Read Online Origins by L. J. Smith - Free Book Online

managed to beg off the visits. I couldn’t stand the thought of telling him—telling anyone—where I’d been at the time of the attack.
    “The visitor is quite insistent,” Alfred called.
    “So are you,” I muttered under my breath as I strode to the door and opened it.
    “She’s in the sitting room,” Alfred said, turning on his heel.
    “Wait!” I said.
She.
Could it be … Katherine? My heart quickened despite itself.
    “Sir?” Alfred asked, mid-step.
    “I’ll be there.”
    Frantically, I splashed water from the basin in the corner on my face and used my hands to smooth my hair back from my forehead. My eyes still looked hooded, and tinyvessels had broken, reddening the whites, but there was nothing more I could do to make me look, let alone feel, more like myself.
    I strode purposefully into the parlor. For an instant, my heart fell with disappointment. Instead of Katherine, sitting on the red velvet wingback chair in the corner was her maid, Emily. She had a basket of flowers on her lap and held a daisy to her nose, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
    “Hello,” I said formally, already trying to come up with a way to politely excuse myself.
    “Mr. Salvatore.” Emily stood up and half-curtseyed. She wore a simple white eyelet dress and bonnet, and her dark skin was smooth and unlined. “My mistress and I join you in your sorrows. She asked that I give you this,” she said, proffering the basket toward me.
    “Thank you,” I said, taking the basket. I absentmindedly put a sprig of lilac to my nose and inhaled.
    “I’d use these in your healing, rather than Cordelia’s concoctions,” Emily said.
    “How did you know about that?” I wondered.
    “Servants talk. But I fear that whatever Cordelia’s feeding you may be doing you more harm than good.” She plucked a few blossoms from the basket, twining them into a bouquet. “Daisies, magnolias, and bleeding heart will help you heal.”
    “And pansies for thoughts?” I asked, remembering a quote from Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
. As soon as I said it, I realized it was a foolish statement. How would an uneducated servant girl possibly know what I was speaking of?
    But Emily simply smiled. “No pansies, although my mistress did mention your love of Shakespeare.” She reached into the basket and broke off a sprig of lilac, which she then pushed gently into my buttonhole.
    I held the basket up and inhaled. It smelled like flowers, but there was something else: the intoxicating aroma that I’d only experienced when I was near Katherine. I inhaled again, feeling the confusion and darkness of the past few days slowly fade.
    “I know everything’s very strange right now,” Emily said, breaking my reverie. “But my mistress only wishes the best for you.” She nodded toward the couch, as if inviting me to sit down. Obediently, I sat and stared at her. She was remarkably beautiful and carried herself with a type of grace I’d never seen before. Her movements and manners were so deliberate that watching her was like watching a painting come to life.
    “She would like to see you,” Emily said after a moment.
    The second the words left her lips, I realized that could never be. As I sat there, in the daylight of the parlor, with another person rather than being lost in my own thoughts, everything clicked into focus. I was a widower, and myduty now was to mourn Rosalyn, not to mourn my schoolboy fantasy of love with Katherine. Besides, Katherine was a beautiful orphan with no friends or relations. It would never work—could never work.
    “I did see her. At Rosalyn’s … at the funeral,” I said stiffly.
    “That’s hardly a social call,” Emily pointed out. “She’d like to see you. Somewhere private. When you’re ready,” she added quickly.
    I knew what I had to say, what the only proper thing
to
say was, but the words were hard to form. “I will see, but in my current condition, I’m afraid I’m probably not in the best mood to