Page 7 of From Best Friend to Bride
The gates opened, and I drove through them, glancing back to see them slowly closing behind me. The tree-lined driveway was so long that it sometimes felt as though Hawthorne House and the entry gates were in different counties, if not completely different worlds.
At the very least, approaching the gorgeous Georgian exterior of Hawthorne House sometimes made me feel like I was in a fairytale. Not to mention the symmetrical architecture was extremely satisfying to look at. There was just something about equal numbers of windows that pleased me immensely.
I finally made it to the front of the sprawling brick manor house and parked up behind Fred’s muddy Land Rover.
He really was back.
What a little shit.
I made a little “hmph” sound as I got out of my car. The front doors were already opening as I climbed the stone steps, and Harry beamed at me.
“Good afternoon, Deli,” he said, holding his arms out for a hug. “I saw your mum yesterday.”
Ah.
“Hi, Harry.” I happily accepted his warm embrace and let myself linger in his grandfatherly aura for a good minute or so. “Did she tell you about Nana?”
“She did.” He squeezed me before letting me go with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. How are you taking it?”
“Better than Lucy. She sent me a string of thirty-odd hysterically hormonal texts asking why I hadn’t talked her out of it.” I sighed. “As if Nana listens to anyone that isn’t a tarot-card reading quack on YouTube.”
He patted my shoulder and stepped aside so I could go in. “Maybe it’s time to turn off notifications for your sister.”
“I temporarily blocked her,” I admitted almost shamefully. “I half-expected her to show up on the doorstep this morning.”
“She’ll come around. Your mother mentioned how you were borderline hysterical in the restaurant after the appointment.”
“Borderline hysterical is a bit of an exaggeration.” I sniffed, looking around the expansive foyer. “When did Fred get back anyway?”
“Last night. I told him he should contact you, but he refused, saying you’d be here soon enough.”
Ugh.
It was so irritating when he was right like that.
“Someone thinks highly of himself,” I muttered.
Harry chuckled. “And yet, here you are.”
“You know, for an aristocratic household, you’re all very rude to this poor, grieving, young woman.”
He stopped outside Fred’s study and smiled at me the way a grandfather would, then knocked on the door.
“Come,” Fred said from inside.
Harry pushed open the door and took a step forward. “My lord, you have a visitor.”
“If it’s Delilah, tell her I’m busy.”
“I can hear you, arsehole,” I shouted over Harry’s shoulder.
Fred’s sigh was so loud it reached me clearly. “I suppose you can let her in. I doubt she’ll leave quietly until she’s satisfied with how much she’s pestered me.”
You little—
“As you wish, my lord.” Harry took a step back and motioned for me to go inside, stifling a laugh. “You may enter, Deli.”
“I’d say thank you, but I’m not feeling terribly grateful right now.” I swept past him and looked at Fred. He was sitting on one of the sofas, chewing on the end of a pen, barely acknowledging my presence. “Are you doing a crossword?”
