Ambrose Turnbull Posted September 30, 2016 Share Posted September 30, 2016 The House of Lord Cedric Doolittle, Baronet and shipping magnate Although the area of St. James Square only recently became of interest to the wealthy who migrated westward of the city after the Great Fire, certain individuals have sought to build in a fashion that would make their grand new residences appear old and well-established. The Doolittle residence is one of this kind. Set back from the street, the Romanesque stone mansion boasts a façade of pillars, although it lacks the arched windows of the re-purposed monastic buildings. The small garden in the front of the mansion only hints at the expanse of groomed hedges and topiary to be found behind, but warmly welcomes visitors up to the vast double-doors of the front entry. With a mere 6 rooms on each of its 3 stories, however, this is not among the largest of London's noble residences. Still, it speaks of wealth. Ambrose was at a loose end, fancing some interest to the day, but it was too goddam early to expect any in the Merry Gang to be ready for sport. Ellen. The girls face had popped into his mind, although she was such a stuffy girl in many ways, she was also bolder than most. Why not? With a twist of lips the out of uniform Lieutenant set out, fully aware there were dozens of reasons he ought think better of calling on a lady who was so determined to land herself a match, but uncaring to the danger. He'd faced all manner of dangers at sea and they'd not got the better of him, so what risk could a hundred and twelve pound girl present him? Besides, he liked the verbal sparring they did - further she was the only women he'd met at court thus far that did not wilt at his sport. Rapping at the grandiose door, he tucked his tricorn under his arm and waited. OOC: Ambrose is in civies today. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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