#theseason;starter
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late july 1800 / afternoon / hyde park
open
His mind was all over the place today. He’d had a rough start to the day, had slept well into the morning before his mother had urged a servant to roughly rip Edmund from his dreams and wake him - perhaps that’s why he now found himself drifting off into daydreams every other moment. Perhaps that’s why he had actually agreed to go promenading, of all things.
Arms linked with his sister who, too, saw little use in the whole thing, he now found himself strolling along a scenic route near the river bank of the Serpentine, his mother hurrying them along. And although she had insisted that she merely wished to ‘take a walk and enjoy the fresh air with her dear children’, Edmund hadn’t missed the knowing glances she’d exchanged with other marriage-minded mothers along the way. Soon enough, his mother has dragged his sister from his side - with a considerable amount of force, too - and told him to ‘stay put’ and that she would return in a mere moment. The devious glint in her eyes however had suggested that she would most certainly be accompanied by another candidate looking to fill the position of future viscountess.
Spying his chance, Edmund waited until she was somewhat out of sight before he continued his path, considerably faster now. Oh, he was not getting matched today! With determination he walked further, threw glance over his shoulder to see if she was backy yet when -
“Goodness.” Edmund stumbled for a moment as he tried to regain his balance. He’d knocked into someone, he realised, and cleared his throat. Just his luck. “Are you quite alright?” Another glance over his shoulder - the frame of his mother came into view, accompanied by two others. “Listen, I am awfully sorry, truly, I apologise - however, if you do not wish to make the acquaintance of my dear mama, which I rater think you don’t, I suggest we take a stroll around the lake, yes ?”
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OPEN STARTER!
August 10th, 1800 / Mulberry Soiree
Although she was normally prone to dressing in the most gaudy of dresses, that evening showed some restraint. Some, for she was still a white swan wearing a mask with quite the array of feathers on her dress. She’d have gone for even more feathers but her mother had a say in it and so fortunately, despite the extravagance (which Dot was entirely uncertain how they could afford), the ensemble came together looking striking rather than too much.
The one problem was the mask, which Dot was struggling to keep in place. She kept lifting it just enough to let her skin breathe, finding the room far too stuffy to have it stuck to her face. She’d already given her identity away to both Lady Mulgrave and Lord Ridel, but . . . Well it was so hard to keep it a secret, wasn’t the point of attending to become acquainted with new people, anyway? How was that going to work if nobody knew who she was?
Her mother swatted at her wrist as she lifted her mask again, quietly reprimanding her in Hungarian. Dot passed her a look but let it be and instead, began toying with the tips of her gloves, wringing them out around her fingers until the fabric stretched and she found herself unable to get them to fit nicely again. With a huff, she crossed her arms, hiding her baggy fingertips. A moment passed and a hand went back to her mask and her mother swatted at her again.
“Alright, alright,” she conceded, sighing quietly and excusing herself. Now away from her mother, of course she lifted her mask again, fanning her face with her other hand with a triumphant smile for having gotten away with it. Mask half-lifted, she locked eyes with someone who seemed to have caught her. She dropped the mask, making sure it was back in place. “Honestly, I don’t know why I agreed to wear this thing, it’s awfully itchy.”
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Where: Hyde Park
Status: Open
It wasn’t often that Eliza allowed herself an outing so public with Owen. He was a over excited little boy and often wore his mother out, so on days like today it was for the best to take him out and allow him to explore, experience, and simply be happy. Her choices, perhaps, had not been the best in her life. However, he should not be forced to face them. They were not his mistakes.
And yet, society was not so kind. She was sure his entire life her poor little boy would be judged and mocked. It hardly seemed fair and for a moment, tears were brought to her eyes.
Eliza looked upon him with gentle eyes, watching as he played with his little toy blocks in front of her. She hid her face in her hands and let the tears fall for a moment, her body shaking for just a moment. It wasn’t fair. God why was the world so unfair to her and such a gentle little thing. Would there ever truly be happiness within their reach? It seemed impossible.
Suddenly, she heard someone approach, quickly using her handkerchief to wipe away the residual tears in her eyes. Eliza offered whoever it was a charming smile. “Oh hello. How are you this morning?”
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location: Hall by the Sea
for: open
Margaret was nearly pressed up against the glass that encompassed the hall, taking a reprieve from the activity. She enjoyed it greatly, having missed some of the more prominent dances in London so far this season due to poor timing. Margaret sipped at a glass of white wine, enjoying the ocean breeze that occasionally drifted through the room. She could feel eyes constantly drifting in her direction, earning the title of winning captain had more status to it than she thought possible.
