[Author's note: This is the first part of what will be a five-part story. As it's driven by characters and plot, this part is relatively light on action - but that will be rectified in future installments!]
The sleek chassis of the brand new Austin 7 gleamed under the midday sun. Benjamin Farrington, his brown hair blown about by the wind, felt the machine's power thrumming between his thighs as he navigated the roads of the Cotswolds. Fresh from the hallowed halls of Oxford, his degree still an abstract notion rather than parchment in hand, Ben's grip on the steering wheel was both taking him away from academia and bringing him into the uncharted territory of his future.
"To summer 1925 and beyond..." he declared to nobody in particular, the words dissolving into the rush of air, as hedgerows streaked past in a blur of green. His mind drifted to thoughts of the classics he had been studying so hard at Balliol College--of Daphnis and Chloe, Tristan and Isolde, and the pastoral romances that seemed so distant from the modern world. Yet here, amidst the undulating hills, the connection felt almost carnal.
As the car crested a hill, the panorama unfolded before him--a voluptuous landscape of rolling pastures, dotted with sheep. The tapestry of greens, from emerald to sage, whispered promises of fertility and life, their hues deepening where shadows caressed the contours of the land. The Cotswolds, in their timeless beauty in the middle of England, were a lover laid bare, inviting exploration with every curve and hollow.
The car descended now, following the trail of the road as if tracing the lines of a lover's back. The thread of the river appeared, a silver ribbon tying together the landscape with a shimmering bow. Ancient trees, witnesses to centuries of secrets, stood guard along its banks, their leaves whispering tales of trysts under their boughs.
Ben wondered if he would find his own romance amidst these rolling hills. The prospect sent a shiver of excitement through him, of passions yet to be stirred. He had been studious at Oxford, unlike his roommate Hugo: Ben was able to boast first class honors in the classics. However, if Hugo had less stellar results in his academic assessment, he finished his time at Oxford far more knowledgeable about women, love and sex.
*
The family estate loomed, a titan of stone and legacy, its squat Jacobean stature on top of a low hill somehow conveying a sense of domination over the land nearby. Farrington Manor, cradled by acres of verdant lawns and meticulously sculpted hedges, was a testament to the family's lineage--although after the last decade of loss and upheaval, it was a bastion of tradition in an era of extraordinary change. Ben guided his automobile up the gravel drive, enjoying the crunch beneath the tires. He looked out over the familiar grounds.
"The gilded cage," he murmured, his voice laced with both affection and a whisper of rebellion. The car came to a halt before the grand entrance, and he stepped out.
Inside, in the parlor, beneath a vaulted ceiling that held the echoes of centuries of whispered confidences, Lady Eleanor Farrington held an ivory tea cup, her nail clicking it with a rhythm and speed that betrayed her impatience.
"Charles, he cannot simply waltz through life, living off the fumes of our dwindling coffers," she said, casting a steely glance at her husband. Lord Charles, ensconced in a high-backed chair that had supported generations of Farringtons, regarded his wife with a mixture of admiration and exasperation.
"Eleanor, our Ben is sharp. He'll cut his own path, you'll see."
"But with whom?" Her eyes were hawk-like, missing nothing. "It's imperative that he marry wisely--"
"Oh come, Ellie," Charles interrupted, setting down his newspaper with a rustle. "You and I both know that Ben will not be led to the altar like a lamb to the slaughter."
"Love is a luxury we can ill afford," Eleanor countered, steel beneath her velvet tone.
"Perhaps," Charles conceded, his voice low, "but it's one I'd rather not deny him."
Their gazes locked, two generals on the battlefield of their son's future, each armed with their own arsenal of desires and fears. As Ben approached the parlor door, he whistled a tune to serve notice on his parents' battles.
"Speaking of the devil..." Charles nodded toward the doorway.
"Darling," Eleanor rose, her movements the choreography of grace, "we were just discussing your prospects."
"Prospects?"
"Marriage, my boy," Charles interjected, rising to clap a hand on Ben's shoulder. The touch was meant to be grounding, but it felt like a yoke.
"Ah," Ben managed a chuckle, pushing the disquiet aside. "Well, surely love should have a say in the matter?"
"Love," Eleanor's lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "is a flame that needs careful tending lest it consumes everything."
"Or perhaps it's the very fire we need," Ben retorted.
"I see that degree is paying off", Charles said with a chuckle. "But fire or no, we must think of the future." The words were heavy, with the family's decaying fortune the unseen force weighing them down.
"Of course," Ben acquiesced, his submission coating his tongue like bitter tonic. "I understand my duty."
"Good," Eleanor's approval was a cool balm, although she cast a glance at her husband of 25 years with genuine affection. "And remember, pleasure can be found in even the most... strategic alliances."
Her words ignited something within him, a spark that promised more than dutiful embraces. It promised the heat of bodies entwined, the gasp of discovery in the dead of night, the unspoken language of touch. Ben swallowed, the image searing itself into his thoughts.
Just then the new telephone rang in the hall. The butler came in to inform them that it was Hugo, Ben's roommate from Oxford. He would be arriving in half an hour.
*
Outside, Ben paced restlessly on the gravel drive, as the anticipation of Hugo's arrival built. They had shared more than just a cramped room at Oxford; they had shared secrets, dreams, and the kind of laughter that left one gasping for air. But since finishing College two weeks ago, they hadn't seen each other at all.
"Ben!" Hugo's voice boomed across the courtyard as his motorcar roared up the drive, scattering pebbles in its wake. There was a nasty crack in the windshield window at the front.
"About bloody time," Ben called out, but his chiding tone was betrayed by the grin splitting his face. He strode towards the vehicle, taking in Hugo's familiar frame as he unfolded himself from the driver's seat--tall and commanding.
