Art and Obligation

Chapter 8

Paul rode on quietly and slowed his pace as the stables began to come into view, feeling reluctant to go any further in the knowledge of what was waiting for him if he did. His brother's fiancée, Miss Angela Fishwick, was due to arrive sometime this afternoon and have dinner with them as a way to celebrate the match in private before something a lot more public and festive would be organised to make the official announcement. His father in particular had been most excited about finally meeting the young lady, being overtly pleased with the match and to be able to see his youngest son getting married, unlike their mother - may her soul rest in peace – which Paul had had to hear many more times a day than he could possibly keep count of.

It was not so much the engagement that Paul disliked, but everything that was happening around it. He wanted his brother to find happiness and he was certain Miss Fishwick would be able to give him that as his wife, having met her once before when he had been in London for a week and remembering only good things about her, but it was hard to express that when all the engagement had done for him so far was make it so obviously clear what a disappointment he was to his father. After all, he was the eldest – the heir – if there was anyone who was supposed to get married, it was him, and his father made sure to let him know exactly how he felt about his failure to find himself a proper wife, be it explicitly or implicitly.

Still, Paul was well aware that all he could do to appease his father was to model himself to be the perfect son, to be polite yet firm when needed, well-mannered, well-spoken, calm and composed, punctual to an extent where he was never too late nor too early, and, most importantly, to be obedient, but as with most things, it cost more effort than one might have expected. He wondered how long it would be until she would arrive, needing some time still to gather his thoughts and change into something more suitable, knowing his father would not appreciate him meeting her and her family in his riding clothes. It wasn't the first time this week that he longed for the days when his brother had still been his little brother and he hadn't needed to worry about any of this yet – when life had been simple, or more so at least than now.

Taking a deep breath, he took hold of the reins a little tighter and sped up his pace again, figuring that as long as he behaved as his father wanted him to, there would be no trouble. Miss Fishwick herself was pleasant company, after all, and putting it off would only add to his problems, which is the last thing he wanted. As he reached the stables, he was greeted by one of the stable boys who just came walking out of the building, ready to take his horse from him and bring her inside to look after her. It was the young handsome one, with the muscular arms, the chiselled face and those striking blue eyes, which for the faintest moment reminded him of Mr. Lennon's friend, Mr. Starkey, though he was soon forgotten again as the young lad smiled at him; he had dimples in his cheeks whenever he laughed. Gently, he pulled his horse to a halt just outside the stables where the boy was waiting for him.

"Afternoon, Mr. McCartney. Had a pleasant ride?" the boy said, reaching out to take the horse's reins from him as Paul expertly climbed down his horse, landing firmly with both feet onto the ground.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Ewan. Please, take Mary to her stable for me," he said, his voice coming across colder and more forceful than he had intended it to, the nerves for that coming evening already getting to him. He petted his horse on her neck to thank and praise her, before handing her over to the other man to be taken care of, wishing he had the time to do it himself. It had been a while since he had had the time. "Make sure you treat her well. She has more than deserved it."

"Yes. Naturally, sir. Is erm... is everything alright? You seem tense."

"I am perfectly fine. At least, as far I can be with my brother's fiancée arriving later this afternoon. I am probably going to be late too, if I do not hurry along. My father will have my head," Paul said with an exasperated sigh as he continued to take off his gloves and riding cap, running a hand through his hair to push it back into its proper place. When he turned his head to look at the stable boy, he noticed he was still watching him, studying him with wide eyes as he held the reins loosely in his hand, giving off no impression that he was going to move soon. "Well? Come on, come on! Hurry on and do your job, or else it will be your fault I am late. "