Nothing Rhymes with Oranje | Noon 28th- Xmas 1677

[Guest]

The Orangery

 

The great glass windows supported in their metal frames let in the weak winter sun whilst keeping out the brisk breezes, lending a luxurious warmth to the outdoor-indoor space that was the orangery. The air was moist as well as warm, the great orange trees in their large pots carefully tended so that they would produce their treasure-trove of exotic fruit in the summer, unhindered by lack of water or blight of frost. A few orange flowers lent an exotic citrus scent to the air.

 

Between the great pots, stone benches were set so that courtiers might come and enjoy the sunshine without the need to brave the outdoors, and in the centre was a statue of a nymph and two sets of wrought iron tables, painted white, with matching chairs, that one might sit and take tea and enjoy the ambiance of the orangery.

 

John was dressed in an outdoors outfit. He'd had time to drop off his horse and dogs but had to make haste here afterward. He had, at least, cleaned himself up a little for the meeting.

 

John had taken a seat and was currently waiting, blithely looking at anyone who happened to pass. When there was no one, his eye was drawn to the plants. John had experience with orangeries but not much with exotics. He hoped he would soon. But regardless, he did have a use for them right now: by extending the growing season he could get access to out of season fruit. One of the fringe benefits of his hobby was a well stocked kitchen.

 

The King, it seemed, preferred to ensure he had pineapples and the like when it was their season. He couldn't fault the man. John would probably grow pineapples too, if he had the chance... His mind wandered, wondering what strange new plants he'd find once the business with the expedition was sorted.

[George Hardwick III]

George was stood there inhaling the air, hand on hip jauntily as he surveyed the vista with an artists eye. He was wearing a costume of pinstripes with silver-grey accents, with fine silver buckles featuring as fastenings for not only shoes, but also jacket front and cuffs. He fairly reeked of artsy fartsyness.

 

"It is the symbolism of course." In an inclusive fashion George addressed the gentleman who sat, with a smile he relaxed to add, "I am referring to the statue."

[Guest]

John looked up as George approached. He was waiting for Lady Ormonde but instead saw another lord, “Lord Chilchester,” John greeted with a smile. “A pleasure to see you again.” He shifted from his stance so he was engaged rather than leaning back waiting.

 

He didn’t understand the comment, even with George's clarification about the statue. “What is the symbolism? The statue is the symbolism?” John wasn’t quite able to divine the meaning of what George had said. It was like he’d just caught the end of a conversation. Without context, he couldn’t decipher it.

[George Hardwick III]

"Yes the nymph in her grotto here, though perhaps we call her a dryades ... overlooking the fates of man as she sit under the shadow of our King." George mused, "I fancy painting the scene, to include perhaps the other famale dancers in His Majesties courtly scene."

 

He stepped forwards a little then and gave a nod of head, "Good Christmas Lord Maldon, how do you do?" his eyes met the others. Perhaps the younger man would see it, or perhaps not, but Chichester wished to put the past behind him and set best foot now forward. "No troubles I hope at the house."

[Guest]

John looked at the statue. It was indeed well placed. “You m-m-might have trouble getting them all out in the cold,” John said with a chuckle. “The desolation of winter over a g-g-garden would make a fine subject, though.” John nodded, thinking of it.

 

“You’re a p-p-painter then?” John said, envious of hands steady enough to do that. He made use of painters to visualize unmade gardens, or to show off a completed garden to those far away from it. An idea (unrelated though it was) blossomed, “Say, how l-l-long does it take you to make a piece? And could you do it from memory?”

 

“Good Christmas. I'm well,” John said. He was having a good day. And he didn’t really have ill will towards the earl. As for his house, “Some t-t-troublesome people had taken an interest,” John’s tone was not accusatory or directed at the earl. “But nothing of the more spiritual nature, no.”

[George Hardwick III]

"The cool light," George gave a nod, and then stated of the setting, "Contrast of light being what it's all about." Yet upon the theorising he mused, "yet you suggest a symbolism to the winter hmm, yet would it be prudent to imply these nymphs might lead us out?"

 

"That I am, seven years studying abroad ruined me for a more typical life." the Earl's shoulder shrugged that off, though the gesture was minimized though a well felted suit.

