A . J .

"I see thou art a wickedness"

[adelsonjacobs]

Goodness, ADELSON JACOBS has arrived in London. HE is TWENTY-SIX, of the PEEBLESSHIRE JACOBS. Though they are NEW to the Season, we can only describe them as AMBITIOUS and ATHLETIC, dear reader. Accompanied by NO ONE BUT HIS OWN NERVE, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their UNRELIABILITY (Clara, 26, she/her)

Mr. Adelson Jacobs arrives to London with very little fanfare and something to prove. He is a relative unknown (unless you saw his poor showing at the amateur race in Kelso in late February) with limited connections (though Prinzessin Lucy is not a bad acquaintance to have.)

As he tells it, his responsibility is to his late father, a successful wool merchant whose life’s work was to elevate the Jacobs family to the upper class. Hamish Jacobs was largely successful in his mission (Adelson will joke he can easily tell a soup spoon from a dessert spoon, as any gentleman should), but as newly “admitted” members of the gentry the family’s position is still precarious. A successful match will cement the Jacobs legacy and Adelson’s status as a true member of the upper class. 

But as with any story involving an ambitious father and equally ambitious son, Hamish’s dreams don’t quite align with Adelson’s. Of course, Adelson would like to be admired and respected, but more for his skill than the size of his estate. He has a particular passion for horse racing, and he is more excited envisioning his future as an acclaimed equestrian than as a spouse. 

The London Season, with its endless list of balls, teas and outings, is a land of opportunity to both Adelson and his father. The question is how Adelson intends to take advantage of it. 

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

Jeremiah almost stopped, but forged on even after Mr. Jacobs escaped his grip, until he was sure they were not followed and in a new hallway, alone. Then he turned on the other gentleman with a look of shock.

“I never claimed to love–not to you.” He very nearly started pacing again but exhaustion came for him, the stress of the past few minutes spread him thin.

“There isn’t any going back now, Adelson. I may be seen as a savage but I refuse to be a coward. Either way, my–how I feel for Lady Fitzroy doesn’t matter anymore,” he admitted, the anger in his voice choked off.

“It–it was worth a shot, but she deserves better, and if all I can do now is rid the world of that shitsack, then I’ll do it. You do not owe me a thing but I am afraid my friends are now few and far between, so would you…” Jeremiah paused, noticing for the first time something other than the pounding in his ears, and it was that Adelson seemed strangely affected by the whole ordeal. “Be my second?”

.

Adelson hadn’t known it was possible to be so brave and yet so foolish at the same time.

“Of course it matters.” The words were wrenched from him, sharp along the edges. He sounded shattered. He couldn’t decided if he want to kiss Jeremiah or shake him. “It is not the only thing that matters, but when set against all the rest, I cannot think what could matter more than the way that you love her.”

Adelson had tried time and time again to reset the balance of things. Where Lord Ackerley had been certain from the start, Adelson hedged, stealing kisses while trying to stifle his feelings. All the reasons for opposition had gone on the scale: pride, respectability, his family, their difference in circumstance, society opinion, the secrets between them. On the other side, Jeremiah.

The man with careful hands, a loose tongue and a reckless heart had outweighed it all in the end.

Adelson knew, with sudden, resounding clarity, that he should have married Lord Ackerley when he had the chance. Now, instead of standing alongside him at the altar, Jeremiah was asking Adelson to join him as he confronted the prospect of death.

It was unnecessary to ask. Jeremiah had already put it best—what ever may happen, know that I love you.

“It was never a question.” Foolish, foolish man. “It was always going to be me.” 

end.

[adelsonjacobs]

Morning || 27 July, 1800 || Cliveden

Jingling reins and the dull thunk of luggage loaded into carriages signaled the weekend drawing to a close. Amid cheerful goodbyes and throaty laughter, one gaunt figure stood out, lurking by the front door.

Adelson gave off a sickly impression, shoulders curled inward with the two purple half-moons pressed underneath his eyes. Despite being worn thin, his energy was restless. He wasn’t just watching, he was waiting. 

Finally, his mark arrived. Adelson stumbled forward as Lord Fletcher strutted out onto the drive. Grace was foregone for for the sake of urgency. “I have come to apologize.” 

Lord Fletcher paused mid-step and slowly turned, revealing the surprising amusement that played across his face. “Which would assume we are already acquainted, Mr...?” 

"Jacobs.” Adelson took a shuddering inhale as Fletcher’s eyebrow lifted. He would say it. He would get down on his knees and kiss the fastidiously shined tips of Fletcher’s boots if he had to. “Jacobs, sir. But I apologize on Lord Ackerley’s behalf.” 

“I do not accept.”   

Adelson’s heart stuttered, mouth opening and closing several times before he managed, “I do not believe my apology one to be taken lightly. Those who know me would agree that it is rare indeed. Lord Ackerley did not mean–” 

“Oh, but I believe he did, Mr. Jacobs. You of all people should know that his sincerity knows no bounds when it comes to defending Lady Fitzroy’s contrived honor.”

“You are right.” Adelson said in a rush. Fletcher had always enjoyed flattery. Surely it would work now. It had to.“Not just in regards to Lord Ackerley, but Lady Fitzroy as well. She is– she is–” he swallowed thickly, “she is a disappointment, which is putting the matter politely.”

