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Lunch at the Lion | midday 26th- Xmas 1677


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John was content to sit there and let the somberness wash over, then pass. John had lost relatives to assassination and had several more survive. He had dealt with such things himself. So he just smiled a bit weakly.

 

He nodded as things still seemed to be up in the air. It was the same with Caroline’s party. John was secretly pleased (and amused) that he’d been invited both to a party explicitly meant to be proper and another meant to be libertine. “I d-d-don’t think I have a graceful or dignified b-b-bone in my body.” John said with a bit of wryness. “But I’ll be on my b-b-best behavior.”

 

Rather than stopping when he said he got ahead of himself, John repeated back, “Productive uses?” John was curious to hear him elaborate. He did not know the baron and it could be anything from charity to stomping out foreigners and theaters.

 

“At the m-m-moment I have a gift list a m-m-mile long.” John said, with the sort of half-serious put upon expression that he’d seen in much older adults. He smiled, “I read a g-g-great deal. I garden. I ride and g-g-go for walks. Play with my pets. That sort of thing.” John had numerous hobbies to sate his interests. As for what warranted his attention, “I l-l-look to my estate, of course… and do my d-d-duties otherwise.”

 

John added, realizing ‘otherwise’ was a bit vague, “Before f-f-friends, family, c-c-country and God, I mean.”

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“On the contrary.” James countered. “You’ve been the essence of dignity this afternoon, and if not graceful then at least gracious.” Which was far more important in Wentwood’s eyes. It was perhaps a measure of John’s presence and apparently influence that, as a newcomer to court, both the Proper and Libertine circles were trying to recruit him. No doubt time would reveal his leanings.

 

As John indicated his interest James too his cue to elaborate. “Indeed. I rather think that classical art speaks more to the soul than bawdy poetry, and if a man turns his intellect to scientific endeavours rather than the pursuit of loose skirts, the whole of society advances. Why, look to the improved navigation afforded by the Greenwich Observatory, a collaboration of a great many minds to solve a universal problem. And the recent Opera was quite astounding, I’m given to understand.” The little man beamed. He was no Puritan, but he did think that an awful lot of time, money and good minds were wasted on the more reckless and vulgar Libertine persuits.

 

“Of course, don’t we all.” James replied on the subject of friends, family, country and God. Like most gentlemen of leisure, John seemed to have a healthy selection of hobbies and interests. “We have something in common in our interest in gardening.” James declared. “I’m particularly fond of bulbs, and grow a few medicinals for interest’s sake, though I’m no Apothecary. Do you have a particular specialty?” He enquired, genuinely interested. “I’m a member of the Royal Society as well.” Which was how he knew Newton and the others though obviously his interests there tended more towards the human condition than the stars.

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John smiled, thinking it a pleasant politeness. It was probably less his influence and more that John had ended up with libertine friends while coming from a family that was generally proper.

 

“The opera… was beautiful but libertine. The lead actress… stripped on stage.” John said. She had not become completely naked but that was accurate. John didn’t mind it really, but it was a step further than loose skirts. “It’s a p-p-pity the new queen is not a patroness of arts l-l-like the old one.” John was thinking specifically of gardens. Queen Catherine had been an avid gardener and patroness of gardeners but with her death no one had risen to replace her. At least as far as John knew.

 

“Did you have anything p-p-particular in mind? Or do you simply wish to get together p-p-people and see what good can be done?” The question’s tone was neutral, an honest inquiry.

 

As for his specialty, “The English school generally.” John said, “Causian and Palladian and so on.” Those were specific styles of parks and gardens within the wider tradition. Palladian was also a style of architecture that paired well with such gardens. John had not yet developed a signature feature like how Wise used sunken pools or Beaumont’s unique take on topiary or Rose’s exotics. He did have a mark. “What bulbs do you g-g-grow?” John asked.

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“Goodness gracious! Did she really?” James’s blonde brows rose in surprise. “I had not heard that part.” He admitted. “But then I suppose a common actress might do what she will to gain attention, and His Majesty is known to be partial to ladies of the stage.” And would have been there on the night as well. Still, perhaps the Opera wasn’t quite the type of art he was thinking of. Oh but life could be complicated sometimes.

 

As for the Queen, well. “Her Majesty has a particular interest in Charity and those less fortunate, on which she’s concentrating her efforts at the moment.” James commented. Charity was one of the ways to get her attention right now, he judged. “Perhaps she will develop an interest in the arts, particularly if suggested by the right people. She is yet new in the country and that most important role.” And perhaps might encourage less Libertine arts, unlike the Duke of Buckingham who was quite Libertine but also a great art patron.

 

Did he have anything particular in mind? “For the tea, just a gathering of friends; a beginning, if you will.” He wanted to sound people out somewhat. “Perhaps from there we might be able to discuss common areas of interest and concern, but in keeping with the season I intend for things to be lighthearted.” Just a simple gathering. If he judged people interested and of like minds, then he might take things further. One step at a time. “Do the Cavendishes have a family gathering around Christmas?” He asked, to change the subject.

