Beatrice Astley

William would be the first to confess that his last meeting with Lady Beatrice had not proven entirely…satisfactory.  Indeed, quite the opposite, as he had found himself babbling about the abundance of ivy in an effort to throw off her suspicions.  He thought, if anything, he had likely made her more suspicious, though he did give himself the compliment that she likely did not credit him as the co-mastermind of a revolution.  In that moment, he had hardly given himself such credit, though he knew it to be fact.

Now, however, the reunion could not be delayed with further suspicion.  She had drawn his name and, he prayed, he might abait any fledgeling concerns she might have in this manner.  He could play the part of a perfectly ordinary gentleman and, Cassandra assured him, her sister had a thoroughly good heart, too trusting by far.  While he did not in general like to take advantage of the goodness of others, he found himself in the strange position of hoping to do just that.  After all, he reminded himself, if he managed to pull the wool over her eyes, it would be for the good of all and this much at least, he hoped, tipped the scales of goodness at least towards neutrality.

So it was that William Abbott, armed with a bouquet of wildflowers (into which he’d added a great deal of coiling ivy to continue the ruse that he was simply exceptionally – and extravagantly – fond of the vine) and a coy wit, marched into Astley House hoping to take full advantage of the trusting nature of a young girl just like any common rake might…though with a far less nefarious and far more explosive purpose: the longevity of the revolution.

He had arrived, as proscribed by tradition, to escort the young lady to the first event of Yuletide, as he would continue to do until its end.  Yes, he had but four days to convince her that he was an ordinary man without secrets – that is, to lie to her, entirely, something at which he had so far failed atrociously.  He sighed.  If he could not convince her he was ordinary, he decided, he would simply convince her that he was a great eccentric…along the line of the Turners’ eternal and ignoble houseguest.  Certainly, he’d already laid the groundwork for that, at least.  But hopefully it would not come to that, hopefully he could simply manage to seem ordinary for a few hours together and leave it at that.  It would serve him much better to simply blend into the background than in any way to stand out.

“Lady Beatrice,” announced a servant, ducking in and then out again, and William stood quickly, coming forward to greet the young woman.

It wasn’t until she saw him standing in the foyer, awaiting to accompany her, with a bouquet heavily accented with several sprigs of ivy did she remember: he was the odd man she had found once in the gardens, admiring the vines. He told her that he was a friend of the Yorks and had met them for a visit and had Xavier not later confirmed this, Beatrice would have believed he was there on a much more sinister purpose. Not that she was one to distrust others (even strangers) but his behavior seemed so odd, that even she had her suspicions.

In the end, she decided that he must have truly been enthralled by their gardens and had been embarrassed having been caught by one of the ladies of the house as he lingered. She wasn’t certain what she thought of him, but she was determined that they should enjoy the Yule season together. After all, a friend of the York’s, was a friend of her’s.

“Mr. Abbott,” She greeted, smiling as she accepted the flowers, “How kind. These are quite lovely.” Beatrice took his arm and considered his question, “I always look forward to Midwinter’s Night. I enjoy the songs and dancing, of course, but I shall always take advantage of the excuse to give gifts to loved ones. I am the eldest, you see, and do shamelessly enjoy spoiling my siblings.”

She handed the flowers off to a servant, so they might put them into water.

Aulus had never dreaded meeting Beatrice before.  Quite the opposite, he generally looked forward to it.  Beatrice was one of those souls whom he believed made this world better simply by inhabiting it, and those were people he felt well worth every interaction…but that had been before Sekhad.  He dreaded, now, what she might think, what she might feel, what she might believe.  He knew from experience that Sekhad was not going to play this safe and simply let Aulus take the reins, no.  He would do what he always did: he would insert himself where he did not belong and, as Aulus had bluntly told him: where he was not wanted.

In truth, Aulus had put the meeting off.  He’d put it off and put it off and put it off as long as he could, but at last the meeting had arrived and he could not stop it.  It was, after all, the King of Aclea’s command that everyone be in attendence and Sekhad, eager for the evening’s entertainment, had made it clear to everyone – despite Aulus’ best efforts – that he was not, in fact, ill and both could and would make it to the evening’s revels.

“You’re the worst friend you could possibly be,” Aulus hissed as Sekhad strode boldly down the corridor to the Great Hall, despite Aulus’ protests.

“I’m not your friend, remember?  I’m a parasite.  Now, if you don’t want to be here, you can sleep, but I have every wish to be here, and now that I’ve seen a painting on this Lady Beatrice, I’ve every wish to meet her.  Why don’t you just marry her and have yourself a good time, for once?”

“It’s not like that!”

“With that face?  And that body?  You’re an even greater moron than I took you for…which, by the way, is quite the expansive statement.”

Aulus rolled his eyes.  “I’m well aware.”

“Now shut up.  We’re walking in and I mean to look splendid.”

“Of course you do.”

