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[dcvere]

night settles after a rushed , panicked day. the news of the king’s ill health has surely reached even the furthest corners of England , & among the tory faction there nestles a fear. fear in some , apprehension in others but all around , uncertainty clouds judgement. changing her homely attire for an intricate , but on no account extravagant dress , Helena saddles her horse & decides to leave the Oxford residence for a ride ; & to visit the Almack’s , the beating heart of all the talks ; true or untrue every tale had a grain of sincerity in it , & by the time her cousin the earl returns from his duties , she could come home with information. eyes fix on her chestnut Suffolk steed , hand gently patting the neck of her equine friend as she gracefully dismounts. tending to him for a minute , assuring herself he has everything he needs until she returns to fetch him for a gallop home , Helena directs herself towards the entrance to the Almack’s.

nose wrinkles as the smell of cigars & expensive alcohol hits her , but she arches her eyebrow & controls her distaste for the stale air of the room , & the curtain of cigar smoke which seems to envelop around her like a thick , widow’s shroud. lady de Vere spies a seat in the corner by the open window { undoubtedly forgotten to be closed in a haste , or momentary distraction ; a mistake she’s happy to exploit } & seats herself , eyes rounding the room through the thickness of the smoke. everyone who was anyone was here ; their wives , daughters & sisters included , & only a fleeting minute of peace have passed when another individual approaches her. Helena fixes a charming smile on her face , her ambitions fixed upon gaining information , a leverage , or something else with further’s her family’s ambition ; & adds to their tory glory.

“ I must admit , I though I would find a much more glum setting here. everyone seems to be in a decent mood , & in spite of our beloved king falling ill. it is a too merry gathering on such a sad day. pray tell , is there a celebration here I am unaware of ? a won party of bridge or any other fascinating gambling game which seems to please the gentlemen ? “ she plays ignorant , fanning to the other’s sense of boastful superiority ; & if there is one thing which the ton had taught her since her first introduction to the society , it is that people loved nothing better than to appear superior in knowledge , & more or less everything else ; & playing such cards has yet to fail her.

[percytemple]

It would be wrong to imply that Percy was in any way pleased that anything but good had befallen the king.  He did not wish ill upon a single person and certainly he was not so bad a subject as to wish for anything but good for him.  He had hoped, many times, for a change of heart, but not for this.  It was fully accurate, however, to suggest that he saw this new situation as an opportunity.  

It was well known that the King gave his support to the Tory party; it was equally well known that the Prince of Wales gave his to the Whigs.  If the King was unable to rule, the obvious Regent was, naturally, the Prince which was, in turn, a promising situation for the Whigs.  Now, Percy felt sure, was their opportunity to do good for this nation.  Perhaps, by the time the King was well again and enough change had been wrought, the King, himself, would be brought round to see how much better England was in the hands of the opposite party: everyone would see.

Percy could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect.  So it was that in cheerful good spirits, he made his way through the park.  The sun had hardly ever felt brighter; the flowers rarely seemed so vibrant or sweet-smelling.  Percy took this as a sign of favor from the Almighty, a sign that all soon would be well and the path was paved.

“Good morning,” he greeted the first person he saw.  “A splendid glorious day, is it not?  I can hardly believe how well all the world looks, today!”

[thomasnorth]

Dread hit Tom like a weight.  “Good God,” he swore, rubbing his brow with one hand.  “This is calamitous.  Cannot other physicians be got in to make His Majesty well again?”

“My lord, were it so simple as all that, the thing would be already done.”

Tom knew this was true.  He, himself, had noted a deterioration in the king prior to this retreat to Windsor, but to hear it so brought up at a meeting made Tom’s stomach churn.  “This Whigs will be delighted.”

“Surely no one could be so unpatriotic as-”

Tom’s jaw set into a scowl.  “Something must be done.  Now, more than ever, strong and resilient leadership is absolutely necessary.  We must be the ones to display it.  Now, go, do what you can tomorrow.  This evening is for careful thought.  Good day,” he added, tipping his hat, as he turned and made his way down the many stairs.

He emerged into the dying sunlight, felt its gilded rays splash across his shoulders and stopped.  It felt mildly symbolic, a sort of premonition for which Tom did not much care.  Squaring his shoulders, he set off again, unhurried, till he came to the spot in question.  Tonight, he needed to be out amongst the people, to see how they fared, what they required - and to better understand both their fears, with regard to these rumors about the king’s health, and their hopes.  The last time a king had been declared mad, a fearsome civil war had broken out, laying waste to the nation.  Of course, that had been three hundred years ago and, Tom felt fully confident, that would not come to pass again in this new, modern age.  Nonetheless, calamity of some sort seemed a predetermined outcome.

