Beaufort Park

AU Trory. It's 1921 in England. Lord Tristan DuGrey is the future Earl of Huntley, set to inherit wealth, land, and the mansion Beaufort Park. Rory Gilmore is a village girl, daughter of an innkeeper with not a penny to her name. What will happen when their paths cross?

— Most of the introductions are in this chapter, so the context should be pretty clear.

Chapter 1- The Village Girl

Rory Gilmore smiled as she picked yesterday's newspaper up off the table, dated 16th April 1921, and skimmed the first page before tearing it off and crumpling it up. She placed it on top of the mound of wood already set in the hearth and lit the fire, watching as it sparked to life. The sitting room fire had been the last one, so now she was free for the day. She could hear her mother walking around the upper floor of the inn, no doubt changing towels or making beds, and smells were already coming from Sookie's kitchen. She scrambled up from beside the hearth as she heard the first guest come down the stairs, and shoved the matches and newspaper in the wood basket. She nodded her head in greeting as she walked past the man, who had positioned himself on one of the sofas, and continued into the kitchen. Sookie was bustling around, frying bacon at the same time as the kettle was boiling for that morning's tea.

'Sookie, tell my mother that I'm leaving, won't you?' she asked, her earlier smile still present on her face.

Sookie turned around and gave her a hug, and held her at arms length as she surveyed Rory. 'What are you so happy about? You're beaming!'

Rory leant forward. 'Don't tell mama, but I've got another interview today.'

Sookie raised her eyebrows. 'In London? Why, have we got a city girl on our hands?' she teased.

Rory jokingly shrugged her shoulders in response.

'Don't mind me, sweetie. Good luck!'

Rory waved as she left the kitchen, slipping out through the side door to the stables. She walked over to her horse, already saddled and ready to go. She pushed her foot into the stirrup and pulled herself up. 'Good boy,' she murmured when the horse didn't whinny in response, and patted him twice on the neck before setting off.

She was stopping at the cottage first to change, then Dean would take her to the station. When he'd offered initially she had declined, however it was common knowledge that they were courting and she didn't want Dean to suffer any embarrassment as a consequence.

The inn was on the other side of the Stars Hollow, the village that the Gilmore's had lived in since she was born. She trotted through, noticing how with every step the whole village seemed more alive. Arriving at her road, she rode her horse into the stable she shared with her neighbours, dismounting quickly and deftly unstrapping the horse's tack.

She ran into the house, through the unlocked door, and the first thing she saw was the antique grandfather clock that stood in the hall. It was quarter to seven. Dean was coming in fifteen minutes, meaning she had to hurry. She flew into her room and tore through her closet, hunting for her best skirt and blouse that she reserved only for church. She put those on and pulled her hatbox off the top of the closet, tearing off the lid and taking out the hat. Then she went over to the mirror and brushed her hair, tied it back with a ribbon, and carefully placed the hat on her head. Finally, her she slipped her feet into her black shoes, and took her handbag from the chest at the end of her bed. Thankfully, she'd packed it the night before, otherwise she'd be so late that even at a gallop she wouldn't have been able to catch the train.

Dean was already waiting, his wagon hitched to his horse. She sighed a little when she saw it; the wind was sure to make a mess of her hair. In all honesty, she may as well have ridden herself, but Dean was set on driving her.

'All ready?' he asked as she approached him.

Rory nodded in response, and hoisted herself up into the wagon before Dean could help her. She preferred to do things herself. He took her hand in his while she positioned herself on the seat next to him, and kissed it gently. She could feel the electricity in his lips, but noted that her own hand felt heavy in comparison. They needed to get going, not waste time with greeting gestures.

They were silent as the wagon bumped down the road to the station in Rotherham, the next town. It wasn't until they were far out of Stars Hollow that Dean spoke again.

'You're awfully quiet. Are you feeling alright?'

She gave him a small but reassuring smile. 'Just nerves, nothing to worry about.'

Dean seemed happy with that explanation, his kind nature overcoming the obvious disinterest in her tone. It wasn't that she didn't like Dean, she did. What more could she want? He lived in the same village as her and worked on his family's farm. He made good money and could provide for their future, and he was kind and well respected. His handsome features didn't go unappreciated either. But there was something missing. She could feel it when he'd kissed her hand, and feel it when she watched his eyes light up as he saw her. There was something that she'd never be able to give back to him.

They pulled up at the station with 10 minutes to spare. Rory gathered her belongings and this time allowed Dean to assist her out of the wagon, but urged him to not to wait for her. Reluctantly, he agreed, but only when she promised to see him on her way home. She headed to the ticket office, and stood behind a couple, arguing over which tickets to get, first or second class. Fixing her hat upon her head, her eyes fell on a blonde woman a few people ahead of her in the line.