The introductions were got through wearily enough, on Aulus’ end.  Unlike Sekhad, he had little love of pomp and circumstance, but the moment of true dread arrived when, at last, he came face to face with his friend.

“Lady Beatrice!” exclaimed Sekhad, sweeping an exagerated bow with a great, wide grin before Aulus could stop him.

Righting himself, Aulus bit his lip.  “I…I want to apologize…I-I’ve drunk a bit much…not feeling myself…”

However, this was Aulus and while she clearly saw that he was much less inhibited than she knew him to be, there was something more amusing instead of sinister in his behavior. (The irony that Aulus was, in fact, possessed by a demon was, of course, lost on Beatrice). 

She was not about to let him parade himself around just anyone, while he was not himself, and she quickly decided that she would stay by his side, until the alcohol subsided. Beatrice certainly would not judge him for his behavior this evening, but others certainly might. 

More than anything, though, she was happy for his company. She’d always considered him to be a friend and it had been too long since they had seen each other and had been surprised that their paths had taken so long to cross, this season.

“I’d hardly call our past conversations dull; I’ve always enjoyed your company.” She replied, unable to hide her smile as she watched him. However, she couldn’t quite disagree that, perhaps, this was the most entertaining she had ever seen him behave -- and it was more entertaining than shocking simply because it was Aulus Acheson. 

“Oh yes, I think that sounds like just the thing,” It was clear that he did need something in his stomach to soak up the alcohol in his system. She allowed herself to be led by him into the next room, surprised (but glad) that he did not take any missteps. 

Avatars 200x320

tfwcassandra​:

Cassandra laughed softly.  “Well, aren’t we just a calamity,” she teased affectionately, giving her sister’s arm a squeeze.  

Above their heads the rain rattled an invigorating rhythm against the orangery windows and Cass sighed, glad to be inside.  “I think it high time,” she said.  “I call for some tea.  How does that sound to you?  Seated amongst these grand trees, sipping piping hot tea, while the weather swirls all around us?”  

Cassandra could not be said to agree in any way with the current state of their society, but there were some things should would not deny enjoying and passing the afternoon in such a pleasant way, she had to admit, was one of them.  Besides, she reminded herself, surely such an innocent thing might still be enjoyed in a realm of equality.

“Surely mama can spare you for some tea,” she added, arching a brow, as she considered her sister’s feeble excuse of moments’ earlier.  “Besides, I daresay she’ll be more inclined to doing the same in her boudoir than anything else, at present.”  She paused.  “And I shan’t force you to speak to Mr. York today, if you are not so inclined,” she added, arching a brow to indicate that that subject had not been forgotten.  “But I daresay he makes wonderful company…and who could ignore the way his smile brightens when you enter the room?  Though I don’t imagine he even realizes he does it.  But who can blame him for his exquisite taste?”

Hearing the remark about their grandmother, Cassandra giggled.  “I fear you’re right.  We might even merit, in this state, the eyebrow.”  Their grandmother was noted for this silent means of expressing indignant disapproval – it was not a look to be engendered lightly and one which was known to rattle the courage of even the boldest men.  

“Though perhaps, it being us,” Cass drawled.  “She might be inclined to call us water nymphs and praise our command of nature.”  Their grandmother had, after all, a particular inclination to see that which was done by those of her own blood as superior to the same action when undertaken by absolutely anyone else.  Her descendants, by her own tongue, were the most beautiful, most accomplished, most intelligent creatures ever to bless this world whereas those who might be judged more so by a slightly more objective audience, were seen to pale in comparison.

Turning towards the glass, Cass narrowed her eyes as if this would allow her vision to pierce the flowing cascade of water upon it.  “Oh, I can’t tell.  Hastening towards the door once again, she flung it open from inside and shouted out into the park.  “Alexander, get inside!  We’re all quite fine!  Get! Inside!”

Closing the door, she stepped back inside.  “I confess, I’ve no idea as to whether he’s out there, but I pray that did the trick, if nothing else.”  She shook her head.  “Though knowing our foolish brother, he’s perfectly enjoying riding about in their dreadful weather.  Do you think he’ll ever learn?”  She paused, laughing.  “His poor horse.”

“Yes, that is always an inspired idea! ” Beatrice replied when her sister suggested that they call for tea. There wasn’t much a warm cup of tea couldn’t solve, even if the effects were temporary, and there could be nothing better to warm the both of them as they escaped the chills of the storm.

A moment later, Cass was talking of how Mr. York always brightened when Beatrice was in the room and no sooner had her sister said as much, did Beatrice begin to scold her sister for it. “Cassandra! He certainly does not,” She contradicted, “You should not tease Mr. York. He does not deserve it.” Had she thought on it longer, she might have smiled, just to hear it. But Beatrice had become an expert on repressing those feelings for, if she did not, she knew that they would all too easily flood to the surface again and her family and her people would all suffer for it. “If he smiles, it is only because he is happy to see all of us.” He was beloved by all the Astleys, after all. 