Tom stepped into Almack’s almost in a daze, gaze combing the crowd to study each and every face.  Had they heard?  Did they know?  How would they all react?  He meant to find out.  “Good evening,” he said to the person beside him.  “I trust you’ve had a fulfilling day?”

[theresadurham]

{ OPEN }

Shopping had never been one of her favourite activities, nor did she wish to spend her time doing so if there were many other things she could do instead. However, there was no one at home, and even if her husband were, it would be just the same. A quite townhouse had become her current nightmare and she missed the beautiful country house where she had grown up in. She certainly missed the warm springs and hot summers, the beautiful colours of the sea and how it seemed the sun had more light than it did in London. Or she simply did not like that city at all.

Theresa was in a very good mood, having received a letter from her mother where she had not mentioned children at all, and the young Countess accept it as a small victory. She continued walking around the shop, singing softly a Portuguese lullaby her babá used to sing for her every night. Her hand reached for a turquoise fabric, it was soft between her fingertips – it would made a find dress or a gorgeous robe. Her thought got interrupted by a subtle tug, and as she looked up, she found another person holding the same fabric. “Keep it,” she said with a smile. Her accent wasn’t as thick as it used to be, but still adorned every word. “This colour will look nice on you.”

[vcughan-deactivated20211114]

eyes rake across the room , crowded with people ; ladies fanned themselves , despite the summer’s heat having long stalked away , & the autumn’s chill already beginning to settle. some men played cards , some watched the women with curious glances , undoubtedly calculating which lady was unmarried & suited for their particular needs - tories turned to tory, whigs to whig , & all those in between shifted their alliances & views as they deemed fit for the moment. lack of interest evident in her eyes , Claire found herself a vacant seat , further away from the centre of attention , so she could better amuse herself watching the ladies & gentlemen attempting to find middle ground & common tongue. 

head tilts to the side , hand lightly circles the goblet of red wine in her grasp , shoulders resting against the back of the chair. her eyes spy a person or two she was acquainted with , but had very little drive to converse with - their gossips bored her & their tales inflated to the proportions of the ancient epics. gaze slithers from one figure to another , until they rest upon a person close to her , standing withing earshot. 

“ fantastic soiree , would you not agree ? but , if I hear one more tale of who did what & who spoke ill of whom , I might be forced to leave. I doubt my companion would approve. “ she glances towards a lord , dozing off in the chair close , but not too close , on her right ; smirk blooms on her lips & she returns her glance to the other person ; “ if you’d be so kind to join me , I promise not to repeat any of the odious tales I’ve heard so far. “

[eleanxrmoody]

open

location: The gardens of Melbourne House

Evening had drawn in far too quickly for her liking, the long hazy summers where evenings had been spent walking around pleasure gardens would inevitably disappear away for another year to be replaced by quiet conversation and over the top soirees. Even the thought of it was enough to make her reach for her fan, anything to distract her mind from the inevitable season of matchmaking. Perhaps she had returned to London too soon, but it would have been cowardice for her to have hid back in the family home whilst the rest of her siblings moved forward in society. She was already three steps behind them all, her years in Surrey had built a wall around her, and now she didn’t know to smash through it. She had watched her younger siblings that evening, the way they made their way through the room with such innocence and lightness of touch that it made her heart ache. 

Turning away from the scenes in the large room she made her way quietly to the gardens, disappearing through the doors into the darkness. Finally, away from the chaos of the theatre, and the relentlessness nature of the dance, she could breathe, the breath escaping from her rapidly and her shoulders relaxing. How much tension had she been carrying? She could not say, but for the first time in hours she felt close to pleasantly light. As she strolled further away from the hum of society ideas of running away and disappearing back to the country ran through her head. She never would have of course, but even the mere thought of it was enough to soothe her racing heart. Behind her she heard the snap of a branch underfoot and spun on her toes to look for the person that had interrupted her late night walk. She should not have been walking alone. She should have had a companion. Instead she was defenceless. 

“–Who goes there?”

