Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (18 page)

“As long as you take care of
her
,” said his grandfather, gesturing with his chin to where Eleanora stood on the front stoop, her hand raised in farewell. “Start by getting her a proper coat, damn it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, patting his grandfather’s hand before shutting the door and stepping away from the car, back to Eleanora.

He put his arm around her, lifting his own hand in farewell as the black limo pulled out of their driveway and drove away.

“I feel like I should ask how this happened,” he said, looking down at her face.

“How about just be glad it did?”

“You reached out to him?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, winding her arms around his neck. “I missed you.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I can think of so many nicer ones that need our attention.”

She pressed her breasts against his chest, and his thoughts scattered. Leaning down, he dropped his lips to hers and kissed her, somehow maneuvering them back inside the house and kicking the door shut with his foot.

When she was limp and loose, he drew back from her.

“He told me to buy you a new coat.”

“I’ll take it,” she said, pulling his head back down for another kiss. “Let’s go to bed.”

“What a good idea,” he said, letting her lead him up the stairs. “But tell me something, sunshine. One thing, okay? I need to know.”

She turned at the head of the stairs and looked down at him. “Anything.”

“Was it for the money?”

“What do you mean?”

“The money. Did you reach out to him because you wanted the money?”

Her eyes softened as she shook her head. “No, love. It was for Beth or Barrett. And for you.” She sighed, reaching out to tousle his hair. “All I had was Evie. She was it. But she’s so happy in Hong Kong, I need to face the fact that she’s making her own life there, which leaves me . . . alone. But Tom, you
have
family. You have a grandfather, a father, and a brother. They’re yours. They belong to you. And I want Beth or Barrett to have family, to have a legacy, to belong, so . . .”

“So you mended fences for me.”

She nodded. “Forgive me?”

“I adore you,” he said softly, stepping to the landing so he could sweep her into his arms.

“Do you know what you are, Tom English?” she asked him as he set her carefully on their bed and climbed over her.

“A dream come true?” he asked her, dipping his head to brush featherlight kisses to her throat.

“Exactly.”

“Then I guess,” he said, leaning forward to claim her lips with his, “that makes you my miracle.”

Haverford Park

Christmastime 2015

“His miracle,” sighed Valeria, grinning up at Eleanora from where she still sat cross-legged on the floor.

“I loved it,” sighed Emily. “I love that Barrett brought you back to the Englishes.”

“Glad he wasn’t a Beth, huh?” asked Daisy, nudging her cousin.

“Heck, yes.”

Jessica English, whose head was resting on Kate English’s shoulder, sighed. “Is that where you got Alex’s name? From Charity Atwell’s brother?”

Eleanora grinned. “Subconsciously, maybe. He
was
devilish . . . just like Alex.”

“Whatever happened to Evie?” asked Molly, tucked into the corner of the sofa, beside her friend Daisy.

“We lost touch for a while,” said Eleanora, sipping her now-cooled cocoa. “But then Facebook happened! And we found each other again.”

“Is she still in Hong Kong?” asked Daisy.

Eleanora nodded. “For over thirty years now. She and Van were married in 1984, and though Tom and I were invited, we couldn’t go.” She smiled back at Daisy. “Fitz was on the way.”

“And then Alex, and Stratton, and Wes,” said Valeria. “You had your hands full. No wonder you lost touch.”

“Did my,” Kate cleared her throat, “great-grandfather ever get a chance to meet Barrett?”

Eleanora’s eyes misted a little. “He did. He was so tough, girls. He held on until Barrett was born and passed away two weeks later. I’ll find a picture for you, Emily.”

“You liked him?” pressed Kate, her voice tentative, like the answer mattered.

“I did. In the end, I liked him very much,” said Eleanora, smiling at her niece. “And
your
father became an important part of the boys’ lives too, Kate. And of course, so did you.”

“What was in the letter you wrote to Tom’s grandfather?” asked Jessica, leaning forward on the love seat.

Eleanora took a deep breath, hearing whispers from the past in her head. “It carried my dreams for a family. My hope for a miracle.”

“You won’t tell us?” asked Valeria, ever the straight shooter.

Eleanora shook her head. “No, girls. That bit stays between me and old Mr. English, bless his heart.”

“Did you ever tell Tom about the letter?” asked Emily.

“I did. Years later, when it didn’t matter anymore.”

Molly sighed wistfully. “Thanks for telling us. It’s a lovely story.”

All the girls chimed in with their agreement, and Daisy applauded softly, which turned into full-blown cheers as the other girls joined in. In fact, it almost drowned out the sound of the front door opening.

“Ladies? We’re home!”

Eleanora beamed at the sound of her husband’s voice coming into the front foyer of Haverford Park. “In here, Tom.”

Tom peeked his red cheeks into the room, flanked by Alex and Fitz, who grinned at their wives.

