Page 62 of Hawthorne

“Enough,” I snap. “That’ll be all. Thank you, Camilla.”

She finally looks at me, and our gazes linger on each other for a little too long. Ever since we’ve gone back to how things were—even if they’re not the same at all—she’s been like this. Quiet and crestfallen.

It’s all the other staff members talk about. The bright, nice housekeeper is not as she used to be. Camilla may avoid me as much as she wants, but word travels fast, and these walls have bigger ears than I’d ever thought.

And I hate it, knowing I could be the reason for that.

“Yes, Your Grace.” She bows and starts to turn around but stops when Eleanor’s words reverberate through the division.

“Uh, where’s the milk?” Eleanor chimes in.

“Oh, I forgot to bring it because the duke and his family never want it. Do you need me to fetch it?” Camilla asks, seemingly ready to oblige to Eleanor’s whim.

“Almond, please,” she adds coldly in stark contrast to the warm welcome she’s just given me.

“Of course. I’ll be right back with it.”

As soon as she is out of sight, my mother quickly steers the conversation into her interests, and that’s the latest gossip being shared like wildfire through the country. I quickly zone out after I hear the words “bastard child”, thinking of Camilla instead.

“Brother,” Edgar starts, giving me a much-needed exit from either having to listen to our mother or obsessing over Camilla. “Tell me more about the wine, then.”

I focus on that and start explaining to him. A few minutes later, Camilla knocks and enters with Eleanor’s requested milk.

“Would you like me to pour it?”

“Uh.” She chuckles sarcastically. “Do I look like a maid to you?” Eleanor snarks.

“That’s not—”

“Of course not,” Camilla mutters, cutting me off. “Let me know when it’s enough.”

She pours it, and Eleanor keeps quiet, watching it until it goes more than halfway, and I can’t help but say “enough” in her stead. It’s happened in the past, and quite often, Eleanor would let the waiters overdo it just to spite them and force them to serve her all over again.

“Oh, my darling, you still know how I like it.” Eleanor turns to me with a radiant expression, almost as if I said I loved her just by telling my maid to stop pouring milk.

Go figure.

Edgar stifles a laugh with a cough. I elbow him and look at Camilla apologetically, trying to make her understand. But it’s too late. The wheels behind her eyes are turning, and as the realization sets in her brain, her bottom lip trembles, and she looks away immediately, putting everything back onto the tray.

For fuck’s sake.

“My Vincent is such a dedicated fiancé, isn’t he?” my mother chimes in, meddling even more with the situation.

She has this sweet tone in her voice, but it somehow feels like it’s pouring the deadliest poison instead.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Edgar mutters right next to me, seeing the exact thing I see in Camilla’s heartbroken expression. All I can do is sigh before dropping my head to my hands.

Still, she powers through her stutters and trembling voice, asking, “Is everything to your liking?”

My hands itch, fighting the urge to hold her and explain everything,

“Yes, darling,” Edgar reassures. “Thank you so much.”

“Great,” she mutters. “I have a few errands the duke needed me to attend to today. So, I’ll leave Mariah with you for the rest of your visit if that’s alright. I wish you a lovely evening.”

“Oh, finally. Au revoir.” The wicked smile on Mother’s face is sickening, angering me even more.

As Camilla leaves, Edgar turns to me and whispers in my ear, “Can I go check on her?”

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