Page 3 of The Brit and the Bridesmaid (Sweet Treat Novellas #1)

“ I don’t understand why I have to do this.

” Abby held her phone to her ear with one hand and tried to flip through Caroline’s three pages of instructions with the other.

She’d made the drive out to Sainsbury House with a very detailed list of assignments.

Within a few seconds of arriving, Caroline had called to add a couple of things.

“Because I have a fitting today!” Caroline’s frantic tone was clear even with the noise of the city echoing through the phone.

Abby could think of a hundred things she’d rather be doing than spending another Saturday at Sainsbury House. “Why not Mom?”

“She’s coming to the fitting with me. Come on, Abby. You’re maid of honor— you’re supposed to help with this stuff.”

There should be a law against sisters being maids of honor.

“You’re right.” What else could she say? “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

“Yes, I am.” She hit the end button and tucked her phone in her pocket. “Yes, I am.”

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Sainsbury House’s wraparound porch.

Wedding planning, especially in a place as high-and-mighty as Sainsbury House, wasn’t her kind of thing.

She’d dragged herself away from her garden that morning to run this errand.

She probably still had dirt under her fingernails.

Dirty fingernails and fancy houses don’t go together. She knew that well. Dirk the Jerk—her family had given him that name even before Abby realized the kind of guy he was—had lectured her on that so many times.

“At least pretend like you belong here.” That had been one of his favorite lines.

Abby stepped inside the entryway. The place was as overwhelmingly fancy as it had been a week earlier.

It made a person feel judged, like the paintings and crown molding and polished tables were there solely to remind her that she fit better in a tiny apartment in a barely middle-class neighborhood than in a mansion.

“May I help you?” A woman Abby thought she’d seen in passing the last Saturday greeted her near the winding staircase. As near as she’d been able to discover, Matthew was the only person at Sainsbury House who spoke with an accent.

“I am looking for Matthew Carlton.” She was proud of herself for not calling him Brit Boy or Mr. Elegant or any of the other names she’d been using in her mind the past week.

“He is in his office.” The woman motioned toward the same room they’d been shown to before.

“If I’m interrupting, I can wait.” She wanted to wait. For reasons she refused to think about, she was nervous. Matthew Carlton had shown up a few too many times in her wandering thoughts recently.

The woman peeked past the office door then looked back at Abby. “No one is in the office but Matthew. You are quite welcome to go on inside.”

She threw back her shoulders. No snooty Englishman was going to intimidate her.

She might not fit in with her worn-out jeans and casual top.

The dirt under her fingernails and her complete lack of jewelry probably pegged her as someone not cut out to be a client at Sainsbury House. But she didn’t care. Not at all.

Abby stepped into the office. Matthew looked up from his laptop.

He smiled at her. That smile was part of the reason he’d shown up in her thoughts so often. She couldn’t be blamed for thinking about it, or for her heart fluttering around at seeing it again.

“Ms. Grover.” He stood and came around his desk, indicating the leather armchair nearest his desk. Once she sat, he moved back to the chair he’d occupied before. “What brings you to Sainsbury House?”

“My sister.” Might as well get right to the point.

His mouth pulled in a thought-filled line. “She did not mention that you would be stopping in.”

“Has Caroline been in touch with you?”

That smile returned again. “She emailed me six times yesterday.”

“That’s Caroline.”

“She seems very... particular.” His green eyes sparkled with amusement.

Abby did her fair share of laughing at her sister, but she didn’t like anyone else to. “It’s her wedding day,” Abby said in Caroline’s defense. “She’s entitled to be picky about a few things.”

“Of course.” He gave a short nod. He threaded his fingers through one another. “What may I do for you?”

“What may I do for you?” No one talks like that. If he kept it up, she wouldn’t be able to understand him at all. Sainsbury House, apparently, was the place to go if a person wanted to feel poor and stupid.

“Caroline sent me to ask about a few things.”