Part of her reveled in it, of course. It was something to write home about, even if it was outside of society's conventions. As she pondered her newfound attention, Margaret did not notice the other individual step up beside her right away, finally turning when she noticed the space she found herself substantially smaller. “I am only taking a short reprieve,” Margaret explained herself, taking another sip of wine.
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OPEN STARTER || for the women characters!
LOCATION || Piccadilly Arcade
As far as shopping went, Richard didn’t enjoy that particular task but it was needed. Of course his servants were the ones to deal with the shopping in terms of running the house but Richard liked to get more personal items himself. One such thing was gifts though he felt out of his depth at this particular moment, most likely because he was overthinking every decision and every item. He did not need the jewelers just yet but there were a few people that Richard wanted to get some gifts for. The first being Lady Effingham. It was a delightful party that the Effingham’s threw and he wanted to express his gratitude for the invitation and of course he wanted to get a wedding gift for his future wife but there was certainly time for that.
Richard looked positively lost as he walked Piccadilly Arcade. He’d already walked the entirety of the first floor and now he found himself on the second floor. The tea room was full but Richard was lost walking between Manon's Corsetière and the Floris Perfumery. “I do not suppose you would offer a gentleman some assistance?” He asked the lady nearby. “I am looking for some presents for different people but I am in over my head. If you would help, I would be most grateful.” He looked, almost pleading with the lady who stood nearby.
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Brooks Gentleman’s Club | July 1800 | Open Starter
[Tolly could use some bros right now]
The one unmitigated downside to residing in the family home, for all its loveliness, was the inability to get completely intoxicated and not have to face familial censure or be scolded for being a bad influence for his young sister. There was some truth to this but Tolly was in no mood to be a good influence. If he had time to waste and were a decade younger, he would likely have hared himself off, return to the family estates or even back to New Spain to recover his temperament. Except as a man who had already passed his fourth decade, he had no such time to waste. He must carry on.
The sting was deep however and he felt the rejection, for rejection it surely was, as though it were a physical wound. Was he in love with the Lady? Not yet, he knew that much, but he knew it would have taken very little encouragement before he would have been. He had liked her tremendously and was attracted to her presence.
It was the disdain, the knowledge that once again, to English society at least, he was not enough, his title was not enough, and while he rejoiced, sincerely, for those who had found their match - Hastings, Halifax and yes, even Harcourt, he regretted pursuing, once again, a lady who had no real interest. He had misread once again. Played the part of ego balm and foolish old man and it was not a role his enjoyed.
He tossed back the last of his drink and waved a congenial hand toward the barman, who obligingly filled his glass once again. If he had it his way, he would be throughly drunk by the morning light.
“Hello there, good man, come to join me?”
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⸻ Aug 1800 . Tuesday evening . outside Brooks’
[OPEN starter to first taker!]
Most of her life to date had been spent waiting. Usually for men: for someone to make a demand through a closed door, for a secretary or the like to respond to an inquiry, for a harbormaster to tell her when a ship was due to set sail.
Now she was waiting for a footman to run back with an answer. Rank had not changed the general situation much, merely the level of comfort in which she waited.
“This must be the last one, my lady.”
She gave a slight nod in acknowledgment without turning away from the window. Mrs. Henley’s fingers flickered like a bird’s wings as the lace she was crocheting took shape. She could not imagine working with thread or textile in the stuffy heat of the carriage, and wished she could lean fully out of the window, just so she could breathe.
Finally, footsteps approached; she had the door opened before the second of the footman’s sharp raps.
“So sorry, m’lady. They hadn’t the faintest recollection of the man himself, only that he clearly had been here, for how else could he have run up a tab for drinks and board?”
Something of her disappointment must have leaked through in her silence. The footman shuffled and touched his hat. “Should I go back and try again, m’lady? They didn’t think it right to be answering questions about another gentleman to a servant, begging your pardon.”
“A lady does not step foot into gentlemen’s clubs.” Mrs. Henley’s voice emerged from the depths of the carriage, as stifling as the air within it, the judgment flashing like the light glinting off the needle.
Not if she wishes to remain a lady was the unspoken reminder.
“Peregrine Saunderson, Viscount Castleton. You are certain you said those very words, and they confirmed he was there?”
“Yes, m’lady. But again, they didn’t say anything further, and got all forbidding after that. Something about gentlemen’s business being a gentleman’s only, and none other’s?”
Her thoughts were slow in the heat, as if they too were melting into puddles.
A rap from the top of the carriage distracted her. “My lady,” the driver said, apologetic, “We’ve lingered too long, the carriages behind will be wanting our spot. Should I take us around again?”
