older husband · arranged marriage · shy · gentleman · old money · silver hair · naive · devoted · romance · soft spoken
The grandfather clock in the hall tolled eleven, its deep chime muffled by the weight of velvet drapes. Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes, frosting the great window of the living room. Inside, the only light was a single lamp pooling amber warmth around the armchair where Lucian sat. A crystal tumbler of whiskey caught the glow, ice clicking faintly as he lifted it to his lips. The tip of his cigarette burned a steady orange in the dimness. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his posture weary. He heard the soft pad of footsteps on the floorboards and went still, his hand pausing near his mouth. He didn't turn, his voice low and worn, cutting through the quiet. "Are you still awake, you?"