Lion of Caledonia: International Billionaires VII: The Scots Read Free

followed Mrs. Rivers out the door into the vast hall.
    “Well, he’s found another one, I see. You’re younger than the others.” The woman wore a serviceable grey jumper matched with a darker-grey skirt. Her silver hair was cut short, highlighting the myriad wrinkles circling her vacant blue eyes. “You can call me Mrs. Rivers.”
    “Um.” Another one? Had Mr. Steward run through a whole slew of transcribers before her? Not that she cared; she wasn’t here to keep a job. Yet, the way the woman looked her over gave her the willies. A cold draft of air drifted along the intricately-designed parquet floor, sending a shiver up her legs. She tried to distract herself by glancing down the hallway the woman led her into.
    The chill in her gut intensified.
    The great hall of this massive mansion should have been glorious. The arched ceiling soared above their heads, held up by elegant marble columns. From where she stood, Jen counted four magnificent stone fireplaces. Panels of oak lined the walls, interspersed with ancient suits of armor and old medieval shields and huge threatening pikes. Dotting the hall were a series of velveteen sofas and elaborately carved chairs and tables. An immense Steinway grand piano stood in solitary splendor at the end of the hall.
    The lot of it gave the impression that it all might crumble into dust if a crisp Scottish wind ran through the room.
    “You’ll be wanting to gather your luggage.” Mrs. Rivers stuck her hands in her pockets, making it clear she wouldn’t be helping.
    Jen obediently glanced around and spotted her one small suitcase nudged into a corner by the double front doors. Her grandfather had been so sure she’d get this job, she’d decided to pack and bring everything she needed for the few days she’d be here. Why go to the hassle and expense to take the train all the way back to London?
    “Go on.” The older woman gave her an imperious look. “I’ve got things to do.”
    Shuffling to her luggage, she gave herself a wry grimace. She’d been so focused on the coming interview when she’d arrived, she’d barely taken in anything. Ushered into the library so quickly, she hadn’t had time to take in details of the house or this woman. The only thing she’d had time to do was hand over her case and step into Mr. Steward’s lair.
    Now, the reality seeped in. This place was strange and so was the housekeeper.
    “Well, come then.” The woman marched off down the long line of dusty Persian rugs. Jen snatched up her luggage and scrambled to keep pace.
    “I’m the housekeeper here.” The silver head bobbed in front of her as the words wafted back. “I’ve put you on the third floor so you’ll be away from the noise.”
    The noise?
    Like the roar of her new employer?
    Clutching her coat and purse, she dragged her case behind. The rollers kept getting stuck on the tassels of the rugs and she wondered if tugging some fringe off one of these antiques might lead to her immediate dismissal.
    But no. Clearly, Mrs. Rivers was not much of a housekeeper. The likelihood of her noticing a missing heirloom, much less a missing tuft, was small.
    Good. Fulfilling her grandfather’s wish appeared to be getting easier and easier.
    A thick ridge of dust lay on the maple wood of the piano. Each of the statues and suits of armor she passed looked like they needed a good wash. From afar, the velveteen sofas appeared impressive. Up close, she decided if she sat on any of them, she’d be consumed in a cloud of dirt.
    “This is the drawing room.” Mrs. Rivers swung two massive oak doors open to another huge room.
    Drawing room? Who in this day and age had a drawing room?
    At the woman’s impatient wave, she dutifully stuck her head in. The walls were covered in a deep-green tapestry, sporting colorful birds and a weave of plants. Floor-length satin curtains draped to the floor, muting the light falling on a mishmash of antique tables and bookcases—all as dusty as their