Mary Wardwell Novels & Stories

"Well, I met Mrs. Mary, the former Chief Maid of the Huxley family but now the Chief Maid of Marcellus. She could tell she was still angry with me." "Mrs. Mary's face was still etched with anger as I stood before her. I could tell she was still upset with me about the almost fight I had with Larisa on her wedding day. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, her expression softened slightly". Clara said." At that point, I expressed my desire to see Marcellus, and Mrs. Mary informed me that he was currently in the hospital due to being involved in an accident. I was shocked so I asked her which hospital he was located in, and she replied that she and the driver were on their way to the hosp

Even in the daylight it seemed to whisper of treachery and consternation, and it was no wonder the original owners had given it such a fortuitous name. Serendipity Fizzlestitch had not called Marwolaeth her home for nearly eight years, choosing instead to occupy a much smaller, much less daunting cottage nearly twenty furlongs to the south of her original home, off in the woods where the trees blocked most of the view of the gothic structure. Not that she ever went out where she could potentially catch a glimpse, nor did she ever dare peek out the tightly drawn, black woolen curtains. Her mind was apt to visit Marwolaeth even without a visual reminder, and she found it best to distance herse

I stood up, using my height to crowd the space, forcing Conrad to take a half-step back. "Let’s not get emotional," I said, smoothing the lapels of my jacket. "Sarah Hale is a brilliant woman. She’s a corporate strategist who has generated millions in revenue for the agricultural and economic sectors this fiscal year alone. She doesn't go around looking for petty drama, and she certainly doesn't waste her time digging dirt on your wives without being severely provoked." "Provoked?" Marcus scoffed, though he shrank back into his chair. "She went into a private room at The Pierre and cased a scene."

Stephen was a smooth-talking businessman through and through, definitely not easy to deal with at all. And so, with each of them holding their own thoughts, the dinner finally came to an end. Before Stephen left, Stellar walked him to the door. Mary watched them go, their figures side by side in an oddly harmonious way. She narrowed her eyes, unable to hold back one last jab. "Mr. Ward, you seem a bit too thin. I’d guess you don’t exercise much. A man with such a weak frame can hardly be relied upon to protect a young lady. I’d suggest working out more."

Cordelia had only just left the residence and was waiting at a red light when her phone rang. She lowered her head and glanced at the screen. It was the residence’s landline. She paused for a moment, then answered. Mary’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a trace of urgency. “Mrs. Ward, Miss Celia wants you to bathe her. Do you think you could come back for a while?” Cordelia held the phone, her brows drawing together. “I’ve already left. Help her wash up first.”

We were worse than broke; we were owned. I was twenty-three now. I spent my days scrubbing the same tiles I scrubbed as a child. My mother, Rosa, was even more angry than before. "Stop looking at those books, Valeria!" she screamed at me one night. I was sitting on the floor of our laundry room, trying to read a law textbook I had found in the trash behind the village library. "Books do not put bread on the table. You are a maid. Your mother is a maid. Your grandmother was a maid. That is all you will ever be!"

“Security.” “They’re here,” Zara said. “And so is everyone else. So tell me, Mr. Matthews. Am I a problem because I said no to a rich man? Or because I said no to his daughter?” The lobby doors opened again. Vivienne. No folder this time. Just a phone. And a woman in scrubs next to her. Older. Tired. Pin with her name: Martha Lewis, RN. “Speak of the devil,” Bisi muttered. Vivienne walked in like she owned the place. Maybe she did. Donor wall had Ashford on it. Twice.

"Bella, I thought I was losing you." My chest instantly felt heavy at the sadness in his voice. He was so afraid that I could see the fear in his face. But before I could say something to comfort my husband, another voice interrupted. "Mrs. Warren." I turned my head to see Martha standing by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. Martha, the head of our household staff. The woman who had run Cole's homes long before I came into the picture. She was like a mother I never had.

I responded, but my eyes were on the lady in front of me. The lady stretched out her hand. “Sorry to bother you, I’m Mara, one of Mr. Whitfield— I mean Marion Whitfield’s assistants.” I shook her hand. “Hmmm… you’re the one who shopped for the clothes for me for my vacation with him?” I tilted my head as I asked her. “No. That might be Clara, ma’am.” Mara held out a sleek white gift bag with a small Van Cleef & Arpels logo glimmering under the sunlight.

“Welcome back, Cilla Markle.” “Thanks, Maryanne. I missed you.” Maryanne chuckled and pulled away. “I’m not desperate enough to believe that, Cilla. Let’s keep the flattery to the minimum.” “Why is it so hard for you to believe I can miss you?” Maryanne rolled her eyes. “My dear, I’m going to return to the house now. I have actual important things to do.” “Hmm, I know you do.” “Cara Girad, I hope you’ve not been spreading lies about me.”