Smitten With Sense: A Modern Sense And Sensibility Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 4)

by Keena Richins

  A pang of jealousy rose within him and he wished he'd had a boss like that. Or even someone in his life who would care that much about him.

  He quickly brushed the thought aside. His life was a mess and such a loving hen would only get eaten in his world.

  Still, he couldn't help wanting to absorb some of the goodness she exuded and was glad when it was just them in the hallway once more. Hoping to get a laugh out of her, he tried a joke.

  "I think your workers think I'm the big bad wolf, come to blow your place down."

  No laugh happened, just a quiet stare.

  "I'm afraid so," she said, apparently taking his joke seriously. He shouldn't have said anything. Humor was his brother's strength, not his.

  "They think," she continued, "you're the IRS come to audit us."

  He stopped in his tracks. "The IRS?" A memory stirred and he frowned. "You said that earlier, didn't you? Where did that come from? Do you often have visits from the IRS?" He couldn't imagine why, unless they wanted to admire her fastidious books.

  "No, it's our secretary."

  The memory of the old man turned into a sinister one, with him being a super-secret retired IRS agent, holding the company hostage. That would explain the intense attention to detail.

  But the vision popped as she continued. "He was audited twice some decades ago, and it was such a terrible experience that he has dreaded it ever happening again."

  Edward wanted to shake himself, irritated he had quickly assumed the poor man was villainous. Not everyone was like Lucy or his mother.

  "I think," she continued, "you made the unfortunate mistake of mentioning the word 'audit' and he—"

  Edward cringed. "I did say audit, didn't I?" So, it turned out he had been the evil villain in this scenario. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much stress."

  "It's fine. We were rather expecting something bad to happen soon anyway, so it's not your fault."

  He frowned at that statement. "Why so?" Maybe she also had a habit of assuming evil of others? If so, that meant she had horrible people in her life, too. He suddenly wished he could push them away—until he remembered Fanny was her sister-in-law. So much for that wish.

  "Oh, you know," she lightened her tone as if she were talking about the weather. "Bad things tend to follow each other and well, my father had a stroke and..." Her eyes fled to the wall as a sadness enveloped her like an invisible cloud. "It seemed like a siren call."

  Siren. The image of Lucy seized his vision, the exact moment when she had stepped up toward him during his father's funeral service, her pretty face full of compassion and tenderness. He had thought his father's sudden death had been the worst he could go through, but Lucy suffocated that theory. "Yes, I know the feeling."

  Ms. Dashwood looked up at him with concern—real concern, not like Lucy's fake sympathy. Nor did she lean in like Lucy would have, patting him like he was a lost child. Instead, she stood beside him, patiently waiting, obviously welcoming any need to unload.

  No wonder her employees were so protective of her. Here was a woman who knew how to be a friend—a wonderful, supporting, and listening friend. The exact type he'd been wishing for.

  Unfortunately, Fanny was after her company, his mother would destroy her chance for a second career, and Lucy would blight out her soul.

  For her own sake, he had to keep her far away from him.

  Straightening his shoulders, he resorted to a more polite tone. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. But you're in luck. I'm here to only help." At the very least, he would make sure her employees were well taken care of.

  She smiled. He couldn't help being pleased by the sight.

  "Thank you, Edward. I'd love to help in return."

  He wasn't surprised by that.

  "Fanny," she continued, "had mentioned you intend on staying with us during—"

  "No." The word was out before he thought about it. But it expressed his feelings perfectly.

  She seemed stunned, though. "May I ask why not?"

  He winced, realizing she may have taken that as an insult. But he didn't really want to confess how insecure he was around new people. It should be obvious—at least, his family kept insisting it was embarrassingly obvious—but he didn't want to spell it out to this sweet girl before him. "Sorry, but Fanny had given the impression the home was empty. When I realized it was occupied, I resorted to a hotel instead." That sounded better. Made him sound like a considerate gentleman.

