The Music Box (9 page)

Wry amusement lifted Bryce’s brows. “Those were simple courtesies, Hermione, not heroic acts.”

“I beg to differ with you. Why, I understand from Bowrick that you even took time to help him find his spectacles.”

“I passed Bowrick in the hall. The spectacles were in his pocket. The entire exchange took less than two minutes.” Amusement vanished as Bryce’s instincts clamored to life once more. It wasn’t his imagination. He was being fattened like a lamb for slaughter. The ironic thing was that the entire performance was for naught, given that flattery would have as little effect on his decision as would the abundance of attention with which he was being lavished. The answer he eventually gave Hermione would be rooted in something far deeper than his popularity among the staff.

“Hermione, is this deluge of praise meant to influence my decision as to whether or not I’ll agree to act as your beneficiary?” he asked. “Because if it is …”

“I understand Chaunce found you in the music room with Gaby. Doesn’t she play beautifully?”

Bryce considered pressing his point, then changed his mind. For whatever reason, Hermione wanted no part of his explanation, nor was she ready to address the issue of her earlier request head-on. Rather, she seemed set on her own course—a course that included presenting every member of her household in the most favorable light. Very well, he would play this game her way. “Yes, she plays exquisitely.”

“And did the two of you have a nice chat?”

Casually, Bryce draped his arm over the back of the settee, tilting his head and meeting Hermione’s inquisitive gaze. “Indeed we did. We discussed music, the servants, and you. We also discussed Gabrielle herself: her background, her interests, her opinions.”

“She’s a remarkable girl, isn’t she?”

“She most certainly is.”

“Her background—did she tell you about her parents? How they died?”

“How
and
where.” Some of Bryce’s earlier pensiveness returned at the memory of what he’d learned, the unexpected link between Gabrielle’s past and his own.

“Then you know how vulnerable she is.” Ignoring Bryce’s reference to Whitshire, Hermione bent forward and massaged her temples, her voice wavering as she spoke. “More than any of the others, I worry about Gaby, about what will become of her when I’m gone. She’s like a beautiful butterfly, Bryce—rare and delicate. And so trusting. It troubles me more than you can imagine.”

“Why?” Bryce blinked, taken aback by the unanticipated course of Hermione’s conversation. He’d expected a citing of Gabrielle’s virtues, not an expression of anxiety over her future. “Why would you worry about Gabrielle’s fate? Everyone at Nevon Manor adores her. None of your staff would ever hurt her.”

“No, they wouldn’t. But can you make the same claim about the outside world?”

“Forgive me, Hermione, but I’m lost. According to Gabrielle, the residents of Nevon Manor are a very sequestered group who rarely venture from the estate.”

“True. But unlike the others, Gaby cannot remain sequestered for much longer. She’s eighteen, Bryce, a grown woman—one who has so very much to give. She needs a life, a husband, a family of her own. And that means leaving Nevon Manor, joining the real and ofttimes unkind world outside our gates. Gaby is totally unprepared for that—which is my fault for keeping her so sheltered. But because she endured what she had, and at so young an age, I wanted her to feel safe, to have a home, security. Now I wonder if I did her a disservice. For despite Gaby’s innate joy of life, despite the limitless strength she finds for others, she’s very innocent and very fragile. It would take only the wrong situation, the wrong man, to shatter her. And if I’m not here to protect her …”

Bryce scowled, unable to refute a word of Hermione’s fervent reasoning. His talk with Gabrielle had revealed her to be precisely the young woman Hermione was describing. And without Hermione as her guardian …

“You’re right,” he inserted quietly, his mind racing to explore possible solutions. “I understand your trepidation. In fact, I’d go so far as to suggest we act upon it.”

Hermione’s head came up. “Act upon it? How?”

“By making provisions for Gabrielle’s future in the will you’ll be amending.”

“That’s precisely the route I was contemplating. It’s also the reason I wanted to chat with you tonight, before Chaunce returns with the household accounts.”

“Do you have a specific proposal you wish to discuss?”

“Yes. I’d like to appoint a legal guardian for Gaby—one who would be responsible for seeing to her future in the event of my death.”

Bryce looked surprised. “Naturally that would be the ideal solution. However, I got the distinct impression there was no one you trusted to fill that role.”