“I do not have any appointments for a couple of hours, so we can certainly address those items now.” Matthew Carlton could probably sell the stripes off a skunk with those soft eyes and that heart-melting smile. “What is first on your list?”

Yes. Stick to business. Abby laid her papers on the edge of the desk, smoothing them out. “She wants to know if the fountain in the formal garden will be running the day of her wedding.”

Matthew nodded. “It is only ever turned off in the winter.”

Abby snagged a pen from the pencil cup on his desk and wrote “yes” next to the first item.

“Does the conservatory have a sign that says ‘Conservatory?’”

“Do you mean like a placard?” The question clearly confused him. She could appreciate that—it was a strange question.

“I think so. She probably wants to make sure the guests know that there is a conservatory at her wedding. She likes the word.”

Matthew leaned back in his chair, brows drawn. “I honestly cannot remember whether there is a sign or not. Are there any other details we need to go look at? We can check for the placard while walking around the house and grounds.”

Abby scanned her list. “I’m supposed to find out which flowers grow closest to where she’ll be standing for the ceremony. Also, which side of the guest chairs will be in the most shade. And she wants to know if the floor in the ballroom is cherry, oak, or pine.”

“It is oak but stained cherry.”

Abby wrote that down, impressed despite herself that he knew the answer off the top of his head.

She read Caroline’s next question word for word. “‘Are the walls in the ballroom aqua or moss?’”

“I honestly have not the slightest idea.”

Abby put a star by that, as she had next to the conservatory, flower, and shade questions. “Does your in-house caterer make tarts?”

“Tell her the catering options are all on our website. Special requests go through the head of catering, but there is a request form on—”

“The website,” Abby finished for him. “That’s not very antiquey of you. Shouldn’t you be giving that information by telegram or something?”

His smile spread to a grin. A smile like that was a dangerous thing. “We do cater to those looking for a traditional event.”

“If by traditional you mean old and fancy, I agree.”

His expression clearly showed he thought she was offering a compliment. If she’d said snotty instead of fancy like she’d meant to at first, he probably wouldn’t have been as happy about it.

They went through a few more questions. After fifteen minutes, everything left on the list required a walk around the house and grounds.

Matthew took a long coat from the coat rack inside the door of his office, along with an old-fashioned umbrella with a cane-style handle.

That brought Abby’s eyes to the windows.

While they were talking, a steady drizzle had begun.

He held his office door open for her. Dirk had done that when they were out in public. At first she’d liked it, until it became clear he only held the door because not doing it would look uncivilized.

She stepped into the entryway, zipping up her jacket as they walked toward the doors. She tugged the drawstrings on her hood so it pulled tight around her head.

One step short of being beyond the roof of the porch, Matthew popped open the umbrella and held it over both of their heads. He seemed to be making sure it covered her, even if it meant getting a bit wet himself.

It wasn’t even a hard rain, just enough to be annoying. She didn’t know how to respond to a guy opening doors, or pulling out her chair, or holding an umbrella for her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I do. It is in the employee handbook.”

She looked up at him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, completely sincere. “I know you think your sister is very particular about things, but I promise you, she has nothing on the owners of this place.”

Matthew suddenly seemed relatable, almost like a normal person. Abby couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed, but something definitely had. “What other rules do you have to follow?”

He looked over his shoulder back toward the house before resuming their walk, leaning in enough to talk to her under the umbrella. “We are supposed to avoid contractions whenever possible.”

“Like won’t and didn’t and that kind of thing?”

“Exactly. The owners insist that using the full two words sounds more sophisticated, though I fully intend to contract words as soon as we are out of earshot of the house.”

“You aren’t afraid you’ll get into trouble?” Abby asked.

He gave her a winning smile. “I think you can be trusted to keep my secret.”

He led her around a puddle with the slightest pressure of his hand on her back. Another gentlemanly gesture she thought only existed in movies.

“What other requirements do your bosses have for you?”