Fletcher laughed, short and sharp. It was the sweetest of cruel sounds. It suggested amenability. 

“What if she were to apologize?” Adelson’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Not only for Lord Ackerley, but for all of it. For whatever might please you.” It was better to be a coward, he thought, than to be dead.  

Fletcher studied him for a long moment, then nodded, as if confirming something for himself.  “Shall I tell you what I would like?” 

“Please.” 

“I would like to see Lord Halifax at St. James’s Park tomorrow before daybreak, underneath the beech tree on the north side of the bridge–” he stepped closer and leaned forward to Adelson’s ear, “–ideally with a bullet in his head.” 

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

He reacted with a twitch his hand itching to do something, but it was Mr. Jacobs’ dash forward that finally focused him–a hand reached out to steady the other’s shoulder.

His intelligence and his composure were easy targets for Fletcher, as Jeremiah easily succumbed to his anger whenever it happened. His teeth ground against each other and, ignoring Mr. Jacobs’ pleas, he nodded. “I accept.”

A duel. A duel. A duel.

“The only coward here is one who knows he’s been bested and has to change the rules.” Jeremiah stepped back, his hand clamped to Mr. Jacobs’ shoulder to urge him to follow. With his other hand, he made a gesture he was sure Fletcher would understand. And, wordlessly, he turned to leave, and this time, he was the one holding onto Mr. Jacobs’ elbow.

“What, exactly, does a duel entail?” he whispered.

.

It was difficult to breathe. If it weren’t for Lord Ackerley’s firm hand, Adelson would have have remained rooted to the spot, struggling to inhale and at a loss for how it had all turned out this way. 

The Marquess’s voice brought him crashing back to reality. He wrenched from the gentleman’s grip, staring in wide-eyed disbelief. “You do not– why would you accept if you do not know?”

“You claim to love Lady Fitzroy, but if that were true you would not do this. You would not–” Color was rising in angry blotches on the high points of Adelson’s cheeks as his breath came in stuttering exhales. He pressed a hand to his wine-stained stomach, trying to steady himself. 

“Dueling is– is foolishness.” Jeremiah dueling Fletcher. “Madness.” Jeremiah, staring down the barrel of a gun. “If you were to follow through with it the Viscount would hope to obtain satisfaction through maiming or–” Or death. There was a strange rattle in his chest now. “It will not be. I– I will not allow it. I will go see Lord Fletcher and explain that you do not intend to see it through. I will apologize on your behalf.”

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

Jeremiah.

Something flickered across his brow, the hard lines of his glare faded. Jeremiah, his brother would tell him, when he was pacing and angry, when he was ranting and when he was sad.

He felt too freely, he knew, and remembered that there was a time when his brother’s patience had been a living example of who he wished to be. Calm, collected, capable.

What would he think?

Lady Fitzroy will not thank you for this.

His ears were ringing. Slowly, the knife lowered, he stepped back, and sheathed it.

He’d ruined his chances to marry Frances in earnest. He’d ruined a friendship, too. Whatever was left of his reputation–he could not ruin that, either.

“Then I am sorry.”

Lord Fletcher’s words kept him in the moment, kept his heart racing. Beast or man. For all of Jeremiah’s faults one thing would remain forever true, that he would never hurt Frances like Fletcher did. So carelessly flippant and so easily crawling back to Lord Fitzroy. 

A strange smile crossed his face.

“That you think we are peers when you are swine.”

.

The knife flashed and for a moment, Adelson was sure it was traveling forward. Instead, it disappeared, an apology filling the space it left behind.

Adelson swallowed thickly, still unsettled but relieved. Resolution was within sight. He exhaled unsteadily.

Only to have his breath snatched from him as Lord Ackerley’s words cut through the air and mirth melted from Lord Fletcher’s face, leaving behind vicious loathing.

Fletcher’s manic energy seemed to have evaporated. He was worryingly still as his eyes settled on Jeremiah. “Send word of your second. I will relay the time and place.” 

With slowly dawning horror, his meaning sunk in. A true gentleman knows how these matters should be managed. Adelson stumbled forward, face white. “Lord Halifax did not– he did not agree. You were opaque.”

Fletcher’s laugh was a chilling, blunt thing. “I forgot, inference is beyond Halifax’s capabilities. Let me speak slowly so that he might follow– It. Is. A. Duel. His absence of remorse made his position on the challenge clear. Unless...the Marquess is a coward?”

[ixnay-on-the-ipshay]

adelsonjacobs​:

​

To his left, the river burbled happily, mocking him. To their right, the cool shadow of the forest beckoned. Adelson was forced to trudge along inbetween, feet growing heavier with each step.

“Perhaps most of the group has already returned to the house. We might do the same, if only to check that we are not holding up the party.”

It was wishful thinking talking more than logic. “One bird each is respectable. Enough success to bring this outing to a close, to be sure. ” Something skittered in his periphery. He frowned, pausing misstep, but wrote it off and continued along when their surroundings remained undisturbed. His vision was liable to go a bit fuzzy these days.

“Once we get far enough along and have a catch each, we should head south. Lord Halifax is sure to best all of us anyway, he has excellent instincts. The ton underestimates him. He possesses a certain acuity that—”

Adelson stopped short. A grouse stood in the middle of the path just ahead, brazen, it’s tiny black eyes assessing him.

