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]

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.

[winterheart]

[Devon, instead of answering waves him off and turns to return to her studio. ]

Don't worry about it. I'll leave you to business time and if I have something come up you'll know.

[Cause boy howdy there is a lot she can flood their future conversations with. ]

[hedgemaze]

[He considers pushing the subject, not particularly enjoying being brushed off. (How does it feel, James?) But soon after he decides against it. Whatever it was, it obviously didn't bother her enough to argue about it, so why should he be terribly concerned?

And so, instead, he lets it go. He does have business to attend to -- of the more personal sort, of tending the garden in the maze.]

Just don't get paint on that new ring of yours.

[He leaves her with that joke, strained with sharp-edged humor.]