Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (8 page)

“Oh,” she sighed, sounding out of breath. She tried to pull her hand away, but Tom held it tighter.

“You come from no Christmas tree and cans heated up for dinner. I come from . . . Haverford Park. Two different worlds, but as far as I’m concerned, neither one is better or worse than the other. We can’t help where we come from, okay?”

She was silent for a long moment, but he felt her hand gradually relax until it readjusted to clasp his again. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath, grateful that she didn’t jump up and run away at the prospect of what she was walking into tomorrow.

“My grandfather is expecting us at three. I have to be honest: he wasn’t pleased about meeting you. I should warn you, he could be rude about it . . . about us.”

“About
me
,” she corrected him.

“About the situation. A whirlwind marriage.”

She threaded and rethreaded her fingers through his. “I can handle it.”

He heard the tremor in her voice and rushed to reassure her. “I’ll be right beside you. I won’t . . . I mean, I won’t let it get out of control.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, rolling to her side to face him. “But let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”

He rolled to mirror her, their hands still clasped together between them. Reaching out, he traced the lines of her face with the tips of his fingers.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she joked, but her eyes, heavy with apprehension, betrayed her.

He lowered his voice, his tone serious as he stared into her eyes. “You promised me, remember? No matter what happens with my grandfather, we’ll talk about what happens with
us
after we leave Haverford tomorrow,” he said, stroking her cheek, marveling at her heart-wrenching beauty. “Promise me again, Eleanora.”

“I promise,” she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning forward to tuck her head under his chin. She sighed deeply, and her voice was drowsy when she added, a few minutes later, “Merry Christmas, Tom. Thank you for the tree.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine,” he murmured, pressing his lips to his wife’s forehead.

He pulled their picnic blanket around them, then put his arm over her hips, drawing her up against his body. They didn’t talk anymore. For now, there was nothing more to say. He held her until she fell asleep under their first Christmas tree, and after praying to God that tomorrow wouldn’t be the end for them, Tom surrendered to sleep too.

Eleanora squeezed Tom’s hand as he helped her out of his sleek sports car, trying not to hyperventilate as she looked up at the dozens of windows of Haverford Park, which was roughly the size of the grandest hotel in Vail.

She smoothed her plain, black, ankle-length skirt and straightened the shoulder pads on her lavender silklike blouse. Suddenly her best clothes felt cheap, and she wished that she had something truly classy to wear, like real pearls or an elegant winter coat. She pulled the lapels of her bargain-bin coat closer and squeezed Tom’s hand again.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, leaning down close to her ear. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

Tom reached forward to ring the bell, and a pretty young woman in a maid’s outfit answered the door. “Tom!”

“Susannah! Merry Christmas!”

“To you too! And happy birthday!”

Eleanora smiled at the woman, who looked curiously at her.

“Susannah Edwards, this is Eleanora . . . my wife.”

Susannah’s eyes jerked back to Tom’s in shock, but a delighted smile soon followed, and she extended her hand to Eleanora. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Susannah,” said Eleanora, feeling just a little bit better and more confident after such a warm greeting. “You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy for Tom,” said Susannah, patting him on the arm before beaming at Eleanora. “And for you.”

“Is my grandfather waiting for us?”

“He is,” said Susannah, her grin fading as she turned to Tom. Her voice was cool and formal when she added, “Follow me, please.”

Eleanora gulped as they walked down an austere hallway decorated with painted portraits and brass sconces. The entire house was like a museum—old and grand. And this is where Tom had grown up.

You come from no Christmas tree and cans heated up for dinner. I come from . . . Haverford Park. Two different worlds, but as far as I’m concerned, neither one is better or worse than the other. We can’t help where we come from, okay?

She was determined not to judge him, just as he hadn’t judged her. Yes, they were from two different worlds, but the only thing that mattered was how they felt about each other.

“It’ll be okay,” Tom whispered.

She nodded at him with her bravest smile. “I know it will.”

Susannah knocked on a large, dark-wood door, and a gruff voice commanded, “Come!” She pushed open the door and gave Eleanora an encouraging smile, mouthing, “Good luck.”

