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Rupert

Rupert hummed to himself as he made his way down the Rutledge staircase, the rosewood banister gleaming under his hand. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was bounding down the stairs. He grinned and gave the rail a pat.

He had tucked his well-loved, well- pleasured, and quite tired wife into bed. She was asleep before he’d even settled her on the mattress. He needed a bath of his own, but he couldn’t possibly sit still right now. His grin widened. God, what a feeling. Franny lit him up inside. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt as though up until he married Franny, he’d been a shell of a person, living a half-life. Now he was lighter, looser, free.

He couldn’t wait to explore his marriage with Franny. He had this strange feeling that something had just opened up between them, something untapped, full of potential and possibility. And it wasn’t just the intimacy—though that was incredible—but there was something about being absolved of that final part of himself he’d always been ashamed of. It had been the last barrier, and now he felt that with each day forward, he would finally be himself in his truest form.

He paused at the base of the stairs. The light gleamed gaily off the grey-and-white marble floors. A pair of footmen carrying a settee crossed his path. He stepped back to let them pass, catching his reflection in a freshly polished mirror. He chuckled. With his giddy grin and dirt-streaked face, he truly looked like a toddy-headed cake.

With a mock salute to the stranger staring back at him, he turned toward his study, sidestepping a maid dusting a marble bust in the hall. A muffled thumping floated from the room to his left, and he peered into the ground floor drawing room. Three maids worked vigorously, beating curtains.

What in God’s name was going on? The servants appeared to be readying the house for the Queen. Some of his lightness skittered away, unease chasing it off with snarling teeth.

He hurried back into the hall. Where was Sanderson?

“You called for me, my lord?”

Rupert’s head jerked back, and he blinked. He hadn’t thought he said that out loud… It was uncanny how butlers always seemed to appear when needed.

“Yes, what is going on here, Sanderson? What has the servants in such a frenzy?”

His butler’s countenance gave nothing away, but the unease worsened, pricking at Rupert’s skin with its claws.

“The dowager, Your Lordship. She arrives on the morrow.”

And just like that, Rupert froze over, no different from the Thames in the dead of winter.