psl; [a marriage of inconvenience]

[hedgemaze]

THE AUBEL ESTATE is located in Derbyshire, England, a stately old home reminiscent of centuries long past. Long ago, it had fallen into disrepair and abandoned until previous generations of the Aubel family purchased the land for themselves, having found their fortunes in matters of real estate. Since that time, the outside has been restored and the inside has been renovated at least three times. Four, if you ask the uncle who remembers the one summer where the chandelier fell from the dining hall, taking a large portion of the ceiling with it. How embarrassing, if such a thing is true.

In its present state, it straddles the line between the old and new. The large, prominent rooms are ostentatious as they are filled to the brim with austere English culture; the smaller quarters, traditionally used by the servants and staff, are far more modest, and over time have allowed the tendrils of modernity to creep in as a result. Regardless, the home is impressive no matter how you look at it, and there are few who do not cast an envious glance at the estate as they pass by Derbyshire on their way to town, or perhaps northwest to Manchester, if they've even farther to go.

PHILIP AND JAMES AUBEL, father and son respectively, are the owners of the home, though only the father remains for any extended period of time. And even then, he only stays perhaps one or two seasons at a time, until he returns to his home in London, spending one or two seasons there, before returning again, living out his life of retirement to the fullest. James visits nearly every week (driving in from Manchester, and back) in the Spring, until the first freeze of Winter, when nothing will grow. Though they have a staff of two dozen -- give or take, depending upon the time of year -- taking care of the estate and its grounds, James is more diligent about keeping up appearances of the house, showing a special interest in maintaining the complex hedge maze on the land directly behind them. Only he keeps access to its center, a literal walled garden of seasonal flora.

AS RECENT DEVELOPMENTS WOULD HAVE IT, James has been drawn into an arranged marriage by his father and an old business acquaintance. She is scheduled for an extended visit soon, and the staff have done a meticulous job of preparing the hall for her arrival -- and the rest of the rooms, as well, if she is expected to make her living here permanent, one day. Today, the weather is clear and the help is eager to aid her in unpacking. The grounds are green and the family dog, an old greyhound with cataracts in one eye, bounds up to her with a slow wagging tail. The father will greet her, of course, with all the usual formalities, and though he doesn't know her all that well at all, she at least seems nice enough. He disappears soon after, leaving her to her own devices as she sees fit. James himself is nowhere to be found.

Somewhere, sooner rather than later, a collision course of first impressions will take place.

----------

D I R E C T O R Y;

➤ shitpost.
➤ first impressions.
➤ diamonds.
➤ text her, texter.
➤ saviour.
➤ flirt.
➤ closer.
➤ cross-examine.
➤ PARTY CRASHERS.
✶ elle + devon
✶ elle + corvus
✶ ian + james + corvus
✶ devon + james
➤ alien abduction.
➤ sleep now.
➤ bathe.
➤ remember.
➤ drink.
➤ welcome home.

Comments

[winterheart]

[Devon wasted no time at all in putting herself to work.

The first week was sending emails to her family, even setting up a video call for Ian so she can carry her tablet and give her brother a virtual tour of the estate (Ian sadly said he wished he could either be there or that she would come back soon. She tried not to choke up.) Unpacking properly came next. She had help from some employees to make her new art studio spic and span, and supplying it with new wooden long table, an easel, and proper disposal bins. Her own supplies came in several cardboard boxes, courtesy of her parents.

And after what seemed like forever, Devon eagerly got to painting, losing herself in the process, dipping, wiping, stroking, blending, scratching new ideas down in her sketchbook, applying them on the canvas. Before she knew it, she had finished three, no five paintings within two weeks.

Well, she couldn't help it. It turns out, being the fiance of a very busy and wealthy businessman could be absolutely and mindbogglingly boring. Boredom is heinous to Devon and doing nothing about it more so. Her dad always said that whenever she isn't sleeping, her bursts of energy were really quite something.

She couldn't just let her paintings sit in the studio either. That's not what art was for, art was for seeing and digesting. So Devon enlisted some more help to hang the canvases where she saw fit and aesthetically pleasing. She would even take input from the workers who found that she was even willing to take their critiques if something just didn't look good. That was fun.

