Perhaps, He isn't so bad..

The rest of the morning passed in a blur, though my thoughts refused to leave the library.

No matter how hard I tried to focus on polishing banisters or folding linens, my mind kept wandering back to Master Hawthorne. More specifically, to the expression on his face after he took the journal from my hands.

It hadn't just been anger.

If anything, anger would have been easier to understand.

Instead, I'd seen grief.

The kind that sits behind someone's eyes for so long that they begin to mistake it for part of themselves.

I sighed quietly as I tucked the last fresh towel into a guest room wardrobe.

"Catherine?" Agnes' voice drifted in from the hallway.

"I'm in here."

She leaned against the doorway, carrying a basket of vegetables under one arm. "Finished already?"

"I think so."

She glanced around the room before giving an approving nod. "You've got a good eye."

I smiled. "Thank you."

She studied me for another moment before her expression softened. "Something's bothering you."

I hesitated. "I met Master Hawthorne."

"I figured."

"...Is he always like that?"

Agnes let out a long breath. "Quiet?"

"I was going to say intimidating."

She chuckled. "That too."

I stepped into the hallway beside her. "He isn't what people in town said."

"No?"

"They made him sound cruel."

Agnes shook her head. "Cruel people enjoy hurting others."

She looked toward one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens.

"Master Kent mostly hurts himself."

I frowned. "What happened to him?"

Her expression changed immediately.

Not frightened. Just... careful.

"That isn't my story to tell."

I nodded, embarrassed I'd asked. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." She offered me a small smile.

"Just be patient."

Before I could ask what she meant, the familiar clicking of polished shoes echoed through the corridor.

Mr. Vance.

Agnes immediately straightened her apron.

"So," the steward said smoothly, "I trust the afternoon's work is progressing well."

"Yes, sir," I answered.

His dark eyes rested on me for a moment. "I also trust there have been no further... incidents involving private property."

Heat rushed into my cheeks. "No, sir."

"Excellent."

Without another word, he continued down the corridor.

Agnes waited until he disappeared around the corner. "I swear that man hears conversations through walls."

I couldn't help laughing. "I was thinking the same thing."

It was the first time I'd laughed since arriving at Hawthorne Estate. It felt... nice.

The afternoon was quieter than the morning.

Most of my duties involved preparing unused guest rooms.

Dusting furniture, changing linens, and opening windows to let in fresh spring air.

The work itself wasn't difficult, the silence was.

This mansion was enormous, beautiful even. But somehow... Lonely.

Every hallway echoed, every room felt too large, and even the sunlight seemed hesitant to linger.

As I straightened another bedspread, I found myself wondering where Master Hawthorne spent his afternoons.

Surely not locked inside that library all day.

Did he eat alone?

Did he ever leave the estate?

Did he have friends?

The questions arrived one after another before I caught myself.

"Stop it, Catherine," I muttered.

Curiosity had nearly gotten me dismissed once already. I wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

By evening, every servant had gathered in the kitchen for supper.

Compared to the rest of the manor, the kitchen felt wonderfully alive.

Thomas, one of the stable hands, was telling an overly dramatic story about chasing a stubborn horse across three fields while everyone laughed between bites of stew.

I found myself smiling more than speaking. It felt good simply listening.

Then the room suddenly became quiet. No one had said anything. No one needed to.

Footsteps that were soft, measured were passing the hallway outside.

Every servant lowered their voice instinctively. Some stood, others stared into their bowls.

The footsteps continued past the kitchen before fading into the distance.

I looked toward Agnes. "Was that..."

She nodded. "Master Kent."

"He didn't come in."

"He never does."

"Where does he eat?"

"In his study."

"Every night?"

She nodded again. "By himself."

Something about that answer settled heavily in my chest. I couldn't imagine choosing to eat every meal alone.

Not long after supper, Agnes stopped me before I returned to the servants' wing. "Catherine?"

"Yes?"

She handed me a polished silver tray carrying a teapot, a single cup, and a small plate of biscuits. "Would you mind taking this to the master's study?"

I blinked. "Me?"

"Arthur twisted his ankle carrying firewood." She smiled reassuringly. "It'll only take a minute."

I wasn't nearly as confident. Still... I nodded. "Of course."

The western hallway felt even quieter at night.

The firelight from the wall sconces danced across dark wooden panels, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor.

When I reached the study, I balanced the tray carefully in one hand before knocking. No answer.

I waited. Then knocked again.

"Enter." His voice was calm.

I pushed the heavy door open.

Master Hawthorne sat behind a massive oak desk covered with neatly arranged papers. A fire crackled softly in the hearth nearby.

Books surrounded nearly every wall. He didn't look up. "You may leave it there."

I carefully placed the tray on a small side table. I should have left immediately. Instead... My eyes wandered toward an easel standing near the fireplace.

A canvas rested upon it beneath a white cloth.

"You seem incapable of resisting temptation."

I nearly dropped the teapot. Master Hawthorne was looking directly at me now. His expression was unreadable.

"I wasn't touching anything."

"No." A faint hint of amusement crossed his face. "But you were wondering."

"I..."

He wasn't wrong.

"I apologize."

"You've apologized every time we've met."

I looked down at my hands. "I suppose I have."

"And yet," he said, setting his pen aside, "you continue doing things that require apologies."

To my surprise... I laughed. Just a little. "So I've noticed."

For the briefest moment... He smiled. It was barely there. A tiny movement at the corner of his mouth.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. But I had seen it. It changed him completely.

He looked younger, lighter, and more human. Realizing I had been staring, I quickly looked away. "I should let you return to your work, sir."

"You should."

I started toward the door before stopping. "I hope your tea doesn't get cold."

The room fell quiet.

When I looked back, he was still watching me. "...Thank you, Catherine."

Hearing him say my name caught me off guard. I smiled before slipping out into the hallway.

Only after the door closed behind me did I realize my heart was racing. Again.

As I walked back toward the servants' quarters, something lying on the windowsill caught my eye. A small leather sketchbook.

Someone must have forgotten it. I picked it up carefully. The initials embossed on the cover made my stomach tighten.

K.H

Master Hawthorne.

I looked back toward the study door. It was only a few steps away.

The sketchbook rested in my hands, surprisingly warm from the afternoon sun that had streamed through the window.

I could open it. Just one page. No one would know.

My fingers lingered on the edge of the cover. Then I sighed. "No," I whispered to myself.

I had already crossed enough boundaries for one day. Clutching the sketchbook gently against my apron, I turned back toward the study. If I wanted to understand Kent Hawthorne...

Perhaps the first step wasn't uncovering his secrets. Perhaps it was earning the right for him to share them willingly.