It was beautiful and stately and perfect for a Wentworth, exactly the kind of house she’d go home to when she went back to Chicago. If she felt more at home in the tiny house she rented from Lucas than she did in Brookhaven, much less Chicago or the Hamptons or Nantucket, she could fix that. She could learn to make Chicago and the Wentworth Foundation her home. After all, no one would really trade the life of a Wentworth for the life of a small-town librarian.
Like Lucas’s grandmother’s roses, carefully tended and nurtured in harsh conditions, she would bloom where she was planted: in Chicago, in a hundred years of family service, not in Walkers Ford, South Dakota.
Brookhaven’s new owner, Chloe Nichols, had moved right in and opened the retreat center, where residents could come and stay for any length of time from overnight to several months. At the moment, only the upstairs bedrooms were available, but Chloe had plans to build small cabins in the meadow that sprawled from the backyard to the creek running through the property. She had slowly but surely made her mark on the big house. Carefully piled stones lined the driveway, and the sailing ship figurehead was gone from the third-story balcony, replaced with a string of Buddhist prayer flags. Wind chimes sounded above the entryway. Alana rang the doorbell, not sure who would answer. Chloe had three retreatants at the moment, but Chloe herself pulled open the door. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore yoga pants, thick socks, and a green fleece pullover zipped to her chin.
“Come in, come in,” she exclaimed, leaning in for the cheek kiss Alana automatically returned. “How are you? Would you like some tea?”
“I’d love some,” Alana said, and followed Chloe through the main room to the kitchen.
One of Brookhaven’s unique architectural features was Japanese-style sliding walls. Chloe had closed off the great room to form a meditation-and-yoga studio space lit by south-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. A scattering of zabutons and zafus ringed the simple bench where Chloe led guided-meditation sessions, and at the other end lay yoga mats, blocks, and bolsters for yoga classes. Alana got the sense that the house found these changes amusing, rather like a dowager duchess supremely confident in her status and therefore utterly unconcerned with changing fashion.
The kitchen, however, was a gorgeous homage to the house’s heritage. Marissa had included modern conveniences like granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, but she’d kept the cabinet doors and the original slate floors.
“Do you mind if I take a look in the servants’ quarters?”
“Not at all,” Chloe said as she ran water into an electric kettle.
Alana stepped through the connecting door into the empty space. Chloe was living in the master suite, but until she built her cabins on the meadow, was renting the servants’ quarters to a long-term residential student. Marissa had painted the kitchen cabinets a soft gray with pink undertones that reminded Alana of sunrise over London. She’d used brushed silver handles, but Alana thought Lucas’s kitchen would look prettier with gold. So much light streamed into the room. Hints of gold would pick up the sunlight and make the room feel bright, open, welcoming.
Back in the kitchen, Chloe was opening a cabinet. She removed a gleaming Japanese teapot and two ceramic cups. “So why the sudden interest in my kitchen?” she asked as she arranged everything on a mother-of-pearl-inlaid tray.
She’d claimed Brookhaven with ease, Alana noticed. My kitchen. “Lucas wants to redo the kitchen in the house I’m renting and asked me for input. This is the nicest kitchen in the county, so I thought I’d start here.”
“Some of the houses on the golf course have gorgeous kitchens,” Chloe pointed out as she offered Alana a wooden box containing a selection of loose-leaf tea pouches.
“I don’t have
Like Lucas’s grandmother’s roses, carefully tended and nurtured in harsh conditions, she would bloom where she was planted: in Chicago, in a hundred years of family service, not in Walkers Ford, South Dakota.
Brookhaven’s new owner, Chloe Nichols, had moved right in and opened the retreat center, where residents could come and stay for any length of time from overnight to several months. At the moment, only the upstairs bedrooms were available, but Chloe had plans to build small cabins in the meadow that sprawled from the backyard to the creek running through the property. She had slowly but surely made her mark on the big house. Carefully piled stones lined the driveway, and the sailing ship figurehead was gone from the third-story balcony, replaced with a string of Buddhist prayer flags. Wind chimes sounded above the entryway. Alana rang the doorbell, not sure who would answer. Chloe had three retreatants at the moment, but Chloe herself pulled open the door. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore yoga pants, thick socks, and a green fleece pullover zipped to her chin.
“Come in, come in,” she exclaimed, leaning in for the cheek kiss Alana automatically returned. “How are you? Would you like some tea?”
“I’d love some,” Alana said, and followed Chloe through the main room to the kitchen.
One of Brookhaven’s unique architectural features was Japanese-style sliding walls. Chloe had closed off the great room to form a meditation-and-yoga studio space lit by south-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. A scattering of zabutons and zafus ringed the simple bench where Chloe led guided-meditation sessions, and at the other end lay yoga mats, blocks, and bolsters for yoga classes. Alana got the sense that the house found these changes amusing, rather like a dowager duchess supremely confident in her status and therefore utterly unconcerned with changing fashion.
The kitchen, however, was a gorgeous homage to the house’s heritage. Marissa had included modern conveniences like granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, but she’d kept the cabinet doors and the original slate floors.
“Do you mind if I take a look in the servants’ quarters?”
“Not at all,” Chloe said as she ran water into an electric kettle.
Alana stepped through the connecting door into the empty space. Chloe was living in the master suite, but until she built her cabins on the meadow, was renting the servants’ quarters to a long-term residential student. Marissa had painted the kitchen cabinets a soft gray with pink undertones that reminded Alana of sunrise over London. She’d used brushed silver handles, but Alana thought Lucas’s kitchen would look prettier with gold. So much light streamed into the room. Hints of gold would pick up the sunlight and make the room feel bright, open, welcoming.
Back in the kitchen, Chloe was opening a cabinet. She removed a gleaming Japanese teapot and two ceramic cups. “So why the sudden interest in my kitchen?” she asked as she arranged everything on a mother-of-pearl-inlaid tray.
She’d claimed Brookhaven with ease, Alana noticed. My kitchen. “Lucas wants to redo the kitchen in the house I’m renting and asked me for input. This is the nicest kitchen in the county, so I thought I’d start here.”
“Some of the houses on the golf course have gorgeous kitchens,” Chloe pointed out as she offered Alana a wooden box containing a selection of loose-leaf tea pouches.
“I don’t have
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