There was all kinds of paintings. Abstracts, a lot of flowers, some very precise still life pieces, figure paintings, landscapes. There was a pile of feathers depicted once. That one was only on the wall for one day.

James never really said anything bad about what she was doing so Devon kept at it. She hadn't really... Talked to him all that much ever since she started living in the estate. Even less considering he was away on business all the time. Ah, well. She's been making do.

Ack, her portrait of Simon isn't going well though. He's walked off and that's when Devon hears James's voice. She furrows her brow and then leans out the doorway to look and see where his voice came from. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and she has a stained apron which has pockets, filled with brushes, stained with color. She sheepishly returns the call.]

Yes? I'm in here...! As usual!

[Sad really.]

[hedgemaze]

[Seeing her poke her head out of the doorway in such a state would be comical -- almost endearing -- if not for the fact that Simon is probably making a mess somewhere in the far corner of the estate.]

Is there a reason my dog is covered in paint and wandering around the halls?

[He moves over to where she is and crosses his arms across his chest, arching a brow, not looking particularly amused.]

[winterheart]

[Whoops.]

Hm. Well.

I was painting the dog.

[A beat. And she waves a paintbrush around haphazardly.]

Not painting on him, that would be cruel. I'm making a pet portrait. He ended up not sitting still so now...

[hedgemaze]

[That paintbrush moves a little too close to him, and James leans back a little to avoid its paint-filled wrath.]

Bloody hell... And so now there's a trail of dog prints down the hall. [He motions at said tracks, a bit exasperatedly.] I'd appreciate it if you'd be more careful from now on.

[His frown remains.] Show me your hands. Are they clean? [Or are they paint-stained, hnghhh]

[winterheart]

... Not in the past three hours, no.

No they're not.

[hedgemaze]

[He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's rolling his eyes.]

When you're done, wash up. Especially your hands. And come see me.

[He turns and walks off, but calls over his shoulder in the meantime:]

I need to hunt down my dog.

[winterheart]

[With his tone of voice and his mild scolding, Devon has to wonder if she's suddenly a younger sibling rather than his fiance. It certainly feels like it, what with them barely being any closer than they were at the start of this whole thing.

With a heavy heart and sigh, she cleans her hands, changes out of her paint stained clothing (she'll have to restock her closet soon) and is soon ready to meet up with James after a few minutes. She walks down the stairs looking around for him.]

James? I'm done. And paint free. 100%.

[hedgemaze]

[Luckily for her, James can be found in the foyer. He had just let Simon out to run around, deciding that, no, dealing with paint on the floor was just Too Much. The help would just have to take care of it; at least now the greyhound could get all its excess paint off outside instead of indoors.

He turns when he hears her voice and waits for her to at least make her way down the stairs, though he's not patient enough to wait for her to draw nearer. Satisfied, he says:]

Good. I have something for you. Can you catch?

[He doesn't wait for a response; he just assumes that she can. He fishes out of his pocket a small, velvety black box, and without warning, lightly tosses it at her. It flies smoothly in an arc, directly towards Devon.]

It's a tad bit overdue. I figured I'd go ahead and take care of it, since people will ask.

[And if Devon opens up the little box, she'll see a glittering engagement ring within.]

1/2

[winterheart]

[Oh, whoa what the--

Devon opens up her palm, stumbling a bit, but able to catch the box safely. And she opens it without really registering what it could possibly be...]

[winterheart]

[Silence is the first reaction at the contents. And then she suddenly snaps it closed as if the ring was a ticking time bomb.

And then she opens it again and stares at the ring and then back at James, back at the ring, with one hand on her forehead, mumbling with disbelief.]

Oh my god.

[hedgemaze]

[And that's... a difficult reaction for him to parse. He quietly reaches out with his mind to get a feel for her emotions, but surprisingly that doesn't seem to help much, either.]

If you don't like it, I can pick something else out for you? But I didn't think my tastes were quite that bad.

[He's only half-joking. If she hates it, he'll return it straightaway.]

