Page 28 of Hawthorne

If Primrose hadn’t barked, reminding me of my responsibilities, I probably would have let him kiss me.

Or worse, I would have kissed him.

I need to focus on my job and keep my distance.Maybe I should start looking for an internship in the area I studied for instead of holding onto this house as if I were part of it.

By staying here, the inevitable will happen, and that will only bring the both of us misery. We may live in the same house, but we’re worlds apart.

New job it is!

“Camilla?” one of the maids’ voices snaps me out of my trance.

“Yes, Louise?”

“The duke asked for you to meet him in his office.”

“Oh…”

No. I can’t face him.

“As soon as I get this done, I’ll head up,” I lie. “Thank you.”

“Ahm,” she hesitates, looking around us for a moment before focusing back on me. “He said ‘now’ with this terrifying face and vexed voice. I’d go right away if I were you. He seems angry with something.”

“Of course,” I sigh. “Thank you for letting me know Louise.”

Looking at her retreating figure does nothing to appease my frantic heart. That I was avoiding him was pretty obvious. I know it, and apparently, the duke does, too.

Why must he be so adamant to not just...let me be?

Regardless of my wishes, Vincent Hawthorne is the boss, and I shall do as he wishes. So, what I was doing is left halfway through, as I make my way through the ground floor towards the staircase onto the noble floor.

The office is on the east wing, quite secluded from the hustle of the staff. There, I knock lightly on the wooden door.

“Come in.”

“Your Grace,” I greet him when I reach the front of his desk.

“Camilla.” His eyes lock with mine, and I swear my knees buckle at the intensity of his staring and voice. “There’s mail for you.”

“Mail?” I frown. “There was no mail for me this morning. I didn’t—”

“Not that kind of mail. There was a letter from my aunt on my desk yesterday, and inside, there was another one for you. Here,” he drags it across the desk towards me. “It’s still closed.”

What?

“What? Why?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders, grabbing the paper that was on his hand before. “You have to open it to know.”

Funny.He seems to be in a mood.

Accepting the letter, I bow. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The fragile paper burns my hands, bringing some anxiety to my chest.

These are the last words she left me.

I don’t think I am ready to see them. To read them.

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