Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ella
Elizabeth’s brownstone loomed before us, its ivy-draped railings framing polished brickwork. The tall windows reflected the warm afternoon sun. Beside me, Lucas held Bess’s hand, her wide eyes darting to the brass knocker on the door.
“Is this your mom’s house?” Bess whispered in awe.
“It is. And that’s her gallery across the street,” Lucas said, pointing. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
Before I could respond, the door opened. Elizabeth appeared, exuding warmth and grace in a tailored sweater and silk scarf.
“Lucas,” she greeted, hugging him a moment longer than necessary. “Glad you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lucas said lightly. His hand rested on Bess’s shoulder. “Mom, you remember Ella.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened as she pulled me into a hug. “Ella, dear, it’s been far too long.”
“It really has,” I replied, nostalgia settling in. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ve missed you, too.” She studied me warmly. “You look well—life must be keeping you busy.”
“Bess does a good job of that,” I said, glancing at my niece. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Bess, her smile widening. “And this must be the lovely Bess I’ve heard so much about.”
Bess blinked up at her, shyness creeping in. “Hi.”
Elizabeth crouched, offering her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Bess. I hope you’ll feel at home here.”
After a pause, Bess slipped her small hand into Elizabeth’s. “Thank you,” she said softly, earning a proud look from Lucas.
Elizabeth straightened, eyes bright with affection. “Come inside, all of you. Let’s not let the chill get to us.”
Lucas placed a hand on my back as we entered the foyer, a reassuring gesture. I hadn’t seen Elizabeth in years, nor had I visited Grace Gallery—the gallery named after her middle name. I avoided mentioning her divorce from Alistair, but I was genuinely happy to see her again.
The brownstone’s interior was even more stunning than I’d imagined. Polished wood floors gleamed under soft lighting, and art adorned the walls, each piece telling a story curated with Elizabeth’s impeccable taste.
Bess’s gaze darted around, her mouth slightly open. “This house is so fancy,” she whispered to Lucas.
Elizabeth chuckled. “It’s lived in, dear, though I suppose it might seem big to someone your size.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said sincerely.
“Wait until you see the rest,” Elizabeth replied, gesturing toward a small elevator in the corner. “But first, let’s take a moment to catch up. Lucas, would you carry Ella and Bess’s coats upstairs?”
“Of course,” Lucas said, taking them and disappearing up the staircase. For a moment, it was just Elizabeth and me.
She turned to me, her expression soft. “Ella, it’s so good to see you again. It feels like forever.”
“It does,” I admitted. “I’ve really missed you—your advice, your support... even your presence at the museum.”
Her face lit up. “The museum always felt like home to me. I miss Miami, though Lucas does his best to bring a little of it to me when he visits.”
“He mentioned you visit him sometimes in the winter.”
She nodded. “His penthouse is a cozy retreat when it’s too cold here. But it’s not the same as being involved in your world, Ella. The Ocean View Museum was special to me.”
I hesitated, unsure whether to bring up her divorce. Instead, I smiled. “Your donations to the foundation have made a real difference. Thank you.”
Elizabeth waved off my gratitude. “You deserve the credit, Ella. You’ve carried so much these past few years, and you’ve done it beautifully.”
Her gaze shifted to Bess, who was still marveling at the artwork. “And this little one... she’s a delight. I see so much of you in her already.”
Emotion welled in my chest, but I pushed it down. “She’s the light of my life.”
Elizabeth touched my arm, her eyes shining. “And you’re hers.”
Lucas returned, his footsteps soft on the staircase. “Coats are upstairs. Looks like Mom’s got everything set up for you, Ella.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened. “I think it’s time to show Bess something truly special.”
Bess tilted her head, intrigued. “What is it?”
Elizabeth leaned down, whispering, “Have you ever seen a piano that plays all by itself?”
Bess’s eyes widened. “No way! Pianos can’t do that!”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, but they can. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
Bess eagerly took her hand as we followed them to the small elevator.
The doors opened to a room that felt frozen in time. Bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, and an Aeolian player piano, its mahogany surface polished to perfection, stood in the center.
