Lucille [H.S]

3

Harry Styles may have the title Viscount of Cheshire, he may be the man of the manor and handle the family affairs but that did not mean he was above the wrath of his mother.

At times, the Viscount felt like a little boy as he snuck about the house to avoid being dragged into the day room to sit through a scolding from Cordelia about his failure to obtain a wife. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, confined to the privacy of his study so he did not have to risk bumping into his mother and it drove him insane staring at the same four walls all day. It was precisely what had led him to spend the morning atop his stunning black stallion, wandering through the back fields of the family's estate while the rising sun made the morning dew glisten among the long grass.

With each gentle plod of hoofbeats, Harry felt himself relax deeper into the leather of the saddle, long and steady breaths filling his chest to push away all the unwanted stress piled upon his shoulders. Instead of using this time to think, the Viscount took pleasure in the comfortable silence and allowed himself to simply feel. Feel the movement of the horse beneath him. Feel the crisp breeze that ruffled his curls. Feel his chest lighten the further he escaped into his own solitude.

His mother would be on the warpath the moment his feet touched back down on the gravel of the stable courtyard but the Viscount could no longer bring himself to care. After twenty-eight years as Cordelia's son, Harry knew she would always find something to scold him over. Perhaps it was her way of clinging on to her eldest in hopes he would never quite fly the nest completely – as if living in the same house as her was not enough. Whatever the reason, it only pushed him further away as he busied himself with business instead of spending time with his family.

Here in the open fields, a promise of freedom sparkled like precious treasure - a prize Harry had been seeking his entire life. Here, everything was still and all the noise inside Harry's mind instantly dissipated among the trees. Here, it was only him and his horse.

He could be himself, free to feel and think however he pleased without a single judgement from anyone. Nothing else seemed to exist in this bubble of tranquillity, almost as if he had ridden into an alternate universe where every dream Harry pictured of a different life came true.

He knew it was only inevitable that this freedom would have to come to an end but the longer he avoided his mother, the less time he would have to endure her futile attempts at preparing him to be the perfect host, lecturing him on his manners, his appearance and god knows what else.

Prim and proper like society's little puppet was what she expected from him and yet Harry simply could not provide. He was broody, sarcastic and despised every inch of tradition and all the acting in the world would do little to conceal it.

Cordelia had not informed Harry who their guests were this afternoon but had implied that if all goes well, a promising agreement would be obtained between them all. Knowing his mother, that meant she had been scheming and either Rosemary would have a potential husband or Harry would have been assigned a wife. The subconscious feeling of dread sitting uncomfortably in the pit of Harry's stomach told him it would most likely be the latter.

Hence the impromptu mid-morning ride to 'survey the land' and check everything was in order.

A low snort rippled from the stallion's nostrils, causing the Viscount to smile to himself as he recognised the beginning of the horse's dramatic impatience.

"One must learn to be patient, Dutch." He spoke aloud, running a hand along the stallion's neck reassuringly as he could see him getting a little worked up at being kept at a slow pace on their ride. "We cannot race the wind all morning."

As if understanding his owner's words, the horse began to stomp his feet with each step forward and Harry noticed the switch in his temperament. Dutch could be quite a highly-strung horse, one moment he was calm and the next he was testing Harry's ability to stay in the saddle. However, it was this unpredictable nature that had drawn Harry to him from the first time his father brought him home and declared rather boldly that Dutch would be his. Almost every ride Harry took him on ended in them galloping, most of the time not by Harry's choice but Dutch had a certain skill at being incredibly persuasive. Besides, the rush and the speed of it all was the freest Harry had ever felt and who was he to deny that feeling to such a loyal companion as his trusted stallion.