She was more than happy to redirect the conversation back towards their brother and kept her gaze fixed on the storm outside - it was much preferable now, than to meet her sister’s eyes. 

“No, I don’t think he ever will,” In fact, part of Beatrice hoped that he wouldn’t, if only because it felt as though all of her siblings were growing up around her much too quickly. Hadn’t it only been yesterday when they were all children, hiding from their governess? And now, the rumors were circulating about who each of them were to marry. Beatrice meant to put an end to all that, if even for a little while, but she knew, regardless of her choice, that her brother, at least, would not be far behind. 

“Oh,” replied Cassandra, chuckling as she sank into her seat with her fresh cup.  “But I was not teasing him.  I was teasing you.”  Tilting her head affectionately, she shook her head.  “But I am forcing to agree with your commendation of him.  I think him all that is the best of the opposite sex and, were his position in society different, I think you might be inclined to call him something far dearer than you now own.”

She hadn’t quite meant to say this last bit aloud for teasing her sibling was one thing, but accusing her of wishing to make their butler her husband – even if Cassandra believed it true – seemed a step too far.  Her eyes widened, her tea halfway to her mouth, and she shot a glance towards Beatrice looking – as she felt – truly chastened.  Too many secrets, thought Cassandra, angry at herself for fear she’d caused her sister genuine disquiet and not merely a little teasing.

“But…I am partial.  I am inclined to think that everyone I love ought to have a fine place in society, and how could I do otherwise but love our childhood friend?” she added, quickly, hoping to cover over any distress she might have accidentally caused as merely her own imaginative goodwill.  “If you were to ask me, I think he’d make a fine king, as well,” she added with a small laugh, happily poking fun at herself, for though this was all quite true, it was also quite unimaginable.  “And I rather think his sister born to be a princess with such smiles and warmth as she has.”

Laughing at Beatrice’s estimation of their brother, Cassandra shook her head.  “I’m inclined to agree, I confess.  But I suppose he ought to have his fun, now.  Soon enough he’ll have come of age and he’ll be obliged to be utterly serious, as Lord Astley in full, and take some loathsome wife to plague us all,” she said, laughing.  “Teresa Villiers, perhaps,” she joshed, though the danger was real enough.  “Or, if we are lucky, silly Emily Parker with her vast fortune.  I think I shall, all things considered, cast my best hopes upon Miss Parker.”

Grinning as her sister spoke of their brother, she nodded.  “Oh, bravo!  I shall join you in that, I think.  I often forgot he’s quite three-and-twenty, as it is.  I do not think I shall ever find it credible that his children shall grow to be so venerable as all those years.  No, I shall set upon them as five and leave it at that and declare it wretchedly unfit that they should wed at so tender an age when, at five-and-fifty, they at last undertake the endeavor.”

Her brow creased.  “Oh,” she sighed.  “I confess, I had hoped it was just my own…sourness tainting my impressions, but…you have noticed it, too?  Yes, indeed, I have seen such anxiety in him, but I cannot claim that he has confided anything whatever in me.  Perhaps it is nothing more than it seems,” she added, thoughtfully.  “A mere…disquiet about his coming of age.  I know it must weigh on him, though its not as if Mama shall suddenly abandon him upon the day.  Still…it must be quite a thing to bear, what with the county so forlorn as it is, now.  And he has the same cares we do, as well: he has no desire to wed someone he does not love, nor should he.  I am sure there are other ways to bolster our people…” she shook her head.  

"Alright, that's quite enough of that," She replied, her voice assuming her rather serious "eldest sister" tone, which meant that she would likely scold Cassandra if she continued, "It wouldn't do to have the servants come with our tea to overhear something like that." Beatrice did not want her sister to unearth the details of her relationship with Xavier, but she liked to think of the servants learning about it all even less. If they found out about it, Beatrice was certain that the gossip would spread to every other household in Acela like wildfire and that was not something she needed her potential suitors to catch wind of.

 Beatrice was glad when the conversation drifted back to their brother, "I hope we might find him someone who isn't as silly as Miss Parker, but with all of her wealth. I should hope that he would love her, too." Even Beatrice knew that that was a tall order. Better she be silly than cruel, and Beatrice knew that the Astley estate needed as much, financially, as could be had from their marriages. She hoped to save them all with her own union, but it seemed more and more likely that Alexander, at least, would also have to make an advantageous match, as well as herself, so that Astley would be secure and the other three could marry as they would.

 "I suppose such an eligible lady does not exist, but that shouldn't stop us from trying to find her. He seems rather disinterested in all the potentials, as of now, but I think he's simply averse to the idea of marrying, just yet. He is still so terribly young." Although he was a good deal older than Beatrice cared to realize. He would always be her baby brother and would have to have sprouted gray hairs before Beatrice began to urge him to take a wife.