before lunch. Reassured that no further escape attempts had been made, she’d headed directly to her beloved piano, somehow needing the peace and beauty only Beethoven could provide.
Some of her happiest hours were spent here, in the richly decorated green velvet music room that brought her closer to her feelings, her thoughts … and her memories.
Today it was the present rather than the past that prevailed, her thoughts scrambling over one another in their efforts to be heard.
Having shared two introductions, one chat, and an afternoon meal with Bryce Lyndley, Gaby had determined that he was everything and nothing she’d expected.
He’d been an absent yet exalted presence at Nevon Manor since the day she’d come to live here, the pride of Aunt Hermione’s life and an example to them all. How many stories had she heard of the boy whose intelligence and compassion had propelled him into a success that far surpassed anything expected of a commoner? How many times had she watched Aunt Hermione pore over newspaper clippings describing Bryce Lyndley’s latest legal accomplishments or most recent social appearance?
Part of her had been in awe, inspired by the reality that decency and commitment truly could prevail.
And part of her had wondered just how decent Bryce Lyndley really was—how someone so benevolent could neglect a woman like Aunt Hermione, a rare and remarkable woman who loved him like a son.
Clearly there was more here than met the eye.
But the one time she’d broached the subject, asking Aunt Hermione why Mr. Lyndley never visited, her aunt had become visibly shaken, offering a swift, vague answer before turning away, eyes brimming with tears.
At that moment Gaby had actually hated the man.
Later she’d calmed down, reminding herself that she knew little of the truth and could therefore not assign blame.
And now that she’d met and talked with him, she was more confused than ever. For the extraordinarily handsome man with the infectious smile, the uncanny gift for understanding and relating to people, and the probing forest-green eyes was very much the person Aunt Hermione had depicted.
With one variation—the pain Gaby saw reflected in those eyes.
Pain that was all too similar to what she’d read on Aunt Hermione’s face the day she’d questioned her, a deep-seated suffering Gaby was willing to bet was integrally tied to whatever secrets her aunt and Mr. Lyndley shared … and guarded.
On that notion, Gaby’s fingers paused, caressing the piano keys as she thought. True, what was between her aunt and Bryce Lyndley was none of her concern. Still, anything that hurt Aunt Hermione hurt her as well. The enormous-hearted woman was everything to her—her guardian, her friend, the head of her family … not merely the mistress of the household but, in all ways that mattered, her mother.
Gaby’s memories of her real mother and father hadn’t faded. They were always there, warm and vivid, wrapped in an eternal cocoon that was tucked away in her mind and heart, to be called upon at will. But the agony of losing them had slowly diminished over the years, and that she owed to Aunt Hermione, who had taken a traumatized five-year-old into her home, held her while she cried, then patiently coaxed her from her grief into a world of nurturing and love.
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
Some of her happiest hours were spent here, in the richly decorated green velvet music room that brought her closer to her feelings, her thoughts … and her memories.
Today it was the present rather than the past that prevailed, her thoughts scrambling over one another in their efforts to be heard.
Having shared two introductions, one chat, and an afternoon meal with Bryce Lyndley, Gaby had determined that he was everything and nothing she’d expected.
He’d been an absent yet exalted presence at Nevon Manor since the day she’d come to live here, the pride of Aunt Hermione’s life and an example to them all. How many stories had she heard of the boy whose intelligence and compassion had propelled him into a success that far surpassed anything expected of a commoner? How many times had she watched Aunt Hermione pore over newspaper clippings describing Bryce Lyndley’s latest legal accomplishments or most recent social appearance?
Part of her had been in awe, inspired by the reality that decency and commitment truly could prevail.
And part of her had wondered just how decent Bryce Lyndley really was—how someone so benevolent could neglect a woman like Aunt Hermione, a rare and remarkable woman who loved him like a son.
Clearly there was more here than met the eye.
But the one time she’d broached the subject, asking Aunt Hermione why Mr. Lyndley never visited, her aunt had become visibly shaken, offering a swift, vague answer before turning away, eyes brimming with tears.
At that moment Gaby had actually hated the man.
Later she’d calmed down, reminding herself that she knew little of the truth and could therefore not assign blame.
And now that she’d met and talked with him, she was more confused than ever. For the extraordinarily handsome man with the infectious smile, the uncanny gift for understanding and relating to people, and the probing forest-green eyes was very much the person Aunt Hermione had depicted.
With one variation—the pain Gaby saw reflected in those eyes.
Pain that was all too similar to what she’d read on Aunt Hermione’s face the day she’d questioned her, a deep-seated suffering Gaby was willing to bet was integrally tied to whatever secrets her aunt and Mr. Lyndley shared … and guarded.
On that notion, Gaby’s fingers paused, caressing the piano keys as she thought. True, what was between her aunt and Bryce Lyndley was none of her concern. Still, anything that hurt Aunt Hermione hurt her as well. The enormous-hearted woman was everything to her—her guardian, her friend, the head of her family … not merely the mistress of the household but, in all ways that mattered, her mother.
Gaby’s memories of her real mother and father hadn’t faded. They were always there, warm and vivid, wrapped in an eternal cocoon that was tucked away in her mind and heart, to be called upon at will. But the agony of losing them had slowly diminished over the years, and that she owed to Aunt Hermione, who had taken a traumatized five-year-old into her home, held her while she cried, then patiently coaxed her from her grief into a world of nurturing and love.
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
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