 

James’ expression brightened as John revealed the direction of his gardening interests. “Ah, you are a landscape gardener.” He surmised. One of those with an artistic vision who designed sweeping layouts and majestic greens. “I have always enjoyed the Greek influence in the Palladian bridges.” He commented. Such elegant lines. “My interest is more in function than in aesthetic, particularly in the optimisation of space available, though also in the mixing and ‘companion planting’ of the productive with the pleasing.” James prattled as he constructed himself another sandwich from his plate of cold cuts.

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“The l-l-lead was the Spanish ambassador's wife.” John said. He would do his friend no favors by pretending what had happened hadn’t. “And there’s b-b-been about what you’d expect in reply.” John had originally moved to protect and restore her reputation. Now, knowing she actually was playing the coquette (and possibly more), he felt less sure about that. But she was still his friend.

 

John nodded to the queen’s interest in charity. He hadn’t known, but he was charitable in general. Long before the Queen’s competition at church John had given help to the homeless, the victims of war, the orphaned and the outcast. “Perhaps she will.” John said. But from the point of view of gardeners someone who might, eventually, if convinced, support them was a massive step backwards.

 

“As you say,” John replied. He was satisfied with the answer, though John didn’t see this season as particularly lighthearted. He felt everyone was involved in games of status and politics. It bothered him a bit that the old family traditions seemed to be going out of the way for that. Speaking of, “Usually,” John said, “Why do you ask?” He was fairly certain Winchester was not a relative.

 

John nodded to the baron’s assessment of what he was. It was just slightly wrong: John could do things beyond landscapes, which were a particular subset. But the baron was correct John designed and executed plans according to a large vision, as well as maintained and updated them afterward. As he’d said to Sophia, more a composer than musician, an architect than a workman.

 

“I d-d-do have a great deal of experience with farming and managing parks and the like.” John said. He was a gentleman, by definition he derived his revenues from such things. It had not been so far a leap to land management and experimenting with crops and breeds. But he understood farming, parks, and plantations more than he did the unit level botany. He did try to breed new crops from time to time, but mostly failed. “What are you t-t-trying to do? And where’s your home?” That was important because climate and soil varied.

 

John, meanwhile, had picked his food to crusts. His drink was still half full.

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Lord Wentwoods’ blonde brows rose nearly to his hairline as Lord Maldon dropped his large, juicy morsel of gossip. He looked positively shocked for a moment. “The Spanish Ambassador’s wife?” He parroted, but there was no point in asking John to repeat himself, James had heard him clearly. What a scandal! “I don’t know what to say.” He admitted. It just didn’t make any sense at all. “Well,” said James, collecting himself, “perhaps it is best to say nothing.” He decided. Would the Spanish Ambassador truly have condoned such behaviour from his wife? They were known as a passionate people, but still…

 

Mentally he shook himself, as the conversation turned to gatherings of family and friends, and James asked after the Cavendish plans. After John’s grilling over the upcoming party he thought perhaps the other man might have something of his own in mind, but he was largely non-committal. “Just making conversation.” James replied, when Maldon asked why he wanted to know. That was two people now who seemed bent on giving him the Inquisition, but disinclined to reveal much themselves. There had to be a reason for the pattern; was it something to do with his connection to the Queen?

 

Of course, Maldon was an Earl and no doubt the elder son, so he had been raised and trained to manage land. James’s story was a little different. “We have an acre in Chelsea, but I assume you’re referring to Wentwood, which is a Royal Forest in the south of Wales.” He explained. “A mild climate, very wet. I’ve instituted a system of forest management that I hope will enable a sustainable production.” As opposed to those nearby who would quite like to see the entire thing felled for farmland and the valuable timber.

 

In between his replied James finished the last sandwich, washing it down with his mulled wine, and picked at the last slice of beef. It had been a very interesting, if slightly unusual, lunch.

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John smiled comfortingly. Shock was the proper reaction. “They have since b-b-been trying to restore her reputation as best they c-c-can.” John offered. John was doing what he could for her, and there’d been some success, at least in his mind. But he hardly minded if another helped. Though there were still some lingering issues bothering him, John would not do less than his utmost for his friend. Especially not over mere suspicions.

 

John’s reticence was for twofold reasons. First, he really did not know anything yet. He would be told later that day (and even then, the details would not be forthcoming). Secondly, he was still under the impression such things would be private family functions. The idea unrelated guests would be brought was, again, something that he would only be told later that day. “P-p-perhaps my snowball fight or my attempts at getting a b-b-book club together would be more… interesting topics.” John suggested. He could actually speak to those.

