Marrying Mr. Darcy (Love Manor #2) - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,5
not sure I could cope with my bestie sounding like the Queen of England.”
“No way,” I reply with a laugh. “You can take the girl out of Texas…”
“Is your mom ecstatic?”
Sebastian and I had called Mom on speakerphone earlier in the day to share our news. She was being all polite and restrained at the time, but I knew what she really wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs with excitement. She told me in private afterwards that she was so happy she could poop herself. She’d been watching Downton Abbey in preparation to know what to expect when she met the in-laws and knew she couldn’t say that sort of thing in front of them. Which is the right call, really.
You don’t want to put a foot wrong when it comes to Sebastian’s formidable granny, that’s for sure.
“Penn? There is one thing I wanted to ask you. Will you be my matron of honor?”
Her squeal is high-pitched and eardrum bursting. “Heck yes! I would love to be your matron of honor. Who else are you having in the bridal party?”
“I’m gonna ask Kennedy and Phoebe, because we’re reality show soul sisters, and I thought I might ask Zara, too.”
“That’s such a nice idea, Em. Where and when?”
“No idea and June third. We’re telling Seb’s family real soon.” My nerves spike at the prospect.
“They’ll be over the moon, Em. Trust me.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“Why wouldn’t you? I love you, so they’ve got to, as well.”
I think of the looks Seb’s granny shoots me, the way she asked about who “my people” were when we first started dating. She was shocked to learn my family tree gets seriously fuzzy past my grandparents. No long line of aristocratic landowners in the Brady clan, that’s for sure. Well, not unless you include Mom owning a little house with its 80’s pastels in every room and a kitchen with an oven that plays Russian roulette with the temperature gauge so you never know how your baking will turn out.
“And anyway, aren’t those stuffy old English families all inbred? They’re in major need of some new American blood, if you ask me.”
“You cannot say that, Penn,” I warn with a laugh, even if it’s probably true for half the aristocracy. “And anyway, I’m not here just for Seb. I’m on a mission to bring Timothy to the British consumer.”
“Gosh, I hope it works out. Imagine, our brand as an international activewear label. It’s the dream, baby. It’s the dream.”
“I know, right?” My adrenaline amps up at the prospect. “I’m armed with my list of all the retailers that sell activewear in the UK. I’m going to start working on it first thing Monday.”
“Hey, I don’t want to burst your English love bubble.”
“I can be in an English love bubble and still work, you know,” I reply with a laugh.
Penny and I spend the next half an hour discussing our strategy to get Timothy into Body Sports, one of the largest department stores in the UK. It would be huge if we could pull it off and really be the icing on the cake for our new venture. Dating Mr. Darcy has totally worked to launch Timothy into the US. Now, we need to keep that momentum going, and since I’m here in the UK, this is the logical next step for us.
The door to the library bursts open, and Jillian Fotherington, Lady of Some Manor House Down the Road (I can never remember its name because it’s super long, although I know it starts with a B…or is it a Z?) unexpectedly comes waltzing into the room on a waft of perfume. As always, her waif-like figure drips in haute couture and pearls, and with her beautiful face, she fits in effortlessly in the elegant surrounds. Forget Kate and Meghan, Jilly Fotherington’s style is all about the gorgeous and stylish 60’s Princess Margaret. I know, I’ve watched The Crown.
Sebastian stands to greet her, and she air kisses him on both cheeks with a m-wah, m-wah sound. It’s very English, and despite having spent lots of time here over the last three and a half months, I’m still not entirely used to it. What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned hug?
“Sebastian, darling, how are you?” she coos, her perfect vowels rolling off her tongue like velvet. “Looking divine as always.”
“I’m well, thanks Jilly. You?”
But Jilly’s attention has already been diverted to me. “And here she is. The girl who stole your