most curious and widely varied array of people one could envision traipsed, tripped, and stumbled into the room.

There were about thirty in all, men and women alike, ranging in age from six to sixty. The younger ones—three boys and two girls—wore trousers and day dresses rather than uniforms, looking more like children of the manor than like servants. In contrast to their polished attire, however, they seemed excessively timid, clustering together and hanging behind the adults to peek surreptitiously at Bryce with wide, awed gazes. Only one of them, a curly-haired lad of about eight, stood off to one side, leaning stiffly against the wall and occasionally shifting his weight as if he were in discomfort.

The cook, a heavyset woman with a crisp white apron and eyes that crinkled when she smiled, marched straight over to the curly-haired lad, bending to say something soothing, nearly suffocating the boy with her bosom in the process. The lad averted his head in order to breathe, but despite whatever difficulty that entailed, he was clearly eased by the cook’s gentle words, for he stood a bit taller when she ruffled his hair and turned away.