Page 49 of Love ad Lib
‘They’re so pretty,’ she said, her voice breathy.
Henry stopped the car and pointed to a tall and crumbling ruin behind the row of houses on the left.
‘That’s a folly, built by my great, great, great grandfather so he didn’t have to look at any of the poor people who lived here. He didn’t think the houses were particularly pretty.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Welcome to the aristocracy,’ he replied with a roll of his eyes. ‘Okay, so we’re nearly there. You ready?’
Libby nodded.
Henry eased the car forward into a large open space, half filled with cars facing a church.
‘That’s Saint Saviour’s. Believe it or not, my family are heavily involved in the church. Well, mainly my grandmother. Although she seems to be at war with the new vicar.’
‘Oh dear, is he too radical?’
‘She, and yes, a bit. My twin, Estelle, is good friends with her. Explains a lot as far as I’m concerned.’
He swung the car left between massive stone pillars that flanked the entrance to a long drive.
‘And this is Foxbrooke Manor.’
10
‘Thisis your home?’ Libby croaked.
No amount of googling could have prepared her for the size and drama of the place. Nor how small she suddenly felt.
‘No,’ Henry replied. ‘My home is in London.’
Built in fifteen eighty-two on the site of the King of Wessex’s summer palace, Foxbrooke Manor was a three storey, double-fronted building with two large wings projecting from the front. The roof was gabled, and extensive modernisation had been undertaken since the eighteen hundreds by Capability Brown and John Nash. How did someone as ordinary as her fit in here? Even for a few days?
Come on, Libby! You’ve performed for Prince William before. If you can handle the future king of England, you can cope with a long weekend at Foxbrooke.
Henry was glancing around. ‘At least no-one’s here to greet us. I’ll take you to your room and give you a tour, then we’ll see who’s about.’
She bit her lip. ‘Okay. We can do this.’
He parked around the side of the Manor and they got out. Used to her boots and the solidity of London pavements, Libby found the hard, sandy surface strange under her ballet pumps. She’d decided that her alter ego had a boho chic dress sense and so spent some of Henry’s advance on a wardrobe from upmarket charity shops. Her Doctor Martens had been left behind at Claire’s. Footwear like that belonged at Foxbrooke even less than she did.
Henry opened the boot and lifted their bags. ‘The quickest way to your room is through the front door, so we’ll go that way.’ Libby went to take hers from him, but he shook his head. ‘I’ll carry the bags and you carry me.’
‘Figuratively?’
‘Most definitely. You could always try and pick me up, but I’m quite heavy.’
‘And don’t forget, lifting wasn’t in the contract, either.’
He frowned, as if considering this an omission that needed to be rectified.
‘Henry…’
They grinned at each other and her heart fluttered. India and Claire were right. Henry was ridiculously good-looking when grumpy, but when he smiled, he was so beautiful she didn’t want to take her eyes off him.
Behind her she heard loud barking.
Henry dropped the bags and lunged forward.
