Page 2 of The Brit and the Bridesmaid
Caroline’s entire face lit up at the mention of her fiancé. “He loves me.”
“Of course he does.” For all of Caroline’s flightiness and fantasies, she was quite possibly the most lovable person Abby had ever known. It was little wonder their great aunt had named Caroline her only heir. Great Aunt Gertrude hadn’t been a millionaire by any means, but Caroline’s inheritance was paying for her dream wedding.
“Oh, Abby! Look. It’s perfect.”
They’d only just emerged from the thick canopy of trees to a rather amazing view of the house.
Historic. Fancy. Two out of three so far. Abby didn’t know what qualified a place as “looking English.”
She didn’t see a Union Jack flying out front or Audrey Hepburn selling flowers or anything. Still, if Caroline thought the place looked perfect, Abby wasn’t about to argue.
“Fantastic,” Abby said. “Let’s go inside.”
They stepped inside the open front doors and walked, eying their surroundings, to the front of the entry hall. Polished tables flanked the room, with fresh-cut flowers in porcelain vases. Old-style paintings hung in gilded frames. A turning staircase with an intricately carved banister led up and past a wide row of tall windows. Even the ceiling was fancy.
She’d been in upscale places like this. Her last boyfriend was rich, with high-class friends and connections. He felt most comfortable in places where Abby felt too poor to even breathe the air.
“Welcome to Sainsbury House,” a man’s voice said from just behind them—a man with an English accent.
Caroline squealed. Abby did her best not to roll her eyes and looked back. Mr. English Accent was young—she’d guess not yet thirty, and handsome—the man had green eyes, for heaven’s sake, and a ridiculously amazing smile; his teeth stood as a one-mouth testament against the widely-held belief in universal English dental issues.
“Have you come for a tour, or do you have an appointment?” he asked.
“Both.” Caroline even bounced a bit as she answered.
They’d found a place that was old and elegant and where at least one person spoke with a British accent. Abby couldn’t be entirely certain Caroline wasn’t about to explode with excitement. Or faint—she’d been doing the whole back of the hand pressed daintily to the forehead thing a lot lately.
“You must be Caroline and Abby Grover.”
Abby leaned closer to her sister and spoke under her breath. “You gave themmyname? This is your tour.”
“Don’t you love the way he said ‘Caroline’?” her sister whispered back. “So elegant.”
The Englishman watched them with admirable patience.
“We are the Grover sisters,” Abby told him. “That sounds like a lame band, doesn’t it?”
“The name is lovely, I assure you.”
“I assure you?” Who talks like that?
He looked between them. “Which of you is Caroline, the bride-to-be?”
Abby didn’t wait a single instant. She pointed across herself at her sister. Mr. Elegant’s green eyes lingered on Abby. He smiled the tiniest bit, before his gaze moved to Caroline.
“Congratulations, Ms. Grover,” he said. “If you will follow me this way, we shall take a moment in my office to discuss your needs and wishes for your wedding before going about the estate to see if Sainsbury House can meet those needs.”
Smooth, Brit Boy. Smooth.
Caroline followed almost glassy-eyed. If only the guy realized he’d likely sold her on the location simply by opening his mouth. Caroline would have her English-accented wedding, and Mr. Green-Eyed-Hunk-of-Britishness would get whatever commission came with booking the event.
“My name is Matthew Carlton, by the way,” he said to Caroline.
“Matthew?” She sounded ridiculously happy about that. Apparently Matthew was a good name for her fantasy wedding.
Matthew wasn’t the least bit weirded out by that. He just nodded and held open a door. Abby stepped through behind Caroline. The office wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny, either. It was almost as nauseatingly elegant as the entry. They sat in two leather armchairs facing the desk, where Matthew sat.
“Tell me, Ms. Grover, what would make your wedding day perfect?” The man was feeding an addiction.