“On the contrary, there is indeed someone—
if
you’ll agree to do it.”

Bryce jerked upright. “
I
? You want
me
to act as Gabrielle’s guardian?”

“I don’t
want
you to. I
plead
with you to.” Hermione inhaled slowly, clasping her trembling hands together. “Please, Bryce. I implore you to accept. I have no one else to turn to, not even Thane. He and Gaby have met only a dozen times, and they’re such entirely different people; Thane wouldn’t have a clue how best to pave Gaby’s future. Whereas you, having dealt in a much more diverse environment, having experienced so much of your own suffering …”

Hermione pressed her fingers to her lips as if seeking the right words to convince him. “It would be no more than a minor inconvenience. As my beneficiary, you’d be living at Nevon Manor anyway. And you wouldn’t have to invest a shilling of your own money; I’d leave a sizable trust fund for Gaby, which you would oversee, of course. You could make certain she met the right people, shield her from cruelty and ugliness. The entire staff would help you; as you said, they love Gaby dearly. But they alone are not strong enough, steady enough, to manage this all-important responsibility on their own. I need to leave someone strong at the helm, someone intelligent and insightful who can look out for Gaby, protect her, guide her along the right path. That someone, Bryce, is you. Please—you mustn’t say no.”

Coming to his feet, Bryce stalked the room, hands clasped behind his back. He was numb with shock, overcome by the enormity of what Hermione was asking of him, a request that had escalated from the weighty to the ponderous. To agree to oversee her unorthodox staff would be a massive enough responsibility, necessitating his changing his residence, his priorities, his entire way of life. But this? Taking on a young woman as his ward, introducing her to society, securing her future? For this he had no experience, no preparation, no inclination.

How the hell could Hermione ask this of him?

Because there was no one else. No one to care for Hermione’s staff, no one to see to Gabrielle’s future. No friends, no family. No one.

Being alone, fending for oneself—these were prospects Bryce understood only too well, for he himself had confronted them years ago, the day he’d received Hermione’s letter, learned the Lyndleys were gone, and faced the sickening fact that he was without a foundation upon which to stand, without a supportive hand to grasp.

The pain that had accompanied that realization was not something he’d want anyone else to endure, certainly not one as tenderhearted as Gabrielle.

“You’re sure that Thane …?” he began.

“I’m sure.” Watching the play of emotions on Bryce’s face, Hermione leaned forward, adding gently, “Bryce, this favor I’m asking is quite possibly a mere formality. As you’re well aware, I consider Gaby my own. Bearing that in mind, I fully intend to bring her out next Season, to carefully initiate her emergence into society.” A resigned sigh. “I’d originally intended to do so this Season, but because of Richard’s illness I deferred my plans. Which gives me the better part of a year to persuade Gaby that Nevon Manor can survive without us for several days here and there. She worries so about our family’s ability to cope with change, although I’m more than confident that Chaunce can keep things running with reassuring familiarity during Gaby’s and my occasional forays into Town. I would never desert my family for long intervals. But I do not intend to neglect Gaby’s future. Given that by next spring my mourning period will be very much over, Gaby will be brought out then, at which time I expect a dozen eager suitors to be contending for her hand. Why, she’ll probably be married and a mother before I pass on. Still, I must take the necessary precautions, just in case. Surely, being a barrister, you understand the prudence of my plan.”

“Yes, Hermione, I understand,” Bryce muttered, wishing he could find one bloody flaw in her logic. Unfortunately, there was none. Not with regard to her plea for Gabrielle or her plea for her staff. She loved these people, she was desperate to protect them, and she fully believed he was the sole person to secure their future.

Perhaps he was.

Which incited a most baffling question.

Abruptly Bryce halted, squaring off to meet Hermione’s gaze. “What would you have done had Whitshire not died when he did?”

