Mrs Thornhill Novels & Stories

“Was a ton of stuff stolen? Did you see who did it? Are you scared to be here now?” Megan opened her mouth to say that if she’d seen who’d done this Caleb wouldn’t have to stand watch, but Jubilee replied first. “We didn’t see who it was, no. It happened during the night.” The girl pouted. “That’s boring.” Her eyes widened as she looked out the window, which had since been repaired at no cost by one of Harrison’s many friends. “But how lucky you are to have Officer Thornton close by! He’s so yummy. I love a man in uniform.”

Chapter 3: Now that her father had returned to London and she had a few weeks to go before starting at the academy with Madame Blanchard, Rose could focus on the old estate. She liked the old furniture and the smell of wax used to polish it, some of it could use reupholstering. Ok most of it. Moving from room to room she became alarmingly aware that much of this house was left to rot. Although her dad had a pest control team go through and rid them of rats and other vermin, the aftermath of the hibernation was overwhelming in some rooms. Until she came to one that was locked. Frustrated, she called for Mrs. Stuart. Issabelle made it to her much quicker than the older house keeper and offered

Except for one thing—it was too quiet. The gardener was the only sign of life. He stood near the fountain, trimming rose bushes. When he spotted us, he straightened, his face twitching in surprise. “Mr. Steele,” he called as we stepped out. “Wasn’t expecting you.” “I gathered,” I said. Inside, the house smelled faintly of fresh flowers, the way Veronica liked it. Everything gleamed—polished wood, spotless marble. But there was no staff moving around, no sound of dishes or vacuum cleaners. Just… quiet.

Damien's mother said, as she pulled Damien outside the door, leaving me and the five maids alone. I remained my chin high, and said in a gentle tone, "Why don't we introduce ourselves first? Greetings ladies, my name is Charlotte Hayes." "That last name won't last though," the 2nd maid said, a cheesy joke coming out from her mouth. Three of them started laughing, like a giggle.

She stayed in the village, sponsored poor students, and brought large amounts of medical equipment. She told me, “If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine. I’ll bring the doctors here.” Every time class ended, I saw her waiting outside my office. People in the village soon got to know her. They even told me how lucky I was to have such a wife. I only gave them a faint smile. They did not know the harm she had caused me, and I no longer had the strength to explain. “Joseph, I found Mom’s grave and brought her the flowers she loved. I also greeted Dad so he knows I’m your wife. For their sake, how about we get treatment and not get a divorce?”

Marcus limped to his feet. He pointed at the wreckage covering the floor. "There's your evidence of corporate espionage right there. Vivienne, I'll give you one more chance. Apologize to Amber right now and promise you'll never show your face here again, and I'll let this slide. Besides..." "Amber has never wanted to be Mrs. Thorne. So as long as you go home and play the good little housewife, the title is yours to keep." My pupils contracted. "Marcus. Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah, she gives you whatever you want I guess.” Ralph grabbed a remote and the TV came to life, like straight out of the wall, and about half the size of the wall. Magnificent. When I returned to my room, I was surprised to see Mrs. Thorne waiting. Now what else?

All of it… over. It felt like a miracle. A real one. "Who… who are they?" I finally asked. "The Thorne Foundation? Why would they do this?" "I don't know!" Mrs. Byrne said, throwing her hands up. "The woman on the phone just said they 'like to help the community' and that 'someone told them about Havencrest. Maybe someone we helped? A long time ago? Someone who did well?" She hugged me tight. "It doesn't matter why, my dear. It just matters that it's here. God heard us."

"Are you alright, dear?" ​"I do not know." ​"Come. I will make some tea." ​They sat at the kitchen island. Mrs. Chen steeped chamomile and slid the mug across the marble counter. ​"Mr. Thorne cares about your wellbeing," Mrs. Chen noted. "More than he projects. More than he likely realizes himself." ​"He cares about his investment."