Page 37 of Purchase Power
Chapter 11
Lucy perched atop the back of the couch, feet digging between the cushions as she leaned forward on her knees and attempted to read the only book she had brought with her.
Every time she reread the harrowing times Jane Eyre experienced at Lowood, however, her eyes glazed over and she thought of Noah.The man who has made me look forward to his visits, I suppose.That was preposterous, though. She barely knew him, outside of his unfettered need to fuck her from behind and withhold any other kind of physical affection.Well, that’s in line with what I expected.Out of everything that had completely defied Lucy’s expectations, there was, at least, Noah’s use of her body and nothing more.
All the more reason for her to reject her desire to see him!
How can I want to see him, even if I like it. The man is clearly toxic.A real Mr. Rochester, if Lucy were being serious. This house still reminded her of Thornfield Hall. All that was missing was an ex-wife locked up in the attic.
She put aside her book and picked up her laptop. Her blank document continued to stare at her, beguiling her to write something, anything.
Instead, Lucy switched over to her notes, where she kept a loose diary of her thoughts and observations about what went on in Gabriel Manor.
Oh, she was sorry. Thornfield Hall.
“The Mr. Rochester of this place is as deceptively young as the man from Jane Eyre. Although Mr. Rochester is described as middle-age, one must consider that our perception of ‘middle-aged’ has changed tremendously since the time of Charlotte Brontë and her sisters. To call this Mr. Rochester ‘middle-aged’ is a great misnomer. He cannot be more than thirty, the greatest surprise I had the night he ‘purchased’ me at the closed auction. Unlike the real Mr. Rochester, however, this one is far from hideous. His features are not angular. He does not have a knitted brow. In fact, everything about my Edward Rochester is the very essence of what we as a society hold to upper-class esteem. He has a face and style that could graciously coverGQ. With the right brooding filter, Edward would very much look the consummate bad boy in a suit our modern culture has come to love since Mr. Christian Grey stepped onto the scene with his Red Room.”
Lucy shuddered. She hadn’t read that book in years, and not since one of her undergrad classes,“Unlocking the Modern Romantic Myth”took an in-depth look at what made that book tick and how so many women had come to understand it. Now, Lucy loved herself a good, dark hero with a few redeeming qualities. Mr. Rochester had been ugly and surly, but his love was genuine. Mr. Grey had a few skeletons in his closet, but he made the reader entertain a fantasy that they never before thought possible. Both were the height of Cinderella tales of their time. Jane may have had come into her own inheritance by the end of her story, but her long, hard life at the hands of people who did not understand her humanity set herself up as the Cinderella of the Victorian age.
So what did that make Lucy? What did that make Noah? She had a pleasant life. Comfortably middle-class, even after her parents’ divorce. Lucy and her little sister had not wanted for much in life. She had opportunities to go to college, forge her own relationships, and pursue her dreams with relative ease. She embraced the gig economy like she was made for it. She was conventionally pretty. Perhaps notgorgeousby magazine standards, and the Lord knew she harbored her fair share of physical insecurities, but Lucy Craig slipped into any environment without calling attention to herself. Well, bleaching her hair had brought attention, but that wasn’t the point.
“I am not allowed to leave my room. I am more restricted than Jane had ever been. There is something in this house I’m not allowed to see. Naturally, without this man showing up online, I can only surmise what may be kept from me. Or is it me being kept from someone else? Such as a family who isn’t supposed to know that I am here?”
That was the most obvious answer. Lucy sold herself as a willing prisoner in this man’s house, but she couldn’t help but wonder what awaited outside that door. Candace wouldn’t tell her. She barely told Lucy anything. In fact, the greatest communication they had since Candace showed Lucy to her room was when the guest asked if she might be allowed out for a walk in the woods. Candace had raised her eyebrows like she had never heard of such a thing. Lucy would never get to leave unless Noah requested it. Or until her time was up, and he had his fill of her.
He was hiding something.Someonewas hiding something. The journalist inside of Lucy couldn’t leave it at mere curiosity. She had to figure out what was going on at Gabriel Manor.
She opened her browser again, ensuring the VPN on her computer was running. After her fruitless endeavors the day before, she had wondered if there were filters on the house ISP preventing her from searching anything about Noah Gabriel. Honestly, Lucy wasn’t sure if turning on the VPN would lift such filters, but she had to try.
“Gabriel Manor.”She followed that search string with the city and state. The manor may have been outside the city boundaries, but it still had the address. Surely, that would make it easy to locate online.
Well, it showed up on Google Maps. Slightly blacked out, as most of the big houses in the area were, but far from erased.
Lucy returned to the search results. All she saw were old real estate listings. She clicked the most recent one.
“…The sale of the old house, once belonging to fallen socialite Joan Poole, has been completed. To be renamed ‘Gabriel Manor,’ the purchaser James Gabriel has declared it to be his family’s new birthright. Oldest son Silas Gabriel has expressed excitement to finish out his high school years in the newly dubbed Gabriel Manor. Currently, Silas attends the illustrious Winchester Academy, the new institution of higher learning for those who can afford the hefty private prep school price tag.”
Lucy’s head was already spinning. When she continued to scroll down the page of search results, she discovered a short article from an old gossip column that must have been overlooked in the Gabriels’ Great Social Media Purges.
“Gabriel Manor to Remain in Possession of Tonya Gabriel After Divorce.”
That piqued Lucy’s interest. For one thing, the article was from twenty-five years ago. Much sooner than the other article about James Gabriel, Noah’s grandfather.
“After the thorny divorce of Silas and Tonya Gabriel, it has been revealed that Mr. Gabriel has agreed to allow his ex-wife to remain in his family’s home until their son Noah has come of age and can take ownership of his birthright. Mr. Silas Gabriel currently has plans to move to Europe with his mistress, the former nanny of young Noah Gabriel.”
“Damn,” Lucy hissed. “Sleeping with the nanny. Go figure.”
She then searched for“Tonya Gabriel.”Aside from the aforementioned article, the only one she found was a marriage announcement in the local daily newspaper – much harder to scrub when it was included with a whole page of public announcements.
“The recently divorced Tonya Gabriel has remarried. She is pictured above with new husband, Pennsylvania steel heir Ronald Gray. Mr. Gray plans to move into Gabriel Manor, where he will continue his interests in the equestrian arts and tennis. Mrs. Tonya Gray has expressed excitement that her son, Noah, will now have a ‘proper male role model’ in his life, since Mr. Silas Gabriel has remained in Europe with his new wife.”
Lucy blew up the picture as big as it could get. Sure enough, it was the same man from the other picture she had saved of young Noah and his stepfather. Ronald had the same happy-go-lucky demeanor in his wedding photo as he did the day his stepson won a junior riding championship. Tonya, with her early ‘90’s hair and dress, smiled so broadly that she almost drowned out the large bouquet of flowers in her hand. Was that genuine happiness that she found love so soon after her divorce? Or was that the glint of madness?
At least Lucy had a new lead now.
“Tonya and Ronald Gray.”
She had to scroll two pages of search results to find anything. When she finally did….