[thomasnorth]

Tom ordered his usual glass of claret with a wave of his hand and the softest breath of a smile.  After a long recess at Burghley, it was pleasant to return to town for the season.  Tom enjoyed the bustle and excitement, the comings and goings that could only truly be appreciated here where life moved at a faster clip, surrounded by more varied society.  Of course, Tom loved his home, and he had begun a project of renovating and fixing up the parts of the grand home that required repair which, admittedly, consumed a great deal of time, but the change of scene remained welcome.  There was so much here, as well, to accomplish.

Besides, it was not unpleasant to be in some way distracted.  His mother’s recent death had not been a surprise, her illness having endured for two years, and she had perhaps not been the best of mothers…but she’d been his, nonetheless.  The loss had effected him more, he now knew, than he’d expected it might, but for all that he bore up well beneath it.  Aside from the socially necessary marks of mourning on his person, Tom neither spoke of it nor displayed any particular change of countenance or action.  He did not believe in showing weakness in public.

Almack’s was lovely, tonight, sweet music tinkling from the nearby musicians and the chatter of happy voices contributing to a pleasant feeling of excitement.  Looking around him, Tom watched couples spinning about the chamber in spritely dance, and he sipped at the wine.  He felt youthful, just now, surrounded by its trappings, and the ghost of a smile appeared in his eyes as he set his glass down upon the table near his hand.  Someone was approaching.

“Well, now,” he greeted.  “It has been some time, hasn’t it, since last I saw you.  Tell me, how did you summer, this year?”

[lcdyvivian]

Vivian quite enjoyed going riding on her own; why would she need a chaperone to waltz around her, giving her absolutely no alone time - when alone time was usually exactly the reason why she was going riding in the first place. Astride her pale mare, Snowflake ( a name which she had chosen for her out of sheer spite and irony ), the obsidian haired Lady rode though the woods, enjoying the general aesthetic of upcoming autumn - yellowing leaves, brittle branches snapping under her mare’s hooves, and the general smell of autumn; decaying greenery and the breeze with bordered on chilly. It was perfect. A wonderful day, indeed.

With a steady pace, instead of a gallop, Vivian approached the place where she would normally run to, to relax and perhaps read a book, or two, when she spotted a person, lounging on her usual spot. Well, that was just rude. While she was more than aware that she did not have the exclusive ownership of that particular patch of green grass, she couldn’t help but to feel her mood sour by a fragment. But, alas, before she could usher her horse to turn around, the person noticed her, and she offered them a smile. “Good afternoon. My apologies if I have disturbed you.”

[percytemple]

Stealing a glance upward, Percy looked towards the sky.  He recalled how, once, the West Indies had seemed blistering in comparison to this weather, over-saturated in color.  Now, the world was entirely different in its orbit: the sun here seemed mild, caught amongst its attendant clouds, and the colors seemed muted, as if he peered at them through a piece of dull parchment.  Percy tried to recollect how things had stood when last he’d been in London - then, only little more than a boy - but it seemed he was a different person, entirely, any memories belonging to the person who once had been and lost to the new one.  Percy little cared.  Forming new memories was, to him, the whole business of life, entirely, after all.

Swinging his cane with each step as he walked, Percy glanced eagerly around him.  Pleasant trees sprouted in orderly rows, fronting houses that similarly poked from the earth, uniformly Palladian balance and impressive facades.  Smirking, Percy listening to the clack, clack, clack of his own fashionable cane as he walked, listened to the tread of fashionable strangers passing him in the street.  He found he enjoyed the anonymity of the crowd, the strange-soothing of the unknown, of limitless potential.  The world felt open and inviting and brand, brand new when, in fact, it was the first thing he’d ever known.

Exhaling a long breath, Percy, glanced around himself, brow furrowing.  The houses that dotted the city street were cheerful and modern but they felt strangely foreign to him, even as he approached what was now his own pied-à-terre.  God knew he’d walked this same path a hundred times, trailing dutifully behind his mother like a sun-soaked duckling.  Before he’d set foot in his new home, he’d known it solely as the residence of his grandfather.  Now, he’d never see the man again - and the home was his own.

Percy bit his bottom lip.  He felt strangely loathe to return, just now.  And, more to the point, he realized that he was not entirely certain which of these houses was his, to begin with…Glancing around, he was relieved to spot a familiar face.  Grinning, he made a gesture of greeting.  “Good morning,” he said.  “Might I trespass upon your time?  I seem to have made a little blunder.  I don’t suppose you know where Palmerston House is?” he laughed at his predicament.  “I might have sworn it was just here…”

[charlesreidmp]

Almack’s was still a place where Charles did not feel comfortable. He hadn’t been raised in this society, instead he had been thrust into it as he rocketed through the ranks of the Whig Party. But yet there he was, moving through the smoky rooms of the clubhouse. His appearance was more out of necessity than desire - the club acted as somewhat of a casual headquarters for the party. Spying an open chair at a table by the window, Charles approached. “D’ye mind if I sit here?” 