“M’lady?” This from the footman, now shifting from one foot to another like an anxious bird in livery. “What do you want I should do?”
“The carriage will be noted outside the club,” Mrs. Henley said, detached. “And perhaps listeners will realize the same carriage was outside White’s and Boodle’s as well.”
What she wanted to do, she could not do, and others were refusing to do. The problem with a lifetime spent waiting was that when time called for action, she was out of practice.
She peered out, up and down the street, as if an answer would present itself there.
She was running out of time.
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Late May of the year 1800, Hatchard’s Bookshop, some time in the afternoon.
Open to all.
Spending time in Hatchard’s was, in a word, dangerous for Catherine Lockhart. Not dangerous in the traditional sense, of course; there were no dark and suspicious alleyways lurking in the bookshop, and the potential for scandal was minimal at best. No, it was dangerous for Kate because something curious seemed to happen to time when she walked through the doors of the bookshop. It seemed like every time she stepped inside, she took a step out of London and into another world, a world where she could lose herself within the endless pages of novels. And lose herself she often did –– the last time she was here, Kate was convinced she had only spent an hour after lunch glancing at the titles and taking down this book or that one to examine the first few pages, only to look up at one point and realize that the sun was setting outside the shop windows. Needless to say: dangerous.
Still, the little wild spark in Kate that had originally belonged to her sister Amelia and the love of stories that had always been shared equally between the four Lockhart sisters had latched onto Hatchard’s, and she could not quite help herself today. There was only so many times she could re-read the well loved copies of Gulliver’s Travels or The Castle of Otranto, and her soul felt like it was starving for something new and captivating.
Presently, she was thumbing through a copy of The Castle of Wolfenbach, brows pulled together and head tilted slightly to the side as she read brief sentences here and there. Normally, Kate would have retreated to one of the settees near the front of the shop, rather than crowding one of the narrow aisles of bookcases, but she had (as per usual) lost track of time. At the sudden sound of someone snapping a book shut an aisle over, she jumped, shutting her own book guiltily, and pressed the novel to her chest, glancing at the shelves again. Ah! There! Near the topmost shelf, a few copies of The Necromancer, translated from German into English. Her heart sank when she realized that even if she were to locate a stool, the book was too far out of her reach; while most of her peers had shot up even slightly in height during their early teenage years, Kate still stood barely above one and a half meters, much to her own personal consternation.
At the sound of footfalls coming from one end of the aisle, Kate’s head shot up and the air left her chest in a sudden sigh of relief. “Pardon me!” She called, her voice pitched just barely above her normal speaking tone, The Castle of Wolfenbach still pressed to her chest like a dearest possession and a hopeful smile gracing her features. “Terribly sorry to bother you, it’s just –– could you perhaps help me retrieve a book?”
#theseason;starter#this is your daily reminder that holliday is only five foot one#kate is Very Smoll#*in character threads#*open 001
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Hatchard's | Open
Hatchard's, late afternoon
It had been practically eons since Beatrice had been able to have an afternoon to herself--her cousin's twin girls had finally decided to attend a friend's tea-- and she'd bolted out of the door as soon as she could. She'd finally succumbed to the siren's song of Hatchard's, and currently found herself perusing the shelves, each book beckoning to her, calling her with the intensity of a priest in the church.
She ran her fingers along the spines, a shiver shooting down her own as the bound leather tickled her fingertips. She just knew that the answer to all of her questions would be there, somewhere, crouched down patiently and waiting for her to pull her from the shelf. After all, education and literature was the path to freedom--or so she'd heard, yet never seen.
A flash of silver caught Bea's eye, a streak of sunlight across a higher shelved tome. It seemed thicker than most of its other peers, and the thought of a new adventure called to Bea's soul. She stood on her tippy toes, reaching (always reaching wasn't she?) and grasped the book's spine--just before her damnable clumsiness kicked in, and she came crashing down, book and all, to a pair of very well shod feet.
"A thousand apologies," Bea began, a flush flaming on her cheeks. "Seems I went looking for adventure and found the wrong type."
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Open to All Starter || Piccadilly Arcade || @elxwenthehxpeful
Sights rarely change in London. Kenneth could recall each shop in Piccadilly Arcade. Maybe a few stores have changed, but many remain untouched. Standish and & Sons’ left quite a mark. Kenneth can recall the sound of his mother fussing over his jacket, his father’s hard state as he stood tall, and his brother’s laughter at the look of his discomfort on his face.
Four years and the situation is only slightly changed, now he’s waiting for his sponsee to finish their alterations. Something about a new dress for a party and what not. “Hoo long diz it tak’ to get a budy dress.” He muttered to himself.
