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Heather O`Roarke

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  • Circles
    Libertine
    Art
    Trade
  • Title
    Countess
  • LOCATION
    Chelsea

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  1. Heather O`Roarke

    New Market Races 1670

    OOC: gentlemen, sorry for the interruption, but Heather never could resist an occassion such as this, so I'm adding a tiny vignette, and have the little thrill that she was there. Heather is 17 and meets the love of her life. In a nearby box on the Grandstand an elderly gentleman in traditional cavalier clothing about a decade out of fashion, fondly looked down at the lanky, not fully grown redheaded girl sitting next to him, dressed in a demure green chinz dress, her neckline covered with a gauze shawl. Goldenred tresses threatened to escape the conventional bun, defying order, and she pushed them back impatiently. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked over the crowd towards the start of the race, where the horses and their jocks were gathering. There was a slight pant to her breath. "He is magnificent," she whispered, before turning to Atherstone in pleading tones "My lord, tell me if I am wrong, is that not the most impressive stallion you have ever seen? I am undone." The Earl offered his young wife a sweet meat as he allowed his dark eyes to follow her gaze back to the object of her fierce desire. For a moment old habit had him assume she was talking of Old Rowley. Naughty crownprince Charles had become a merry King after all, and while Lloyd could only see the boy of old, many ladies found themselves at the King's feet in adoration. Yet his unconventional young wife, whose wildness he continued to temper in fatherly manner, threw not one look of interest in the direction of the Royal Box. Instead her gaze was fixed upon a white Arabian stallion of the finest breeding while the sunlight danced upon her freckles, dusting her body all over as the earl well knew. Lloyd swallowed, something about the excitement of the girl pumping his blood to unacceptable levels. Perhaps tonight... Heather was all that was proper. During their wedding night she had turned away from him afterwards and cried silently in her pillow, but not one complaint had come from her lips, and all he had been able to do the next morning was give her jewelry to restore some measure of marital bliss. He had not married her for those particular duties and it was only the burden of his lust that caused him to force himself upon her unwilling body. She was there to take care of him in his elder days, more a nurse than anything, and he guarded her, like her father no longer had the energy to do, so he had felt rather guilty about her shame and sadness, and still did on those ocassional nights that he did visit her, unable to stay away. Surely it was some form of abuse. Not that she ever resisted him, laying still till he was done and rolled off. putting back her nightgown down from her waist with akward movements. He had known taken her to Newmarket would tempt him beyond reason again, but... by Jove.. Perhaps tonight.. and tomorrow I will gift her that horse. She will be happy again. "His name is Princeton," he whispered in Heather's ear "Quite the famous race champion. The wagers favour him for today's race. Do you like him?"
  2. Heather O`Roarke