Bess gasped. “Is that the piano that plays by itself?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Lucas’s great-great-grandmother brought it from France. Would you like to try it?”
Bess looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Lucas hesitated. “It’s fragile.”
Elizabeth waved him off. “It’s meant to be played.”
With help, Bess climbed onto the bench and stretched her legs to pump the pedals. The piano sprang to life, filling the room with a rich melody. Her giggle rang out, pure joy radiating from her.
“It’s working!” she exclaimed. “It’s really playing!”
I watched her, my heart full. Lucas stood beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “She’s a natural,” he murmured.
“She’s in heaven,” I replied, catching the warmth in his gaze. For a moment, everything felt perfect.
As the music slowed, Bess let out a contented sigh. “That was the best thing ever.”
Elizabeth clapped. “Well done, dear. You brought it to life.”
Lucas patted her back. “Good job, munchkin.”
Bess beamed, her happiness lighting up the room. For a fleeting second, it felt like family—but I pushed the thought aside. Life wasn’t that simple.
Dinner was a feast worthy of a fine restaurant. The small dining table was set with elegant simplicity: a crisp white tablecloth, sparkling crystal glasses, and candles casting a warm glow. The scents of roasted Cornish hens, fresh herbs, and buttery bread filled the air, making my stomach growl.
Elizabeth moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating coq au vin with a flourish. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said, setting the steaming dish in the center of the table. “This recipe has been a family favorite for years.”
Bess inhaled deeply, eyes widening. “It smells really good!”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that. But if you don’t like it, I have a backup plan—Lucas always preferred plain pasta as a child.”
Lucas groaned. “Mom, that was decades ago.”
Elizabeth winked. “Some things don’t change.”
As we ate, the conversation flowed easily. Elizabeth shared stories of her time in France, describing the Parisian streets and the pastries she loved as a child. Lucas added a few childhood tales of his own, much to her amusement.
“Do you remember the time you tried to bake croissants?” she asked mischievously.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. The kitchen was a disaster for days.”
Bess leaned forward. “Did you really try to make them yourself?”
“Once,” Lucas admitted. “Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.”
Laughter filled the room, and for a moment, I let myself relax. Elizabeth’s wit and Lucas’s dry humor blended seamlessly.
After dessert—a light lemon tart Bess surprisingly loved—Elizabeth led us to the guest room, a cozy space with plush bedding. Bess climbed under the covers, clutching the clay sculpture she had made at the Met.
“Thank you, Aunt Ella,” she murmured sleepily. “This was so fun.”
I kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Elizabeth lingered at the door. “She’s special, Ella. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
Later that night, the house was quiet. Bess was sound asleep beside me, her breathing soft and even. I lay still, letting the silence settle around me, but my thoughts wouldn’t.
Just as I began to drift off, faint voices reached me. Lucas and Elizabeth. Their tones were low and serious, carrying through the stillness.
I hesitated, torn between respecting their privacy and the pull of curiosity, before tiptoeing closer to the partially open door.
“You’re playing with fire, Lucas,” Elizabeth said, concern in her voice. “Alistair won’t hesitate to protect the family secrets, no matter the cost.”
My breath caught. Family secrets?
“I know, Mother,” Lucas replied, his tone steady. “But I’ve got it under control.”
Elizabeth’s voice softened. “I adore Ella and Bess. They don’t deserve to get caught up in this. Alistair might not harm them, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use leverage to keep them out of the picture.”
A pause. I could picture Lucas, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll protect them. I promise.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Just be careful. You’re walking a dangerous line.”
Their voices faded as they moved further down the hall. I stayed frozen, replaying their words in my mind. Secrets. Leverage. Alistair. There was more to the Devereux family than I’d realized.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. Whatever they were involved in, it wasn’t my business. The art world had its share of drama, and I’d always managed to steer clear. But the idea of Bess—or myself—being pulled into it made my stomach twist.
Climbing back into bed, I wrapped the blankets around Bess and silently vowed to stay vigilant. While I appreciated Lucas’s help with the Chagall exhibit, I couldn’t let myself get too involved. Not when it felt like everything around him could collapse at any moment.