Love Rents A Room
Chapter 172: The Guy With the Hot British Accent

Chapter 172: The Guy With the Hot British Accent

"What was he like in the past?" Joanne asked, her eyes drifting again to where Jeffrey stood, laughing easily with someone across the lawn.

Somehow, talking about him—even when she was frustrated—lifted her mood. She was beginning to realize there were whole parts of his life she didn’t know. And oddly, she wanted to know. She wanted to understand the man who had changed so much in just four years.

She had assumed, from the way Elsa and Jeffrey bickered, that there must be some buried dislike. But the way Elsa softened when she spoke of him told another story entirely.

Elsa raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. "Reckless," she said with a soft chuckle. "But his heart was stupidly big. He couldn’t walk past anyone hurting without offering help, even if it burned him."

Joanne smiled faintly. That... sounded about right.

"And contrary to popular belief," Elsa continued, her tone quieter now, "he never did things for attention. He never wanted power. He just wanted people to be okay. Sometimes that made him impulsive, even foolish."

Joanne had expected Elsa to hate him, the way they fought like siblings banished from the same room. But the way she spoke of Jeffrey now—it wasn’t disdain. It was warmth. Familiarity. Almost like love.

"He knows I’m lonely," Elsa admitted after a pause. "I’m surrounded by people who would rather suffocate than step on my toes. No one speaks against me. They just... agree."

Her gaze grew distant, her smile smaller. "But Jeffrey? He argues. He challenges. He annoys me to death. And yet—" she looked at Joanne again, "—I’m happy every time I see him."

Joanne took a slow sip of wine, quietly processing her words. She hadn’t thought Jeffrey was thinking so deeply about any of it. He always looked like he was just defending his grandmother, like the whole conversation was some noble crusade. But maybe, just maybe, he was doing two things at once. Or maybe... he didn’t even realize the effect he had.

As their conversation carried on, Joanne’s eyes briefly flicked toward the entrance.

Heather.

Trying to get in—and being stopped by security. Her frustration was visible even from a distance. Good.

Joanne looked away before she could let that moment sour her again.

Later, Jeffrey returned and introduced her to a few people—men in tailored suits, women with sharp smiles. Most seemed to know of her already. Or rather, they knew her company.

Every time Joanne mentioned her farm, Jeffrey would slide in with a well-timed interjection about her logistics business. He was shameless about it.

"She’s being modest," he said once. "Her company’s been all over the news back home."

And indeed, eyes widened. Someone even pulled out their phone mid-conversation. Her name was trending back in her home state—the exposé on Congressman Campbell had put her on the map, and people were curious. Impressed.

And then, a middle-aged man—charming, a little shy, dressed in a finely tailored navy suit—walked up to her with a cautious smile.

"Are you, by any chance, related to the Kelly family from New Greenwich?" he asked.

Joanne blinked. It was an odd question. But her heart fluttered—just a little.

What if...?

What if there was more to her story than she knew?

"Yes," she said, cautious but curious. "My mother was."

The man’s face lit up, like he had just found something long lost. "Really? You’re Maggie’s daughter? Magdalene Grace Anne Kelly?"

Joanne’s breath caught. Her mother’s full name, spoken aloud, echoed through her like a bell she hadn’t heard in years.

"Yes," she said slowly. "How do you know her?"

He smiled—a soft, warm smile filled with so much affection it almost overwhelmed her. "We went to school together," he said.

Joanne’s heart dipped a little. Just schoolmates?

"Oh?" she replied, trying not to sound disappointed. But still—he looked so genuinely delighted.

"What is she doing now?" he asked, eyes scanning her face with gentle wonder. "I can’t believe I’m standing in front of Maggie’s daughter. You have her eyes..."

Joanne leaned back slightly, her hand curling loosely around her wine glass. "Oh..."

That was rare. No one ever talked about her mother like this. In Rockchapel, her mother was only known for three short years before she died.

"My mother passed away when I was two," she said quietly.

The man froze.

It was as if all the color drained from his face. His expression crumbled with the kind of grief that felt too raw, too real, for someone who hadn’t seen her in decades.

It shocked Joanne.

Because in that moment, it felt like he was mourning her mother more than she ever had.

Maybe they weren’t just schoolmates...?

"Dad, you’ve not introduced yourself to the lady yet."

A dapper man stepped in, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that somehow made the rest of the men look underdressed. Dark hair, stormy blue eyes that leaned green in the light, and a voice dipped in British silk. He smelled expensive—something soft and musky with a bite of cedar.

Joanne blinked. That was... unexpected.

He looked at her with a crooked smile. "Your eyes are greener than I anticipated... Beautiful," he said, and then turned to gesture smoothly between them. "I’m William Belford. And this is my father, James Belford."

He offered his hand. Firm shake, cool fingers, charm cranked to ten.

Joanne tried to play it cool. Her heart? Not cooperating. William. Now that was a good name. And Belford... wait—

Belford Ranches?

Were they those Belfords?

Her business brain kicked in hard.

"Joanne Smith," she replied with a pleasant smile, shaking his hand.

"I must apologize," William said, sounding almost sheepish as he rubbed his hands to warm himself. "I got a bit excited meeting my crush." He chuckled under his breath. "You look like Grace Kelly... Grace of Monaco, I mean," he added quickly, raising his brows in question. "Except the hair. Yours is prettier."

Joanne’s face went red before she could stop it.

Was he flirting with her?