[deactivated-blog]

It was a lovely day. The heat of summer was beginning to ebb away, with only the whispers of it lingering in the air, warming up the general atmosphere - or perhaps it was the unrest which was still felt throughout the country. Men whispered about it, but never openly spoke, or voiced their opinion is her presence; and if she would ask, they would either scoff, or lightly chuckle, expressing the oddity of a woman being interested in the politics. No, women were simply a prised jewel, something to adorn the lives of men. For a while, she was content with it, and she remains content - if only for a little while longer, and if only for her own peace of mind; she was not fond of arguments.

Lucretia was seated in the park, enjoying the afternoon’s light breeze, as she waited for her family to finish running their errands. A book was resting in her lap, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, her gaze trained upon the page, completely lost to the imaginary world; and words whose writer was long gone - and it was a refreshing thought, the eroding tooth of time. Lost in her book, but not completely blind or deaf to the world around her, Lucy heard the light thud of footsteps, approaching her, until they paused by the bench she was sitting on. Bookmarking the current page, she lifted her gaze up, and met the other person with a delicate smile.

“Good afternoon. Quite a weather we have today, though I reckon it might rain later.”

[trialled-fate]

London’s frantic flurry was busting at the seams, particularly on wide cobblestoned streets as carriages combatted for space, dominance, a show of wealth, taste, respect. The Right Honourable Viscount Bolingbroke sat in his carriage, mighty, sturdy black horses as intent as their master galloped apace from business meeting, to formal engagement, to venture for the afternoon. 

As the French have recognised American independence, James was particularly busy paying visits to fellow tradesmen, on a matter of payment owed to him for aiding their efforts in these trying times. Other’s trouble was a profit, in James’ eyes, no matter how many people believed he, too, grew concerned for any unfortunate sway that he could benefit from.   

Impatiently, gloved hand extended into the open air, rattled impatiently on the roof of his carriage for his powdered-wig driver. ‘Have you fantasised, Waldegrave, that you are lounging behind a dead horse with no need or care for my precious time? Is this what you consider your life’s profession? Good God, man! Onward!’

And so, the driver rounded a corner, past the cathedral, only to halt on account of a passing pedestrian narrowly in its path. The horses reared on their hindlegs, shortly followed by a coo. Whilst concealed from the world, James rolled his eyes, then paused, opening the window curtain, ‘Waldegrave, damned you, you could have someone killed! What did I say about sensitivity in town?’  His voice was low and smooth, charming, even, as he calmly cleared his throat and jumped out of the carriage, towards the front to see who faced peril. ‘One thousand apologies for my driver, I’ve told him to take heed. Are you unscathed?’ 

[ecavendish]

Esther sniffed the air, a smile emerging. Riding weather. The cool morning air filled her lungs as she urged the brown mare into a gallop, pressing her heels into the horse’s sides and loosening her hold on the reins. As a child, she would ride side-saddle until Devonshire House disappeared behind the trees, then she would slide one leg over and ride like a man until her dress was soaked with sweat. Now she had the decency to ride as a lady ought to, but on days like this, she longed for the times when she cared little for social graces.

Upon reaching a grassy meadow, Esther tugged on the reins and urged the horse to a halt, then dismounted. A collection of pretty yellow flowers had caught her eye. Their petals would be perfect to embroider on a piece of calico, perhaps even as the design for a new dress. Esther tied the reins to a tree and began to pick the flowers, gathering them in her arms. A bird chirped overhead and took off into the air, then the galloping of hoofs shattered the silence.

A horse and rider darted through the meadow just inches from Esther, causing her to drop the flowers at her feet. “Surely you couldn’t have come any closer?” She called after the rider, heat rising in her face and her hands balling into fists. “I was looking forward to being trampled to death!”

