AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And Isobel needs help with the kids,” Donna added.
“It sucks being us.” Mairi took a photo of the mansion to send to her fake boyfriends.
As Agnes parked the car in front of the stairs leading up to the main entrance, Donna took a deep breath. “Here we go. How do I look?”
“Like you could clean a house,” Mairi said, “which is good, since that’s the job you’re applying for.”
“Thanks.” Donna climbed out of the car. “Helpful as usual.”
Mairi beamed at her. “Knock ’em dead.”
“And we’ll help bury the body.” Agnes gave her a thumbs up.
With a shake of her head and a smile, Donna climbed the curved steps to the main door. The gray cube of a building was severe, and she couldn’t help but feel intimidated. But they did need the money, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Plus, the owner of the mansion was fast running out of staff who would put up with his mood swings. Donna figured if she could live with her three sisters, she could cope with one grieving man. All he needed was a little understanding and compassion. She could do that. Heck, she’d been born to do it.
She knocked on the door, stamping her feet against the cold as she waited for the housekeeper to answer. Living on the flattest part of the peninsular meant there was nothing to stop the winter winds as they came off the Atlantic and rushed straight through Campbeltown—as well as everyone who lived there. It was only the beginning of winter, and already Donna felt like she’d never get warm again.
As she waited for the housekeeper, she looked out over the mansion estate. At over fifty acres, the Kintyre holding was one of the largest in the area. And it looked a bit unkempt. The grass was barren in patches, bushes needed trimming, and the roses that lined the driveway were growing wild. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought the place had been recently abandoned. There was a definite air of neglect hanging over the mansion—probably due to the owner losing the staff needed to care for it.
A noise drew her attention back to the vast oak door. Bolts turned with an ominous clang, making her think of every old Hammer Horror movie she’d watched as a child. Slowly, the door swung open, and Donna’s jaw dropped. Because it wasn’t the long-time housekeeper who appeared before her; it was the famed artist who owned the mansion.
“What do you want?” He glared at her as he folded his arms over his crinkled blue tartan shirt.
It was impossible to reply, because she was looking at the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on. Even with a scowl on his face, Duncan Stewart was everything a man should be—rugged, masculine, strong. He wasn’t a scrawny man, there were muscles under his clothes, and even barefoot he towered over her. Although, to be fair, most people towered over her. His hair was unkempt, his beard ragged, and deep lines were etched into his face. The kind of
lines that came with agony rather than time. He oozed power, arrogance, and pain. And it was the pain that jerked Donna out of her daze. It was a stark reminder that he’d buried his young wife just a few months earlier.
“If you don’t have anything to say, you can clear off. I don’t have time for this.” He made a move to swing the door shut in her face.
“Wait! I’ve come to see the housekeeper about the cleaning job.”
He paused, staring at her with eyes so dark they seemed almost black. “I fired the housekeeper.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. Although, given the rate he was going through staff, she probably should have. “Okay, well, who do I talk to about the job?”
His gaze seemed to bore right through her, and she found herself fighting the urge to squirm. She knew she wasn’t much to look at. At just over five feet tall, with curves that betrayed a fondness for cake and a distinct disinterest in sport, she was the kind of woman who blended into the scenery. She had no standout features to redeem her. Her eyes were a watery green, her hair a mousy brown—with a kink in it that couldn’t be bothered turning into a wave, and her nose a round dot in the middle of her face. A clown’s nose. She’d often thought that if she’d painted the end red, people would think it was fake.
“You’re hired,” Duncan snapped once he’d finished his mysterious assessment.
“Thanks?” She couldn’t hide her hesitance. “When do I start?”
“Now.” He swung the door wide. “You’re the new housekeeper.” He grabbed a set of keys from the table beside the door. “Your apartment’s on the third floor. It’s included in the job. And there’s a car somewhere.” He scratched a beard that sorely needed trimming. “Ask the cook, she’ll know.” He turned back to the dark interior, clearly done with their conversation.
“Wait,” Donna called. “I don’t know anything about being a housekeeper, and you don’t know anything about me. You didn’t even ask my name. I came here for the cleaning job.”
“There’s more money in the housekeeping position, and I don’t need a cleaner. Housekeeper’s the only job I’m offering. Take it or leave it.” His tone was flat, and his eyes were dead. It was clear he didn’t care either way whether she took the job or walked away.
Donna knew her sisters would have taken one look at Duncan and run for the hills. The man was clearly on a course set for destruction, and there was a good chance he’d take down anyone near him when he went. But she couldn’t get past the agony in his eyes. Inside, he was screaming and wailing, raging against his grief and loss. He was lost, and there was no one around to help him find his way back. He’d fired most of the mansion staff, and it was well known around town that he refused to see his friends and family. He’d isolated himself while letting his grief slowly kill him. He needed someone, anyone, to look out for him. How could she walk away from a need like that?
She took a deep breath. “My name is Donna Sinclair. My record is clean. I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs.”
“Like I said, you’re hired.” He pointed to the stairs. “Find your own way.”
“That’s it? No job description? No contract?”
“I’ll email my lawyer. She’ll sort out a contract and your wages. The job description’s easy—keep everybody out of my way and finish my wife’s renovations.” He stalked away but turned before the gloom of the building swallowed him. “And no damn parties.” With that, he was gone.
Donna stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened. She’d come for a part-time position and nabbed a full-time live-in job—with a man who was broken and hitting out at everyone around him. On reflection, it might have been a good idea to turn down the job and call in the professionals to deal with Duncan.