“I am to, and I quote, ‘milk my accent for all it’s worth.’” He shot her a look of amusement that brought a smile to her face. “If I ever lost my accent, I’d probably lose this job.”

“Are you in danger of losing your accent?” It seemed pretty firmly in place.

“Last time I visited London, my family all told me I sounded like an American.”

She actually laughed at that. “They don’t talk with many Americans, do they?”

“Clearly not.”

They turned up the cobblestone path that led to the spot where outdoor ceremonies were held. Matthew had told her and Caroline about the elegant canopy they set up when the weather was questionable. It wasn’t set up today.

“So your sister is very much a fan of traditional, old-fashioned things,” Matthew said. “That description doesn’t seem to fit you. What would you choose if this were your event?”

“Are you trying to convince me to buy a wedding package? That’ll be a tough sell; I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Really?”

She swore he actually took note of that. Was he flirting with her? If so, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Maybe Brits were terrible flirters.

“No sales pitch, I promise.” He tucked the hand not holding the umbrella into his coat pocket. “I’m just curious to know if my hunch is correct.”

“What hunch?”

“Sainsbury House is a good fit for your sister, but I have a feeling it would be torture for you.”

She felt her defenses going up. He really didn’t think she belonged in an upscale place.

“And what would be a good fit for me?” She could hear that her tone had turned cold but couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t fazed at all. “If you were the one planning a wedding, I’d guess you would choose something smaller and simpler—a beach or a garden. And there’d only be a few people, those you care about most, not every person you’ve ever met.”

She had to admit, silently, that he was right about that. He was so right that she didn’t know if his insightfulness was impressive or a little spooky. “Okay, Nostradamus, what would my wedding colors be?”

He eyed her closely. His gaze narrowed. She almost laughed at the comical “thinking” face he made. Almost. “You wouldn’t have colors. You’d tell your bridesmaids to wear whatever they wanted. And you wouldn’t wear a traditional wedding dress, just whatever you felt like.”

She let her surprise show. “That’s creepy.”

He flashed her a flawless smile. “I came pretty close, then?”

They’d reached the spot where the bride and groom and minister would stand during a wedding. Abby eyed the trellis and nearby bushes. Did Caroline expect her to list every flower nearby, or only the closest ones?

“Daffodils,” Matthew said. “Tiger lily. And, I believe those are Dolly Madison lilies.”

Once again she was staring at him. “You know the names of these flowers?” He’d gotten every single one correct so far.

He shrugged a little. “My mum has an extensive flower garden. I probably know more about flowers than almost any person in Oregon.”

Probably not more than I do. She wrote down the flowers he’d mentioned. “Do you think I can get away with just putting ‘roses’ for the rest?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. Your sister is very detail-oriented.”

“Tell me about it.” She bent over the darkest red roses growing there, taking a deep breath. The amazing scent answered her question. “These are Mr. Lincoln roses.”

“They are. You know a few things about flowers, yourself.”

"Enough to realize the daffodils and lilies won't still be in blume by the end of June."

Between them, they managed to identify nearly every variety of rose growing around the ceremony area.

They likely didn’t need to be that extensive, but Abby was enjoying it.

Her family’s eyes always glazed over when she talked about gardening and flowers.

Dirk had told her a few times to “shut up about the plants.” While she could tell flowers wouldn’t have been Matthew’s first choice of topics, he was knowledgeable and didn’t seem to mind. It was a nice change.

They timed the walk from the parking lot to the front porch, just as Caroline had requested.

They decided that the ballroom walls were closer to aqua than moss, though Abby thought there was at least a little mint in them. The conservatory, they discovered, did have a placard.

The longer Abby was with him, the more Abby liked Matthew. He had a dry sense of humor and wasn’t nearly as stuffy as she’d thought at first. She wasn’t ready to start throwing herself at him or anything like that. But she liked him.

She liked him quite a lot, actually.