Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'nicolette'.
(Totally wasn't thinking about where 10 years would put us!) Francis took in a deep breath and exited the house to make his short walk to Whitehall. He had not felt this out of place in years. Almost ten years exactly. The last time he had felt this was when he had arrived at court for the first time, for the wedding at Windsor. Now he did not feel like he wanted to do this at all. In fact, lots of brandy sounded like a far better idea, but a combination of family members and over-industrious servants had snapped him out of that pattern two days prior. He had not been out of the house in weeks. The brightness of being outside was almost blinding even from under the brim of his amply-plumed black hat. The crunch of the ground of the short drive was strange beneath his feet. When he heard a servant call "Your Grace!" to his uncle, he turned around to wait for Buckingham to join him. He stared blankly as the servant stared back at him. Oh right... Thus, the end of his brandy-bender hit jaggedly home again. He was going to have to deal with all the reminders sober now. Constantly being punched in the gut. His uncle was dead. The funeral and ceremony was long over, more than a fortnight ago. He still did not feel like the Duke of Buckingham. He had only finally begun to feel like a Lord Kingston and only just barely so. He had only thought he would feel this sort of lack of preparedness once in his life, but this was just like coming to court for the first time all over again. A piece of parchment was held out to him when he did not answer. God's Blood It was fortuitous that he had taken up using the fashionable walking stick, because he suddenly actually needed it as more than a walking ornament. The first part he knew was advise that the duke had been given when he was a boy from the only father he had known. The second was Buckingham's own addition. I was not born with that window... Or maybe he had been if promises in the Eyes of God were as important as churches made them out to be. Society was oft not as forgiving as God was purported to be, unfortunately. Sometimes all the paperwork and proof in the world was not enough, and while all the "proof" had been presented at the College of Arms, the House of Lords was not currently sitting, so he had yet to be accepted in the final sense. That final sense mattered, in this world, even more than the King in some ways. James, as everyone had predicted, had more popularity problems with his people than the Martyred King. His word was no golden rule. He might have yelled for being delivered such a message, but he knew the servant had likely been instructed to deliver it; Buckingham was like that and by the end of a decade had known Francis well enough to know how difficult this very moment of returning back to court would be. Francis had never liked the center of attention at court. He pushed the parchment back at the servant and sent him off back into the house. Act the part. Well I've already perfected the drunken stupor part, Uncle. Francis had not particularly thought about it before then, but his reaction had been so utterly Villiersesque. Buckingham had done the same thing on quite a number of occasions, so Francis could hardly be faulted. Except by all the female relatives in his life, who probably thought he had been killing himself with his idiocy. They had certainly told him he smelled enough over the last week, and he admitted he did feel mentally better to....move about and feel clean. He chewed on his lip for a moment and then redirected himself to walk through the park, needing just a little more time before feeling all the pairs of palace eyes on him. It was a nice day, and there were plenty of folk who had also chosen an early afternoon walk.