william stanhope, prime minister of great britain, earl of bath i feel so extraordinary somethings got a hold on me i get this feeling im in motion a sudden sense of liberty
Her relationship to the Prime Minister was one of complexity. She would be the first to admit that her personal knowledge of the man was scarce, but that her view of him as a politician was less than favorable. She had confided silently to allies what a shame it seemed to see the reins of power fall into such a man’s hands - though to his face, of course she never said such a thing.
It did amuse her to catch him off guard, and she nodded in understanding, watching as one of the hired hands of the park led her horse away to be watered and fed now that her ride was finished. “I fear you may be right in that, Prime Minister.” She ducked her head as she spoke in his title, in a show of respect that was expected of her. “Which is quite a shame, all things considered, as it’s such a lovely day for a ride.” She came a touch closer, meeting his gaze. “If I may be so bold to inquire, are you on a particular journey, or simply walking to inspire your thoughts? You must, I am sure, have a great deal on your shoulders.”
“To say the least,” he confirmed, though as much was spoken in a rather dry tone. Observing the woman from the corner of his eye, he could not help but feel there was a hint of irony in her words; of mockery. It slipped by like a breath, unworthy of comment, but nestled itself in the tension of his shoulders.
His head turned again, eyes on hers as he hummed softly in confirmation. “It can be nice to escape the confines of one’s own personal cell,” he declared. “No matter how gilded and populated they may be, four walls and a ceiling cannot help but confine.”
Her chemise was belted at the waist with a violet trim as the Countess pranced around her new home; she was still getting used to it, to the fineries and delicate decor. Mid-skip she found her husband, her eyes alight with dreams and delight as she approached him - a hop in her step as she came to William’s shoulders. With her delicate touch, she took hold of him, pressing her fingers against the bone and muscle as she hummed a tune from their adolescence. No, perhaps true love was not made between the pair, but they were friends - comrades in arms… there was little they could not do when put together. “My dear, dear William… I will never get used to the size of this place! Pray tell, when can we put on a little fundraiser here? It’d do your reputation wonders…” @gcntlemxn
A similar sensation of wonderment had gripped William from the first. It was curious to find an almost princely palace hidden behind the facade of a town house. Yet, the spectacle was not as startling to him, one that had grown up amid wealth and grandeur - though perhaps less than most.
What stoppered him was the gravity of it all. From first stepping through the doorway, a weight had fallen upon his shoulders. It was very like him to pay greater heed to the portraits that hung about the staircase, casting a watchful, expectant eye upon their successor. Would he do well by them, he wondered? Perhaps he should hope not. There were many seeds these men had planted that he would see uprooted.
A hand at his shoulder brought a quiet jolt out of him. Chin lifted, his arms folded and shoulders raised, he let out a quiet sigh as he half turned his head to see her. A small smile came as a fleeting greeting. The tune in her lips was strangely comforting, and her distraction so very welcome. “Would that I had time to think on such things,” he replied, head tilting away to regard his wife better. “Don’t you think this house more an office than a ballroom?”
There was a chill in the London morning air, but Isabella paid it no mind at all. She had come out to the park, in part to enjoy the fresh hair. But of course, she enjoyed being seen, too, taking her turn around the gardens atop her horse in a fine riding habit - new, of course, silvery fabric shining in the sun, hat balanced just so over her dark curls . She eagerly soaked in the attention of onlookers, even as she dismounted from the horse, dabbing at her face delicately with a handkerchief.
“It’s so invigorating, isn’t it?” Isabella asserted in the direction of the person nearest her arm. “To be back in the city, with friends close at hand. Tell me, are you here to ride, or only to spectate?”
A chilly breeze was hardly unusual no matter the season. Such was the nature of their country, and something Stanhope relied upon. Despite his election, he knew from experience most of the public would disregard his face the same second they looked upon it, the same could not be said of a location such as this. Figures of status frequented this place; those that knew him personally, or at the very least by sight, determined to be seen in kind. Indeed, much like the Lady Churchill.