He fumbled for his gun, lined up the shot, braced himself, missed again. The feathered devil darted away, feathers thrumming like a low, throaty laugh.

“Not a word.” 

-

“Jove, stay,” he said, voice sharp – miracle of miracles, the dog obeyed, looking up at him then at where the damme bird had been moments before. “All this damme fuss for such a-a small gain; one wonders – well.”

Mr. Jacobs would likely disagree, given his clear, hrm, preoccupation with one bird each. “Halifax will be fine – grew up half-feral, no doubt, in those American wilds; the only danger there will be if-if he does it with his bare hands rather than-than properly with a gun and hounds.”

He had been responding absent-mindedly, checking his pocket watch – recoiling at how late it already was in the day – before the other man’s words struck him as a little strange. 

“And that – that is more than you have said put together this entire hunt, sir; I - I was not aware you were acquainted, even with Halifax’s odd choice of-of companions.” 

Would have said more, save an interruption in the form of a hunting horn – followed by the cheer of a large group – he swore.

“There – that will be the royal party; I must needs reach them – boy!” 

The last to one of the rifle boys, who dutifully accepted the gun shoved at him. 

“A singularly lackluster hunt, this, but the day may not be a-a total loss. Mr. Jacobs, you are free to come with me to-to catch up with the larger party – or I am sure the boys here are-are familiar enough with the grounds to take you back, as you said, to the-the house.”

The other man was barely able to hold the gun steady enough to aim; exhausted, no doubt. 

He turned – whistled for Jove to follow, who circled the other man once before loping after, tongue lolling. 

He had promised Halifax after all. 

@adelsonjacobs​

[adelsonjacobs]

end.

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

He was distantly aware of Mr. Jacobs’ presence. The young man did not strike Jeremiah as someone who was particularly in tune with his own needs, and yet he must have caught something in the way Jeremiah tensed that caused him to advise a retreat.

The motion was fluid, the distance between himself and the taller man, Fletcher, crossed, while a knife was drawn from his belt and placed in his hand, the tip aimed for the viscount’s throat. 

“I told you never to speak to her again, and yet you concern yourself with her affairs.” He said through his teeth. He thought suddenly of Lord Effingham’s assumptions about the Whistledown article of last summer, that it was Fletcher who not only defamed Lady Fitzroy to her face but also wounded her reputation. His blood boiled. “Go. Away. Or I will end you.”

.

Tension choked the air, its resolution balanced on the sharp edge of Lord Ackerley’s knife. Adelson didn’t dare to move, lest a sudden gesture upset the balance of the moment. 

Lord Fletcher, a figure that had become contorted in Adelson’s memory, more grotesque and unsettling than he had ever been in life, was suddenly rendered deeply human. He was skin vulnerable to a cut and blood waiting to be spilled.

The Viscount’s wide eyes didn’t seem to know where to look–– at the tip of the blade hovering a hair away from his throat or at the man who clutched his fate in a white-knuckled grip. 

Adelson’s attention was glued to the pale expanse of Lord Fletcher’s throat, begging it to remain still, absent speech.

Fletcher swallowed. “The great protector rears his ugly head again.” Words tumbled out of him in a rasp. “The irony, of course, is that you only feign integrity.”

Adelson’s eyes fell shut for a moment, then fluttered open. He released a shallow breath. This should not be how it was said for the first time. “Jeremiah.” 

“You always let those grubby colors of yours show in the end. A true gentleman knows how these matters should be managed.”

“Jeremiah.” Adelson tried again. There was a rising note of panic in his voice. “Let us go.” They were hurtling toward the inevitable, but he doubted Lord Ackerley could see it behind his blind rage. “Lady Fitzroy will not thank you for this.” 

“What are you, Halifax, beast or man? You have caused offense at every turn. Your insolence is only matched by your absence of remorse. Go ahead, end this in savagery. I would not be surprised.” A single eyebrow arched, raising the stakes. “Or defy expectation and finally deliver the recompense that I deserve from the man who claims to be my peer.”

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

Jeremiah finally paused when Mr. Jacobs mentioned Lady Fitzroy again. “I didn’t know you were acquainted,” he said stiffly, trying to find a voice that wasn’t about to break with desperation. He wrung his hands, sighing. There was nothing he could do about any of it now. Perhaps a letter could reach her before the ire of her father.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Mr. Jacobs took his wrist. His words surprised him, caused his mouth to drop open in shock. “I–”

Mr. Ackerley.

His arm was yanked out of Mr. Jacobs’ grasp and he shook himself off, aiming a glare at the newcomer. “Fletcher. Go away.”

.

Lord Fletcher swaggered forward, neat and restrained in every aspect but his eyes. They were bright with a fervent wildness that made Adelson go still. 

“Come now, Ackerley!” Fletcher jeered. “Would you really deprive me the pleasure of watching you finally receive your due? It is quite a treat to see you fail not just once, but twice.”

Twice? Adelson looked to Lord Ackerley, searching for answers. The loathing he saw darkening the Marquess’s glare was enough to disrupt his confusion. 

“Lord Ackerley,” he cut in, reaching once more for the gentleman’s hand, “let us take our conversation elsewhere.” 

“Tell me,” Fletcher continued, voice pitched a notch louder, “is it that you are so simple that you assume you will not fail, or that you enjoy having wounds for Lady Fitzroy to lick when you scurry home?”

