Heather cast her eyes to the high ceilings and ornamental fans so reminiscent of a Tennessee Williams production. Their gentle whirring stirred enough of a breeze to play a subtle tune on the chandelier sparkling overhead. As if sensing her discomfort, Toby put an arm around her shoulder.
She turned her face up to his as he bent down to whisper in her ear. “Thank you for being here for Dylan and me. You don’t know how much it means.”
His breath against her neck was cooler than the air that greeted her when she stepped off the plane but it melted her on the spot nonetheless. Need revealed itself in the shiver that raced down her collar and out the ends of her fingertips. That same sudden need made her shift even closer to him to take shelter in the crook of the arm draped protectively around her. It made Heather want a great many things that were not at all possible given her status among the rich and famous gathered together in such an incredible setting.
Heather was so accustomed to Josef abandoning her at social gatherings, while he curried favor among the patrons and attended to his own adoring fans, that Toby’s attention to her well-being caught her unawares. Why was he being so nice to her? she wondered. Supposing she must look terribly overwhelmed to warrant such attention, Heather resigned herself to making the best of the short introductions to come, if only for the sake of common courtesy. She was glad she wore dress slacks and a sleeveless seersucker top rather than the shorts she had been tempted to don in expectation of the South’s famous heat and humidity. Breathing a sigh of relief that she was neither over nor underdressed for the occasion, she smiled at the man who had brought her here as a servant but who was doing his best to make her feel like a guest.
The crowd separated to let a slender woman step forward. Heather was reminded of Moses parting the Red Sea. Like so many Southern ladies, she was of an indeterminate age. Her blond hair was swept up in a tidy, timeless style, and she wore a simple chiffon dress of pale lemon. Except for the warm blue eyes that were Toby’s, she looked just like Imogene.
“Mom!”
Heather studied the joy reflected in Toby’s face as he swept his mother into his arms. The love between them was so genuine that a ripple of jealousy washed through her. She could not remember a single time that her mother ever greeted her in such an uninhibited fashion. Nor when she felt truly accepted by the woman who brought her into the world. In the Burroughs family, color distinguished blood from water more than any particular thickening agent.
Toby’s father was only half a step behind his wife.
“Son!”
How a single syllable could carry such implicit approval was beyond Heather, but it most certainly did. Whereas Miranda Danforth was effusive in her greeting, Toby’s father stopped just short of a hug, reaching out instead to take his son’s hand into his. The handshake they exchanged conveyed something so sacred and honorable that it caused Heather to feel the need to turn away.
“I really appreciate your coming home on such short notice at my request, especially when I know how busy you’ve been,” Harold Danforth said. His eyes held a shimmer of deeply felt emotion.
Toby reached out to embrace his father for a moment that transcended time altogether.
“I wouldn’t miss a family reunion for the world—whatever the reason for it might be.”
Uncomfortable with such an open display of affection in light of her own family’s threat to disown her, Heather wondered if she might possibly slip away and do a little exploring—of the house itself as well as of the raw emotions that were twisting her guts up into knots.
“And who might this pretty young thing be?” inquired Harold, directing his attention her way and banishing any chance of imminent escape.
Kind blue eyes regarded her from beneath a pair of bushy, heavy eyebrows.
“This is Dylan’s nanny,” Genie volunteered before anyone else had a chance to speak. “Her name is Heather Burroughs. You might remember her from a concert performance at the Civic Center a few years ago.”
Surprised that Toby’s socialite sister cared enough to remember her name, let alone reference any background information about her, Heather gave Harold a timid smile. Unlike her own father, who was of slight build and sharp temperament, Harold Danforth was at least 230 pounds and had a contagious grin. Shorter than either of his sons, he was nonetheless a big man. Both in heart and stature Heather imagined, if her instincts were correct.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she offered, feeling an immediate kinship with the man.
“The honor is all mine.”
Words that might sound stilted on the page warmed Heather from the inside out. The man appeared to be a true Southern gentleman through and through. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why Toby would want to leave the affection of such a loving family to strike out on his own. Fearing she might even get attached to these people herself if she wasn’t careful, Heather was glad that her job would likely occupy her time for the duration of her stay.
It was impossible to tell which of the children running about were related to one another and which were merely friends of the family. With an estate of this size, it certainly wouldn’t be any trouble accommodating a full-scale nursery school. Heather would cheerfully volunteer to run it, if it meant she wouldn’t be asked to put in a polite appearance at Abraham Danforth’s big campaign party. She’d had enough of strained social functions in which she felt compelled to vie for the attention of wealthy patrons of the arts. It would be nice to fade into the woodwork for a change.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a child’s squeals as he came ricocheting toward her from out of nowhere. Gathering her wits about her, Heather spied a boy of about Dylan’s age sliding down a fantastic spiral staircase by way of a banister polished by the seats of children for over a century. Startled, she jumped aside, fearing if she didn’t move that she might well prove to be the boy’s landing pad. Taking the opposite tack, Toby stepped forward to catch the boy in midflight.
“And just who do you think you are?” he asked, peering into a face that took him back into time. The child was the spitting image of his brother Jacob at that age. “Peter Pan perhaps?”
The boy giggled. “Not Peter Pan—just Peter!”
His father stepped forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Toby, let me introduce you to your nephew.”
The pride in his voice was as unmistakable as his affection for the child. Unaware that Jacob himself had only recently discovered the son he didn’t know he had, Heather simply assumed that Toby hadn’t had the privilege of meeting his impish nephew. She liked the way he connected with all children, not just his own. She supposed such a man would have more than enough love to accommodate more than one child. Dylan would surely love having brothers and sisters to fill the void that his mother had left behind.
Not that Heather was eager to marry Toby off or anything. Just the thought of it brought a blush to her cheeks.
“The boys will be good for each other,” she overheard Jacob telling his brother. “A few months ago, Peter was as reserved as Dylan and almost as quiet. Living together as a family has really brought him out of his shell.”
Older than Dylan by only a year, Peter grabbed the younger boy by the hand and urged him, “Come on. Let’s go play.”
When Dylan looked hesitantly at Heather, she smiled at the pair of them and offered to accompany them.
Toby
