Chapter 3 – The difficulties of unexpected baggage

    -        The dangerous business of packing – And letters

The next few days passed by in a nauseating daze for Priscilla. Though not usually the sentimental type, she suddenly found herself haunted by persistent nostalgia. She walked slower, she moved with determination, her gaze lingered on her favourite nooks of the house. Her breaths during the last morning’s ride were so deep she might have inhaled the scent of every last leaf and carried it with her. As Morris, her favourite horse and best friend the last few years, stopped at the hill overlooking the estate, Miss Keane took a moment to consider the grounds. It occurred to her then, alarmingly for the first time, to consider what would happen if she found a fiancée in the city. If the next time she saw this place it was at the arm of a man. If she might have to ask permission from said fiancée before riding in the grounds again.

Angus, though a formidable opponent at the cards table (or any table for that matter so long as he was fighting with her), would not make a talented matchmaker. Lady Basington’s determination to be helpful however, changed things. And Priscilla had promised herself to do her best for Sergeant Wincroft’s sake. She grimaced. And who knew what agenda Mademoiselle de Bonneville would bring to the party. She remembered Lady Basington’s words from the other day, “Who travels across the channel for a change of scenery?” and Priscilla had to agree with the Baroness.

There were too many games being played at the same table and Priscilla was painfully aware that if people started tripping over each other’s best laid plans, she would have the least cushion to fall back on.

Morris huffed clearly impatient with her pensive mood and Priscilla smiled, riding back to Westley Hall at full speed, her loose braid playing in the spring winds around her.

-

Typically, when Viscount Astley came to visit Westley Hall in spring he stayed for a couple of weeks. This time, only three days after his arrival, he was watching his luggage get loaded into the carriage once again.

On their way to the country, Angus had listened to Lady Basington complain continuously about the discomfort of travel, the close quarters of the carriage and the bumpiness of the roads. Now, with Priscilla readying herself to join them, the journey to London was promising to be even more painful than usual. Though if he were being perfectly honest with himself, the weight he felt on his shoulders wasn’t entirely to do with the state of country roads.

“Cheer up, Angus. I was looking forward to being the most miserable party on the trip today, you’re stealing my spotlight.” Lady Basington had appeared next to her nephew, who stood just outside the grand entrance, looking over the grounds with wistful thoughtfulness.

“Yes, my lady,” he smiled at her and tried to rearrange his mood by issuing a false cough, as if the act could expel the unwanted feelings at will.

Muriel Basington took her silk gloves from her purse, as a hurried footman brought out a third bit of luggage with the Basington crest and secured it on the carriage with particular care. His fingers trembled under the Baroness’ severe gaze and the boy, sweating despite the cool morning air, almost dropped the case onto his foot.

“Hm,” Lady Basington smirked as the boy finally secured the last bit of luggage and returned to the safety of the house with visible relief. “You know I would never read your mail, don’t you, Angus?” she said in a low voice, her lips barely moving as she fixed her gaze determinately in the distance.

Startled by the question, Angus tore his eyes away from the nearby tree tops and looked back at his aunt.

“Uh- yes, naturally, madam. Why- I mean, why would-”

“Even though,” she continued over his stammer, “it might sometimes benefit you to endure some gentle snoopingon my end, for the sake of my advice.”

Angus exhaled.

“You have always wanted the best for me, aunt. I know that.”

“Good,” she declared shortly, eyes still fixed in the distance. “Now, I want you to keep that knowledge at the forefront of your mind. And tell me exactly what your father’s letter said last week.”

Angus tensed. There might have been a time when his aunt’s intervention when it came to his father, would bring secret gratitude within him. But over the last 8 years, he had put a lot of work into being the kind of person who handled his own battles, living up to his title and making the most of what opportunities, or challenges, came his way. He still remembered a time when this kind of conversation with his aunt would make him nervous. Today, the nerves took a back seat to impatience.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Come now, I thought we were being honest with each other.”

“We are.”

“So you insisted we leave Berghley House over a week in advance, speed through the country, shorten your visit at Westley Hall, which is very important to you even if I must admit I don’t see any particular benefits to the hills or…” she scrunched her face in sincere bewilderment, “trees. And now we are leaving in a rush once again for… nothing?”