[adelsonjacobs]

jeremiahtheyankee​:

-

The hand on his elbow gave him pause. The words, consoling as they were, caused another piece of his countenance to fray.

“You heard all of that? Agh–fuck me!”

Jeremiah inhaled and tore out of Mr. Jacobs’ grip so he could walk in a helpless circle. “Another way–another way isn’t going to–Lady Fitzroy is going to hate me for this. I shouldn’t have tried! Now Effingham thinks I’m a fool, too!”

His arms lifted and dropped helplessly. He could have punched something, or someone. He finally paused long enough to meet Mr. Jacobs’ gaze. He hadn’t left him to his own despair, somehow. “I do believe Lady Fitzroy would be better off with someone else. If she marries that old shitsack Lord Darlington, she could be a Dowager Countess, and that would be better than being with me.”

.

If he had been Lady Fitzroy instead of Mr. Jacobs, perhaps this would have been easier. Frances was at liberty to reach for Lord Ackerley’s hand, to kiss him in a manner that always made him go still and serious.

Adelson was helpless to watch, a side-character as the drama of his own life unfolded. 

“Lady Fitzroy will understand.” He protested fruitlessly. He wished Mr. Ackerley would stand still, the pacing was dizzying. “She appreciates, I am sure, the gravity of the task you were set.” He swallowed, looked away. He had been the one to set the task, he had created the expectations Lord Ackerley was currently suffocating under. “Your choice of words left much to be desired, but your intentions–”

The rising tension in the air ratcheted up a notch. Blue eyes snapped back to the Marquess’s face.

“Darlington?” Adelson echoed distantly, voice higher than it had been.

Another thread in the weave of stability was tugged free.

He had been too caught on the unflinching way Lord Ackerley had declared his confidence in the future Marchioness of Halifax to register the words that had followed from the Duke. Realization dawned now, a slow chill that crept up his spine.

Lord Bawsby was not just a prospect, he was promised.

A wave of nausea roiled Adelson’s stomach. His hand pressed to his abdomen, stained a bloody red from the wine he had spilled, trying to steady himself. 

“You cannot–” 

Shock gave way to anger. Adelson surged forward, grabbing for Lord Ackerley’s wrist before he could think better of it. “You cannot mean that. You cannot truly think he is capable of delivering her happiness. You belong together, do you not? Or was that a jest?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It may have been.” A delighted voice said behind them. “For once I find myself agreeing with Mr. Ackerley.” 

[jeremiahtheyankee]

Late July 1800 Cliveden @adelsonjacobs​

Jeremiah stalked out of the dining hall, having no intention of making an appearance for the rest of the evening. He might as well pack his trunk, call for his carriage, and go back to London, but he could not bring any more embarrassment upon himself for his poor judgment. Perhaps he could feign illness and leave in the morning.

He had done Lord Effingham a disservice, and perhaps that, most of all, rankled him the most. The earl helped him despite his brother’s abandonment, and whether it was because he wished to help Jeremiah or Lady Fitzroy, it didn’t matter–he’d likely irreparably damaged their relationship.

Coming to a stop, Jeremiah dragged his hands down his face. “Shit.”

Footsteps followed behind him and it wasn’t until a hand reached for his sleeve that he stopped.

“Adelson?”

[adelsonjacobs]

.

Life, it seemed, was slowly unraveling at the seams. Whistledown was the first thread to snag, then Epsom Downs, now this. 

Lady Fitzroy, and I, have been courting.  

The echo of Lord Ackerley’s voice haunted and pleased Adelson in equal measure. There was a tightness in his chest that had little to do with his healing rib. He shouldered his way past the Gaggle of Georges and out into the hall. Lord Ackerley was several paces ahead, shoulders sloped in defeat. Adelson hurried along as quickly as his wearied body would allow.

We will marry. 

This had always been a foolish endeavor. He had known from the start that it would not yield the desired result.

Still, a small part of him had thought maybe. 

Hope. Once again it was all the result of stupid, stupid hope. 

And if you wish to thwart us then we will go to Gretna Green and forever stain the name Fitzroy.

Adelson’s fingertips caught Lord Ackerley’s jacket at the elbow. The fabric was of the garment was soft to touch. Adelson thought of Margate, Mr. Ackerley’s hand warm on his waist. He longed for bed.

“You must not–” He paused to inhale, his breath labored from trying to keep up, even at such a short distance– “do anything foolish. Lady Fitzroy would not want you to– there is another way. There must be another way. ” 

[ixnay-on-the-ipshay]

adelsonjacobs​:

baronwillliam​:

thornedrook​:

Kit, who had gone into this rather biased against his hunting partner, felt the unfamiliar feeling of guilt as if he’d betrayed him. As if that moment in the clearing, the fever dream with all of the George’s running a-mock, solidified an unspoken understanding. Kit clapped Will on the shoulder, a sly grin on his face as if to say ‘atta boy as he snatched his flash back, took a swig, and them promptly handed it back. “I’ve had enough of the woods,” Kit told him as he stepped gratefully onto the boat and greeted both men.