 

Yet of Maldon's more specific inquiry George replied "Your question sounds to have a purpose behind it, what might that be?" If it was merely some sort of parlor-game challenge then he would not be interested, George was a man with a certain purity of vision.

 

“Ah good." of the non event of drama around the witches house purchase he replied, "It was all a little dramatic for a while there wasn't it. A reverend at the auction, pfft, why in hindsight he might have been paid to be there by the auctioneer to drive up the drama of the scene. Too often we become others playthings in this way, manipulated about. Lord Maldons painting was also something of an anticlimax. I found markings upon the back of the piece, but even Newton could make nothing of it." George had written the man, but never heard anything back.

 

"I suppose it is our thirst for novelty that makes us such sitting ducks to these charlatans." he gestured to the seat and rose eyebrow, an unspoken request to join John on the bench.

[Guest]

“Out of winter?” John said, “In the p-p-painting you mean? I’d think… it b-b-better to portray them with snow over them. Let them be part of the garden, something c-c-covered. If you want a sense of motion and p-p-passing time, have a c-c-couple walking away from the viewer towards a warm looking hall."

 

John thought a bit more, "Or p-p-perhaps looking at an empty fountain quizzically, to remind the viewer there’s another state.” John thought about this sort of thing often enough, just not in paintings.

 

But as for the particular painting he’d asked after. “I have a f-f-friend who might enjoy a painting as a gift. But obviously, I… cannot ask her to pose for it or it wouldn’t be a surprise.” It was a test too. If George could do this, he had skills useful for John’s gardening ambitions.

 

While John would never dream of employing an earl (the concept was absurd on its face), he could use someone talented in dealing with drawing and painting. And there would need to be sculptures and more, eventually.

 

As for Stearne, “Oh, he’s real. A witch hunter. Runs around the countryside b-b-burning witches and Catholics. Extorting people, or getting paid bounties for his service.” John gestured in an offhanded sort of way that George could sit, if he wished. As for the painting, “If you grow tired of it, I have… uses for such things as curiosities and gifts.” John said.

[George Hardwick III]

"Composition is the artists arena." George replied patiently, "I was asking of your reference to winter in the symbolic sense. You mean the slumber of lighter times, perhaps, awaiting the thaw of cool attitudes, or some such?"

 

Of the question to Maldons interest in art, it was then revealed that he had a friend. George rose an eyebrow. Typically people said something was for a friend, when it was actually for themselves, but they were embarrassed of it. "I have a portraitist at Dulwich Institute I can put you in contact with. Myself, I do not hire my self out to court as a..." hack. "... well there are enough artist struggling to make a living in such a way, I am not about to poach them of their livelihoods. I instead paint subjects of my own inspiration. Perhaps you have seen the piece in Her Majesties presence room for instance."

 

As for Stearne.

 

“Truly?" Maldon seemed to be much in the know of Sterne, perhaps had spoken to him further and at length. "And what did he have to say about the manner the widow was murdered? Whatever the errors made, nobody deserves to die like that." he uttered with gravity.

 

"The painting? Ah, it is not mine to give. Lord Melville, a friend of mine won it, and brought it to me naturally to assist with it's inspection. That said, I rather doubt that he'll have it hanging in the parlour, a rather drab piece of work." after a pause he then asked, "But you have the painting still of the Widow, might I ask if you ever gave it greater inspection?"

 

It had seemed to George that the strange figures upon Melvilles piece, needed some key to the unlocking of the message. It was entirely possible that the painting which had hung in the secret room might be relevant.

[Guest]

“No, I meant winter literally. Snow and ice upon a garden. It’s b-b-beautiful, in its own way.” He thought a landscape of a garden in winter would be a fine thing. Then again, John thought most landscapes of gardens were find things. “It’s a very c-c-complex scene, since so much is gone… yet still there.” And figuring out how to lay that out was John’s art, and where his mind naturally strayed.

 

In this case, it actually was for a friend, “I w-w-wasn’t asking you to.” John assured him lightly. The earl appeared to take some offense at the idea of being asked to paint something rather than following his passions. Such was his right, though it decreased the chance he’d be useful to John.

 

John was describing what a witchfinder was rather than what Stearne specifically was. He didn’t know the man well, but believed him genuine. “He refused t-t-to help me look into it further.” John said. Or at least that was how it appeared to John.

