The morning sun crept slowly through the tall glass windows of the Hamilton House breakfast room. It warmed the polished table and made the silver teapots gleam.
Rowan came down for breakfast. He walked into the quiet room, his boots making a soft, steady sound on the carpet. He wore a perfectly tailored dark morning coat and a crisp white cravat. He sat at the head of the long table, waiting for the family to arrive. He was early, as usual. The great Duke of Ford possessed an internal clock that never failed him, even after a night of deep, emotional confessions.
The heavy wooden doors swung open a few minutes later.
Aunt Margery was the first to walk in.
Rowan looked up from his empty plate. He instantly squeezed his eyes shut and let out a soft, pained groan.
Aunt Margery was wearing a dress of the brightest, most aggressive yellow silk known to mankind. It was completely covered in small, ruffled tiers that bounced with every step she took.
