Free Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) by Katy Regnery Page B

divorced, my father took an apartment here in Philly, and after college, so did I. But Haverford Park will be mine one day.”
    “It’s a mansion?”
    “Yes. There are several acres of land, gardens, and a pool. We have six horses that are housed in the stables, and there’s a stocked pond for trout fishing. There’s a lawn for cricket and a gatehouse where the gardener lives with his wife. Our chauffeur and house staff live in apartments over the garage.”
    “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.
     

Chapter 8
     
    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