Pulled by Tom into his grandfather’s study, Eleanora took a moment to glance around the room. The walls were covered with bookcases from floor to ceiling, and several easy chairs and love seats were placed around the enormous room for reading. In the center, in front of one massive window that looked out over the grounds of Haverford Park, was a large wooden desk. Behind it sat an older man—maybe in his seventies—with white hair and bushy eyebrows, wearing a three-piece suit and a maroon bow tie. He eyed Eleanora shrewdly, and she forced herself not to look away.

“Grandfather,” said Tom, approaching the desk. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, yes.”

“You look well.”

“Humph. I feel old.” He gestured to the two stiff-backed chairs in front of the desk. “Sit.”

Tom pulled out the left chair, and Eleanora sat down, folding her hands in her lap and staring at the elder Mr. English. If she looked down, it might convey that she was frightened or that she wasn’t committed to Tom, and she didn’t want that. She’d promised to help him secure his inheritance, and that’s precisely what she intended to do.

“Who’s this?” the older man asked gruffly, flicking a glance at Tom before looking back at Eleanora.

“Grandfather, may I present Eleanora Watters English, my bride?”

Mr. English stared at her with narrowed eyes for several long minutes. “She’s a looker.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Where are you from, Miss Watters?”

“Colorado, sir.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Romero.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s not surprising. It’s very small.”

“Does everyone in Romero marry strangers on a whim?”

Eleanora swallowed.

Tom reached for her hand, and his grandfather huffed in disgust. “Save that for when you’re alone.”

She was relieved when Tom threaded his fingers through hers in defiance, anchoring her to him.

“What do you do for work, gal?”

“I’m a . . .” Her cheeks flushed with shame as she glimpsed a collection of silver trophies on a credenza behind the desk, but she lifted her chin. “I’m a waitress.”

“Of course you are,” said Mr. English, taking a deep breath and sighing. He shuffled some papers around on his desk without looking up. “Will you excuse us, Miss Watters?”

He was dismissing her? Just like that? Her heart thundered in her chest, a mix of indignance and nerves.

“Sir?”

“I’d like a word alone with my grandson now.”

Cheeks burning, she disengaged her hand from Tom’s and stood up. Her pocketbook, which had been resting on her lap, slid to the floor with a plop. She bent over to pick it up, fumbling with trembling fingers to pull it over her shoulder. Suddenly she felt Tom’s comforting hand on her arm, helping her up and walking her to the door.

“You did great,” he whispered, though his eyes were flinty and flat. “Wait for me outside, okay?”

She nodded at him, trying not to cry.

She
hadn’t
done great.

That much was clear.

***

“She’s a looker, but is she also a hooker?”

Tom turned from the door to face his grandfather with barely restrained fury. The old man had done everything short of blatantly insulting Eleanora to her face, and Tom had never felt so angry with anyone in his life. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Is she?”

“No! She’s a waitress!”

“Humph. Regardless, she’s not at all what I had in mind for you.”

“Be that as it may, she’s my
wife
.”

“Ha! Your
wife!
What a joke. She’s cheap goods, is what
she
is. You met the girl five minutes ago, Thomas.”

“That’s enough!” Tom slapped his palms on his grandfather’s desk, leaning over the dark mahogany to sneer at him. “Not only did I play by your rules, old man, but she’s a better
woman
than any I’ve ever known. I’m lucky to be with her, and if anyone is cheap goods here, it’s you, out of line with your cheap, below-the-belt shots.”

“A Vegas wedding to a common waitress with no family, no education, no breeding.” Tom’s grandfather narrowed his eyes, sitting back in his desk chair and tenting his fingers under his chin. “You think you outsmarted me, boy? You didn’t. You know as well as I do that you’re thumbing your nose at my rules. But you’re young, and you’ve always been a little impulsive, so I’ll give you a chance to make things right. Annul this sham of a marriage and I will give you six more months to find someone appropriate before I cut you off.”

Tom lifted his hands from the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His grandfather gestured toward his office door with his chin.

“But I will require that
she
return to Colorado and
you
remain in Philadelphia, Thomas. So don’t think you can annul the marriage and still have your cheap piece of ass on the side.” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “So? What do you say? More than fair, eh?”

“What do I say?” Tom took a deep breath and tried to steady his voice, but it was still lethal. “I say, I’ll take my chances with her. I say, Keep your goddamn money. I don’t want it. I say, I choose her.” He turned around and strode across the office toward the door.

“Now, Thomas,” the old man blustered, leaning forward to stand up.