Kenneth did not want to be here. His arms laid crossed as he watched people go between shops. His aunt reminded him he must promenade if he wanted to make proper introductions, if he were to find a wife. Elle coming along was recommended. Making him appear more approachable. Who would have thought people feared him? The thought brought a smile to his lips.
Kenneth felt a presence beside him. Kenneth changes his stance, standing straight and tall. It was not a surprise for those to seek his presence. No doubt his troublesome aunt has spread word to the mammas of his looking for a wife. A necessary evil he must face. Turning his head with a most gracious smile, “Guid day tae ye. Might ah ask what brings tae the Piccadilly Arcade today?”
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10 august 1800 / colchester-mulberry soirée / open
Oh, wasn’t this all so grand and exciting! Winifred was glas for the mask, for she was sure her fascinated, raptured state would be quite obvious without it. An ever-present smile on her face - though carefully sculpted, though as not to appear to wide- she let her gaze travel around the lavishly decorated ballroom. She’d only seen one such grand room in her life before, that of one of Frederica’s husband’s country estated. And, well, he was a Viscount - but this was a London residence! A place mostly reserved for summering. Truly, Winifred marvelled at the excess of Baron Colchester’s house.
Still - best not to daddle too long, keep moving. Heavens, Winifred wasn’t even officially out yet, she thought it best not to draw too much attention to herself. Some five minutes later, however, she did just that.
“Pardon - excuse me?” She asked with a smile, tapping the stranger in front of her on the shoulder to get their attention, ever so lightly. “Would you happen to know where a table with some refreshments might be? I fear the room is quite so large I cannot locate it.”
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Outside of Somerset House
Early May, 1800
open to all!
Mistake the first: spilling tea all over his jacket and shirt. Rather than be made to wait for his valet to fetch clean clothes, the Marquess of Halifax took it upon himself to procure the closest thing he could find that would fit him, which happened to be a coachman’s jacket.
Mistake the second: taking a liking to a horse and unattended open carriage which put the Marquess of Halifax, dressed like a coachman, in the perfect predicament to be mistaken for an available driver who then found himself delivering very argumentative and distracted sisters from Fortnum and Mason’s to Somerset House.
Mistake the third: Jeremiah grew a mustache (very ill-advised) making his somewhat unfamiliar face even more unrecognizable.
The sisters took their argument out of the carriage and into Somerset House, and Jeremiah paused to gather himself and return the carriage to where he found it, when a new person hopped in.
“Uhm.”
He smiled, resigned to it, but also rather keen on riding around London all day rather than spend time in stuffy indoor parlors. “W-where to?”
Jeremiah took the reins and began riding along the street and cast a glance over his shoulder. “It is nice weather we are having, isn’t it?”
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OPEN STARTER
LOCATION || The Grounds of Eastwell Hall
DATE & TIME || January 6th around 3pm
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Snow crunched softly with each step she took, leaving a path in her wake. Fresh, voluminous flakes were floating down from the sky like a thousand little kisses from the heavens, and were she a different woman, she would worry about what the dampness may do to her hair. Instead, Sophia looked up, blinking as the snowflakes caught on the end of her eyelashes. Absolutely stunning. Despite the grey sky, and the misery that often accompanied long dark days, there was a simple sort of beauty in a fresh snowfall. She stopped in her tracks, when her gaze settled on the twin willow trees and the lake accompanying them.
If she knew how to skate, or perhaps had a pair of her own she would be on the ice, allowing herself a moment of respite - a moment to feel like a carefree child once more. With a deep sigh that seemed to roll through her like a tidal wave, Sophia made her way towards one of the trees, reaching a gloved hand out to the trunk, unable to feel the rough bark through the warm material covering her hands.
“This is the sort of place artists dream of.” She breathed softly, allowing herself to sag slightly against the body of the tree.
Only when she heard the crunching of snow did she right herself and turn to see who it was that had unintentionally cut into a time of peace. “Good Afternoon” She let out, forcing her lips into a small sort of smile that did not deign to reach her gaze. “Beautiful, is it not?”
#theseason;starter#//i tried#pls do not feel like you have to match length#this was a whole boatload of NADA
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starting gun-
Having only arrived several months ago at the start of the season, there was still much to learn for Dominique about London, and one thing was for certain- she hated socializing. She felt it unnecessary, of pandering to others heedless and tiresome. Dominique may have in another life been a lady of sorts, but she was one left alone, raised alone, and so she operated alone. Who else must you impress besides oneself? Not that those thoughts had of any matter for today. It was a simple day, except somewhat intriguing, as she had new clients to tend to. The day prior, she had received a letter requesting for a last-minute arrangement. What made it of such importance was no matter, because it was doing something she loved, and one loving to perform she would never turn away the opportunity to show off her skills.