Moments later, there was a flurry of chaos, wings flapping, dogs barking and Effingham shouting orders. Kit fired, and though the furious squawk let him know it was a valiant effort, no grouse fell from the sky. “Damn,” Kit muttered, lowering his gun as he watched the flock fly away unscathed. Then turning his attention to Effingham, he lied. “You’re the first party we’ve come across. It seems everyone scattered rather nicely.” He turned to Jacobs then, giving the man a nod. “Tell me, what short stick did you draw to be paired with our dear Captain?” Kit laughed, noting the bit of tension between the two. Kit, who’s choice of direction had led them into more trouble than he wanted, was content to allow the Earl to make the geographical decisions. “Take us North, take us South,” Kit told him, reaching expectantly for the flask from Hastings. “I am but here for the ride.”

@baronwillliam​

“The woods are nice,” William muttered without any intent of being heard, closing up the flask and slipping it into his own pocket for the moment since apparently he and Dartford shared things now. Or maybe he just understood that a good, strong drink was needed when it came to dealing with certain people. Maybe he should be proud of Dartford for not taking a swig directly in front of the king, come to think of it.

“We didn’t scatter well enough.” William took in their surroundings with an expectant gaze. The wind appeared to be picking up, the breeze causing the trees to rustle as the cry of birds carried across the water to them, and William hummed before reaching into his coat to retrieve Dartford’s flask and hand it over. 

“The way I see it, we have three options. Cross to the other side of the river, allow the river to carry us away to a different point to disembark, or don’t bother with the boat - but the larger of a party there is, the more noise we’ll make to scare away the game. Smaller parties are better.” In other words, Will did not want to team up. “Perhaps we should switch, you two on land while Dartford and I take the boat since he seems so keen on water travel now.”

@adelsonjacobs​

After hills, meadows, water, constant disparagement and now, from their new compatriots, no promised deliverance of Lord Halifax, Adelson’s brittle patience was nearly entirely withered away.

There was no room for careful nuance, only frustrated extremes. He was too hot, too tired and too irritated to appreciate the levity in Lord Thorne’s tone. The suggestion that being paired with the Earl was a trial grated at him. An objective observer might have pointed out that Adelson had done very little to suggest that it wasn’t, to which Adelson would have been prepared to reply that it was quite different when he was churlish with Lord Effingham.

“I quite agree with Mr. Hastings,” Adelson said cooly. “Smaller parties are better, and I find I much prefer my current one.”

“Jove,” Adelson said sharply, with the prim command of a Duchess. The dog sat at attention, for the first time looking the part of a hunting hound (save his nose, yellowed with pollen from sniffing at a patch of buttercups.)

Some failings could be overlooked.

He nodded North, along the shoreline. It was counterproductive to stake out in the same direction the other gentlemen had come, but this path would keep them close enough to woods as to hopefully yield results.

“Lead the way.”

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay

-

He stared in some bemusement as Dartford swanned right past them all – had ensconced himself with a-a flask and a quip, even as Hastings laid out, hrm, options. 

“Good God, Hastings – lighten up; this is-is no campaign in need of-of strategy. Having just come from the water – as I had just said –” the last bit aimed at the viscount who had-had hailed them as if he was in a hackney for hire and they the driver and horses both, “– I should prefer to have my try at the-the woods, now that you both are so-so generously quitting it.”

Damme it, did this mean he was – agreeing with Mr. Jacobs? A glance over his shoulder confirmed it, along with Jove’s status as either easily duped or a fickle traitor – sitting primly at the other man’s feet, tail thumping. 

Best not to think too much on it. 

He gave Dartford and Hastings each a nod – shouldered his own rifle – and gestured ahead. “Godspeed to you both – the boat lists terribly to one side and-and has only the one set of-of oars, mind you; we shall be off. Mr. Jacobs, we should follow along the banks upstream – less chance of us getting turned in-in circles.”

Once they had gone far enough that he judged they were out of-of hearing distance, he added in an undertone, “Poor Hastings; given Dartford’s state – I wager Hastings will be the fellow manning the oars for them both. Rather – dubious that they say they have not run into anyone else, however; my prior visits did not indicate Cliveden being quite that expansive an estate.”

@adelsonjacobs​

[adelsonjacobs]

To his left, the river burbled happily, mocking him. To their right, the cool shadow of the forest beckoned. Adelson was forced to trudge along inbetween, feet growing heavier with each step.

“Perhaps most of the group has already returned to the house. We might do the same, if only to check that we are not holding up the party.”

It was wishful thinking talking more than logic. “One bird each is respectable. Enough success to bring this outing to a close, to be sure. ” Something skittered in his periphery. He frowned, pausing misstep, but wrote it off and continued along when their surroundings remained undisturbed. His vision was liable to go a bit fuzzy these days.

“Once we get far enough along and have a catch each, we should head south. Lord Halifax is sure to best all of us anyway, he has excellent instincts. The ton underestimates him. He possesses a certain acuity that—”

Adelson stopped short. A grouse stood in the middle of the path just ahead, brazen, it’s tiny black eyes assessing him.

He fumbled for his gun, lined up the shot, braced himself, missed again. The feathered devil darted away, feathers thrumming like a low, throaty laugh.

“Not a word.” 

[baronwillliam]

thornedrook​:

ixnay-on-the-ipshay​:

adelsonjacobs​:​

Two new arrivals were enough of a distraction to cause Adelson to hesitate, and before he could return his finger to the trigger his opportunity had been snatched away.

He scowled, suppressing several choice words as the other gentleman came within earshot, their dog trotting behind them happily, several birds dangling limply in his mouth. 

Jove, by contrast, was chasing his own tail.