“How was your game?” asked Eleanora, referring to their annual neighborhood game of platform tennis over at Westerly, the Winslows’ next-door estate.

“The Winslows whooped our asses,” said Barrett, joining his father and brothers. “J.C. and Étienne played with me and Fitz. Dad played with Alex, Strat, and Wes.”

“Yes!” cried Jessica Winslow English, raising her fists in victory. Then, catching sight of her husband Alex’s surprised expression, lowered them sheepishly and sprinted across the room to kiss him.

“So Ten lost, huh?” said Kate, standing up and stretching with a grimace. “I’m due for supper at Chateau Nouvelle. See you all later?”

Her friends and family kissed her good-bye, waving as she slipped out of the living room.

“Is anyone hungry?” asked Eleanora, smiling at her gaggle of sons. “Because I believe breakfast-for-dinner is ready.”

Emily, Daisy, and Valeria stood up and grabbed their men en route to the dining room, led by Jessica and Alex. Molly lingered for just a moment, holding out her hands to Eleanora, then leaning forward to kiss her future mother-in-law’s cheek.

“Thank you again for telling us,” she said. “It was a wonderful story.”

“You’re welcome,” said Eleanora, flicking her glance to the foyer entrance, where Tom and Weston looked on. “I think someone’s waiting for you.”

“And for you,” said Molly, dropping Eleanora’s hands and turning to her fiancé, Weston, who took her hand and led her toward the dining room.

Tom took off his carmel-colored cashmere coat, laying it over the back of the couch as he approached her, his hair more white than blond now, his face weathered, his smile just as handsome as it was on the day he asked her the name of her favorite poet in a Colorado diner. He held out his arms, and she slipped into them, as she always had, as she always would.

Taking a quick look, to be sure no English brothers lingered in the vestibule, he kissed their mother soundly, stealing her breath, as he had a million times before.

“Good evening, sunshine?” he asked, grinning down at her.

“The best,” she answered. “They’re wonderful girls.”

“You raised wonderful boys,” he said, kissing her again.

“I love you tons.”

“I love you back.”

She looked behind him at the decorated Christmas tree.

“It’s our thirty-fifth,” she said, smiling up at him.

“And every one better than the last.”

She touched his cheek tenderly. “I saved the last one for you.”

He grinned as he let her go, watching as she reached for one final ornament, waiting on the mantel, and handed it to him.

Tom looked down at the cut-glass ornament in his hands, reading the words Eleanora had had engraved on it for their second Christmas together, when Barrett was just three months old.

You and me ~ a dream and a miracle.

“We were,” he said, gazing at her timeless loveliness before hanging the glass carefully on the highest branch.

“We
are
,” she whispered, kissing him once more before taking his hand and following their gaggle of sons into dinner.

THE END

Did you love Tom and Eleanora’s story? Now it’s time to read about their five sexy sons—Barrett, Fitz, Alex, Stratton, and Weston—and their lovely cousin, Kate!

Breaking Up with Barrett

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BREAKING UP WITH BARRETT
for
free
now!

Falling for Fitz

Buy
FALLING FOR FITZ
now!

Anyone but Alex

Buy
ANYONE BUT ALEX
now!

Seduced by Stratton

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SEDUCED BY STRATTON
now!

Wild about Weston

Buy
WILD ABOUT WESTON
now!

Kiss Me Kate

Barrett English.

Emily’s heart kicked into a gallop as she looked down at the caller ID on her buzzing phone. Trying to steady her suddenly shallow breathing, she closed her eyes for a brief second before pushing back from the coffee shop table where the rest of her study group continued to discuss early-American industrialization.

“Be right back,” she whispered to her roommate, Valeria, and ducked out the back door of the café into an empty alley.

“Hello?”

“Mr. English for Miss Edwards?”

“Okay.”

A moment later his smooth, polished baritone voice came on the line. “Good afternoon, Emily. Thank you for picking up.”

“I was at study group,” she said, leaning against a brick wall and cringing at the way she made it sound like his call wasn’t welcome.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“N-no. It’s fine,” she answered quickly, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans as she sandwiched the phone between her shoulder and ear. Damn it, she wished she could be cooler, but her mind always went blank the moment she heard the low rumble of his voice.

“I’ll be brief,” he said. “Tomorrow night. The Union League Club. Seven o’clock.”

Emily sighed. She had plans tomorrow night with a sensitive, easygoing, doctoral psych student named Chad who’d asked her out more than once. She’d repeatedly turned him down, but Val had insisted that after four months spent at Barrett English’s beck and call, Emily needed to go out with someone with whom she actually had a chance.

“Emily?” he prompted.

“How late?”

“Three hours minimum. Possibly four.”