Atop her horse, she cut quite a figure and something about her airs assured the world that she knew it. It drew a smile across his lips that was not entirely benign. In passing her, he gripped the front of his hat with thumb and forefinger and dipped his head in both greeting and some passing modicum of respect. At that, he was content to leave it, though the thin smile he had adopted for her was forced to remain in place as she spoke.
Turning neatly on his heel to account for the steps he had taken past her, he shook his head at her question - this time, the gesture was all genuine, all regretful.
“My Lady, I am afraid I must take the dullest route and keep my feet upon the ground. You make the most splendid spectacle atop your steed, but I fear I would appear less statuesque and more like a target,” he admitted, accompanying his words with an almost ironic hum of laughter.
william john stanhope, earl of bath and prime minister of great britain
Hey folks! I’m Flint and this is Bill Stanhope, who runs the country for some god damn reason. Under the cut will be some form of intro, but whether its gonna be a few bullet points or his entire bio copy and pasted remains to be seen. Let’s click and find out! Anyway, my discord is @trash lord#7277 so hmu for some plots.
Full Name: William John Stanhope, 2nd Earl of Bath (3rd Creation)
Birth Date: 17th February 1756 (36 years old)
Birth Place: Stanhope Hall, Bath, Somerset
Current Location: 10 Downing Street, London
Religion: Church of England, Protestant (Loosely)
Politics: Whig (Strongly; Leftist, authoritarian, democratic socialist)
Languages: English, French, Greek, Latin
Occupation: Politician; Prime Minister of Great Britain
A somewhat controversial figure, Bath is known for two things; confrontation and rumour. Both make him unpopular with companions, yet a treat to have around, if only so one might stir gossip. As a politician, he is known to excel in debate. A staunch anti-traditionalist, he takes an aggressive approach to all matters of Parliament and seeks to run a government that serves its people — much to the chagrin of the aristocracy it has served for many hundreds of years. Therefore, the ton does not regard him favourably as he does not balk at making enemies in high places. Indeed, even on a personal level, he is contrary and loud spoken, never submitting to polite company or appropriate conversation, making it difficult to catch a break among those out for the season.
what are two potential plotlines you would be interested in exploring with your character?
Political intrigue sounds like it could be an extremely fun time in this rp, especially given the range of thought the characters show. A lot of Stanhope’s opinions directly intrude on the way other characters lead their lives, and he has the political platform to exercise against them, the greater aristocracy, and especially the tories and Royalists among them. I look forward to exploring this and playing out some controversy with the other characters.
Personally, he has plenty of issues to contend with as well. While he begins the rp as the recently elected prime minister of britain, he has a lot to contend with and I foresee things deteriorating fast for him. His combative personality and myriad of dangerous and scandalous secrets from his past will gradually make him vulnerable. Perhaps to the delight of his many critics, especially given the merciless regard he has for them. It’s hard to predict where this will take him, but I look forward to him growing a bit more dangerous because of it.
how does your character’s early life differ from their current life?
One could never call William Stanhope poor, but comparatively, he was once a nobody. There has seldom been a time he wasn’t in another’s shadow, that of parents, siblings and partners. He prides himself on learning much from this time and today uses it to his advantage.
These days, he has power, but he’ll never grow complacent of it. At times, he finds himself floundering, as he was never brought up with any expectation of achievement and has, for the most part, taught himself everything he knows.
Yet he doesn’t stand by and let things happen to him as he did in his youth. Today, his actions are swift and derisive. Meekness is still melting from him, burned away by a steadily growing radical fire that has made him such a compelling political candidate. Those that knew him as a boy would recognise little of the grown man.
how does this character’s reputation differ from who they actually are?
Reputation trickles down. It is decided by those in power and dispensed to those without it, who, possessing their keen appetite to resemble the rich, eat what they are fed and regurgitate in kind.