“Lord Thorne, Mr. Hastings.” They were allotted a nod of hello each. “The woods proved productive did they? How interesting.”  

He turned to Lord Effingham with an arched brow. “I do recall someone advising we follow a similar path. Pity we chose not to heed their advice.”

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay

-

“Fine words for-for someone barely able to point the damme rifle in the-the correct direction,” he said – quickly turning to the newcomers with a sharp nod in acknowledgment. “Dartford, good to-to see you out of the brush and upright once more – and-and Hastings. Well. Well, then.”

It was not a pairing he would have expected, yet – undeniably a-a successful partnership, judging by their prizes. 

“Where –” he began, only to have his dog suddenly still – then blunder forward, barking furiously. “Jove!”

Out of the very shrubbery where viscount and baron had been crouching just moments before burst a flurry of feathers; his dog, immediately distracted from the order, turning and diving back in. 

“Jove – heel!” he snapped, trying to aim in the commotion, but by the time the dog had gotten clear enough for a shot – the opportunity was lost. 

“Dash it – no, no, not you,” the latter said in response to Jove’s dejected whining; then, looking back up at the gentlemen, “Well. Looks like the-the pair of you have brought the hunt with you. What – what of the others, have you seen them? I-I was just thinking of-of heading further up north and-and west myself, after having gone through the trouble of crossing this stream.”

@thornedrook​ 

Kit, who had gone into this rather biased against his hunting partner, felt the unfamiliar feeling of guilt as if he’d betrayed him. As if that moment in the clearing, the fever dream with all of the George’s running a-mock, solidified an unspoken understanding. Kit clapped Will on the shoulder, a sly grin on his face as if to say ‘atta boy as he snatched his flash back, took a swig, and them promptly handed it back. “I’ve had enough of the woods,” Kit told him as he stepped gratefully onto the boat and greeted both men.

Moments later, there was a flurry of chaos, wings flapping, dogs barking and Effingham shouting orders. Kit fired, and though the furious squawk let him know it was a valiant effort, no grouse fell from the sky. “Damn,” Kit muttered, lowering his gun as he watched the flock fly away unscathed. Then turning his attention to Effingham, he lied. “You’re the first party we’ve come across. It seems everyone scattered rather nicely.” He turned to Jacobs then, giving the man a nod. “Tell me, what short stick did you draw to be paired with our dear Captain?” Kit laughed, noting the bit of tension between the two. Kit, who’s choice of direction had led them into more trouble than he wanted, was content to allow the Earl to make the geographical decisions. “Take us North, take us South,” Kit told him, reaching expectantly for the flask from Hastings. “I am but here for the ride.”

@baronwillliam​

“The woods are nice,” William muttered without any intent of being heard, closing up the flask and slipping it into his own pocket for the moment since apparently he and Dartford shared things now. Or maybe he just understood that a good, strong drink was needed when it came to dealing with certain people. Maybe he should be proud of Dartford for not taking a swig directly in front of the king, come to think of it.

“We didn’t scatter well enough.” William took in their surroundings with an expectant gaze. The wind appeared to be picking up, the breeze causing the trees to rustle as the cry of birds carried across the water to them, and William hummed before reaching into his coat to retrieve Dartford’s flask and hand it over. 

“The way I see it, we have three options. Cross to the other side of the river, allow the river to carry us away to a different point to disembark, or don’t bother with the boat - but the larger of a party there is, the more noise we’ll make to scare away the game. Smaller parties are better.” In other words, Will did not want to team up. “Perhaps we should switch, you two on land while Dartford and I take the boat since he seems so keen on water travel now.”

@adelsonjacobs​

[adelsonjacobs]

After hills, meadows, water, constant disparagement and now, from their new compatriots, no promised deliverance of Lord Halifax, Adelson’s brittle patience was nearly entirely withered away.

There was no room for careful nuance, only frustrated extremes. He was too hot, too tired and too irritated to appreciate the levity in Lord Thorne’s tone. The suggestion that being paired with the Earl was a trial grated at him. An objective observer might have pointed out that Adelson had done very little to suggest that it wasn’t, to which Adelson would have been prepared to reply that it was quite different when he was churlish with Lord Effingham.

“I quite agree with Mr. Hastings,” Adelson said cooly. “Smaller parties are better, and I find I much prefer my current one.”

“Jove,” Adelson said sharply, with the prim command of a Duchess. The dog sat at attention, for the first time looking the part of a hunting hound (save his nose, yellowed with pollen from sniffing at a patch of buttercups.)

Some failings could be overlooked.

He nodded North, along the shoreline. It was counterproductive to stake out in the same direction the other gentlemen had come, but this path would keep them close enough to woods as to hopefully yield results.

“Lead the way.”

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[baronwillliam]

thornedrook​:

ixnay-on-the-ipshay​:

-

[continued from here]

“You –” Stared at where the other man’s hand had been on his arm a moment before, spluttering, “You will do no such thing – need I remind you what happened the-the last time you, hrm, took the shot?”

He had been a breath away from-from – something drastic, wrenching the damme rifle away from a boy who had clearly never been properly trained in its use when – 

“Did you hear that? That – no, forget the grouse, that was my name, was it not?” Then, craning his neck, he could just make out one – no, two forms over the way, one of whom looked rather familiar. “Is that – by Jove, Dartford – is that you? The devil are you – you hiding behind the bush for?”

