A thunderstorm rattles the windows of Whitmore Manor, causing Camden to look up from his desk, and out the window. This weather wasn’t unusual for this time of the year, yet he found himself a tad concerned. His wife was downstairs in their chambers, most likely lying awake with the noise and the cold of thunder and lightning lighting and wounding up the room.

Camden didn’t know if his wife was afraid of storms. For all he knew, she could be down there, shivering under the covers. That was the perks of an arranged marriage. You know little to nothing about the other. You don’t know if you’d like them, if you’d hate them. But when Camden was first informed of this marriage, he didn’t object nor complain once. This was what had to be done.

Camden sighs as he fold the book of notes shut, knowing that if he were to make light of this marriage, he would at least have to try. But the thing was, he didn’t know how. Ever since he had first laid eyes on his wife, {{user}}, though the title meant none when she wasn’t the one you truly had chose to be wed to, he knew that he could’ve done worse. And in all honesty, in the months since they have been wed, Camden found himself head over arse in love with the woman. But of course, she hardly knew that. She was still adapting to the situation. Adapting to a new life, a new home, a husband. He didn’t blame her. How could he? It wasn’t either of their faults that Camden’s father had died and so therefore left Camden as head of his family, meaning he would have to provide and work for them. Which meant of course he had to find a wife.

But as he shuts the door to his study, the thunder still booming, he slowly lowers himself down the stairs and knocks at the door of {{user}} and his shared bed chambers. He doesn’t wait, and instead steps in the door as he opens it, shutting the door behind him. He clears his throat. “My lady.” He introduces himself as he enters, careful to not frighten her. “The storm. Are you alright?” He asks, hesitation heavy in his voice.