The Lyndhurst Arts Foundation was a triumph. It was featured in prestigious magazines not for its scandalous past, but for its visionary future. Artists-in-residence filled the old stables and cottages with the vibrant chaos of creation. The estate hummed with a new, positive energy. For the first time in generations, Lyndhurst was a place of uncomplicated joy.
Nora stood at her library window, watching a sculptor from Chile wrestle a block of marble in the courtyard. A deep, contented sigh escaped her. This was the legacy her grandfather had dreamed of—a living, breathing testament to beauty and second chances.
Demetri came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. The simple intimacy was still a marvel, a daily gift.
“Happy?” he murmured,
