Page 2 of Hawthorne

With a small curtsy, I walk away, heading to where Mariah holds a tray full of drinks. That’s when the butler waves from the main door, and I rush, just in time to see a long limousine park right across from the entrance, signalling the arrival of the most important noble family in the kingdom—only second to the king himself.

The black door from the back of the vehicle opens, and the axis of my world stops, turning upside down. This invisible force takes over my body and keeps my attention on the tall, muscular man stepping out.

His short sandy-brown hair is slicked back, a trimmed shadow of beard covers his sharp jaw, and an all-black suit sits perfectly on his body.

Piercing dark irises lock on mine, and a shiver runs down my spine upon the eye contact.

Hypnotised. Enthralled.

It couldn’t be any other way with the currentDuke of Hawthorne.

His eyebrows frown ever so slightly, inciting butterflies and memories buried in my subconscious for almost a decade.

But yet, I don’t waver. Dazed and lost in his handsomeness, with a wild heartbeat inside me.

Vincent Hawthorne, Elizabeth’s oldest nephew.

A long time ago, when the tragedy of the world we live in hadn’t affected us yet, as kids, he often visited Mrs Elizabeth with his father, the late duke. And despite my…humble origins, they always allowed us to spend some time together and play outside.

Even though he was five years older than me, he always wanted to play and do most of my bidding. For me, a lonely kid in this huge property, his visits were the highlight of my days.

But when he turned fifteen, the visits suddenly stopped. I later came to understand he was sent to boarding school, and university quickly followed.

I haven’t seen him in years.

He’s no longer the scrawny, nerdy kid I used to know. Opposite me slowly climbing up the stairs with his mother’s arm wrapped around his elbow, an imposing, confident man approaches.

A few steps away from me, the duchess, Sarah Byron the duke’s mother, clears their throat, and to avoid unnecessary awkwardness, I curtsey and start my rehearsed welcome speech, “Welcome, Your Graces. I’m grieved that we meet in such circumstances, but I am also grateful for your presence. It would mean the world to Mrs Hawthorne.”

That’s only when I finally straighten and offer them a small smile.

“She sure taught you well,” the duchess chimes in.

“Thank you,” I mumble and step to the side, letting them in.

As they step forward inside the house, Vincent’s eyes linger on me until he can no longer look without being noticed, and I do the same.

The intensity affects me, making my hands sweaty and my legs feel like jelly, but I try my best to shrug it off by looking away to close the doors behind them.

That’s when I see a man standing behind them both, awfully similar to Vincent but with a lightness that the first doesn’t have—and never did.

He must be Edgar Hawthorne.

“Hello there.” He smirks as if he’s in on a secret no one else knows.

“Your G-grace,” I stammer before bowing my head, feeling like a kid who has been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Not wasting any more time with me, he follows in their footsteps. As the three of them make their presence known, the light chatter dies down.

Duchess Sarah Byron lets go of her son’s arm, and he steadily walks up to the little memorial I prepared with his aunt’s portrait.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. Even though it’s a sad day, we’re here to celebrate Elizabeth Hawthorne’s life, and she’d be delighted to know that all of you are here to celebrate her memory and pay their respects.”

The duke’s words carry easily to all corners of the room. He’s not loud, but he’s strong and sure of himself, emanating dominance through every part of him. Especially his voice. So much so that I feel its vibrations on my own body, making my stomach somersault and my heart rate quicken.

In an attempt to not let myself get roped into weird and random feelings, I keep myself busy, ensuring everything runs smoothly as the memorial is now in full swing with the presence of the guests of honour.

Just as I finish fixing one of the buffet’s tables, I notice a stomp from the corner of my eye, just in time to see Eleanor Courtenay,the duke’s ex-girlfriend, flipping a tray full of champagne to the ground.

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