Anonymous
Astrid Cane
CHAPTER 1
Astrid Cane adjusted the folds of her blue velvet gown and gazed curiously around her as she descended from her carriage assisted by a footman who had hastened down the broad stone steps of the country manor. Never before had Astrid made a social call on her own, but this first sight of Hardcastle-as the manor was called-pleased her. Its stone walls, latticed by Nature with ivy, had long mellowed with age, as if to avow their proud permanence in the county of Buckinghamshire. Glittering in the afternoon sunlight, the trellised windows offered their discreet greeting.
Unaccustomed to hurrying, the aristocratic young lady slowly ascended the steps, where a housemaid awaited her.
'Lady Tingle waits in the drawing room to welcome you, Miss'.
'Very well, you may show me through', replied Astrid languidly, dangling a small, blue parasol from her wrist.
The house was cool, smelling pleasantly of lavender and wood polish. The fragrance of newly baked bread wafted through from some distant kitchen, making Astrid's finely cut nostrils twitch agreeably. Opening two inner doors-since Society will oddly have it that it is impolite for servants to knock before entering drawing rooms-the maid announced Astrid briefly and then left her to be welcomed by her hostess.
Lady Tingle, who had just entered her fortieth year was a woman of imposing figure. A little above medium height, she bore herself like a queen. She was attired in a black gown whose sombreness was relieved by a subtle patterning of silvery threads interwoven in the material. Her auburn hair was bunched high, her swan-like neck adorned with a black-velvet choker set in the middle with a single diamond. Her bust, being prominent, announced a rich firmness of flesh beneath, as did the arrogant thrusting of her derriere.
'You are most welcome, my dear', Lady Tingle said in a voice as soft as a dove's feathers. Without seeming to, her eyes drank in the svelte curves which the clinging of Astrid's dress accentuated. Slender, and of equal stature to her hostess, Astrid was in her twenty-third year. Her complexion was marble smooth and clear, with a pretty hint of pink in her face that was enhanced by the noble lines of her cheekbones. Her mouth was full, her lower lip being particularly voluptuous. An aquiline nose, neither long nor short, large hazel eyes, and an abundance of soft, d ark hair completed the most pleasing nubile curves of her figure.
'I fear that I know little enough of the purpose of my visit, save what Mama wrote to me', Astrid said.
'We must have tea and talk', Julie Tingle answered comfortably, and motioned her guest to a chair. 'You need experience no embarrassment, my dear, at the fact that we have not previously been introduced. Your dear Mama is in Switzerland, of course, and, I gather, may remain there for some time. She has naturally been concerned as to your future. You are, after all, the oldest of her daughters and the one whom she cherishes the most. Ah, here is the tea!'.
The afternoon comforts of the well-to-do having been served, and the Indian tea being of the finest, Astrid was set a little more at ease, though not a wrinkle of her clear brow betrayed the uncertainty she felt at journeying to make this visit as her mother had requested.