The private dining room of the Cross ancestral manor in Bedford Hills was illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of two hundred beeswax candles set in antique sterling candelabras. A fire of aged applewood crackled softly in the limestone hearth, filling the room with the sweet, nostalgic scent of autumn orchards and cedar. At the head of the long mahogany table, dressed in a regal gown of deep midnight-blue velvet,…
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