  To his relief, she neither sneered nor stepped farther away from him. Instead, she did something he had never expected: she invited him over to meet her whole family at dinner.

  He suddenly wished the topic had never come up. "I wouldn't want to be a bother—"

  "You won't be a bother. We're family, after all, right?"

  Family. He didn't like associating with his own family, so why would he want to add to it? He would much rather go to dinner with just her. She was someone he could trust to be friendly. Then again, her family could be the same. That would be an odd sight—to find a good family, the kind he assumed existed but had never seen in person.

  He forced a smile. "Thank you, I'll accept the invitation. But, I do have a request."

  Her smile stiffened as if she expected an impossible one. "What would that be?"

  He had been hoping to make her laugh with the request, but his hopes died at that stiff smile. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to do but finish. "May I know your first name? Or do you only go by Ms. Dashwood?" It came out wooden. Why had he even bothered—

  "Oh!" To his shock, she laughed. "It's Elinor. I'm so sorry, I thought I mentioned it earlier but apparently, I didn't."

  Elinor. Greek for a bright, shining someone. It suited her perfectly. "Pretty name," was all he said, though.

  "Thanks. It was my grandmother's name on my father's side."

  "Are you like her?"

  She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. She was quite spunky, I hear." She flashed a smile at him. "Were you named after anyone special?"

  He paused, trying to recollect a moment either of his parents had spoken of such a thing. "I'm not sure if there was anything special to my naming."

  "Oh," her smile died. "I'm sorry to hear that."

  Hoping to re-inspire the smile, he added, "But, my name originates from England, with the meaning of 'riches and protection.'"

  She eyed him for a moment. "So, you're destined to be a wealthy guardian, then?"

  He laughed. It bubbled out of him without hesitation—a feat he had only experienced around his father. "I, uh, had never thought of it in that way."

  The smile returned. "Well, it's not a bad thing to aspire to."

  He laughed again. She made it so easy to relax—as if the past four miserable years had never happened. "I'll add it to my bucket list, then."

  This time, she laughed, the sound filling the hallway once more.

  And then his phone rang, clashing with the laugh.

  Chapter 4

  "Sorry," Edward checked his phone and found Fanny's face with her perfected smile on the screen. "Excuse me, I need to take this."

  Ms. Dashwood—no, Elinor—nodded, then stepped into her office and left him alone in the hallway. It took him a second to realize that she was giving him privacy. His family had never bothered to do that.

  "Fanny," Edward began. "I—"

  "How was the night? Elegant home, isn't it?"

  "It's a nice house."

  "That's all you have to say about it? What about—"

  "I'd rather talk about the businesses—"

  "Oh, yes. I was thinking you could have this whole thing done by next week—"

  "Fanny, that's unreasonable."

  "Why? You've done them that quickly before."

  "After months of working on them."

  "But that's when you're trying to save them. We're not saving them. We're getting rid of them."

  "I don't believe we should," Edward countered.

  "Didn't M
om explain it to you?"

  "Mother doesn't explain things. She commands."

  Fanny scoffed. "My useless father-in-law had a stroke that's rendered him brain-dead, but since he's technically still alive, we have to pay to keep him alive. To top it off, his body is apparently healthy so he might leech off of us for decades. So we need his businesses in order to afford all of this. Now do you understand the urgency?"

  He understood, but not in the way she wanted to be understood. He knew Fanny saw her father-in-law as already dead, and thus the money was hers. And no one could spend it but her.

  "The businesses are making money, Fanny. You'd make more if you kept them running."

  "But who is to run them? I can't, and John is far too busy to take on all of that."

  Edward took a few steps away from the open doorway into the office. "What about Ms. Dashwood?"

  "No, no, no. She was a waitress before she conned my backward father-in-law into marrying her. The only thing she knows how to do is spend money."

  That sounded exactly like Fanny, but he wisely didn't mention that. "I meant the oldest daughter."