“I did not ask you to join me, aunt, I told you, you were welcome to let me rush ahead and follow at your own pace when it suited you.”

“Oh don't be ridiculous, Angus, you know I hate the country,” she huffed.

Her nephew smiled: “It has been brought to my attention, yes.”

Feeling as if subtlety, or whatever passed for subtlety in her language, wasn't achieving the desired results, Lady Basington finally turned to face her nephew.

“What did he say, Angus?”

The Viscount sighed and wondered where Priscilla was. He would have welcomed the interruption for once.

“I have already told you what he said.” He had. There had been little else to talk about on their long journey from the Basington family estate. Though Angus hated leaving the city, felt he owed his aunt a visit every spring and so split whatever time was due to the country between Sergeant Wincroft’s estate and his aunt’s home, Berghley House. In fact he was looking forward to the travel before his father’s letter cut his plans short. Berghley House’s second disadvantage was that, though situated in a valley more beautiful that Sergeant Wincroft’s home, it also required a significantly longer journey to reach. And travelling with his aunt, who demanded frequent rest and early nights at appropriate accommodations, had meant the two had a lot of time to discuss the reason for their quick departure.

“Fine day for travel!” a cheery voice broke Angus out of the mental gymnastics he was hoping would land him safely out of answering his aunt. He grasped at the distraction for dear life and smiled at Priscilla with such relief she was taken aback.

“Well, won’t you look at that, it still is,” he jibed. “Had you been a moment later I think we would have been late for supper.”

“Oh, Lord Astley, don’t be a curmudgeon, you’re still too young for it. Perhaps next year.”

Angus stifled a laugh.

“Tell me, Miss Keane, is your inability to keep to a timetable the real reason you never made it to the city? One too many missed carriages?”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes at him.

“I would have you know, Viscount, I was delayed by saying my farewells to poor Lady Wincroft, who was unable to see us off personally due to her illness.”

“Ah,” Angus pressed his lips in a firm line, his brows raised awkwardly as he tried to rearrange the cutting response he had been about to say. “I, uhm, hope her ladyship is feeling better.”

“She sends her warmest regards,” Priscilla smiled at him, clearly enjoying his discomfort. At that moment Sergeant Wincroft rushed out, excitement blazing his features into life:

“Ah, almost ready to go then? I apologise for any delay, I was just confirming with the staff Priscilla hadn’t forgotten anything, I know you were going over your luggage again this morning, darling,” he turned to his ward, who lit a bright shade of red and pointedly avoided Angus’ suspicious gaze as he said:

“Is that so, Miss Keane? I’m surprised you had time for a heartfelt farewell with Lady Wincroft after such strenuous repacking.”

Sergeant Wincroft glanced between the two of them with confusion and said:

“Oh, that’s alright Angus, her ladyship is still resting this morning, but Priscilla had a lengthy sit down with her last night, didn’t you, dear?”

The pink on Priscilla’s cheeks flamed to the deep red of a ripe tomato and as she jut her chin up high, she saw the gleeful Viscount mouthing “Shameless” to her with unbearable smugness. Determined to ignore the unfortunate turn of events, Priscilla turned her back to Angus pointedly and hugged Lord Wincroft goodbye.

Behind him, Lady Basington was using the farewell scene to continue her own offensive.

“Angus. The letter.”

Her nephew sighed, schooled his expression into a sea of calmness and repeated what he had already told the Baroness before:

“He wrote to inform me of Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Bonneville’s visit аnd to let me know he would be coming to town earlier than usual because of it,” he swallowed. “You are already aware of their visit, dear aunt, which I know since you have already made quite the fuss over it during the last few days. I’m surprised you’re not planning the wedding even now.”

Not fooled by the young man’s attempt at deflection, the Baroness studied her nephew’s face for a moment.

“Lord Bertram is coming?”

Angus remained quiet, but his aunt was undeterred:

“Your father is staying at Astley Hall? For how long?”

Something hardened in the Viscount’s face as he said quietly:

“Until he is reminded he is not welcome I suppose.”

With that, Angus Astley turned from his aunt and, seeing Priscilla head for the carriage, he matched her step. He managed to intercept her as she reached the step, just in time to take his offered hand and climb in.

He wished they were in London already.