She'd seen her before. In fact, every time she'd gone to London she'd noticed the woman. She was obviously rich; she always sat in first class and wore a different coat every time. There was something comforting about knowing she was there again, like an omen of good luck for her upcoming interview.

Finally it was her turn. The man behind the desk recognised her, and smiled as she took her ticket. She hoped this would be her last day trip to London, that the next time she went she would stay. Perhaps she would get this job, maybe the paper wouldn't be put off by a country girl with no connections. At 17 years old, it was time for her to get a job. She'd taken the examinations last year at the village school and passed with distinction, but it seemed to her that newspapers in London weren't looking for women. However, she had not been put off, and so this was her third interview. It didn't help that the train tickets were so expensive that she'd had to borrow money from Luke, the owner of the café in town, to afford this one.

The train pulled into the station with a screech and a puff of hot air. She made her way down to the third class carriage, and fought her way on board to get the best possible seat. She found one by the window, and once comfortable, retrieved her book from her handbag, preparing for the long journey ahead.

Lord Tristan DuGrey of Beaufort Park had been summoned to his father's study. That was never a good sign. They were not close, nor had they ever been, and to put it simply, his father was a bore.

Tristan was one of four, with two brothers almost his age. The problem was, he was the eldest, and therefore the future Earl of Huntley, and so was constrained by his father's values and responsibilities which did not sit well with him. After all, at 20 years old, he should've been able to go out into the world, do what pleased him.

He strode into the room. 'You sent for me, father.' he stated, his tone making his annoyance clear. He'd been in the middle of eating.

'Sit down.' his father said slowly, without looking up from his work.

Although he usually wouldn't have obeyed, there was something sinister in his father's voice that made him decide that today was not the day to act up. They sat for a while, facing each other but not looking at each other until finally, his father made eye contact as he rummaged for something in his bureau. He pulled out a letter that he slid across the table to Tristan.

Wordlessly, he read it. It was from one of his father's close friends, a Viscount from the south. There was something about the marriage of his daughter, uninteresting and unnecessary.

'Father, I think you must have given me the wrong letter. I've had nothing to do with Lady Ophelia. Her marriage doesn't concern me.' he said, handing the letter back to his father.

'Keep reading.' his father said, deathly low.

He looked back at the paper, and skimmed until her got to the last paragraph.

As you know, we have always spoken of Tristan and Ophelia's eventual marriage, but in light of his reputation, I am sure you can appreciate that we wanted something more for our only daughter. I hope you remember that what we planned was always in theory, and I felt that this letter should suffice in explanation. That aside, I would like you and your family to attend the wedding, including Lord Tristan. I hope you do not take offence by this.

There was something more about the date and location, but he knew that wasn't important. This was about his reputation, which apparently wasn't one to be proud of.

He slid the letter back across the table without saying anything, waiting for his father to make the first move. He didn't have to wait long.

'Are you aware what you've cost us?' he said quietly, anger seeping from his voice.

Tristan sat back in his chair. 'Not exactly. In all honesty, I'm glad to have gotten myself out of that one. Ophelia's a nasty piece of work.'

'How dare you! You've disobeyed me directly! I told you to stop going to London, I told you to stop gallivanting around like you are still 15 years old, but what do you do? Get yourself a reputation, God dammit! Do you know how much trouble we've gone to for you? Our futures all rely on you! We cannot afford this! Think of your sisters!'

'What have they got to worry about?' he responded calmly. 'Besides, it's good that my name has gotten around. I guarantee you that within the month there'll be Ladies lined up at our door.'

His father took a deep breath, readying himself for another rant. 'Yes, your name has gotten around. Lord DuGrey, gambler, drunkard, womaniser.' he spat out. 'No father wants their daughter to marry someone like that.'

'That's their problem, not mine. Their daughters on the other hand, well…' he smirked. 'Trust me, they'll keep coming. I've got a slightly different reputation among them, you'll find.'

An expression of horror crossed his father's face. 'I cannot believe you dare to be so crude! You know, I can appeal, I can make your brother heir of Beaufort Park.' he threatened, but he was bluffing. The only Lord with a worse name than Tristan's in his father's eyes was his brother.

'Yes, and I can appeal to make you the Dowager Earl of Huntley.' he said sarcastically. Upon seeing his father's angry face, he continued. 'I'm absolutely serious. You should be terrified. I'm an acquaintance of the king now, didn't you know?' he joked as he left the room.

He wasn't entirely sure why this was such a big deal. There were plenty of Ladies drawn to his enormous wealth and land who wouldn't care about rumours. If anything, they would be enticed by them.

He thought about going back to the dining room to finish eating, but decided that he wasn't in the mood for luncheon. There was something about the conversation that he couldn't shake, that was still hanging over him. It wasn't like he even cared what his father thought. Pausing for a moment, he pondered over what to do with the rest of his day. Perhaps he would go for a ride, maybe venture into town.