Another sound – a rustle, a definite rustle; at least his own gun was still in hand –

He turned on his heel, aimed more by ear than by sight – fired – 

A scuttle in the puff of smoke and dust that resulted; he lowered the gun, disappointed. 

“Well if we cannot find the grouse, we may at least have company – Dartford, why don’t you and your – your –” Squinted, but the other figure appeared quite blended into the shrubbery, “– companion join us?” 

@thornedrook​​

“Bloody hell, Hastings!” Kit whispered fiercely as he was unceremoniously pulled to the ground. He sat there for a moment, hiding behind a bush like an utter fool as Will plotted their way out as if they were in a skirmish. “Have you lost your mind?” Kit asked the Baron, quietly and rather sincerely. He sat on the ground a moment longer and then, hearing Archie respond in kind (asking why he’s hiding behind a damn bush), stood up, brushing the dirt from his jacket rather annoyed. 

“See, they have already seen us. We are not in the trenches, and Effingham is not the enemy.” Kit countered. He waved at Archie, and called back “Hold the boat!” He then looked down at Will who he assumed looked like nothing more than a talking bush at the moment. Despite himself, he held his hand out to help the other man up and then thinking for a moment said slowly, “Perhaps we should keep our run in with the King to ourselves though… For now.”

@baronwillliam​

"I think you’ve lost your mind!” William hissed sullenly and then, more quietly, “He’s certainly my enemy.” Not having forgotten their previous two encounters by any means, William wasn’t in any mood to speak with Effingham and there was an unmistakable look of insult at Dartford’s perceived betrayal of giving away their position on William’s face. Only the fact they were somehow teammates in their excursion led to William accept the hand up.

That, and the little glimpse of a flask that he’d perceived earlier. Without asking, William went from accepting a hand up to picking the man’s pocket, pulling out the flask and working on the lid. “You owe me for putting me on a ship with that man twice in a month,” Was William’s only explanation as he took a drink from it before walking towards the shore, indulging thoughts of knocking the other man overboard. He wasn’t exactly certain who else was there with Effingham, but they couldn’t be worse, and they could join Dartford in being a barrier to distract Effingham on the little vessel. “I wish we’d stayed in the woods,” William announced flatly by the time he’d reached the water.

@adelsonjacobs​

[adelsonjacobs]

Two new arrivals were enough of a distraction to cause Adelson to hesitate, and before he could return his finger to the trigger his opportunity had been snatched away.

He scowled, suppressing several choice words as the other gentleman came within earshot, their dog trotting behind them happily, several birds dangling limply in his mouth. 

Jove, by contrast, was chasing his own tail.

“Lord Thorne, Mr. Hastings.” They were allotted a nod of hello each. “The woods proved productive did they? How interesting.”  

He turned to Lord Effingham with an arched brow. “I do recall someone advising we follow a similar path. Pity we chose not to heed their advice.”

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[ixnay-on-the-ipshay]

adelsonjacobs​:

With a heavy sigh, Adelson decided he would rather be tired, aching and nauseous than wet.

The riverbank was uneven, the boat rickety and warped, which made climbing abroad a challenge. 

“I assure you…I am more resilient than appearance would suggest…” There was no graceful way to manage it, each shift in his weight upset the balance of the boat on the water, and he was left with one leg on land and the other struggling to find purchase on their pitiful ship. 

“If you would please…hold the boat…still…I could– grouse!” 

There was a frantic scramble, and following a curse, a clatter and a bang! that sent Adelson toppling into the boat onto his backside, they were left with one dazed man in the boat, a sodden dog out of the boat, two rifle boys who seemed resigned to their fate for the afternoon and rustle of cattails as the aforementioned bird scampered away. 

-

He swore as the gun went off – the retort cracking like thunder through the air; leaping back as the shot went wild – ricocheted off the rocky bit of the bank. 

The smoke cleared; Jove sent yet another spray into the air – pleased with its second dunk of the day. 

“Grouse – grouse indeed, sir, w-with that shot and-and that shout, why – that may well be the-the closest we’ll get to one for the next few, damme you!” It was more irritation at his less-than dignified reaction that colored his tone; irritation that led to his sharp gestures for the younger of the boys to join the excitable Mr. Jacobs in the boat – Jove landing with a wet thunk-splat soon after. 

“Do us all a favor, Mr. Jacobs, and try and – and keep any excitement to-to yourself,” he managed, nodding at the other rifle boy as they began the tug across to the other side. “At least until we are all on-on dry land again; I-I should hate for you to-to have to explain how you made a-a widow of my wife in the name of-of grouse.” 

The stream was deeper than expected in certain parts; it necessitated moving a-a bit further downstream – and left him a little more winded – than he would have liked. Once the rope and boat were both secured to his liking, he wasted no time in snatching up his own rifle and peering across. 

“Well, Mr. Jacobs? Don’t tell me you want your grouse herded to you as-as well as being hauled across the stream?” 

Not a damme thing in his sights; all of them clean scared away still, no doubt. 

[adelsonjacobs]

Adelson hauled himself from the both with as much grace as he boarded it, snatching up a rifle once he managed to find his footing. “Apologies for not being nimble. I was reserving my excitement, sir, to save me the trouble of an unfortunate visit to your lady wife—quiet.”