    English Nationals

    Heather Abigail Thompson (nee Hamilton) Title: Countess Estate Name: Atherstone (Warwickshire) Nationality: English Age: 20 Gender: female Religion: Anglican Physical Attributes: Heather has porcelain white skin, blemished by many redbrown freckles. Her hair is a golden red that sparkles in the light. The thick curls have a tendency to be frizzy and strawlike. Her eyes are light green, changing to yellow or blue depending on the color of her gowns or her earrings. She is every inch the Hamilton. All her brothers have the same hair and skin. Because Heather is taller than average she looks most men into the eye. Her body is well shaped with the fashionable plumbness of the time. The first impression: Heather is not a shy girl, graced with an open smile that betrays a curiousity to the world around her. The lady has an air of sensuality, but is also well known for implish delight in mischief. Background: Heather, named after her two grandmothers, is the sixth child of the seven Hamilton children that still live. Five brothers arrived before Heather did (Henry jr, Edmund, Adrian, Darren, Clarence) Her mother Catherine Hamilton (nee Forthingale) died while giving birth to a second (dead) sister when Heather was three. She does not have many memories of her mother. It was a happy childhood with Heather having the freedom to pursue her own interests which included a lot of outdoors activity, or listening in on her brothers tutors. It was not one of great wealth, and Heather in time would not have an impressive dowry. Her father Henry Edmund Hamilton, viscount of Elmdon (Cambridgeshire) remarried when she was eight with widow Rosana Appelbee (nee Thompson). Until Rosana joined the Hamilton Household the children were more or less allowed the free roam of the estate, which became the source of gossip in the small community. Realizing that his children were becoming an uncontrollable wild bunch and needed a firmer hand Henry remarried a lady who was improvised after her husbands death, yet was known for her female graces. She took the education of the children, Heather especially, at hand, arranging a tutor for the older boys. Being a kind but firm lady she managed to bring back some measure of civility. Henceforth Heather was no longer allowed to play outside like one of the boys. The reputation of a wild child continued to haunt the girl, and upon Rosana's recommendation she was married off to a cousin of Rosana, a considerable older man, a widower called Lloyd Charlton Thompson, Earl of Atherstone, who had two older children (Lloyd Charlton jr and Cedric Matthew) who already left the house with no female relatives. Lloyd was in his infirmity (far in his sixties) and needed a woman to take care of him. Heather was 17 when she married him. It was the perfect marriage as far as Rosana was concerned. Having to take care of her husband there was less time for Heather to get into trouble, and she gained a respected title despite her somewhat small dowry. They lived in quiet harmony, with Heather spending her days between her husband and her horse. Princeton was a gift from her husband upon their marriage. He bought it to breed horses with, after Princeton retired as a racing horse with some acclaim. While slightly inappropriate for a lady to ride a stallion, it was just what the willfull Heather needed to get rid of her energy. Lloyd died in the winter of 1675, after her father passed away the summer before that, making it a sad year all around. The newly minted Earl of Atherstone demanded that his father's widow remarry, to which she took exception and fled to court to be away from his and her brother's influence. The Countess of Atherstone arrived at court quite poorly, but soon managed to attract the attention of several men. She ended up with the moneylender Caleb O'Roarke who died upon her, and afterwards was briefly married to this brother. The marriage as annulled in favour of recognizing hte secret marriage to O'Roarke, who eventually was recognized as having been the true Earl of O'Roarke. Thus her son, Caleb junior was now an Earl. Heather kept a string of lovers, including the Duke of Buckingham, and finally ended up brièfly as King's Mistress. Rumour has it that the lady in a fit of pique dumped the monarch, and they briefly engaged in a silent war of revenge till all was forgiven as was CR's style. To the surprise of many she has become and actually stayed the main mistress of the Duke of York, just returned from her confinment from their first child. The Countess is more than her lovers however. As an independent and rich widow, she entertains a career as a writer and poetess, fancing herself a patroness of the arts.
  3. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    OOC: lol. don't forget this is not taking place in 1677 but is a vision of a future "I don't know," Heather murmured upon the philosophical question "I like it not, regardless. I am weary to commit my heart again. It always leads to hurt. Nay, be content with pleasure and remain in control." "What.. no I mean Charles, who pretended to be only interested in parties & mistresses, but really, he could be a cold schemer and... " Then the confusion of the French girl surprised her. "What new King? Mistress Vauquelin what rock have you been living under?" Heather laughed, and it had a bitter tinge "Why, it is a sadness Queen Karoline never could give King Charles II a child as so many Protestants had hoped. His brother James remained his heir, and now, through God's will he is our monarch." The redhead sighed "It will not last long, despite I believe My Pr.. King James devoted to his duty. He is conservative in his views and thinks all owe him loyalty when he has not won their hearts and they just not stand for it. They fear the black Jesuits whispering in his ear, I am none too fond of them either. Even if they will not repress Protestants, they will enforce a much stricter moral that is not natural to London." It had turned James away from his libertine ways. She shook her golden red curls "No, they will not accept this willingly. Charles feared it, I know he did. He predicted his brother would not rule more than 4 years. Despite his good intentions, a year in now, James is making that prediction more than likely to come true." Charles had that uncanny ability, to make accurate predictions of the future. Really, the man had a mastermind for politics, a trait Heather had always thought ever so boring.