[mvrlborough]

─── ⊱ ⋆ ✧ SHERIDAN’S NEWEST WORK WAS CERTAINLY a subject of interest tonight during this gathering at the melbourne’s and alice, personally, was intrigued by the reactions of the audience. many in detest yet some in intrigue at the way that sheridan seemed to prod at many individuals. again, the girl kept to her own and conversed when prompted, but alice for the most part remained near the small quartet playing to the side of the room while quietly observing the decor hung on the walls and set on the bookshelves. her own home definitely wasn’t as exquisite, though she did have far too many volumes of her own. ❝ what did you think of the camp? ❞ alice asked a person who just so happened to pause beside her own spot. so far offense seemed to outweigh enjoyment at the play, but it was a fun tally to keep. ❝ perhaps it would have been more well received should it have been an opera – music is always more forgiving. ❞

[myladygrey]

 THE EVENING AIR, lightly hazed by the roaring fires, clung to corsets, wigs, ribbons like honey, near coquettish, the way the stifling evening heat provided resembled the flourished aftermath of spectacled audience once the crude yet captivating premiere was complete. The true show never ceased, it only fluttered frantically with each flap of a fan. Crescendoed with every biting laugh, enraged choke, each gurgle of an implication humming underneath the spoken notes. Isabel once- a lifetime ago- thought of the women her mother mingled with to resemble the ducks and geese her father’s hunting party, ruffling feathers. Now, the Duchess of Marlborough’s near autumnal forest gaze buzzed, hawklike, a mystic spark bearing a murky mystery above the sitting flocks preening around her, careful to reveal her true reaction to such a play. Careful not to glower, not to dart her focus across the stage, to see if her husband’s likeness was there. If it was staring back at her.

And so, the game rallied onward, as she roused and glided through the dance at Melbourne house. Her lips teased a smirk or a silk murmured commentary to those curious onlookers as she passed by, abruptly whirling around to greet the figure who’s shoulder grazed against hers. Curls bounced, and gaze locked on theirs before the young duchess lilted, ‘It seems those who seek to create comedies -or tragedies- have sparked chaos. Though I am positive I could tempt you into a gamble… what do you wager far more wild animals are in our midst this eve, than the playwright’s bloated caricatures? I am sure I have seen some wildness lurking by the wine, or hiding in the shadows.’ Lips tugged into a mischievous little smile, head tilted ever so subtly. 

[lcdyevelyn-deactivated20211114]

Be festive, Evie, it is a party. Her eldest brother’s words rang though her head throughout the evening, as she observed the way people interacted. Ever since her brother had inherited the title, and the estate, things have changed for the youngest Harley; they had to, for the sake of her brothers’ new obligations, and the utmost importance of their reputation. Having a bubbly and extroverted sister was not at all praise inspiring, and shutting off came extraordinarily easy for the silver haired lady of Oxford. She struggled to keep her cynical retorts to herself, but as time passed, and as she allowed herself a second goblet of the fine red wine, she had to admit she started to relax, even if only a little.

Lady Evelyn was seated by the fireplace, somewhere in the back of the grand room, observing as men and women danced, and laughed, and drank. A light smirk played upon her lips as she watched the interactions, wondering just when will something happen to spark a scandal. It was a too well known fact that England cherished nothing more than a good scandal - and if the play had not ensured it, someone else undoubtedly will.

She observed as a person neared her, and with a polite smile she bowed her head in acknowledgement of their presence. “Please, do join me. The seat is unoccupied, and the view is rather entertaining.”

[ljllian-blog]

—— open.

THEODOSIA MADE HER ROUNDS IN THE TYPICAL FASHION — skirts swirling, smile unfaltering, laughter cutting through the crowd like a church bell. it was a lucky thing that she had a pleasant laugh, not crass or boorish, all crisp and light. so, she circulated with ease, greeting, joking, gossiping with anyone who caught her eye. the omnipresent matter of the night’s play made an ideal ice-breaker, as did her sly follow-up about finding sheridan himself to hound about it. the satire had been delightful, as they always were. theodosia occasionally found herself lampooned for public entertainment and, as a result, had developed a keen appreciation for the mastery of ridicule. the camp’s war themes meant little to her, yet she grinned until her cheeks hurt as each recognizable figure took the stage.

            now, the best part of the evening had commenced.

            ❛ what a merry night! ❜ she declared, striding up yet another person. ❛ i dare say you’ve surely been asked enough for your opinion on the play, so i shall venture another question: have you had your fill of the wine? ❜

            theodosia produced a full glass, seemingly from nowhere, and chuckled. ❛ i should like to pass this off to someone lest i find myself having too much fun. ❜