  "Elinor?" The sneer was evident in her voice. "She's a kid."

  "Her brains say otherwise."

  There was a pause. "Edward, don't tell me you like her."

  He should have known she'd jump to that conclusion. "It's her books I like. Very organized."

  "She did that on purpose."

  "Meticulous people tend to do so."

  "That's not what I'm talking about. She's the daughter of a scammer. I bet they're planning to get you to fall in love with one of their daughters." She gasped as if the reality of her statement just hit her. "This was a terrible idea! Edward, go home. We'll find someone else—"

  "Fanny, those books go back years, so unless they knew their father was going to have a stroke over three years ago, I highly doubt they perfected their books to con me."

  "Is she pretty?"

  "You know I don't like strangers," was the safest answer he could come up with.

  "I still smell a trap. I'll call Mom—"

  "I'm the best she's got, and if you want to make sure you get the most money, you know you'll want me to stay."

  Silence brewed on the other end. He knew she wanted to argue, but he had hit her in her weak spot.

  "If that's all, Fanny, I'll get back to making you money."

  The line went dead. His sister's version of a polite goodbye.

  Now he had a new dilemma. If Fanny called again—or worse, his mother—and he was still with Elinor, he was sure they'd go into a full-time panic. He needed to leave to prove there was nothing to worry about.

  He popped his head into Elinor's office and half-expected to find her scuttling away from the open door, trying to look as if she weren't eavesdropping, but to his surprise, she sat at the desk, situated in the middle of the room, with several of her books propped open around her.

  "I have some urgent business to attend to," he began, causing her to jolt as if she'd forgotten he existed—so much for Fanny's theory. "But can I take the last three years' worth of books with me?"

  "Uh," she glanced at her shelves as if they held the treasures of her heart. "That would be a lot of books."

  He couldn't help smiling. Such a practical answer. "I'll take several right now and then send someone to collect the rest in an hour."

  She eyed her books again. "Will this urgent business detain you from meeting my family tonight?"

  Technically, yes. And he now had the perfect excuse to get out of meeting random strangers. But he found himself shaking his head. "I'll be there."

  She smiled and he didn't care if her family consisted of a hundred people. He was glad to be going.

  That feeling fled the closer the dinner appointment neared, however. He had managed to keep his mind on Mr. Dashwood's businesses, visiting each one and gathering the needed books and computer files, but when he found himself surrounded by books in his hotel room—a situation that usually brought comfort—he could only think about the impending dinner like a gonging death sentence.

  When he pulled up in front of Elinor's house, all he could think about were the other three strangers in it. What if they didn't like him? He lacked both the grace and the self-centeredness of his siblings to not care what others thought. And for some reason, he really wanted this family to like him.

  No, he knew the reason. Elinor. Which was unfortunate, since he also needed her—and her family—to dislike him for their own preservation.

  He really shouldn't have agreed to come.

  With a sigh, he grabbed the present he'd wrapped earlier: a vanilla cake. During his growing years, his father had taught him to always bring something when invited over. It was the secret, he used to say, to all his business deals. And Edward had discovered another secret: a gift said much better words than he could muster out of his mouth.

  In this case, he had chosen a plain, vanilla cake since it would fulfill the gift requirement, but also prove he was only doing the bare minimum.

  Holding the cake like it was a sacrificial platter, he strode up to the front door and rang the doorbell—and couldn't help hoping no one would answer.

  But his wish wasn't granted and soft footsteps sounded behind the door. Edward braced himself for the complete stranger.

  But it was Elinor's smiling face that greeted him. "Edward!"

  A surge of joy swept through him, which he instantly squashed. Flustered, he presented his sacrificial cake. "Here."

  She stared at it as if expecting something a little grander.

  He suddenly wished he had brought something more impressive, but it was too late now. "It's a cake." Might as well ruin any high expectations about it. "As a 'thank you' for inviting me over," he added lamely when her stare didn't lessen.

