No. No! Why would his grandfather be here? Alone with Eleanora? Good God, what the hell was he saying to her?!
God only knew what venom would be spewing out of his grandfather's mouth. Tom's heart clutched as his car skidded to a halt, and he raced into the house.
"Eleanora?"
"In here, Tom!"
He strode to the kitchen and came to a bewildered stop in the doorway to find his grandfather and his wife sitting together at the kitchen table across from each other, drinking coffee like long-lost best friends.
His eyes darted to Eleanora, who rose from her seat, holding out her arms to him. She looked happy and serene, he was relieved to discover, but as Tom crossed to her, he kept his eyes on his grandfather's bowed head. Pulling Eleanora into his arms, he kissed her cheek distractedly.
"What's going on here?"
"Your grandfather's come to visit."
"I see that," he said. "Why?"
She leaned up on her tiptoes, brushing her lips with his, and Tom focused on her, finding her eyes both pleading and tender. "Listen to what he has to say?"
"Why should I?"
"Because I'm asking you to," she said gently.
Stepping out of his arms, she took his hand. She sat back down in her chair and tugged on Tom's hand, urging him to join them. Because he could refuse her nothing, he complied, sitting stiffly across from his grandfather, who finally lifted his sky-blue eyes to his grandson.
"Morning, Tom."
Tom nodded curtly. "Sir."
"I think your wife is . . ."
Tom braced himself, squeezing her hand, sitting up straighter and ready to throw this old man out of his house if he dared to insult Eleanora again.
". . . plucky as all hell."
"What?"
His grandfather grinned a short-lived grin. He took a deep breath, regarding Tom seriously. "I'm sorry I didn't give her a chance."
"You are?"
The older man nodded, then coughed-a dry, hacking cough that rattled his old bones. He put a snow-white handkerchief to his lips, and Tom noticed a smear of red when his grandfather pulled it away.
"I jumped to conclusions that, in fairness, were partially true. You married her for the money."
"Now wait a second," said Tom, but a squeeze of Eleanora's hand silenced him.
"It's the truth, Tom," she said. "We did marry for your inheritance."
"Originally. But . . .," started Tom.
"Love came quickly," said Eleanora, smiling tenderly at Tom, almost as though they were the only two people in the world. "So quickly."
"You married her to get the money, but you ended up falling in love with her," said his grandfather evenly. "I can see that now." He cleared his throat. "You'll forgive me, I hope, for wanting to test this whirlwind marriage. Mind you, I don't approve of such impulsive acts, but from what I can piece together, you're working hard here. Good, honest, true work. And that makes Eleanora English a good woman, Tom. A good woman for you."
"Yes, sir," he said, stunned by his grandfather's change in attitude.
"Plus, she's carrying the next English, isn't she?"
Tom's eyes darted to Eleanora's. "You told him?"
"Of course," she said. "He's family."
"Some family," said Tom, his anger rising. "You kicked me out of Haverford Park. You insulted my wife. You cut me off. You blackballed me. You-"
"I'm dying, Tom."
The slice of a blade.
The sharp, empty thwack of the guillotine.
The echo of a gunshot.
His grandfather's words landed in that company.
The air was sucked from Tom's lungs until they burned with emptiness, and he blinked his eyes several times in shock. "What? What are you talking about? You're as healthy as a horse."
"I'm dying, son. Cancer. I don't have much time left."
Tom inhaled deeply through his nose, wincing as he processed these words. His grandfather had never been a warm and fuzzy granddaddy figure in Tom's life, but he had been a stable, grounding force, a constant, and, in his own way, he had loved Tom.
"It's my lungs. Damned pipe smoking."
"Sir, I'm . . . I'm so . . ."
"Yes, yes. None of that, now." His grandfather cleared his throat, which brought on another coughing fit, and this time, the handkerchief was much redder when he pulled it away. "Ahem."
Eleanora leaped up and poured Mr. English a glass of water, placing it before him.
"Thank you, my dear."
Tom took her hand and wove their fingers together as he realized she was crying. She squeezed his hand, her eyes encouraging Tom to make amends.
His grandfather took a sip of water before continuing.
"I've released your trust. The penthouse is yours. Your job at English & Son is waiting. And when you're ready, I'd like to welcome you," he shifted his eyes to Eleanora and gazed at her warmly, "and your bride . . . home."
Home to Haverford Park.
Until that moment, Tom hadn't realized quite how much he longed for his old life, but his heart burst with such palpable relief, he closed his eyes against the wellspring of emotion it elicited. It was like coming to the end of a long, arduous race. He could finally go home again.
But Neville Gordon's face flashed through Tom's mind, and he shook his head. "I can't leave Kinsey in the lurch, sir. I have a responsibility to finish out the school year."
Tom expected his grandfather to try to strong-arm him into coming home, but he didn't. His papery-thin lips tilted up in a small smile, and he nodded his head. "Yes, sir, you do. And as an English, I'd expect nothing less than for you to honor that commitment."
It was the first time his grandfather had ever addressed him as "sir," and Tom felt a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that, sitting here in this little kitchen in the middle of nowhere, with a wife his grandfather had originally rejected, Tom had finally made the grade in his grandfather's eyes. He was finally living up to the English name in a way that made his grandfather see him as an equal, and it made Tom's chest swell with pride.
"We can come down on the weekends, sir."
"I'd like that, Tom."
"So would I," said Eleanora, sniffling softly.
The elder English placed his hands on the table to stand up, and Tom rushed around the table to help him, holding his arm as they made their way out to the car.
Smith hopped out of the front seat and circled the old Daimler, opening the back door for Mr. English and grinning at Tom.
"Long time no see, Mr. Tom."
Tom smiled back at the chauffeur. "What you see is what you get, Smith."
Smith's eyes twinkled as he volleyed back, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."
"Oh, will you two knock it off?" demanded Mr. English as Tom helped him into the backseat.
He squatted down beside his grandfather, reaching for his wrinkled hand and clasping it tightly. "You going to hang on until September, old man? I want you to meet your first great-grandchild."
"No promises, Tom," said his grandfather. "But I'll try."
Tom swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Take care of yourself."
"As long as you take care of her," said his grandfather, gesturing with his chin to where Eleanora stood on the front stoop, her hand raised in farewell. "Start by getting her a proper coat, damn it."
"Yes, sir," said Tom, patting his grandfather's hand before shutting the door and stepping away from the car, back to Eleanora.
He put his arm around her, lifting his own hand in farewell as the black limo pulled out of their driveway and drove away.
"I feel like I should ask how this happened," he said, looking down at her face.
"How about just be glad it did?"
"You reached out to him?"
"In a manner of speaking," she said, winding her arms around his neck. "I missed you."
"You're changing the subject."
"I can think of so many nicer ones that need our attention."
She pressed her breasts against his chest, and his thoughts scattered. Leaning down, he dropped his lips to hers and kissed her, somehow maneuvering them back inside the house and kicking the door shut with his foot.
When she was limp and loose, he drew back from her.
"He told me to buy you a new coat."
"I'll take it," she said, pulling his head back down for another kiss. "Let's go to bed."
"What a good idea," he said, letting her lead him up the stairs. "But tell me something, sunshine. One thing, okay? I need to know."
She turned at the head of the stairs and looked down at him. "Anything."