Pushing her hand through her straight blonde hair, she knew it would be smart to decline Barrett’s request and go out with the psych cutie as planned. The arrangement she had with Barrett—while beneficial to her bank account—wasn’t doing her social life any favors. Nor her heart, which didn’t seem to comprehend that Barrett only called her because she was his employee. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say no to him.

“Engagement ring?” she asked.

“Per usual.”

“The Chanel or the Givenchy?”

“As you wish.”

“Hair band or chignon?”

“You always look presentable, Emily. I leave the details to you. Smith will pick you up at six forty-five. Are we done?”

“Yes,” she answered and the line immediately went dead.

“Goodbye,” Emily said wistfully in the quiet of the alley, disappointment making her grimace. She fisted the phone in her hand until the case pinched her skin and shook her from her trance. “See you
tomorrow
! You’re
welcome
! By the way, I love you, you
jerk
!”

Her yell caused a flurry of commotion overhead as a flock of pigeons departed in a hurry for safer, quieter lodgings, one of them pausing just long enough to crap on Emily’s shoulder with a big, fat plop.

Fantastic. The perfect metaphor for my life.

She stared at the goopy grayish-white spot in surrender before taking a deep, restorative breath, tucking her phone into her jeans and heading back inside to clean her shirt and rejoin her study group.

An hour later, she trudged home beside Valeria, who started scolding her as soon as Emily shared her last-minute plans for tomorrow night.

“So you’ll have to reschedule with Chad? Jeez, Em, I don’t understand why you keep saying yes to Barrett!” said Valeria, turning up her collar. “Why not just say no?”

“He has a way about him.” Emily sighed. “I always consider saying no, but I somehow end up saying yes.”

Though they’d never been close or intimate, Emily had known Barrett her entire life—well, not really
known
him, because they were from very different parts of Haverford Park, but he’d been a peripheral part of her life since birth. The economic nature of the call she’d just shared with him was textbook Barrett: businesslike, methodical, and goal-oriented. Emily somehow knew he wasn’t trying to offend her—he was merely taking care of their mutual business as efficiently as possible. It just hurt that he employed efficiency over warmth since it verified what she had suspected for months: Barrett had little to no personal interest in Emily, despite
her
growing feelings for
him
.

Valeria continued in the no-nonsense tone she used when student teaching. “Here’s a solution: say no next time. ‘No, Barrett, I refuse to play the part of fake fiancée for you. Take a hike.’ Three words, Em—TAKE. A. HIKE.” Valeria held up three fingers one by one, then tucked them back into the pocket of her peacoat. “Darn, it’s cold.”

“It’s October in Philadelphia.” Emily pointed out.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Okay, Val. I’ll say no next time. Here goes. ‘No, thanks, Barrett. You don’t make me do anything disgusting. You barely say a word to me. I get to dress up in gorgeous clothes I could never afford, have an expensive glass of wine, and enjoy a scrumptious dinner with people who go out of their way to be polite to me. And yes, I’m flat broke
and so is my roommate
, but no, thanks, I don’t want your one hundred an hour to play your fake fiancée. Keep it.’ How does that sound?”

“Not so smart.”

“I rest my case,” said Emily, though the case was far from closed in her heart and mind, which feuded in a tightly locked conundrum. Lately, her heart murmured that she should walk away from Barrett before her feelings for him grew any stronger, while her head insisted she couldn’t possibly turn her back on the income he offered.

Valeria’s voice interrupted her internal struggle. “Why does he need a fiancée anyway?”

“He only told me once and briefly. Some of his business associates and clients like the stability of a family man on the way to the altar, and he feels that a date makes dinner meetings feel more social and run more smoothly.”

Emily’s role was to smile warmly, laugh softly, and occasionally make a flattering remark about Barrett, which he would accept with a tight smile before refocusing on the business at hand.

“Why you?” asked Valeria.

“My family has worked for his for three generations—four, if you include me. My father is his family’s gardener, just like my grandfather and great-grandfather before. My mother’s the head housekeeper at Haverford Park. He knows where I come from. He knows I’ll behave myself and keep my mouth shut. I’ve known the English family since I was brought home from the hospital to live in the gatehouse at the foot of their estate.” She shrugged. “Me working for Barrett makes sense.”

“I still think it’s weird,” said Valeria, grumbling as she adjusted her backpack. “Doesn’t he know about a hundred society girls he could ask to be his fake fiancée?”

Emily shook her head. “Nah. They’d all take it too seriously. They’d get hopeful. They’d hope that what started as a favor would lead to something real.”

Unlike you
, her head gibed sarcastically, poking with precision at her heart.

“From what you’ve told me, he’s not exactly Prince Charming.”

Emily had explained this before, but Valeria had never lived among the English family. She didn’t understand the breadth and depth of their wealth and influence.

“Forget Prince Charming, Val. Barrett’s the oldest son of English & Sons. He buys companies for breakfast and eats them in pieces for lunch. His nickname is ‘The Shark,’ for heaven’s sake! He’s smart and driven and stupendously wealthy. For the woman who doesn’t require emotional intimacy, that’s a whole lot of diamond tennis bracelets.”