He climbed the grand staircase and walked down the landing to his bedroom. The bed had been made, and the flowers that he always kept on his bedside table changed. He went through to his dressing room and rung the bell for his valet. After a minute he appeared and found Tristan's riding tweed and boots.

'Would you like me to send someone to prepare your horse, m'lord?' the valet asked as he button the sleeves of the jacket.

Tristan nodded. 'Yes, of course. I'll finish here, you go directly.'

The valet made a small bow before going out to the stables.

He sighed as he fumbled with the buttons of his jacket impatiently, until he decided to leave it undone. After all, it was May, it was sure to be warm outside.

A few moments later and he was outside, waiting for the stable boy to bring out his horse. He tapped his crop against his boot, eager to set off. What could be taking so long? Finally the boy emerged with the horse, and checked the girth before placing his hands out to give Tristan a leg up.

He thanked the boy before kicking onwards, causing the horse to break into a trot as they followed the long drive. They arrived at the gatehouse, and Tristan made a mental note to remind his father to find a new tenant. He wondered where he should go. He could ride in the wood, or out in the deer park, or he could go to town.

He smirked as the idea came to him. He'd go to town, and visit the farm shop, call upon Lucy, the owner's daughter. He may as well live up to his reputation, and Lucy was always more than willing.

With a new incentive, he tapped the crop to the horse's shoulder, and cantered off down the road to Stars Hollow.

Rory scanned the platform as the train pulled into Rotherham station that afternoon, hoping to see Jess, who'd promised to pick her up. Grabbing her handbag and hat, she stepped down onto the platform with the aid of the conductor, all the while keeping her eyes wide open for him.

After she'd walked up and down the platform twice, it became apparent that he wasn't there. Even though he was doing her a favor, she couldn't help but be annoyed. It was so typical of him. He never forgot anything, he obviously just didn't want to do it.

Jess was the café owner's nephew. He was a year older than her, but had been living in Stars Hollow since for 4 years now, even though he'd come from London. He still visited from time to time, but never as much as he would've liked. Now he worked as an apprentice blacksmith, training until he could start his own shop

As soon as he'd arrived in the village, she and Jess had become instant friends. Even though he didn't attend school, he was still so clever that she was sure he must have been lying about his age. They spent almost every day together, talking and riding horses and even just reading. The only problem they'd ever come across was his hatred for Dean, irrational and unexplainable. But she'd come to ignore it, and that worked for both of them.

But Jess was one of those people that looked out for himself and himself alone, so if he wasn't in the mood for something, he just wouldn't do it. That attitude applied to him not being here to pick her up. It wasn't like the station was that far away, but it meant she'd have to walk twenty minutes in her heeled shoes, even if they were only low heels.

She set off into the afternoon sunlight, walking along the side of the road as the cars and horses went past. She was starving, as to her dismay she'd discovered that she hadn't brought enough money to buy a meal on the train, and it was far past the time that she usually ate lunch.

It wasn't that the interview had gone badly, in fact the gentleman who she'd spoken to was very encouraging. It was just that the newspaper had just come under new management, and they couldn't afford to have a writer as young as her, combined with the fact that she was woman. 'But keep trying!' he'd said, as he ushered her out of his office.

It was hopeless. She'd never get a job as a journalist, she'd be stuck at the inn her whole life. There was no point, she'd never be given a chance, just because of her gender. She kept walking, by now she was almost in town, and tried to leave her disappointment behind her. This was why she never told her mother about the interviews. She'd make it a big deal, when there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Her eyes fell on the sign outside the farm shop, advertising sandwiches. She checked her purse to see if she had enough money. Thankfully she did, so she headed into the shop, the opening door causing a little bell to ring overhead. It was quite busy, with a line of four people at the counter. It was set up as a room lined with fresh meats and produce, as well as a little back room with other goods. She browsed around the shop, checking to see if there was anything she needed, but the sandwiches were already made behind the counter. After standing in line for a moment, she decided to go check the back room for a new ink pot, since she'd used up the last of her old one on some notes for Jess. Checking her purse to make sure she had enough for the pot, she made her way to the back room with the revelation that the food on that train had been ridiculously overpriced.

She stepped through the doorway into the room. It had a shelf down the centre as well, making the whole room feel small and causing a wave of claustrophobia to pass over her. Gazing at the shelves against the wall, trying to find the stationary, she heard a noise. She spun around and looked through the gap in the shelf above the jam jars. Her eyes fell upon the body of a young man, his back turned to her. She looked him up and down, trying to see if she recognised him. He was quite tall, but not as tall as Dean, and was clad in fitted tweed. His hair was a dusty blonde, mussed by the wind but still soft-looking all the same.