It was the improving other’s part that proved challenging at times, as some held no respect for her given she was a woman doing a man’s job, or of her social standing. Sometimes, they just liked talking about themselves, and pandering to one’s ego was something Dominique was never good at. It was a dishonest kindness, and how would anyone derive any satisfaction from ingenuity? If anything, she found such mannerisms to be pathetic and needless. But in society, needlessness proceeded everything. So she seized this needless opportunity, arranged at a last minute’s notice without any thought as to why. Besides, who cared the motive if she were to get paid?
Having jogged in men’s attire by the countryside, picked up by her carriage so no one could see. After all, it was unscrupulous for a woman to dawn such attire, but truthfully who the hell would want to run in a dress. It felt more natural to her; the exercise garments dawned then needless. Hair sitting atop in a careful updo to appear presentable after her run, she hastily got ready in a high neckline primrose dress with cream accents, dawning knee length laced heeled brown boots. It was a typical day outfit for any Londoner, and one she despised, longing for the long flowing robes, caftans, maghrebs and more. Such corsets didn’t belong in a land of red sand, yet corsets sucked any air she dare breathed just as the sky was deprived of lovely weather on more days than desirable.
Tan horses with twilight hair pulled to her destination, stepping out to inform the servants of her arrival. Her flintlock pistol and rifles laid in a case within her carriage, yet she always got out to ensure her students were prepared, as she had brought several of her own just in case. After all, she couldn’t have a student accidentally blowing their appendages off. Escorted to their sitting room, she stood patiently, choosing to stand rather than sit, as she didn’t want to make herself comfortable. Chin turning to meet the presence that soon entered the room, a pleasant smile curved on her lips. Rather than bowing in greeting, she spoke with a cool confidence, almost expectingly as she jumped straight to the point. There were no point in pleasantries if they both knew what she was here for, and besides, she wasn’t known for her demeanor. “Good morning, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you are well rested, you’ll need it for today.”
#theseason;starter#theseason; dom#apologies for it being so long T^T I tend to ramble in intros dont feel pressured to match
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August 4th 1800
St James Park, late morning
Open Starter
“Was it wise to bring the dog Margaret?” Aunt Helena raised her doubts gently, watching with a creased brow as the beagle continued to shove his snout in the bundles and baskets of flowers set throughout the main walkway of St James Park.
Margaret paused her discussion with the current flower merchant, pink rose delicately held between thumb and index finger for closer inspection. Her hazel eyes dropped lower to observe Barnaby quietly and shook her head slightly in dismissal, “He’s done nothing wrong, and would never forgive us when we returned home. Now – do you think roses are too trite?” She extended the flower for her Great Aunt to observe, before returning it to the seller hoping to secure her business. “I saw a stall with lilacs back some way, I know my parents prefer purple.”
Helena laughed, “As if it was their wedding. Meggie it is your choice, your special day.”
“There are simply too many choices. I should only wish the ceremony to go smoothly.”
The flower merchant cleared her throat slightly and spoke at a soft whisper, “Perhaps more than one flower can be used? They are in generous bloom with the weather, so you would not be pressed to find a supplier?”
Margaret nodded slowly, opening her mouth to make a more determined decision when Barnaby suddenly howled and leapt out behind her. She spun unbalanced with leash, eyes wide at the induvial that was the focus of the beagle’s more aggressive outburst. “Excuse us, please.” Margaret exasperated, holding the leash tighter and frowning in faint suspicion that surely her sudden company had done something to vex to the canine so.
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OPEN STARTER || for any of the male characters!
LOCATION || Brook’s Club
The hour was getting late at Brook’s but like most nights, it showed no signs of the different gatherings dying down. Most men spoke of the women of the season, of how they were planning on spending the off months. It was all rather dull topics of interest if Richard dared to admit such a thing but he knew better than to do that. Instead, he smiled along and chimed in with his own comments on occasion. No, instead Richard had spent his evening losing a little too much money at the baccarat tables before he set his sights on another, more quieter room.
This room was a lot quieter than the previous one. The few conversations that were had were much quieter and Richard had assumed, a bit more proper for polite society not that he was ever in a position to judge. There was a man playing the piano, rather beautifully Richard had to admit, and for a moment, he sat there quietly appreciating the music. Richard had not noticed it when another man had taken the free seat on his table. “Beautifully played is it not?” He asked, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the musician too much. “I almost envy his confidence in playing.”
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