Archibald was not so chipper that morning. Thus far, his box had been filled with nothing of import. Perhaps there were a few joke replies to his earnest offer for marriage to a complete stranger. Was it because the whole town knew of him? Surely his past wasn't scandelous in the way of the Carrington name; now there was a family who needed to find a different town to haunt, but even one of the daughters would have been welcome to write if it meant he could get an heir before his time on earth was up. Frankly, he was getting old.

His silver streaked hair was rather dashing, he supposed, but would the lines in his once, handsome face be offputting for a younger woman?

He was currently seated alone at a table in the Inn closest to the post office. He had a mug of coffee in one hand and a local paper, a rather outdated one that he'd read a few times. 

At least old stories were amusing enough, he thought dryly as he sipped at the bitter brew. He sighed and set the cup down, settling back in the chair before rubbing his hand over his face.