Hermione drew an unsteady breath. “The truth? I’d been grappling with the idea of contacting you anyway, begging you to come—under an assumed name, if need be, pretending you were my business adviser, my solicitor, anything—and praying you wouldn’t refuse and Richard wouldn’t suspect who you really were.
That’s
how desperate I was becoming. Then God intervened. He saw a way to bring you to me. I never wished for any harm to befall my brother”—a shadow darted across her face—“except when he cast you aside, at which time I actually wished him in hell. Nevertheless, my anguish went unanswered and Richard’s fate was ultimately decided by a higher being. Still, the timing—his death, my deterioration—I don’t believe it was mere coincidence. In my heart I believe God concurred with my wish for you to come back into my life, guide the paths of those I love, and fulfill the role you were never able to claim while Richard lived.”

At the last, Bryce went rigid. “What does that mean?”

Silence.

“Hermione, what else haven’t you told me?”

Hermione’s lashes drifted to her cheeks. “With regard to what?”

“You know full well with regard to what.” Bryce strode forward, stood directly over Hermione, where he intended to remain until he got some answers. “Let’s dispense with the games. I much prefer truth to pretense, as your investigators have doubtless advised you. Well-meaning or not, you have quite a thorough plan mapped out, a plan that puts me at its center but which you’ve neglected to clearly define aloud. Initially you said you wanted me to draw up your will, look over your household accounts, and—as you announced to your staff—act as your business adviser. Then, as an afterthought, you added that you’ve selected me to inherit your home and take on your staff. A few minutes ago you beseeched me to oversee Gabrielle’s future. Now you’re alluding to some other—and I suspect thoroughly inconceivable—role you wish me to play. So I repeat, what else do you intend to ask of me?”

Hermione wet her lips, her pale blue gaze steady on his. “Very well, Bryce, if you want me to be direct, so be it. There is one more facet of my request.”

“Which is …?”

“To meet your brother.”

“My brother,” Bryce echoed, the word tasting bitter and foreign on his tongue.

“Yes—Thane. As I said, he’s a fine man. Different from you, different from Gaby, but decent and kind nonetheless. Richard was the only obstacle standing between you. Now he’s gone. And I want the two of you to meet. Soon—before my time comes.”

There it was again. Hermione’s obscure reference to her failing health.

Deferring the adamant refusal to meet Whitshire’s son that hovered on his lips, Bryce confronted this more important subject head-on. “Before we say another word, I want to understand precisely what the status of your health is. You just implied that your life could be nearing an end. Yet a moment ago you reassured me you’d be here next spring for Gabrielle’s coming-out. Which is it, Hermione? Are you ill? If not, why do you keep referring to your demise as if it’s imminent? And while we’re on the subject, what is that medicine you’ve been taking?”

A pulse fluttered at Hermione’s throat, a clear indication that she was unnerved. Seeing that, Bryce frowned, accosted by the distressing possibility that perhaps Hermione’s illness was indeed serious, that her entire plan had been devised in an attempt to protect those she loved—providing for their future while shielding them from the truth for as long as it was feasible to do so.

Squelching his concern, he awaited her reply.

When it came, it was with a quavering lift of her shoulders. “To my knowledge, I’m not ill, only weak. According to Dr. Briers, the medicine is a tonic that will help sustain my strength. Whether that’s the truth or simply his kindhearted attempt to placate an old woman, I’m not sure. Nor does it matter. To be blunt, my intentions and fate’s might not concur—at least not with regard to my health.”

Hermione paused, resting a moment to recapture her strength. “I’m not
planning
to succumb overnight,” she continued. “However, I must be practical. At my age, how much remaining time could there be? I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been feeling increasingly peaked these past few weeks. It’s almost as if I’m being prepared. I’m a fighter, Bryce; I intend to hold on to life with every fiber of my being. But Richard’s death made me realize we’re all mortal—even I. Fighter or not, I can’t stop the passage of time or change the course of nature. I’ve lived a long, full life. With a modicum of luck, my pluck and my medicine will help sustain me a few years longer. Nevertheless, I want my affairs to be in order, and, more important, I want those I love to be provided for, physically
and
emotionally. And that, my dear boy, includes you.” Hermione’s hands dropped to her lap. “Have I sufficiently answered your question?”

Bryce rubbed the back of his neck, his head pounding with conflicting emotions. “You have.”

“Good. Then perhaps you’ll answer mine. Will you give me the peace of mind I seek?”

How in God’s name could he say no? “You seek a great deal,” he heard himself say.