Page 3 of Cold November Rake

Sutton tipped his hat and settled back into his seat.

The door closed, and the carriage jolted forward, only to stop a few moments later.

Sutton's townhouse stood very close to Tyrone's.

Sutton let out a sigh. It was time to go home.

To a cold, empty, dark⁠—

Sutton blinked as the carriage door pulled open to reveal a townhouse blazing with light.

"Where did we stop, Roger?" he yelled to his driver.

"Sutton townhouse, my lord," came the answer, but Sutton couldn't believe it.

Why were so many rooms lit up with candlelight?

And there was too much movement in the house.

Usually, only his butler, Mr. Ganderson, stayed up to wait for his return.

Sutton frowned, looking up at the grand facade of his townhouse. Light—bright, golden, uncharacteristic light—was spilling from several windows on the upper floors.

Sutton stepped out into the night, pulling his cloak tightly around his shoulders.

He took two steps toward his front entrance before his boots sank into deep ruts in the mud.

He looked down.

Carriage tracks. Fresh ones.

The ground had been dry when he left, so his carriage had made no ruts.

Someone had arrived while he was out.

Leslie?

No, his sister, Leslie, had sent him a missive a few days ago lamenting her delicate condition and informing him that she was preparing for the birth in two months. She would not be traveling so close to her confinement date.

His mother, perhaps?

The Duchess of Hardwicke would be a likely guest on her way to assist Leslie with her confinement. Though why she would arrive without notice was a mystery.

He hoped nothing urgent had happened.

The heavy oak doors to the residence opened before he had a chance to knock.

"My lord." Mr. Ganderson gave a shallow bow.

Sutton stepped into the foyer. The usually quiet, solemn entrance hall was in absolute chaos. Servants scurried back and forth, carrying stacks of fresh bedsheets, gleaming silver candelabras, and buckets of hot water.

"What in the devil is happening here?" Sutton asked.

Mr. Ganderson straightened but remained silent. Sutton would have expected to be informed of guests right away.

His housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, emerged from the corridor, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was flushed, but she held her head high, looking up at him with a mixture of nervous excitement and triumphant pride.

"My lord!" she exclaimed, curtsying quickly. "Forgive the state of things, sir. We were given no warning, but we are managing!"