  4. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    "Goodness girl," the redhead exclaimed upon seeing the dare devil red stockings "there are better examples to follow." A fellow libertine, now that was interesting. Louis, you sly fox, have you taught her as well? "Then again, it is probably the most fun you'll ever have. I've dined with Earls, danced with Dukes and slept with Kings." "I once tempted the Pope you know, when I brought him royal correspondence," Heather's eyes sparkled "He didn't succumb, but at least he was not the one to jilt me. And the Bishop of London, he still desires to marry me but that can never be." Heather laughed briefly, humour returning to her, all of life's ironies. "It takes some getting used to, being jilted. I was usually the lady walking out of an affair. Countless lovers, my second husband, the Duke of Buckingham.. the King.." there was a brief pause, a sadness for yet another one having passed over.." The old King you understand, merry King Charles. A little less merry than I expected him to be though, and so I walked out on him too. Quite a temper he revealed, but even the ending was glorious in its passion." Then there was Douglas. Heather wasn't entirely sure who had left whom. Too alike they had been, while a bigger contrast they couldn't make. She directed her thoughts elsewhere. "Ah, but this new King of ours.." Heather sighed "he no longer desires to be my Prince." She shook her head sadly for she had wished it to be otherwise. Everything had changed upon James' ascension to the crown.
  5. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    "The Earl of Basildon?" Heather briefly considered "He is a very dear dear friend. Perhaps I may." Though what his wife thought of some of the statues was any ones guess. "Oh Edmund, he is a dear, but he is also a rogue, don't you know? He liked to be in the thick of things, as it were. Now that I am withdrawing, I do not think there will be so much to interest him. Unless.." she gave Nicolette a speculative look, humour returning ot her. Oh, aye, that would serve her brother well. "And so it s hall be," Heather decided "I will buy my own artsy place South of the Thames and it will inspire people so much, they will come to visit an old jilted mistress like me."
  6. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    "No, not a spare. I'll sell it," Heather decided firmly, afraid she might otherwise think differently. God knew she probably needed the money to cover her debts. "My brother Edmund might have liked to stay, but seeing as there now is nothing here for him to do, I fear he will have to make his own way." The redhead shrugged. She had gambled and lost, and now her brother was paying the price too, just like he had shared in her previous victories. The redhead smiled melancholy as Nicolette meantioned how peaceful south of the river was. To Heather it merely was a place to hide amongst her own ilk, the theatre, the writers. Out of reach from court, or mostly so. "London will come to me, Heather predicted, finding an inkling of her oride.
  7. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    Heather half laughed as Nicolette urged her to recall what her life had been like. Images, feelings, the hint of lips caressing her neck, a presence behind her. No. Never again. The redhead tried not the let it cut too deep. "Where to go?" the redhead laughed in a low chuckle "Why, where can I go, indeed. Away fom this pleasure palace, away from the attention. I suspect there will be some place were we'll be left in peace." Heather nearly choked. The thought of having to face ex lovers was too much for now. Quietly the lady continued "away from Chelsea. Perhaps something across the river.
  8. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    Heather swirled around to meet the owner of the voice. Her eyes were red rimmed though dry of tears, for now. Tears were never far away these days, hardly a day had gone by that she had not shed them. There was something painful in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Her first instinct was to defend him, yet she could not, not just society but she herself didn't think it apropriate. Where not all expectations now that she'd badmouth him, blame him for all her misery? She did, but then there was enough of an honest realist in her to blame herself even more. The redhead had been too much of a hot fire for him to handle, his hands now burned. Guilt gnawed at her insides. "It is easy to judge," Heather spoke, her voice raw, grating on her own senses "but I do not think the situation will be helped by my continued presence here. Stewing in my anger or melancholy will not solve this."The redhead tried to think what advice she would give herself if the situation was reversed. Perhaps the same defiant message Nicolette gave her. "A new place, a new life," she tried to optimistically suggest, even though she could not imagine it "will be far better than holding on to the old." She gave her companion a side ways glance "Do you not agree?"