Valeria nudged Emily’s side, and when she looked up, Val smiled at Emily as she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Speaking of intimacy, he’s also scorching hot.”

And don’t I know it
, Emily thought with a grimace.

All her life, she’d made a quiet study of Barrett’s perfection. His tall, lean, muscular body, his burnished blond hair, the clear blue of his eyes that made her breath catch when he occasionally flashed them at her. He was unbelievably gorgeous—as were all of the English brothers—except Barrett was the original. Over six feet tall, with a jaw like a superhero, he was more than attractive. He was, as Valeria had pointed out so illustratively, scorching hot.

But, who cares about that?,
thought Emily in a concerted effort to convince herself she was immune to his movie star good looks even though it was patently untrue,
when he can barely offer me a smile?

“I
work
for him, Val.”

“I wouldn’t mind working
under
him.”

“Val!” exclaimed Emily, blushing as she swatted her roommate’s arm.

“Speaking as a woman and not an employee, isn’t there
anything
you like about him?”

Sure
, thought Emily unhappily.
Lots
.

The oldest of five brothers, Barrett was the heir apparent to the most prestigious private equity firm in Philadelphia, and by all outward appearances, Barrett’s nickname was right on target. He
was
a business shark, dedicated to the financial dominance of English & Sons. But Emily couldn’t help sensing—as she always had—that deep down inside, there was more to Barrett English than business. She had long held the heart-fluttering theory, possibly incorrectly, that someone so passionate in his business life must have the capacity for
other
deep passions as well.

Honestly, Emily had no good reason for believing this. His behavior to her was always polite, though not especially warm and inviting. He didn’t make Emily laugh, nor did he ask personal questions about her studies or her family. When he dated someone, which wasn’t often, Emily noted that he never seemed thoroughly engaged or delighted with her, and watched his short-lived girlfriends work like crazy to capture and hold his attention without success. Barrett was austere and focused, totally driven by business purposes. Further, he was reserved, old-school, and buttoned-up, and in the twenty-four years Emily had known him, she couldn’t ever remember seeing him let loose. It was like he’d been born with an expensive tie around his neck and a leather briefcase attached to his hand.

And yet…

His reserved manners didn’t bother Emily; Barrett spoke with economy and precision, which meant every word was well placed and reliably exact in meaning. He was so smart, it made her head spin, and so well-informed she wondered how he found the time to read so much. He was strong and powerful, and Emily marveled that he’d achieved so much and was so respected in his field by thirty-two years old. The way Barrett commanded a table made her feel safe with him—like nothing would dare bother her with Barrett’s strong presence beside her—and she liked the way his business associates looked at her, like she must be something special to have wrangled the heart of Mr. English. Lately, in her more romantic daydreams, Emily imagined Barrett a modern-day Mr. Darcy to her bookish Elizabeth, wondering how deep his still waters ran and having a notion that needling him a little might rattle him from his austerity and cast more light on his character.

And the way he made her
feel
…

When Emily met Barrett for their “dates,” his eyes would flash with something indefinable but sharp, almost like pain or disapproval or
hunger
, which made her breath catch, because it meant that—on some level—she affected him. When he introduced her to his associates as his fiancée, it made her tremble, and she often had to steady her hand before offering it to his guests. At times she’d feel his glance linger on her profile as she sat beside him, and it made her skin flush and her heart race to feel his eyes focused so intently on her. Occasionally he’d place his hand on her lower back as he guided her to a table, or their fingers would touch as they reached for their wineglasses, and butterflies would mass and throng in her tummy. The way her name rumbled off his tongue…
Emily
…was so decadent and low and intimate in her ears, she had to work to keep her eyes from fluttering closed in pleasure as the muscles deep inside her body clenched with urgency.

…isn’t there
anything
you like about him?

How could she tell the truth? Even as a little girl, eight years his junior, she’d always liked Barrett the best, awed by his innate power and strength. But playing his fiancée with regularity over the past few months had ensured that her attraction to Barrett knew no bounds. It sat quietly in wait for Barrett to make a move—any move—that would allow her to hope that his heart could be moved by hers.

That was the biggest problem of all: even with her education and perfectly respectable upbringing, Emily was the help, the gardener’s daughter, the housekeeper’s little girl. She was ridiculous for thinking—for hoping, for wishing, even for a moment—she could ever be a fit match for the heart of Barrett English.

She flinched, discomfort and a rush of panic making her feel slightly breathless, as she forced herself to face the fact that what had always been a slow-burning infatuation had heated to a boiling point over the past few months. Indeed, if Emily was honest with herself, she knew she’d fallen in love with Barrett, a circumstance which was entirely unacceptable and needed correction. Soon.