Father of the Future Earl of Staton
Edward leaned over the railing at the edge of the Victoria Embankment, peering down into the gray River Thames as it rolled under the bridge. He had stood there so many times, thinking, watching, daydreaming. In fact, he had most of his best thoughts about everything, love, politics, the world at large, standing in that very spot, watching the boats bob and sway, admiring the people stroll or rush. Funny, Edward thought, how the river seemed to change according to the light in the sky. On sunny days the water looked, if not blue, then brighter than the sludge brown it appeared on darker days. Today, with the November sky creeping earlier toward darkness, the river looked decidedly muted, as though waiting for the storm threatened by the ominous clouds.