  9. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    Heather's yellow green eyes sparkled with mirth as he protested how often he had made her an offer. It was good to feel their attraction was mutual. Oh yes, she had held him at a distance, for Robert was far too dangerous to her heart and she did not think he was offering her any more than just a pleasant time in bed. Besides, the other tent camp citizes would not respect her if she openly kept a lover. Deep down that was still important. Despite her saucy reputation, the redhead was not as experienced and confident with men as some believed, having had some bad experiences in the past. Keeping men at a distance was saver. "Do you think that is likely?" Heather inquired of the gold vein, almost wistfully, in a low voice as she did not wish to be overheard "Think of the possibilities, such a hotel would be the first wooden building, but it wouldn't be the last. Ere the year is out there would be a main street replacing this tent camp, perhaps even a sherrif. You would look very good with a metal star on your chest." Things happened fast in the West, resilient people working hard and with a can-do attitude that conquered sometimes impossible odds. The lack of any real government influence leaving unprecedented freedoms to organize themselves. She killed her dreamy look with another sip of burning whiskey. Her nose wrinkled "No point in daydreaming, ain't got the money, even if you supply the muscle we'd need for such an endeavour. The financial risk.." She tried to put her feet back on the ground. This was a rough life and it was dangerous to dream.
  10. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    The redhead snorted at the observation "Many of them are not smart and cannot help spending the money or brag over a whiskey. Not all are though cookies like you Robert." Heather arched an eyebrow at the offer, while her stomach twitched a little at the sight of the rugged handsomeness of the man in front of her. Carefully she took a sip, trying not to show too great an eagerness. Bluffing was an important skill. "I am interested in your ideas," she admitted despite this "I am well aware of the fact bringing more girls into this could spell trouble, but you too see the potential for money, no?" Yes, the potential was there, but Heather did not possess the funds necessary to make this a success. "Will you make me an offer," she teased, well aware of the double etendre.
  11. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    The redhead smiled at Roberts flirting, and his wry remark "Yes, well that goes for the lot of them. I have not yet heard from anybody being that lucky, not since old man Nate two years back." Or clearly they would not be here, but cashing their winings. "Business is slow," Heather admitted, running a hand that once was porcelaine white but now regretably taned with many light freckles through her goldenred curls that had escaped her stern hairdo. "Perhaps I sould rethink my decision on providing extra's on the side, get a couple of girls over." Ending up as a madam was not what she had thought her life would be like when she came to the West. Then, neither was being the owner of La Cantina. Life had a way of serving her lemons and she liked to serve lemonade. Heather gave Robert a grateful glance as he inteferred with yet another theft. It was good to have some protection as a woman alone in these parts. She almost shyly took another sip of her whiskey, the liquid burning in her throat before warming her belly.
  12. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    Her heart skipped a little bit as Robert stared at her intently like that. For a moment she was entranced before she pulled away her face and served another costumer with another quip, her wit being the main weapon to keep all those the hungry men, in more than one way, at bay. Soon enough though she handed over the spoon to one of her male "serving wenches", picked up a bottle of whiskey, pulled of her white kirtle, and wandered with swaying hips to where the Englishman was sitting, an enigma of his own in this environment. They were both immigrants from the old country and despite words they had often, it created a bond. "You are just chicken St. Leger," the redhead teased lightly as she poured him a measure, then herself and sat down, leaving the bottle between them. "Any luck today?" Heather inquired airily that one topic every gold digger spoke of, bringing the shot glass to her lips.
  13. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    A familiar face wandered into the tent. Ruggedly handsome in her estimation, though she would never admit to it. Heather looked up and cat called "Have ye come for my chili con carne again, St. Leger, or will ya chicken out?" There was a little devil inside the redhead that liked to rub gentlemen the wrong way when they entered her exclusive territory. As she was used to saying If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen. It was as if her accent grew a little thicker as she considered it. More donations were given into iron bowls, before her wooden spoon reached out at the speed of light, wrapping on some knuckles. "No grabbing of food that ain't paid for Roger, ye know my rules. Ye don't want to be banned from La Cantine entirely. Not with ye unable to cook for yerself. Ye be starving to death and it be yer own fault at that." The miner growled something unappreciative as he crawled away. Heather shrugged and gave her attention to the next costumer. Few men would dare to attack her. After having fled her intended (some whispered she had killed him in a fit of jealousy), the young woman had been able to survive for more than a year now here at the utter border of the Frontier amidst the most rough of men. She knew how to handle a knife as well as a spoon, and rumour had it that a pistol graced her well endowed thigh.
  14. Heather O`Roarke

