Читать книгу The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 9

Four

When the limousine came to a complete stop at Crofthaven’s front door, their driver jumped out to open their doors. He was too late for Toby who was accustomed to opening his own doors and making his own way in the world without anyone’s assistance.

“Thanks, anyway,” he said, stuffing a generous tip into the man’s hand. “And have a nice day.”

As Heather stepped from the limousine, she tried to dismiss the eerie sense that some ghostly being was watching her. Surely it was only her imagination that chilled her skin and caused her to look over her shoulder. Letting the sounds of summer crickets and birds wash over her, she rubbed away her goose bumps and fixed a determined smile on her face. Dylan was eagerly waiting for them on the front steps along with half the population of Savannah, as far as Heather could tell.

They converged on Toby as if he were the proverbial prodigal son returning home. Contrary to her expectations, Heather wasn’t shoved aside as much as swallowed up by the throng pushing them through the massive front doors. The Danforths were a jovial bunch who seemed more into bear hugs than the pretentious air kisses that her parents preferred on the rare occasions she was allowed to return home.

The apologetic glance that Toby cast in Heather’s direction did not escape his sister Imogene’s sharp green eyes.

Heather suspected little did.

At the moment, however, she was having trouble keeping up with all the names and faces crowded about. As if imploring a higher power, 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 placed a restraining hand gently on her elbow.

“If you’d like to stick around, I’m sure I can locate somebody to baby-sit while the adults get settled in. You look exhausted.”

“I don’t mind.”

The thought of going with the children and escaping the familial chaos definitely appealed to Heather. Hoping to maintain a low profile for the duration of her stay at Crofthaven, she was eager to begin exploring the grounds herself. The possibility of meeting up with that mysterious lady beneath the big oak tree held a weird fascination for her.

Besides, Heather asked herself, what good could possibly come of a mere peasant mixing with America’s royalty? She imagined such behavior could earn her the label of a gold-digger among Toby’s relatives. Having been coached how to “work a room” by her instructors, Heather was hoping never to need to put that particular skill to use again. No matter how likable they might be, why should one bother trying to forge ties with people she was likely never to see again?

Heather could think of only one good reason: it would undoubtedly help her to understand Dylan better—and his perplexing father. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he was looking so displeased with her at the moment. The stubborn set of his jaw didn’t bode well for any argument Heather might set forth.

“It’ll do the boy good to make some friends his own age,” Toby insisted.

“Oh, let her go,” Genie chided her brother before turning her attention to Heather. “Why don’t you familiarize yourself with the place while we catch up on old times? I’m sure you’d be bored with the exaggerated tales my brothers are sure to spring on my new husband in hopes of embarrassing me.”

Heather shot Toby’s sister a grateful look. She hadn’t expected anyone so privileged to make it easy for her.

“But,” she continued in a honeyed drawl, “I do expect you to accompany Toby to the festivities. If he shows up alone, he’s sure to start a stampede of unattached Southern belles in his direction that will upset Uncle Abe by taking attention away from the big political announcement he’s scheduled to make.”

Toby’s protests fell on deaf ears as she continued teasing him. Their playful banter diverted Heather’s attention from the matchmaking glint in Genie’s eyes.

She attempted a feeble rebuttal. “But don’t you think Dylan will—”

Genie cut her off with the same mulish set of her jaw as her big brother’s. The delicate-looking lady was living, breathing proof that Southern women hadn’t acquired the steel magnolias nickname for nothing. Her husband Sheikh Raf ibn Shakir preferred working with his Arabian horses to socializing with the jet set, but he promised his wife he would make an appearance at the family reunion later in the day. He was looking forward to comparing training techniques with his brother-in-law.

“Don’t worry about Dylan. He’ll be just fine. Uncle Abe’s hired a score of qualified baby-sitters for all the children in attendance. There will be everything from clowns to magicians to giant inflatable toys to keep them happily occupied during the festivities.”

Like a cool breeze, Miranda swept into the conversation with a soothing presence that had settled so many squabbles over the years. “Of course you’ll want to stay close enough by to check on Dylan if he needs you for anything, my dear. That would put my mind at ease, as well, but we would consider it a privilege to get to know you better. After all, as Dylan’s nanny, we consider you part of the family now. And as such, we would be honored to have you stay at our home. It’s just down the road a ways.

With all the political hullabaloo going on here at Crofthaven, it will provide a calmer atmosphere for us to get better acquainted with our grandson.”

There was no way of sidestepping such a gracious invitation. It made Heather feel all the more keenly her desire for a mother who went out of her way to make a stranger feel at home. Even though she knew that Miranda Danforth was simply being cordial, her words put a lump in her throat. All she had ever known of family was outrageous demands and strict compliance to what others deemed in her best interest. Miranda’s suggestion that people might actually want to get to know her as her own person was flattering in itself. Her invitation to consider herself part of the family when Heather’s own had turned so viciously against her was salve upon an open wound.

“If you’re sure I won’t be in the way,” Heather said, lowering her voice so as not to betray her feelings on the matter. “I would consider it a privilege to attend.”

A chorus of responses assured her that she would not be in the way at all. In fact, if the conspiratorial look exchanged between mother and daughter was any indication, Heather was about to find herself the center of attention whether she wanted to be or not.