For the past fortnight, you’ve barely touched your food—have you gone and fallen in love, Emma? Anna, the housekeeper, asked with a knowing glance.
—Suppose I have, admitted Emma, pushing her breakfast around the plate. There’s this boy in my year at university—Oliver. He’s lovely, but he barely glances my way. I don’t know how to make him notice me.
—Don’t you go chasing after him, dear. In my day, girls didn’t—
—Oh, Auntie Anna, not that old song again! Things are different now, Emma interrupted, grabbing her bag. I’ve got to dash, or Professor Hardcastle will lock me out of his lecture.
—Off you go then, Anna sighed, crossing her as she hurried out.
Emma had grown up in comfort, never wanting for anything. Anna, her mother’s elder sister, had raised her with firm kindness. The adults called her Annie, but to Emma, she was always Auntie Anna.
Annie had her own sorrows. Married young in the countryside to a hard-working man named Fred, she’d lost him barely a year later—vanished in the marshlands where he worked. They never found him. Grief nearly drove her to a convent.
—What sort of nun would I make? she’d scoffed. I’m too young to mind my tongue. So she stayed, until her younger sister Kate—Emma’s mother—invited her to London.
—Annie, come live with us. We’ve a big house now, and someone needs to look after Emma while we’re at work.
—Gladly, Annie had said. This village is draining the life from me.
So she’d moved in, calling herself the housekeeper. She cooked, gardened, and doted on Emma, teaching her life’s hard truths between batches of scones.
—Learn to cook, love. A woman’s best weapon is a good meal. Put your heart into it, and you’ll have a man wrapped around your finger.
Emma had laughed. —And you’ve got secrets, haven’t you?
—Course I have.
Then came Oliver—tall, handsome, from a modest background. Emma thought he didn’t notice her, but he did. Everyone at uni knew she came from money.
One evening, Emma burst in, grinning. —He bought me ice cream today!
—Clever lad, Annie mused. Knows how to sweeten a girl. What next?
—We’re dating!
—Bring him round, then. I’ll tell you if he’s worth your time.
When Oliver finally visited, Annie watched him closely. After he left, Emma pressed her. —Well? Isn’t he perfect?
—Handsome, yes, Annie said carefully. But his eyes gleamed like a magpie’s when he saw this house. He’s not for you.
Emma huffed. —Since when are you the expert?
Four months later, Emma’s gold ring vanished. Only Oliver had been in the house.
—Told you, Annie said grimly. Report him.
—No. It stays between us.
When Emma confronted Oliver, he spat back, —You’re off your head! Why would I want your trinkets?
That was the end of that.
Then came Roman—charming, generous, showering her with theatre tickets and roses. But Annie’s verdict was swift. —He’s shifty. Watch him.
Emma dismissed her—until she overheard Roman on the phone: —Wait till you see that house. She’s alone now, just that old woman. I’ll propose quick and take control.
She fled, sobbing into Annie’s arms. —Why can’t anyone love me for me?
—They can, love. Next time, don’t let them see the money.
Years passed. Emma graduated, working under her father’s old friend, Stephen Barrett. There, she met Sebastian—quiet, brilliant, blushing whenever they spoke.
One day, he stammered, —Fancy dinner sometime?
—I’d love that.
Sebastian knew only that her parents were gone. When he took her to meet his mother, Margaret, the woman clasped her hands. —You’re just what Sebastian needs. Not like these spoiled girls today.
At last, Emma brought him home. His eyes widened at the manor, but he said nothing, presenting Annie with flowers and treating her like family.
—He’s the one, Annie whispered later. Decent through and through.
They married. Stephen, glad to see his late friend’s daughter happy, groomed Sebastian to take over his firm.
Now, at forty-two, Emma watches their twin boys play in the garden. Annie, though frail, still fusses over her roses. And Sebastian—now finance director—earns Stephen’s full trust.
—One day, this’ll all be his, Stephen thinks. He’s earned it.
And Emma, finally, is loved—not for her wealth, but for herself.