    Gold Rush

    Sacramento Valley (California), late April, 1849, early evening Spring had come to the valley, down the river delta. Ice in the mountain had thawed, swelling the rivers, and bringing with it new rocks and shiny things. Word had spread throughout the America's of the fields of gold in California, just newly required by the United States as a territory, but here were the pioneers that had taken up that challenge to fail, and fail again at finding that elusive wealth. The dominating colour, next to the fresh green of new leaves, was that of yellow mud, covering everything from wagons to the canvas of the tents. In the middle of the miner's camp, for lack of a saloon, stood a large tent that proudly proclaimed itself La Catina, serving chili and other local grub, while in the evening some entertainment and liberal amounts of whiskey were served. Inside, commanding the kitchen and ruling with an impressive wooden spoon over a group of rugged laborers that made do as serving wenches, was something rarer than gold in California.. a woman. Her goldenred locks were mostly bound up in a prim bun, though often, in the heat of the moment, curls tended to escape and frame her pinked face. The young woman wore practical muslin dress in some drab colour with a large white kirtle to protect it from the worst of the dirt, giving her an almost matronly appearance even though she was still in her twenties. Her name, together with her sparkling green eyes, easily pronounced her Irish heritage, and with it her famed temper. Heather O'Roarke. The working day was nearly done and the men started to line up to the large iron kettle containing this day's meal, the cook herself presiding over the handing out of the meals, a dollar each, delivered with a slab into the iron bowl that each costumer brought himself, mumbling a greeting to the tired matron who attempted a smile nonetheless. "There ya go Roger, just as you like it with plenty of peppers."
  15. Heather O`Roarke

    Her fighting spirit

    Somewhere, sometime. Her golden red curls were gathered up haphazardly, a few locks escaping the hairdo and gracing her porcelain neck, and the rich cloth of her garments. Her green eyes were focused on the children chasing each other in the garden below, though in truth she was not really seeing them. The cold stone of the balcony was infecting her, radiating out to her heart and she ignored the person behind her succinctly.Yet he would not be ignored. "What is next?" Jerkins demanded, in a low but urgent voice "You can't continue to ignore this problem. What is next?" "He left me," the redhead whispered forlorn, gathering all her misery around her, feeling like she was drowning by her own doing "How can you expect anything of me now. He left me, despite all his promises, all his pretty words! How can I have the strength to carry this burden? Why don't you just leave me be?" "You must,"Jerkins insisted, resisting his own inner urges that were not fitted to his station. How he wished to simply wrap her in his arms, hush her and tell her that everything would be alright, that he would forever hold her. That was as unlikely as anything else he ever dreamed about. "You must continue on and make plans for the future. There is the children to think of. Surely you would not send me out tomorrow without any orders." There was no sound, but her white shoulders, revealed by her delicate green dress, shook slightly as the only sign of her emotions. He hoped for courage. He just couldn't see her like this. It was not like her. One hand reached out, but stopped just short of touching that shaking shoulder. Some borders could not be crossed. "Pack them all up tomorrow," she told him hoarsely, without turning around "I don't know yet where we'll be moving, but I am not staying at this place that is completely of his making." He smiled behind her back, recognizing just a glimpse of her fighting spirit. Yet nothing Jerkins could possibly say would be appropriate. "As you wish M'am" he merely replied, bowing his way out, leaving her standing her there so alone.
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