She wondered what he was doing, moving back and forth the way he was, until he stepped to the side to reveal a girl, attached to him at the lip. From what she could see, the girl was the shopkeeper's daughter, a few years younger than her. And yet here she was, kissing and touching this man, who seemed to be an expert at it. His hands drifted from the girl's shoulders to her waist, and Rory watched as the shopkeeper's daughter pushed herself closer to him. She knew it was wrong to keep watching, but she couldn't look away. There was something foreign about the way they moved so unashamed, not caring what other's might think, although they weren't exactly aware of their spectator.

Their whole bodies were pressed together now, and the mans hands were still firmly placed at the bottom of her corset. Meanwhile, the girl caressed his back, all the while kissing him fiercely. Suddenly, the man hoisted her up and her legs wound themselves tightly around his waist, and he pushed her back against the shelf Rory was hidden behind. The quick action surprised her, causing her to stumble and kick the baseboard of the wall behind her. She ducked down to inspect her shoe, fearful of a scuff.

The two figures froze as they heard the noise, but neither moved, although she could just make out the man's eyes looking through the shelf to the space which she had occupied only moments before.

'Come on, I'd better go.' he said gruffly, placing the girl back down on the floor.

The girl looked disappointed. 'When will you come again?'

He just shrugged, a faint smirk crossing his face. 'You'll just have to wait and see.' he replied, before smoothing his jacket and leaving the room.

The girl faced the back wall as she repositioned her corset, and Rory took the opportunity to leave undetected. She breathed a sigh of relief as she took her place in line. The man was nowhere to be seen.

There had only been one person in front of her, so her turn came quite quickly. The shopkeeper's daughter took her order.

'Thanks.' Rory said as the girl retrieved the sandwich from the shelf behind her.

The girl smiled. 'You're welcome.' she paused as the wrapped the sandwich. 'You're name is Rory, right?'

'Yes, what's yours?' Rory responded, surprised that the girl knew who she was.

'Lucy.' she replied pleasantly. 'You're quite the girl at school, you know. Your fantastic exam scores.' she explained. 'That's how I knew who you were.'

'I understand.' Rory said, letting Lucy know that she didn't mind. 'How old are you? Are you almost to your exams?'

'I'm fifteen.' she replied. A call came from the back of the store, causing Lucy to turn abruptly. 'I've got to go, it was nice meeting you!' she said, running out from behind the counter.

Rory left the coins on the countertop and picked up her sandwich, looking around the shop before she left for anything else she might need. She considered going back to get the ink, but decided she could do it another day. She didn't want to risk going in there again.

The bell rang when she opened the door to leave, but as she left the now empty shop, she heard something behind her. She turned to see the young man, who had obviously been in the shop the whole time, standing in the corner. He smirked as their eyes met, a knowing look, teasing her.

He must've gone out of the back room and seen her leave after him. She'd been caught watching them, and he was prepared to embarrass her for it. She felt herself flush crimson red, and even though she turned away she knew he could still see the tips of her ears, just as red as the rest of her.

His eyes were still on her as she walked away, burning at the back of her neck. Finally, it got to be too much for her and she turned on her heel, and marched right back to him.

'Fifteen.' she spat out. 'Did you know that?'

And with that, she walked briskly down the road, away from the smirking man.

Tristan was surprised by the brunette girl's spunk. From the way she'd blushed, he could tell she knew he was aware of her presence in the back room, but he hadn't expected her to come back and tell him off. It was funny really, a village girl having the audacity to speak to him with such venom.

He left the shop and went to his horse, untying her from the post outside and using the fence as a leg up. He kicked the horse onwards but let her stay in walk. Had he been in a bad mood, he would've found out who the girl was, and perhaps punished her father in some way. Most likely, the father was a tenant farmer on Huntley land. But for some reason, he was amused by the girl's lack of fear for him, how she didn't care who he was. Was it possible that she didn't know who he was?

There was something about the way she'd looked at him, so appalled by his actions that confused him. She had reacted in the same way as his father would have, even though she had no connection to him and his family. It was as if she thought he was doing something wrong, and that affected her on some other level.

It would have been rude to refuse Lucy, who'd practically thrown herself at him the second he entered the store. Her feelings would have been hurt, and besides, it wasn't like she made it clear that she was so young. For all he knew, she was the same age as him. However, he decided it could be best not to see her again.

He wasn't sure why he was letting the words of some stuck-up village girl affect him, but for some reason he couldn't stop repeating what she said as he cantered back to Beaufort Park. He wasn't used to women having this effect on him.

What was so special about that village girl?

A/N- So, first chapter! Keep in mind that the next will have a little more drama, this was mostly to set the scene. That said, this is just an idea so let me know in the reviews if it's worth continuing.