Page 14 of Moonlit Thorns

His eyes fill with what I think is sadness. “Best just to heed my word on that.”

A minute later, we’re back inside the manor. The air is definitely thicker in here. Marcel leads us, and it only takes me about a minute before I lose my bearings again. Great.

He leads me down one of the smaller hallways and knocks on a partially open door. A man sitting at a desk with his back to us and typing on a computer, spins around in his seat. When he spots Marcel, a huge smile instantly transforms his handsome face. The moment Finn sees me, he schools his expression and stands.

I’d guess he’s probably in his early forties with cropped blond hair and blue eyes. He’s tall and on the slender side, and there’s a deep dimple in his cheek when he smiles. There’s a boyish quality about him.

“I see what you meant about being dreamy,” I say under my breath so only Marcel can hear me.

“Told you,” he says back, pride filling his voice. “Finn, this is Anabelle. Asher has brought her on to work for him, but he wants her in housekeeping until he says different.”

It sounds weird to hear him refer to the eldest Voss as Asher, though I suppose with there being four brothers, simply saying Mr. Voss wouldn’t do.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Finn steps forward with his hand out, and I shake it. “Do you have any experience in housekeeping?”

My cheeks heat. I’m starting to think I probably won’t have any experience in anything I’m going to do here. “No, sorry.”

He lets my hand go and glances at Marcel. “That’s okay. We can always use an extra set of hands. I’m happy to show you how to do things.”

“I appreciate that.” A little of my anxiety eases. Asher Voss might be a prick, but so far everyone who works here isn’t.

“I’ll leave you two to it. If you need anything, Anabelle, let me know.” Marcel gives Finn a long, heated look before leaving.

Finn stares after him for a beat before shaking his head and returning his attention to me. “Just let me respond to a few things in my email, then we’ll get started.”

I nod and sit in a cushioned chair in the corner of the somewhat messy office. This is not what I want to be doing with my life.

But that doesn’t matter. I just have to make it fifty-two weeks.

Three hundred sixty-five days.

Eight thousand, seven hundred, sixty hours.

I can do this.

Chapter

Seven

ANABELLE

The first three weeks pass in a blur and are filled with scrubbing, wiping, mopping, and every other sort of domestic labor. By the end of each day, I’m exhausted and want nothing more than the barren room and uncomfortable bed I’ve been assigned.

I always thought I was in decent shape, but it’s clear to me that jogging and the occasional gym visit haven’t prepared me for ten-to-twelve-hour days of hard, physical work.

The fatigue has been a blessing, though. It doesn’t give me much time at night to dwell on all I’m missing outside these walls. I’m not lying awake wondering if my mother is all right, thinking about how my brother is coping with running the estate on his own.

Every Saturday evening, though, as soon as I’m finished with work, I rush home to check on everyone. So far, nothing has changed with my mother. My grandmother is still as uneasy with the arrangement as she was in the first place, and my brother is keeping a good handle on things with the estate.

As of this week, I’ve been moved to work under Mrs. Potter, who is in charge of the kitchens and the serving staff. She’s a delightful, no-nonsense Englishwoman I’m guessing is in her midfifties, and her husband works for the Voss family on the estate grounds. Her hair is graying at the temples, and she’s round around the middle. Though she can be stern at times, I take an immediate liking to her, the way I did with Marcel.

My first couple of days are spent in the kitchen, learning some of what they do and helping to prepare the meals. Mostly prep work, but I prefer it over the work I was doing for the past few weeks.

When I walk into the kitchen today, I head over to the hooks on one wall where the aprons hang and take one down, pulling the loop over my head. “Morning, everyone.”

“You won’t need that today, love,” Mrs. Potter says.

My forehead wrinkles. “Am I going back to work under Finn?”

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