 

John did take quiet note that George knew she was murdered and how. That was… peculiar. It had not been known at the time of the auction.

 

“Ah yes, Lord Melville.” John said. I'll need to get in touch with him soon, John made a note. Though that had nothing to do with the painting. “The painting of the widow?” He repeated, confused. The one in the secret room? John’s brows knitted. How on earth does he know about that?

 

This was all mighty suspicious. But John didn’t let it show.

[George Hardwick III]

“Then that is less interesting to me." George replied, looking again around the scene he intended to capture upon canvas: the nymph flanked by seats set amidst the orangery. "Vision may lift man above the moment, while symbolism may mark what is most significant, to the educated mind. A code in in itself even. But I have no inclination to paint one of these still lives with skull and pocket watch, rotting fruits and broken vase. No. This shall do nicely." and the man gave a thin smile.

 

"Thank you of that." he replied as John clarified he was not requested him to paint a portrait. "You'd have no idea, but every person I have revealed my passion to, has asked either for lessons or a painting of themselves. As though I could teach in half an hour what had taken me a lifetime to refine, or as though I am in want of a commission to validate my existence in their mind. Yes, so thank you for not asking either of me Lord Maldon, it is a courtesy that sets you apart from the predictable dross of society." he gave a pause, John having risen in his esteem now. "But now please, wont you explain further of what this friend of yours wants?"

 

"That sounds correct." George replied of Sterne, whom he too had found to be a singularly unhelpful man. "Men like that live in a fantasy world, and rarely want facts or evidence to get in their way." he settled into the seat.

 

"Yes the painting of the widow. I presumed that by now you have discovered the secret room? I came upon it after the auction, it was a scene of devil worship, of arcane and sorcery and of things the good book wards all away from. Upstairs. If you look in the linen cupboard off the hall, there is a concealed door." he explained.

[Guest]

John smiled. He took his training in France or Italy, I’d guess. The presumption was from what he found interesting aesthetically.

 

“They offer you work?” John was shocked by that. George might be Catholic but he was still a nobleman. The idea of employing him as a painter was as absurd as employing John as a gardener. “I wanted a portrait for a friend. It’s Christmas. I thought it’d be a fine gift.” John explained. “I’d thought you might help me but I certainly wasn’t going to hire you.” John really did think the idea was absurd.

 

“Yes,” John agreed lightly. Stearne had proven himself uncooperative. That was worse, in a way, than a fanatic. A fanatic who cooperated could at least be compromised with and brought to some understanding. “After the auction?” He repeated. “There is a story there. What l-l-lead you to look for linens after the auction was over?” John invited.

 

His tone was kindly enough but he was growing suspicious of George. Why on earth was he snooping around closets? How did he know what to look for? Was this why he was so eager to get me out of there?

[George Hardwick III]

"Well, not paid." George replied, "though there is scant enough difference in the attitude that I am simply some purveyor of a commodity. The benefit of our position in society is that we need not take up any project we do not choose upon for ourselves. Though of course, if a Marquis or Duke asked I would be flattered..." Naturally Maldon knew this, he had been appropriately shocked that others forgot the Earls place in the feeding chain.

 

"I am more than happy to provide advice. Alas, if it is an oil you want, the gift of a sitting for a portrait shall need suffice. The process of painting in oils is lengthy, and more so in winter when the paints take even longer to dry off between layers. Lean to fat, it is a process. This is why most portrait studios work on multiple pieces at one time. It is not the artist who slows the work down, but the very medium itself. At this time of the year I would allow four months at minimum for a master work. Yet if desired, a finished watercolor can be whipped up within a few days, there is a certain transient-charm to a water colour, a pleasing luminosity... though it's not the sort of thing a fellow can hang in the lounge above fireplace. And lastly you might secure a pastel work that would be ready for frame within a few hours bar the 'settling' period. Chalk pigments need lay flat as long as possible for the pigments to settle into the paper pores. I have artists who are masters of all these arts, should you settle upon choosing any of those options."

