The Music Box by Andrea Kane

heart, let’s discuss your concern for Aunt Hermione, your keen sense of loyalty and respect for her.” Another pause, as if there was so much to say and insufficient words, or time, in which to say it. “Thank you for caring,” she finished in a small voice. “Regardless of your reasons for staying away, I’m glad that, at last, you’ve come to Nevon Manor. I believe it will make all the difference in the world—to Aunt Hermione, to all of us.” She held out Bryce’s handkerchief, dispelling her solemn mood with a tiny speculative smile. “And now, I’d best get to Lily. Heaven only knows what havoc Crumpet has wreaked by this time.”
    Automatically, Bryce took the folded square of linen, his fingers brushing Gaby’s, his gaze flitting over her delicate, fine-boned features with more than a flicker of amazement. Never had he encountered someone who demonstrated such natural and open expressions of emotion, who said what she thought and displayed what she felt without hesitation or censure. An open book—how incredibly refreshing in a world of self-containment and false veneers.
    A world to which he himself subscribed.
    “Mr. Lyndley?”
    Gaby’s questioning tone told Bryce he’d been staring. “Yes?” Recovering himself, he found he was curiously loath to let her leave, despite the fact that his mind was screaming its need to properly digest the morning’s events. Did his reticence stem from the dozen questions he wanted answered, or was it a simple reaction to how very much he was enjoying her company?
    “I really must be on my way,” Gaby repeated, her expression uncertain and a trifle apologetic. “Can the remainder of your questions wait until later?”
    “That depends,” Bryce heard himself say. “Will I see you later?”
    “Of course.” Gaby’s nod was definitive. “At lunch.”
    “And may I ask my horde of questions then?”
    “By all means.”
    “In that case, go to Lily.” He stepped back, making a wide sweep with his arm and watching as she gathered up her skirts and walked toward the doorway. “Gabrielle?”
    She turned, brows raised in question.
    “Thank you for showing me to my room.”
    Warm color tinged her cheeks. “Welcome to Nevon Manor, Mr. Lyndley.”
    Quick as the white rabbit, she was gone.
    Downstairs, Chaunce reentered the library, shutting the door and placing a tray on the side table. “Your medicine, my lady,” he announced.
    Hermione sighed, leaning back against the cushions of the settee. “Thank you, Chaunce,” she managed in a whisper.
    “The others have returned to their chores,” he advised her, “and the library door is locked.”
    One eye cracked open, and she peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “We’re alone?”
    “Quite alone, madam.”
    “Excellent.” Leaping lightly to her feet, Hermione smoothed her hair into place, facing Chaunce with a glow in her eyes. “Splendidly done, my friend. A fine onset.”
    “Thank you, my lady.” Deliberately, Chaunce poured a measure of liquid into a cold glass of water. “Your medicine,” he reminded her.
    “Oh, yes, of course.” Beaming, Hermione hurried forward and took the glass, drinking it down with great enthusiasm. “Thank you, Chaunce. You do make the most delicious lemon water.”
    “I try, my lady.” Replacing the refreshment on its tray, he clasped his hands behind his back, inclining his head in question. “How did it go?”
    “Better than even I expected—worth every dreadful moment of the past week’s feigned infirmity.” She interlaced her fingers, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Did you hear them laughing together in the hallway?”
    “I did indeed. Their banter accompanied me all the way to the pantry.” A satisfied smile. “So their first meeting was a success.”
    “A huge success. According to my sources, Bryce rarely laughs and never lets down his aura of reserve, especially with that woman he’s been escorting about Town.”
    Chaunce’s lips twitched.