 

John nodded approvingly to how the baron was treating his land. “That’s g-g-good.” John said, “A lot of t-t-times a forest can’t sustain a farm, which is why it was never c-c-cut down in two thousand years. So you d-d-destroy the forest and get nothing out of it.” Of course, sometimes it could be… but it was important the person making the judgment knew. England was not the New World with vast unclaimed tracks of land and John’s face soured slightly to think of the irresponsible management.

 

“What sort of wood… grows there? And d-d-do you get chase rights or fell rights or venison out of it?” Chase rights was renting permission to hunt to locals. Fell rights was letting peasants collect fallen wood for a toll. And venison was a generic term for hunted game.

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  • 2 weeks later...

James wasn’t quite certain how one would go about restoring the reputation of a lady after such an exhibition, but he couldn’t begrudge those for trying. After all, it was ultimately up to God to judge sins and forgive them; if the sinner repented of them then it behoved others to also be forgiving.

 

His companion suggested other events as topics of conversation. “Do tell me about the book club.” James asked, books being something he placed great value in. “What sort of books, and how does such a club work?” He asked, intrigued. He’d not really heard of such a thing before.

 

“Unfortunately there are those who would like to see the forest harvested, whilst the local tenants are of course protective of their rights.” James strongly suspected that Wentwood had come to him precisely because Worcestor was so keen to harvest it’s bounty. “It has a wealth of good Welsh Oaks, and ample hunting. I’m employing some of locals to act as forest wardens and hunters, and have established a smoke house.” To preserve that which was hunted from the forest. “I am certain that with careful management, the forest’s bounty will be maintained.”

 

There was that pause and stutter again. Well, the Earl did admirably given his obvious afflictions. Overall it had been a pleasure to make his acquaintance. The doctor folded his napkin and set it aside before draining the last of his drink. “Thank you again, Lord Maldon, for accepting my rather impromptu company. It’s been a pleasure.” He said warmly.

 

Hopefully in time he would come to know the man better.

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“Oh, it’s something to d-d-do with recess. I was thinking we m-m-might choose a book together t-t-towards the end of season, read it over recess, and get back together to discuss it when the season reconvenes.” And to continue to do so. Actually, John was hoping to get together the shier and more bookish sorts. He felt that too much of court was focused around the brightest peacocks.

 

“I w-w-was going to have a speaker to d-d-draw people into the first session, but the one I had lined up ran off to Italy.” John said, annoyed as if Greyson had done so specifically to inconvenience him. He would, at any rate, make note to either invite the man again in person or send him a note.

 

Back to the Winchester estate, “You’d d-d-do well grazing… pigs.” John said idly. Welsh oaks produced a good deal of fodder for them. But he nodded approvingly as the man spoke of maintaining his estate.

 

And at that the baron seemed ready to move off. It appeared the lieutenant as not going to return, so John stood as well, ready to leave with him and part their separate ways. “Yes, a p-p-pleasure.” He agreed.

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“That sounds rather interesting.” James allowed on the subject of a book club. Many books were weighty treatises on particular subjects, but the idea of studying a topic and then gathering afterwards to discuss it sounded particularly genteel enlightened. “Indeed, I rather fancy that idea.” He enthused. “Perhaps you might consider myself as a member of your club, when you some to convene it.” He suggested gently.

 

The loss of John’s speaker would be vexing, but James doubted he would need it. “Countess Atherstone had previously held literary circles, but they tended more towards ribald poetry and libertine prose, and certainly the first became somewhat ribald. Perhaps a book discussion might prove more cerebral.” And appeal more to those not given to attempts to shock those around them.

 

“Pigs. Egads, you’re right.” What an excellent idea. “The autumn acorns would be just the thing.” And pigs really ate anything, so could no doubt find all sorts of good things to nourish themselves. “I think I shall look into local Welsh breeds during the recess.” The idea was really rather pleasing. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

 

“I’ll see you at the snow castle battle, if not before.” James assured John as the two rose. “Have a good afternoon.”

 

OOC: Fin for me. Thank you for a fun conversation!

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“Of c-c-course. We'll be glad to have you.” John said. He would put him on the list of invitees. Without a speaker, the first meeting would probably be little more than a gathering and a picking of a book. But small steps could lead to great things.

 

John seemed a bit surprised at the antics of the libertines, but he nodded. He didn’t imagine he would avoid absolutely anything that would offend anyone. That would be impossible and mean avoiding a great many authors like Ovid (or some parts of the Bible). But he intended it to be a safe, quiet, cerebral space, one where the shier and more intellectually inclined would not have to shout over the more outgoing.

 

John was rather satisfied at the baron’s embracing trying to raise pigs. He really enjoyed looking after farms and his estates. Helping others was just as pleasing. He would be curious to see how things went, though. He’d never been to Wales and how their pigs acted would be fascinating. "You'll have to send me some... b-b-bacon." John said with a grin.

 

But it was time to go, so John smiled and nodded, departing for home.

 

OOC: Thank you as well! Til next time!

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