Page 91 of Unwritten Rules

“They all are, my dear. Hawthornes are nothing if not sticklers for rules – or have you not realised that yet?”

Giggling, I nod in agreement and follow as he begins to walk away, presumably in the direction of these graves he’s mentioned. It takes no more than a minute before he’s leading me into a sheltered grove with headstones dotted here and there, but the only one that’s in any way maintained is Nate’s mother’s grave.

Dropping to his knees, Wetherby lays his bouquet on her grave and whispers something that I can’t quite make out before he stands and faces me with a big smile on his kind face.

“I think she’d have liked you. You remind me of her. Stubborn and fearless, with a caring side that’s unparalleled. She was the most amazing mother…”

He trails off. “Ana would have loved to have had more children, you know. Her greatest sadness was in not being able to give Nathaniel any siblings. She hated the idea of him being an only child as she had been.”

“Ah, well, she would have been delighted to see he’s found his brother in Henry. And Caden, of course.”

Wetherby snorts gently. “Oh, the inimitable Mr North. How is that boy these days?”

“He’s married, with a gorgeous little girl.”

“Did he finally find the illusive Miss St James, then?”

I tilt my head to the side questioningly. “Who? His wife is Layla, and I’m almost sure her maiden name wasn’t St James.”

He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “Pardon me. Old age must be making me more addled than I’d thought.” He nods at the bowl in my hand, distracting me from the strange questions rattling around in my head.

“Are you planning on an apple tart? Those are my favourite.” His eyes twinkle with that mischievousness I’m coming to relate to my new friend.

Wetherby winks, and I smile brightly in answer. “Actually, no. I’m going to bake my Nonna’s recipe for torta di mele, which is similar to apple tart, but it’s so much nicer.”

“Well…” Wetherby extends his arm for me, reminding me of Nate. “Let’s see what Monique has in the way of ingredients, shall we?”

When we make our way back to the kitchen, Johanna and Lesley have joined Monique, and once the trio hear of my plans, they’re all on board. Our fivesome spends several happy hours baking, drinking tea, and chatting about the estate before I realise I’ve left myself short on time to get ready for the Centennial Ball.

“Oh, no.” I jump to my feet, almost knocking Wetherby’s tea from his hand. “I’m going to be late.” I speed-walk to the door, spinning back around at the last second. “Thank you all for a wonderful afternoon. I’ve had the most amazing time.”

Four faces smile back at me, and Lesley stands. “May I be of any assistance, Mila?”

Wetherby nods enthusiastically, setting his teacup down with a clatter as Johanna speaks up. “Oh, yes, my Lesley was the lady’s maid for the gold-digger—”

She pulls up short, her cheeks flaming bright red as Wetherby hoots with laughter from his perch beside her. “You’ve hit the nail on the head with that one, my dear.”

“I beg your pardon. You must think I’m so rude.” Johanna’s distraught eyes find mine, and I grin.

“I think she’s a gold-digging whore, so, yeah. You’re kinder than I, at least.”

Once the giggles have died down, I take Lesley up on her offer and, as though by magic, I’m ready and waiting for Phillippe a scant forty minutes later.

Lesley was a godsend, expertly manipulating my hair into a sleek style sat upon my nape with a middle parting. My perfect dress feels even more perfect as the silver fabric glides around my legs, and I’m very grateful for the freedom of movement allowed by the thigh-high slit.

I’ve kept my makeup minimal, as my usual preference. My eyes are highlighted with a natural pinkish hue, lined with black kohl and several coats of mascara over my long lashes. And my lips are covered in a dark pink lipstick with a matte finish that Josie insisted I needed on our shopping trip, and I agree.

I love it. My lips look fuller and beg to be kissed.

Phillippe pulls his usual black Bentley around the front of the house just as I step into the foyer. Wetherby is by the door, smiling broadly.

“You are stunning, my dear. Although, may I say, there’s one thing lacking…”

My eyes blow wide, wondering what he could be referring to when he pulls a pair of long, sparkling diamond earrings from his pocket.

“May I?”

I try unsuccessfully to stifle the cheesy grin that stretches across my face and nod in acceptance as I knock back and forth on my silver heels in eagerness to wear such beautiful pieces of jewellery.