Amberley Hall (A Harry Styles Short)

The Carriage

The large wheels grind along the uneven pathway, barely able to contain the carriage upright on the exaggerated camber.  The ride is so uncomfortable for I am being thrown around like a ragdoll.  The poor horses clearly feel it too such is their restlessness from canter to trot.

An open ride during summertime agrees with me most definitely but I do not favour the closed carriage of autumn.  It is so stiflingly warm I find great difficulty in even breathing and with little room to stretch my legs, pinpricks tingle my skin from being stationary for too long.

I have very much enjoyed the recent treat the days have given us so generously.  Undeterred by the frost that clings upon the ground well into the late morning and mystique that carries our breath white as it whispers away through the air, the hazy-sun has warmed my cheeks as I take my daily stroll.  These last bright autumnal days that tincture the heavens blue and hang a warm yellow glow over us, are but short.  With winter fast approaching, the light that each day affords is ever waning, consumed by a shroud of determined darkness before afternoon tea is even served. 

An extra eiderdown upon my bed has become necessary at night, along with my thick cotton nightgown with long sleeves and my lace trimmed night bonnet.  The clothing is so restrictive under the heavy weight of the covers but when the peeking glow of embers in the grate finally close their eyes, the room is thrown into complete darkness and an icy chill descends upon the tips of my fingers and nose.

"I am still in astonishment that we have been invited to spend the weekend.  There must be a reason and I am most intrigued?"  Georgina brings me out of my reverie.

"Why does there need to be reasoning behind everything, dear Cousin?  Could it not simply be that of kindness and generosity?"  I question nonchalantly. 

"How innocently you see the world, my dear Sara, as you pour over your books and writing and that absurd fascination of yours with the ever-changing weather.  Clearly a match is being sought."  She states ever hopeful.  

"Why do you make such an assumption?"  I question her again for she knows no more than I about the surprise invitation.  

"The passing of his father of course has propelled him to inherit title, estate and land far earlier than he could ever have dreamt." 

Keeping my disinterested gaze out of the window, I know she is practically drooling such is her inflection upon the words 'title', 'estate' and 'land'.

"Dreamt?  I hardly think that is appropriate in the circumstances.  From what I know of the family, they are exceptionally close.  I am sure their grief is all consuming with no inclination for other such distractions at the moment."  My words are brusque but I hold onto my resolve for I have learned to calm my often exasperated feelings towards my Cousin.

"On the contrary, he needs a wife and I fully intend to make a good impression on him."  She retorts sharply. 

"And how exactly do you propose to do that?"  Her confidence never ceases to astound me. 

"I shall engage him in a little light conversation and my beauty and charm shall conclude the rest.  Men are simple creatures after all." 

"It seems it is you who is innocent if you think that Georgina."  I offer truthfully.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?  But before I can answer she plays a familiar card from her hand along with a high-pitched whine.  "Ma'ma, Sara is teasing me."  

"Hush now girls for this incessant back and forth along with this dreadful journey is giving me a headache such that I shall have to rest when we arrive."  Aunt Frances places the back of her hand over her forehead and sighs painfully. 

Georgina cannot resist the temptation of the final say.  "In any case, please try to not selfishly corner him this time, Sara.  For last time when we did visit the Winston's in Primrose Hill, you did not allow the poor man another audience."  She looks at me indignantly. 

"That is absolutely untrue."  I answer softly mindful of my Aunt's woes. 

"It was so but this time shall be different, I will make sure of it."  She claps her silk-gloved hands together in excitement.

My glance takes me back out of the window.  Giant statuesque oaks line the pathway; their staunch trunks stand proudly side-by-side like soldiers on parade.  The ever-reaching boughs create an abundant overhead canopy of dense leaves but at every possible opening flashes of radiance flood through the window and streak bands of white light to pool over my boots.  At the ever-changing flicker of dark to light, the oaks appear to fall away like dominoes and the landscape opens up to reveal a breathtakingly uninterrupted view over the rolling fields, as far as the eye can see.

Without hesitation, I bang on the roof of the carriage and it jerks to an abrupt halt.  I swiftly exit citing that I should prefer to walk unaccompanied the rest of the way.  Georgina attempts to protest but Aunt Frances mumbles under her weary breath.  "She is happiest amongst nature let her be and it will give my head some respite." 

As the wheels roll away, I suck in the crisp clear country air that freshly coats my throat and wakens my lungs.  My gaze follows the carriage until it becomes but a mere speck upon the landscape, leaving me with only a small whistle on the breeze for company.

My thoughts reflect upon the carriage conversation.  The gentleman to which Georgina referred and I did converse at a few parties the summer before last but I have not been acquainted with his presence since. 

If I am perfectly honest, I am averse to such spurious gatherings and try my utmost to avoid attending.  My Aunt coerces me every time but even then I usually manage to hightail away from the excesses of meaningless frivolity to my preference of a quiet nook or garden seat, if the weather is in agreement. 

The importance of my presence at such social occasions is something I have yet to ascertain.  My Aunt's concentration is to ensure Georgina is matched befittingly and she will stop at nothing to achieve future financial stability for the family.  I suspect this is the reason we have been invited this weekend, although I did not care to admit this snippet of thought with my already over-ambitious Cousin.   

I am daydreaming upon the path where the grasses sway heavy with November frost that I do not hear the approach. The black beauty with the wild mane and hind legs so strong it could kill a man with one kick, gallops past me with such force it practically knocks me from my feet.  My untied bonnet is swept clean off my head, as are the books in my hands that drop with a splash into the murky puddle at my feet. 

I stoop to gather the items of my butter fingers; the hems of my skirt and white petticoats dampening in the water. As I glance into the distance, I can just make out long curls flying out from the collar of the rider.  His shoulders are broad beneath his white shirt that billows out behind him.  It seems we are headed in the same direction, straight towards Amberley Hall.