He cut an impatient hand through the air, waving off Lord Effingham’s inevitable protest.

There it was again, somewhere in the bushes just ahead. A chirp, and the tell-tale drumbeat of wings.

He hurried forward to the Earl, carrying with him the scent of sweat, gunpowder and curiously, rose. A staying hand, surprisingly gentle, went to Lord Effingham’s arm.

“Just there.” Shrewd blue eyes skirted along the rustling grass. He lifted his rifle with a wince. “I will take the shot.”

[rolled a 3, grouse has been spotted!]

[adelsonjacobs]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay​:

-

“Grouse may be found on the-the opposite bank as well as here; I-I did not think this required explanation,” he said, resolutely pushing forwards. “You seem remarkably slow this morning, Mr. Jacobs – might I suggest rousing yourself from your-your quarters earlier, to-to afford more time for more coffee? Ah!”

For indeed there was a stream of sorts, gurgling merrily – as picturesque as any landscape. Jove dove forward, splashing every which way – before yelping at the cold and trotting back, shaking droplets everywhere. 

“Well,” he said, inspecting the boat, “There goes any hope of-of game on this bank at least – thank you, Jove.” 

The dog, missing the sarcasm, barked, tail wagging. 

Late morning sunlight fell across the stream, illuminating most of it clear to the bottom, save for some spots. He looked back at their motley crew – unsure what to make of Mr. Jacobs – then:

“Split the party then, for the crossing – you, there, you seem tall and strong enough to manage,” so saying, gestured to the taller of the rifle boys, “with me. You, load the rifles in the boat – Jove, follow. And stay.”

That tone of voice was at least familiar to the dog, who jumped in and put its head on its paws – whining. 

“I-I shall lead the boat across – at least this rope appears it will hold.” Then, looking expectantly at the other gentleman, raised an eyebrow. “Well, then? Boat or-or hauling across, sir? I-I must say you look like a-a damme breeze will knock you over.”

[Archie is proposing a mix of both options: him and other rifle boy leading the boat (carrying rifles, other boy, Jove the dog) across] 

.

With a heavy sigh, Adelson decided he would rather be tired, aching and nauseous than wet.

The riverbank was uneven, the boat rickety and warped, which made climbing abroad a challenge. 

“I assure you...I am more resilient than appearance would suggest...” There was no graceful way to manage it, each shift in his weight upset the balance of the boat on the water, and he was left with one leg on land and the other struggling to find purchase on their pitiful ship. 

“If you would please...hold the boat...still...I could– grouse!” 

There was a frantic scramble, and following a curse, a clatter and a bang! that sent Adelson toppling into the boat onto his backside, they were left with one dazed man in the boat, a sodden dog out of the boat, two rifle boys who seemed resigned to their fate for the afternoon and rustle of cattails as the aforementioned bird scampered away. 

[adelsonjacobs]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay​:

theseason-narrator​:

It is easy to understand the conundrum: the voices of the gentlemen alert any game in their path, and while one grouse appears near an outcropping of wildflowers, both Lord Effingham and Mr. Jacobs line up to take a shot, but each goes past the grouse and into the brush.

The southern trail descends into a valley, until Cliveden vanishes and the atmosphere becomes nearly pastoral. Here, tall grasses have fallen to create a pleasantly soft underbrush, country violets and daisies shine bright beneath the sun. Even the hills on either side contribute, blocking the heat of the day – the air is pleasant, and warm.

Considering this, it seems strange to be having such a terse argument. Perhaps you would be better (1) suited to sitting down and relaxing amidst the day – or is that water you hear, up ahead? – perhaps there is merit to (2) surging forward in your search.

-

He lowered the rifle, squinting through the wisps of smoke for one – two counts before exhaling and handing it back to the rifle boy. 

Jove let out a happy whuff and shot off to investigate – only to bound back over, flopping at his feet. 

It pained him to admit that Mr. Jacobs may have had a point, and so – he did not comment. 

“Further up and farther in,” he said instead, giving in and scritching the dog behind its ears. “I-I do believe I hear water. Or is it a-a moment’s respite you need, Mr. Jacobs? You shall have to-to let us know; otherwise – press on we shall – the royal party will be far ahead at this rate.” 

Jove’s tail thwacked the ground in excitement, once, twice, before it too scrambled to its feet and dashed over to the other man, snuffling. 

.

Adelson braced himself, but resolve alone couldn’t prevent pain from shooting down his shoulder as the rifle recoiled. The explosion of gunpowder set off a dissonant ringing in his ears. He clapped a gloved hand to his forehead,  blinking quickly against dizziness and trying to orient himself.

Lord Effingham’s imperious leadership cut through the smoke, ever an anchor amidst discord.

Rest sounded more appealing than ever, but somewhere ahead Lord Ackerley and the Duke were in one another’s company, both holding guns (not to mention to stay behind would mean conceding to the the Earl’s earlier point that Adelson was better served spending the day back at the house.) 

He straightened and clumsily handed off his gun to the rifle boy. “Your persistent consideration for my comfort does you immense credit, sir, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of carrying on. I have yet to see a meet a grouse capable of swimming, but I am eager to see one. By all means, lead the way.” 

[Onward!]

[adelsonjacobs]

William Powell Frith. Olivia Unveiling. Oil on canvas, 1874.

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant enemy does much (Twelfth Night, II.ii.)