And so, it is his opposition that dictates him as a crass and cold hearted socialist, skimming money with one hand to pay mollys with the other, using any spare farthings on drink and smoke.
In reality, he has never spent a penny he hasn’t earned and prides himself on hopefully being rather more discreet about his personal purchases than the lascivious rumours would suggest.
As for his countenance, it is no small wonder that the pigs across the benches label him a cruel tyrant when it is their self-serving decadence and traditionalism that he sets out to dismantle. Those loyal to him receive a far different, smiling face. In truth, he might call none of them friends, yet he has many allies.
how does your character view themselves?
At once an egoist and a pariah, he has a poetic and self-critical view of himself. Over exaggerating his own importance, yet never falling back into the crutches of propriety as he keeps close countenance with the unwashed masses he strives to support. He struggles to call himself a saviour of the people, yet that is all he wishes to be. A struggler is, altogether, perhaps the best word he could find for himself. Every good action counters another he regrets, yet the regrets pile up as he struggles against addiction and faltering willpower in the face of his vices. This part of himself does not please him. Yet it is the fuel of his flame, compelling him forward to do better in return. He’d call himself a messianic leftist, but identifies more with the iron fist of a dictator than the welcoming smile of the prophet. And, lastly, he’d call himself an isolationist. People bother him. As concepts, they are magnificent, and without hesitation he will commend a man’s rights until the last line of the law. Yet he’d sooner rather his supper alone. Perhaps read a book. At every opportunity, his seat is left empty at soirees and celebrations. The intimate company of a handsome gentleman, a trusted advisor, his wife or, before his death, his beau would always be a thousand times more preferable than the stink of a crowd of clammering politicians.
is this character a leader or follower?
In general, a leader. One must be to rise to his heights and overcome his supposedly humble beginnings. He takes no issue in commanding, dividing, conquering. Believing, for the most part, in his own intelligence, he takes confidence in enacting laws, advising budgets, hiring, firing, fighting.
At times, he follows. He holds the opinion of few in value; his wife, his closest allies. Beyond that, the will of the people is his own. That is, after all, the entire concept of his campaign and candidacy. True democracy, as much as such is impossible in a proto-industrialist age, keeps him somewhat subservient to the will of the people and he will always act in their favour.
At times, he may be taken advantage of, swept up in good feeling and the easy charm of another. There is talk that his wife takes too much control of him, speaks too frequently in his ear, but he will scoff at such claims despite their truth. In another world, she would be a better politician than he. As it stand, they are a double act; she the only recipient of his utter trust, and he her loyal adept.
what are two headcannons you have for this character?
A man of many secrets, he covers a violent past with thin gossamer. Once a rioter and public campaigner, he’s given speeches to rabble in Trafalgar Square for many years and thrown punches in strikes and food riots for the sheer thrill of it. Now, society requires him to tighten his cravat and smile. It is a struggle to keep his buttons fastened to tight.
Political pugilism not withstanding, chief among his secrets are as follows; a drinking habit, through which his penchant for violence thrives, along with other behaviours unbecoming of his status; a fondness for opiates, of which he now takes delivered home, where once he might have lounged in dens and at least had some damn fun with it.
Lastly, there is the matter of his homosexuality. It is something he had always been aware of within himself, first culminating in the frightfully storybook fumblings with a stablehand. Less fable, perhaps, is that the older boy threatened to tell. In terror, William claimed assault to his own father and had the boy dismissed without reference.
In later years, William gained confidence in his attractions, sought out clubs and friends among whom he could be himself. Through the years, he had had many short lived relationships, mostly amounting to a mere handful of nights in one another’s company before slipping away forever. Among this number, only one stands out. For many years, Stanhope kept a young man on payroll; an unusually exclusive molly, awarded his own, modest apartments, clothing, salary and the sole beneficiary of William’s genuine adoration. Francis was his name. He’s dead now. As nobody ever knew of his existence, none will ever ask William how.