  The stare abruptly melted into a pleased smile. His squashed joy grew at the sight of it.

  "Thank you!" She accepted the cake as though it sparkled with diamonds. "My mother will appreciate this." She beamed at it, then threw that dazzling smile at him.

  "I didn't know if you'd like chocolate or vanilla," Edward found himself saying, anything to keep her looking at him like that. "I went with vanilla. Seemed to be a safer choice." Though now he wished he'd brought chocolate. Girls always preferred chocolate. "It's what I like," he tried to explain, "but, uh, I know many others prefer chocolate..." He let the sentence hang. He sounded like an idiot. This was definitely one of the reasons he didn't like talking with strangers. He never sounded smart.

  He fully expected Elinor's smile to disappear with confusion, but instead, she waved him forward. "Vanilla is fine. I actually prefer vanilla myself."

  He couldn't believe it. "You like vanilla?" None of his family did. Well, Fanny did once, but then had chocolate from Europe and had abandoned vanilla.

  "Yes, I tend to like plainer things. Makes things easier when you want to go shopping."

  He stared at her for a second. It was like she'd read a script right out of his heart. "Yes, it does, doesn't it? You never have to worry if they don't have what you like since you like the basics."

  She nodded, her hand still indicating for him to enter. He realized she must have been standing like that for several minutes—and he'd been too focused on the trivial cake. "Ah, right." He hurried inside as if that would mitigate his failure.

  Not wanting to talk about the cake anymore, Edward looked around for a new conversation starter. The open foyer had so many nooks and crannies, each filled with some trinket, that he wasn't sure where to start. He hoped she wouldn't want to decorate her own house like this.

  Not that he should care about how she decorated her future house...

  "Nice house," were the first words out of his mouth. Not the best conversation starter. "I take it you didn't decorate it?" An even worse follow-up. It was like his brain had melted ever since she had opened the door.

  That smile he loved faded into the dreaded look of confusion.

  "I
t's, uh, not very plain," Edward tried to explain.

  Elinor laughed, and he nearly fell over in shock. How in the world did she find that funny?

  "That's true, it's not," she said, still smiling as if heartily amused. "My mother's tastes are different than mine."

  "Your mother decorated it?" He was more relieved than he should have been by that statement."Yes, this is her dream house. She drove the architect nuts with all of her particulars."

  Elinor said the phrase with such ease as if it were an inside joke with the family instead of the threat it would have been in his own home. Edward began to relax. This might be a nice family to get to know after all.

  "I can imagine that—"

  "Hello!" A voice bellowed forth like a gong.

  Edward stiffened, then turned to meet the new invader. A gorgeous young lady with soft ringlets framing her face glided toward him.

  "You must be Edward. I'm Marianne, Elinor's younger sister. I'm sure she's mentioned me a lot."

  He wished that she had. Then he might have been more prepared. All he had heard from Fanny was that the three daughters were young, annoying, and stuck-up. So far, none of those adjectives had proven to be true. Not that he should have assumed Fanny was right anyway.

  Hoping to avoid any insult, he said, "She might have mentioned you once."

  "We have another sister, Maggie," the gorgeous girl continued, "but I doubt she's going to come out and meet you."

  Edward wasn't sure if that was a challenge or just a statement. Her eyebrows were arched like Fanny's when she was annoyed, but this girl's eyes lacked Fanny's daggers.

  "She means," Elinor cut in, "that Maggie hasn't taken my father's stroke very well and stays in her room."

  "Oh." The memory of standing by his own father's grave, surrounded by strangers who couldn't understand the depth of his despair, rose within him. How he wished he could have hidden in a room during all of that. "Yes, a very natural thing to do."

  Marianne leveled a stare at him. "It is?"

  Edward cleared his throat. "Uh, yes. When my father died, that was exactly what I wanted to do." He still felt like that, especially when Lucy showed up.