[winterheart]

No! I mean, no, I like it, there's nothing to hate and you didn't choose badly and... I'm sorry, I'm just. It's not out of nowhere but I totally forgot that...

[She forgot that actual couples, engaged couples had rings. Of course they did, when did she forget a major detail like that? Devon had been making herself comfortable in the small space she had in her studio and the ring was yanking her back to the reality she was in.

The box is closed again and she holds it close to her heart (it beats a bit unsteadily).]

James. Thank you. I really mean it. I'm caught off guard, but it's not a bad thing.

[hedgemaze]

[Something about her heartfelt reassurance gives him pause, and there's a brief hesitation before he responds.]

I'm glad you like it, but... really, no one is going to rush you, or even force you to wear it here. Or even around me, if you're not ready.

[A shrug of his shoulders.] Honestly, it's to fend off the inevitable question of, Oh, but where's your ring? Women always want to see the ring. And now you have one. Problem solved.

Just... make sure it fits, will you? I wasn't sure if it needed sizing down.

[winterheart]

[She's trying so hard not to smile and she looks at her feet, appearing shy (and Devon is feeling a little guilty about the happiness, but it's not like she should be victimizing herself, but she was thinking of Lucy and...)

The ring is taken out and she slips it onto the correct finger. It's snug and just right.]

Looks like you can cross that concern off too. I'll keep it safe for now.

[It's probably the fanciest piece of jewelry she's ever had and the fact that it was symbolically significant raises its value to her.]

[hedgemaze]

[Once again, he feels satisfied, but this time, it isn't just with himself. He's genuinely glad that it fits her, and that she likes it. It would defeat the purpose of being an engagement ring otherwise.

He moves closer to her, having been on the far side of the foyer this whole time, hands in his pockets, smile lopsided.]

I hope you will. Now, then... [His gaze pulls to the stairs again, which lead back up to the second floor.] Get back to painting. You can dirty your fingers as much as you want, now that you've tried on the ring. My little interruption is over, and I won't bother you for the rest of the day.

[winterheart]

[He needs to not... Smile like that. Devon is beginning to hate herself more for liking his it, in all of its insolence and somewhat boyish charm. Is she that shallow? Is she really that easily swayed by all of this? The future was anything, but bright. He may care in some ways, but not in the important ones.

... But thinking about it now (and her brain does tend to do these sort of cartwheels), it's not like she can't... Do more with this situation. She's settled down a little bit, found her footing. The ring feels heavy on her finger and she suddenly asks:]

Um. Before you go, I forgot to ask...

[hedgemaze]

[He had already turned around to head outside (he has his weekly work to do), but her words briefly stop him.]

Hm?

[winterheart]

When are the best hours to text you? When you're away and working I mean.

[hedgemaze]

[He blinks, not expecting that question, and at the same time, surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier.]

Ah, well... any time you like. Your cousin always texted whenever she wanted.

[And it didn't bother him. Texts were easy to deal with; easy to ignore when he was busy or otherwise engaged, and easy to respond to whenever he felt more like communicating.]

You don't have my number, do you? We should fix that. It's [and he reads it off to her].

[winterheart]

[It took them a month to reach this point didn't it? She had been keeping her distance from James the whole time, so the words exchanged between them were only on the weekends. That can change.

Devon commits his number to memory and nods.]

Got it. Thanks again.

I just thought I could put in a little more effort myself.

[hedgemaze]

[Oblivious and a little confused, he has to clarify.]

What do you mean?

[Effort for what?]

[winterheart]

... Putting effort into talking to you. You know. Communication?

[Is this... Is this the Twilight Zone?]

[hedgemaze]

What for?

[He has a feeling lines are getting crossed here.]

I'm not feeling dissatisfied with our current conversations, if that's what's worrying you.

[Translation: he obviously isn't concerned. He probably rarely thinks of this engagement when he isn't here. ]

[winterheart]

[She stares at him. Inhales and exhales deeply. ]

Oooooh boy.

This is gonna be a thing isn't it?

[hedgemaze]

[Devon this is not helping assuage his confusion. He feels a flicker of annoyance at being unable to know what her issue is.]

What is going to be a thing? You need to be more clear.