The Good House A Novel Novels & Stories

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

Samaira ****** I woke up at 6 a.m. despite sleeping at 4 in the morning. This temporary insomnia occurs whenever I get nightmares of that night. I still can't forget what happened 3 years ago. It's not like I never tried, but that dreadful memory doesn't leave me alone. After getting up from bed, I did my morning chores and got ready in my jogging clothes. I was not a morning person before but I have changed now. I went down to go to the nearby park for jogging. I saw Ishu Bhai already waiting for me.

"Right! Sophie gave it to me. She was there too at the time. Megan and her even pretended not to know each other." But why was Great-Uncle Harold asking this? And how did he know about the layout of our house? Great-Uncle Harold’s expression grew solemn. Stroking his beard, he spoke in a low voice, "All of your bad luck likely started because of that thing." Daniel was an atheist, but seeing how serious Great-Uncle Harold looked, even he began to half-believe. "Great-Uncle Harold, what do you mean? I don’t quite understand."

"I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Mr. Blackwood wants perfect order and time in this house. Follow me." Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Gable turned and walked into the big entrance hall. Clara hurried after her, her old sneakers making soft sounds on the shiny white marble floor. The house was beautiful, with high ceilings and tall pillars, but Mrs. Gable’s stiff back made the whole place feel as cold as a grave.

I will gladly appreciate it so I will know which of my book is best for the Goodnovel's 2020 contest. Thank you for reading the first chapter of Please be mine.

Eve A week later, the funeral party of Mrs Wilfred was being held at Sinclair's mansion. Sinclair had built a small house at the back of the mansion where her body would be buried. We were currently gathered around the building and the priest was saying a few words before she was taken in. We were all dressed in black and the atmosphere was solemn and sad.

Come home with me. He looked at me, and for the first time, his eyes were wet. "Let's leave the past behind, okay? "Come home, Maddie. I'll find the boy a good home. I won't hold any of it against you." I pulled free and shoved him toward the door. "Jeremy." A woman's laugh drifted in from outside. My hands curled into fists. Jessica stood in the doorway, wearing a tailored designer dress and teetering on stiletto heels. She looked like she belonged in a penthouse, not a tin-roofed shack.

The sink was crammed with dishes, the air sour and stale. She wasn't the radiant Janet anymore. Just a lonely, unkempt old woman who couldn't manage on her own. Gray streaks took over her hair. Her clothes hadn't been washed in forever. Yesterday, the electricity shut off. That night, every other apartment glowed. Hers stayed dark. She stood there realizing she had no clue how to top up the utility card. In the pitch-black apartment, she felt her way to the bedroom and slammed into the wardrobe. Only after Harlan disappeared did it hit her—order didn't happen by magic. A clean, quiet home took work. Constant work.

“Yeahhh, very much acceptable.” He then gave her space to come fully into the house. His living room looked lived-in, with books stacked on the coffee table, and a blanket bunched on the couch, a mug with coffee rings on the side table, and all the signs of solitary comfort. “This is insane,” Grace said. “I just…I came here to tell you and now we’re…we just….” She pressed her free hand to her sternum, feeling her heartbeat through her shirt. “I’m literally shaking. Feel this.”

She would usually do it herself but now that she wasn't here, Anthony felt lost. He decided to distract himself from thinking about her by watching some TV, but it got boring real soon. "Mr. DeMarco, sorry to bother you again." It was the housekeeper again. Anthony looked at her. "You are not bothering me. Is there something wrong?" he asked. "No sir, nothing is wrong. I just found this book lying on the ground. I figured it could be something important, so I thought I would give this to you," she said and handed him a red leather-bound book that looked like a journal.