Charles Stockton walked the maze of hallways, firmly carrying a tray of tea in his gloved hands. Knowing his way around was a benefit of serving the Windsor family for three generations. He smiled fondly at the memory of Henry's father, Alistair. He'd been in his twenties when he'd hired him to be his butler. Henry had been only a newborn at that time. But those were his younger years; now, he was 64, a fading reminder of years past.
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Shortly, he arrived at one of the grand spiral staircases in the vast mansion. While they did have a dumbwaiter, he preferred to carry the tea up himself. If a butler could carry a tea tray up a long staircase quickly and without incident, he was worth his salt. At least, that's how he figured it. They probably couldn't even possibly have cared less whether he made the journey up or just gingerly tossed it in the dumbwaiter, but as long as he could still do it, he was satisfied.
Lately, he found himself growing more and more winded each time he ascended the strenuous steps. Dear Lord, I hope I'm not getting too old, he silently prayed, a chuckle escaping his lips.
He remembered the awful moment, last week, when Master Henry caught him breathing heavily and resting after a brief climb partially up the stairs. He'd even offered to carry it the rest of the way, but Heavens no, that certainly wouldn't be allowed on his watch! The whole occurrence was embarrassing. Downright humiliating, to be frank.
3, 2, 1. Right in front of the door at the count of one. 5 minutes and 41 seconds. It took him a few years to get his timing right; of course, now, it was taking longer. 4 minutes and 10 something seconds was his desired time. 2 minutes was his best record, and his worst was so horrid that he had pushed it out of the recesses of his mind entirely. Compared to that, his current time was rather fast.
He promptly knocked thrice. "Miss Abigail, your tea is ready."
"You may come in, Mr. Stockton," a female voice called from the other side of the door.
He held the tray up with one hand and propped the door open with the other. On the opposite side of the bedroom, a ten-year-old girl, Abigail Windsor, sat at her vanity by the window, braiding her long, silky blond hair into a french braid. It was a little lop-sided, but he had no experience in such matters; hence, it would be a mute point to make any light of it.
He strode hurriedly across the room and placed the cargo on an elegant end table.
"So what's going on today other than my birthday gala?" She asked, not even bothering to look up.
"Well, your father has a 1 o'clock meeting, and you have a stylist coming at 3:30 to prepare you for tonight." He poured out the steaming Earl Gray into a seashell tinted teacup and set it on a saucer, holding it out to her.
A look of confusion briefly flashed over her freckled face, as she took the cup from his hands and stirred it with a silver spoon. "Who's daddy meeting with?"
"I'm not sure. Your father didn't say." Cautiously, he picked up the salver.
She frowned. "He doesn't usually have appointments on special occasions."
Charles himself wondered who could be so important as to warrant such a thing. Although, doubting his Master's decisions would be one step into murky water. "True. But whoever it is must be very important." Still, he couldn't help but ponder it, doubt still troubling his mind.
Slowly nodding, Abigail looked out the window thoughtfully. The aged butler did not notice her blue eyes wander downward, a dejected expression taking over. Apparently more important than me.
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Henry Windsor smoothed his hands over his expensive sandalwood desk. His father had passed it down to him. Even now, it still carried that earthy scent he remembered as a boy all those years ago.911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZVJEPkqoic
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Leaning back, he sighed long and hard. There was no doubt; today and the days following would turn out to be a frustrating adventure and a half, and he would have to smile through every bit of it, no matter how ugly. Abby was not going to like this at all. It would all be worth it, though. . . in the end.911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0Z8DESOR06
A young man in his early twenties sifted through an immaculate tie drawer and settled on a bright turquoise one. He straightened his shoulders and watched in the mirror as he expertly tied it into an Eldredge knot. "14. Dress must be formal and appealing to the eye."911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8YeMh7fazL
His fingers reached up and spiked his raven black hair upward to the left. "15. Hair mustn't be doltish or unkempt but rather dapper and stylish ."911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFrzn3eq8zl
A quick smile flashed across his narrow countenance, his ivories glistening like pearls. "16. Always brush thy teeth."911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡroRqDeDc6o
He pulled a tailored black suit jacket on and grinned, green eyes crinkled smugly, "Perfect."
Walking out the door, he turned out the lights, leaving a tidy and somewhat empty room. "37. Turn out the lights when you're finished; 52."
He'd prepared all his life for this moment and, he wasn't about to muck it up.911Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvHGMWgQvB4
