Page 11
11
Rupert
Rupert dropped heavily into the armchair behind his desk in his study. He stared at the gleaming rosewood surface, vast and seemingly endless. Like the endless affairs and daunting array of tasks he needed to see to.
He glanced at the pile of letters stacked neatly on his left. Invitations to sort through, determine which to attend. Which ones were suitable to attend, ones that would further his aspirations.
His gaze dropped to the drawers of his desk. Where fresh parchment lay. A speech to write. His first one he’d make to the House of Lords. That would set the trajectory of his political career. A speech he continued to start, scribble out, scrunch up, and toss in the fire. He had no idea why.
But you do, don’t you?
He ran his hands through his curls, his fingers getting stuck in the tangles. His growl sliced through the room. God bloody fucking damn it! Lately…everything had become so confusing. Overwhelming. He didn’t know if it was the wedding he’d had no say in looming and now coming to fruition. If it was the weight of his responsibilities, of the expectations others had for him, finally becoming too much. Nothing felt right. He didn’t feel right.
He massaged his temples. He didn’t even know what that meant.
His gaze caught on his familiar family seal adorning the top letter in the pile to his left. Mother. His forehead pinched. A letter…already? They’d just arrived today. Which would mean his mother would have had to post the letter before he’d even departed for Dorsetshire.
The weight enveloped him, wrapped around him and didn’t allow breath. Drowning. His eyes slammed shut, and he ground the heels of his palms into them. And he knew this feeling was a sign. A sign pointing to what the true problem might be. But it couldn’t be true. He was overtired. Stressed with his responsibilities and his new marriage and all the new problems that came with it.
Rupert drew in a steadying breath and opened his mother’s letter. My Dearest Son, I hope this letter finds you well as you arrive at Rutledge Manor. I knew you’d take comfort in seeing my familiar scrawl, especially after what I am sure was a trying journey with her. God rest your father’s soul, but forcing us into this union with no way to back out was far from his finest decision. Still, we will endure. We have no other choice. I fear she will not measure up to the task of standing by your side as I have. Your actions now, more than ever, are of utmost importance. You are not like other men, Rupert. Your future is exceptional. Not everyone is equipped to keep pace with someone destined for greatness. Perhaps, in time, she will prove herself fit to be called the wife of a Rutledge. But until then, your reputation must remain spotless. On that note, I saw yet another horrifying scandal in The Morning Chronicles involving those dreadful men you used to associate with at Harrow. It was absolutely abhorrent. I am so proud of you for cutting ties with such company. You always make me so proud, dear Rupert. I know life has not been easy on either of us. Your father’s long illness left us both without the guidance of a proper man in the household. But I have raised you to be strong. I see it every day in the way you hold yourself, the way you command a room. Your father would be so very proud. Stay on this path, my darling boy, and Prime Minister is sure to be yours for the taking. The very thought—it brings tears to my eyes. My son Prime Minister! I know sometimes it is a heavy burden to bear. It is in those moments when doubt and uncertainty seep in that you must remember who truly knows you best. I believe in you, Rupert, even when you don’t believe in yourself. I do hope your new wife understands the pressures you face and supports you as a dutiful wife should. I have arranged a series of teas I will attend with individuals whose influence will be crucial to your advancement in Parliament. Everything I do, I do with your best interest at heart. Your Loving Mother
His fingers trembled as a wave of guilt crashed over him. He placed the letter down, flattening it against the desktop. She wanted what was best for him. Knew his potential and wanted to help him reach it.
But you don’t want that future.
He was being selfish. She was correct. She had raised him to be strong, done everything she could to show him the way of a man when the head of their household wasn’t capable of such a task. Perhaps it was merely fatigue, perhaps the doubt and uncertainty were seeping in. His gaze drifted to his drawers again, his mind falling back to the speech he needed to write. On ideals he sometimes doubted he even believed in.
It is in those moments when doubt and uncertainty seep in that you must remember who truly knows you best. I believe in you, Rupert, even when you don’t believe in yourself.
He folded up his mother’s letter and began preparing an outline for his speech.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11 (Reading here)
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65