The Secret Life Of Mrs Beeton Novels & Stories

Nothing fancy—just a start. And it was enough. The night air was cooler than usual, and the soft hum of Becca’s air diffuser filled the quiet house. Everything looked spotless—she made sure of that. The living room smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and she even brought out that glass dish she never lets anyone touch, just to serve the damn sauce.

Not even a single percent. Just when she thought she was done with her work and going to go wash her hands, "Baby, your meal." Madam Martha, the eldest housekeeper, also known as her godmother, strolled inside her quarter with a trolley of her food. As soon as she inhaled the air and the aromatic scent of hyacinth, and noticed two bags kept before the closet, her face fell. "What is this?" She let the handle of the trolley go and stood to her full height.

That was where The Newshounds thrived, in the shaded spaces between the normal, mysterious and the fantastic. “I do feel bad that it makes you feel useless,” Beatrice continued. “I thought that was my job.” She chuckled at her own joke as she prepped to cream the potatoes. “You’re a better chef than you are a comedian, Beecham,” Lucas said. “And I can’t think of anyone else who needs to keep their distance when I have sharp, pointy things in my hand, Walker.” She laughed. Almost on cue, her brother’s voice came from the doorway. “Mum wants to know when dinner’s ready?”

SERENA’S POV “Beckett Mistress Speaks Out; Claims abuse and starvation inside the Beckett Mansion!” “Serena knew her husband was cheating? Eliot Beckett had a mistress, a pregnant one? And then they’re all living under the same roof, like one big happy family. This is a soap opera!” “Is Serena Beckett a Style icon or Silent Tyrant? Which one?” “LOL, this Beckett Marriage was a lie! So this Serena lady is barren? She can’t have kids? Why??”

Trust me, it wasn't an easy task for me and I had several sleepless nights, hoping to find a better version of myself. What I have learned so far about life is that it can be a mess but you should gather your mess and make it something tangible. “Dora, what is the schedule today?” I asked, clutching my phone to my ears as I listened to my assistant, giving me information about my task for the day. Believe me, when I say this, I have never dreamt of having this kind of life. 'A beautiful house with my handsome 5-year-old son and a work of my own.’

I know that it's not going to work and I'm saving myself from possible heartbreak. Rowan lives a fast paced life and I don't think that I'll be able to keep up with him. Even as his secretary, keeping up with him is already hard enough. How'll I manage being his permanent wife? Wait a second, who said anything about being his permanent wife? I'm definitely out of it. That's the only explanation. I ignore all other Matilda advises for the rest of the day until time for lunch rolls in. I'm already spent. As I walk to the lunch hall, all eyes are on me and everyone seems more formal than usual.

“You know, my wife has that same condition. She has a cure for it, though. It's called whiskey.” I couldn't help but laugh at that one. “I'd hate to intrude on your evening,” I said, looking toward Carter once again. “I mean, I really appreciate the offer, but I...” Henry interrupted me. “Not if's, and's, or but's, Missy. You and Mr. Winthrow here will be accompanying me and my wife to dinner. That's final.” Carter gazed toward me and slowly nodded. He mouthed the words “come with”. His wish was my command.

And that’s a little too much to be divulging to my babysitter. “Well, something tells me he’s going to take one look at you in that dress tonight and lose his mind.” I smiled. She was giving me a false hope I didn’t need right now. On that note, I kissed Sunny goodbye and made my way out. Mrs. Winsbanger opened her door just as I headed down the hall. That was a rarity. She never opened the door, only spied. She wore a floral house dress and fur hat. I don’t know if she constantly had a head cold or what, but the fur cap was apparently part of her standard attire. It certainly didn’t make sense for the middle of summer. She was probably in her mid-seventies and couldn’t have been more than f

Samantha stared at me as if I had suddenly grown two heads before shaking her own. “Buying baby clothes there is fine but you, Mrs. Williams…” She trailed off, us walking into a clothing shop. “Hi Brooke, this is Mrs. Williams.” She wiggled her eyebrows, “We need everything, they just moved in at the hill house.” Brooke’s eyes went wide, “The hill house, mmhh, say nothing more. We just received stock.” And together they began picking out things and throwing them into the cart. I did not even have the heart to keep stating that I could not afford much. Any protest I put up fell on deaf ears. Soon I found myself pushed to a fitting room.

For her own safety, it was crucial that our marriage remained a secret, it was the only way that she could go to college and finish her education without being targeted. "I'm sorry, Heather, but from now henceforth you're no longer my wife.”