But it wasn’t home. Not that he’d ever felt at home in his father’s house to be honest, but over the years, he’d grown used to his father’s decorations. Here, there were no paintings hanging on the wall, no knick-knacks on the mantel or the tables.
Shaking his head, Max set down his bag and stepped back into the foyer, then crossed into the dining room. Had he really expected the builder to personalize the house as well?
That’s your problem.
And it was a problem, because the more he saw of his new house, the more he could imagine it personalized. Not with his things—because, despite the shopping sprees Roland had forced upon him, Max’s clothes could still fit in two suitcases—but with hers. He could imagine a sewing kit tucked there, beside the chair, or a colorful painting which had caught her eye sitting on the mantel. He could imagine the fancy china plates she’d picked out sitting in that cabinet, and a painting of the two of them hanging along that wall.
And the her he was imagining—the woman standing beside him in that painting—was Ember.
Was he crazy? He’d known her for such a short time, but he could absolutely imagine sharing his home with her.
Sharing his life with her.
He picked up his second suitcase and began to climb the stairs to the next floor. The house’s design rivaled his father’s in terms of quality, but it was nothing like Newfincy Castle.
Snorting softly, he stepped into the first bedroom. Imagine, someone like him knowing what the inside of a castle looked like! He was a simple man, and he knew this house was too fancy for him alone. Why, this bedroom was finer than the room he’d stayed in at the inn, which had been part of the ancient manor house!
He dropped the suitcase near the bed, knowing he’d have to hang up the suits so they wouldn’t wrinkle too badly, and wandered across the hall. This bedroom was smaller, and would be ideal for a nursery—
A nursery?
Max blew out a breath.
He was thinking about babies? With…with Ember?
No, you’re thinking about a life with Ember.
Ember, the serving lass he’d only just met. Ember, the lady he’d danced with at the ball. Ember, the woman he’d almost taken against the workbench at Oliphant Engraving.
Ember, the woman he loved.
Well, shit.
Max scrubbed a hand over his face while he muttered to himself.
He loved her?
Yes, by god, he sure did. He loved her!
So what are you going to do about it, idiot?
The way he’d left things with her…
She’d been crying. He’d made her cry. He hadn’t purposefully hidden his identity from her or anything, but she’d been right to have been hurt by the confusion. Now that he realized how much she was relying on impressing “Mr. DeVille,” he could see why she’d been so upset.
He needed to figure out how to make it better. How to convince her he wasn’t a bad guy. How to make her see how much he needed her in his life.
“I’m going to need some help,” he muttered.
Luckily, he had an idea of who to ask.
“Mr. DeVille?” A call came from downstairs. “Is that ye up there?”
Max stuck his head out the door. At the bottom of the steps stood a plump older woman; her gray hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing an apron and grinning, her hands on her hips.
“Welcome home, Mr. DeVille! I’m Mrs. Oliphant.”
Already trotting down the steps, Max muttered, “Of course you are,” but offered the woman his hand and a welcoming smile.
She shook it enthusiastically. “Grisel Oliphant, at yer service, sir! I heard ye were in need of a housekeeper, so I took the liberty of applying, then hiring myself. I’m a hard worker, and I think ye’ll find I make the best bloody beef-and-potatoes in all the Highlands.”
“And…is that a regional treat?” He was trying for diplomacy. “I prefer my beef cooked a little past bloody—”
“Bless ye, sir!” She laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. “The beef isnae bloody! Imagine that!” Still laughing, she shook her head. “Americans. Complete idiots apparently.” She hurried on, as if she hadn’t just insulted him, good-naturedly though it may have been. “Would ye like some tea? I can set it up in the parlor if ye like. Or were ye heading out again? I’ve no’ begun fixing supper, but I will; just say the word, sir.”
“Um…actually, I don’t think you have to make anything fancy for me.” After all, it wasn’t as if he had guests. It would be odd to dine all by himself in this big house, especially after the weeks he’d spent at the inn and dining at the castle. “You hired yourself, you said?”
“Och, aye. I’m the best bloody applicant ye’ll ever get! I’m a decent cleaner, I cook like a goddess, and my tea-making ceremony is a treat! I dinnae do laundry, but I’ll take it into town for ye, where one of the lassies will do it for ye.”
Well…she sounded ideal, although Max wasn’t certain he’d get used to her “bloody” language.
She was still beaming as she continued, “But the fact of the matter is, I’m the only applicant ye’ve gotten.”
He hummed. “And who was in charge of spreading the word and collecting the applications?” He hadn’t even thought about it yet.
“Me!” she said cheerfully. “That’s why I kenned I was the best.”
Well, he couldn’t fault her reasoning, and she was showing quite an initiative. No reason to borrow trouble, at least not until she proved he’d made a mistake trusting her ability to hire his help. “Well, Mrs. Oliphant, welcome aboard.”
“Bless ye, sir. Call me Grisel!”
“Yes, Grisel.” He cocked
