Page 90 of Unwritten Rules

His face is lined but not with age – or at least, not age alone. Deep-seated lines crease the edges of his mouth, and I immediately know them to be laugh lines, confirmed by the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

He extends his hand, which I grip and pump up and down, a smile spreading contagiously across my entire face.

“Hi, I’m Mila.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mila. They call me Wetherby. I’m the butler. You would have missed me when you were here previously.”

He moves alongside me, extending his arm in that familiar gentlemanly way his employer does that warms my chest.

“Will Nathaniel be returning tonight?” I take his offered arm, and he leads me into the house, Roland and Phillippe carefully carting my luggage to Nate’s bedroom.

“No, Mila. He’s been there since Sunday for the festivities associated with these godawful centennial celebrations before the unveiling of Hawthorne Hall. The poor boy believes it’s his damn duty to uphold the name and all that.”

Having reached the settee in the formal drawing room, he gestures for me to sit and takes the seat opposite. “Forgive me for my candour. Old age and illness have loosened this tongue from its once-tied state.”

I chuckle. “Please – continue. I’m enjoying this insight immensely.”

Johanna enters the room, pushing a tea-service cart, the epitome of a well-oiled household. She pours the tea, smiles brightly when I catch her eye, then leaves without a word.

Wetherby picks up his teacup and settles back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other while taking me in, taking my measure.

I arch a brow questioningly, and he takes a small sip of his tea, a smile growing in his eyes.

“Why, I do believe this to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Mila.”

* * *

Following a long, highly entertaining chat with Wetherby, where he’d made me laugh with stories like the time Nate put ink in his father’s evening tea, earning him a bare-assed spanking that he took with a smile on his face, I’d had no problem drifting off to sleep, snuggling my Mitzi.

Nate’s bed didn’t smell like him, as the staff had changed the sheets since his departure, but I made sure to douse myself in his aftershave to ward off any potential nightmares.

Luckily, I’ve not had any since meeting little Sebastian, but I’m not such a fool as to think they’ve gone for good. I’ve come to terms with having them for the remainder of my life. It’s a small price to pay for what I’ve done – and to see my brother be happy and healthy with a son of his own now, well, it’s worth the cost a thousand times.

The ball at Hawthorne House begins at 7 p.m., so the first thing I do after breakfast is organise with Phillippe to leave an hour prior, just in case of any mishaps.

Nothing will go wrong. Tonight will be perfect.

I’m playing my perfect scenario over and over again on a loop inside my mind, manifesting how things will go and not even entertaining any of the negative thoughts that are knocking to get in.

It will be perfect.

Needing to kill some time, I grab a large bowl and slip out the back door, heading straight for the orchard. I’d been meaning to visit this little gem since I’d first arrived, but between one thing and another, I’d never gotten around to it.

I make short work of picking some beautiful red apples, the inimitable smell of apple blossom filling the air around me whilst birds chirp in their nests and the wind blows lightly across my skin.

Finding a break in the canopy of apple trees, I raise my face to the sun, drinking in her warmth and allowing myself to feel utterly at peace.

Completely at home.

“She loved it here too, you know.”

I’m startled from my thoughts by the sound of Wetherby approaching, a bouquet of apple blossoms clasped in his hands.

“Who’s that?”

“Ana – or I should say, the late Lady Hawthorne. The orchard was her sanctuary.” He pauses for a moment and then continues. “Have you visited her grave?”

I scrunch up my face. “Nate’s mum is buried here?”