“Forgive me, Grandfather,” said Tom, turning the doorknob before he faced his aging relative one last time, “but go to hell.”

Slamming the office door shut behind him, Tom looked right and left down the hallway, but Eleanora was nowhere to be seen.

“Eleanora?” he called.

“Psssht! Tom!” Susannah peeked out of the front parlor with a feather duster in her hand, beckoning him to come closer. “She left.”

“She lef—wait. Why?”

Susannah winced. “I’m afraid your grandfather’s office door wasn’t closed very tightly. The whole house heard what he had to say about her.”

Tom grimaced, clenching his eyes shut for a moment and taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm his fury. “Where’d she go?”

“She raced out the front door.” Susannah offered Tom a sympathetic smile. “Bet you can still catch her.”

“Thanks, Susannah,” said Tom, racing for the door and swinging it open. He paused on the front steps of the mansion for a moment and spotted her—a speck in the distance at the end of the long gravel driveway, almost at the gatehouse.

“Eleanora!”

Tom took off at a sprint, but she didn’t slow down. She reached the gates and struggled to pull the heavy wrought iron open, finally managing to slip through. He ran as fast as he could, pulling open one of the gates and racing onto Blueberry Lane, where he found her leaning against a brick pillar at the entrance of the estate, her shoulders hunched forward and head down.

He stepped in front of her, reaching for her. “Eleanora.”

She didn’t look at him. Tears fell from her cheeks, plopping on the ground at their feet. “Please let me go.”

“I can’t,” he said breathlessly.

“Please, Tom,” she sobbed. “I have a credit card that I use for emergencies, and if I can j-just get to the airport, I can—”

Pulling her roughly against him, he crushed her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to her sweet-smelling hair. “Please don’t go. You can’t go. I told him to shove his money up his ass. I told him to go to hell. I told him I choose you, sunshine. I choose us.”

She whimpered against his neck, a small keening sound that broke his heart even as her body relaxed against his. “Tom . . .”

“I don’t . . .” He inhaled raggedly, still trying to catch his breath. “I don’t have all the answers, Eleanora. Maybe six months from now, you’ll think I’m a prick and leave. Maybe I’ll find out you’re crazy and beg you to go. But right here? Right now? I want you. I want you so bad, I can’t think straight. I want you so much, I just turned down fifteen million dollars. Like it or lump it, you’re my wife, and I just . . . God, I just want to give us a chance.”

“You do?” she asked softly, her voice still a little shaky.

“I do.”

She leaned back, looking up at him with glistening eyes and a brilliant smile. “I want you too, Tom. So much.”

He placed his palms on her cheeks and found her lips with his, parting them, claiming them, celebrating that they wouldn’t have to say goodbye, that for now they had chosen each other, and feeling breathlessly excited for their future.

When they were both panting and trembling, he rested his forehead against hers. “You’re worth it.”

“God, I hope so,” she murmured, laughing softly, her breath landing on his lips like a blessing.

“We’ll have to move,” he said. “That penthouse belongs to my family.”

“I’ve been comfortable with a lot less.”

“I have several thousand dollars of my own money saved up. I’m not broke,” he said. “And I have a good education. I can apply for jobs in New York or Hartford maybe. I’ve worked at English & Son for years—I should be able to find something on Wall Street or in insurance. We’ll find a little place. Start small, but fresh.”

“I’ll make it homey with very little. I know how to do that. And I’ll have breakfast for dinner waiting for you every night when you come home.”

“Every night that you don’t have classes, you mean. You’re finishing college, Eleanora. Between my savings and whatever I bring home, we’ll make it happen. You could go to NYU or Columbia. We’ll check them out this spring and enroll you for the fall term. Deal?”

She laughed softly again, leaning forward to kiss him. “Deal.”

“I swear to you, I won’t stop working until we’re on our feet. I’ll give you a good life. I promise if you take a chance on me, you won’t regret it.”

“But what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned back a little to gaze up at him, her smile fading, her fingers clasping his wrist.

“What about the money? How can you do this? How can you turn it down for me?”

“I want you more.”

“Won’t you resent me?”

“No, sunshine,” he said softly, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her tenderly. “And besides, maybe he’ll come around one day. Once he knows you. Once he sees that he was right all along.”

“
Right
?” she demanded, jerking back from him, her eyes wide and insulted. “What exactly was he
right
about?”