 

"Yes after the auction." Maldon had noticeably changed when it game to talk of the secret room. "Come now, you begin to take on the pallor of Reverend Sterne, I have no sinister game afoot here. Rather, my hunch to explore the house while others stood about talking, and my curiosity to what I found, eventuated in the solving of the mystery of her death. You did not read of it in the papers? Murdered by her own servant, the sole benefactor of the estate."

 

"The poor woman's love of her late husband, and superstitious belief in the occult was oportunity for her servant to poison her with a vile drug that slowed her heart-rate into near non existence, she was declared dead. It is not the first time this poison has been used in recent years. And alas, her coffin was not fitted with a bell, so that when she awoke (interred in a paupers crypt, so insolent was her murderer), her cries for help were not heard. We can only hope that she used those last hours to make her peace with the maker."

 

Story told, George returned to his subject, "But yes, so you see I am something of a dab hand at solving arcane mysteries, which is why it occurs to me that the portrait in the secret room may be the key to understanding the markings on the back of Lord Maldons painting. Perhaps I call around later, and we can examine it properly. I can bring the text retrieved from Melvilles painting, and we can mull over the possibilities over a glass of cognac."

[Guest]

John let out a puff, “If I get one of my d-d-ducal relatives to ask, you’d want to p-p-paint it yourself?” The only family with more ducal connections than the Devonshire Cavendishes were the Stuarts.

 

“It might be impossible,” John admitted. “I w-w-would not know.” It certainly sounded like it. John knew how to produce drafts and plans. Those were permanent, but they were not the sort of thing hung above the fireplace. He obviously could hire an artist, but not with George’s knowledge or eye. “Perhaps the g-g-gift of a sitting might be good enough.”

 

John had been doing his best to conceal his fears from George, though the earl saw through him. He didn’t think George was supernatural. He thought he’d broken into his house and possibly been involved in a murder. John shook his head to George’s query. He hadn’t heard of it in the papers and was actually dismayed to hear it had attracted such general interest.

 

What he said squared with what John knew. His story was believable. More believable than the possibility he’d been involved in the murder anyway. “Certainly. It’s… sitting in storage right now.” John agreed to George coming over. John had replaced the painting. He had no reason to keep it up since he didn’t know the lady. But he also didn’t destroy art if he didn’t need to.

 

“But I do have a p-p-price. Since you are such a d-d-dab hand, I reserve the right to c-c-call on you in the future for such matters. Whether annoying nonconformists p-p-poking about or ghosts or what have you.” John said with a grin. He could use the support.

[George Hardwick III]

“But of course." George stated in bald face of courts double standards. He barely knew Maldon up till now (when they had their exchange at the auction he'd thought the man to be an out of tow investor in the arcane), "So you have relatives who are Dukes?" he now came to ask, he had no idea that the man before him was so well connected.

 

"The authorities were called in of course, the Coroner, and any number of church members. Quite the scandal of course. I felt such pity for the church, Great Saint Barts' roof was partially caved in and was in a very sorry state, in empathy for them I funded their rebuild. Have never heard back from them on that, but that is the lot of good deeds done by a catholic." George had spent a small fortune thanklessly assisting the common folk of London, providing jobs, helping families in need after the city fires of 76. He'd come to terms with the fact that was simply the way things were for folk of his religion in England.

 

"Name your time." George was appreciative of Maldon's acceptance, he'd put all his cards in to gain the mans agreement. It had come at a heavy cost (full disclosure), but perhaps would pay off. Though Maldon then asked for more. George frowned briefly, remembering how grabby Maldon had been at the auction, but then relaxed again as his demands were not so tough. "I believe, Lord Maldon, our curiosity of these things finds a good match in each other, and would be more than happy to assist thwarting any of the demons that rear their heads at your door."

 

A pause, dark and sober eyes still kept many secrets.

 

"If you do not mind my asking, what prompted your interest in such? I was quite surprised, I admit, when I heard you were the one who purchased the Wyatt place."

[Guest]

John laughed at George’s reply. For John, titles were not so important. It was blood. A man like Lauderdale, born low but risen, was less than a man like Ailesbury or Sir Dalziel who were of lower rank but bluer blood. The old Newcastle was a good example of this. He’d been born an untitled gentleman and become a duke because he was a Cavendish. “Yes, many. I’m only c-c-close to Ablemarle and Newcastle though. Ormonde a l-l-little, I suppose. I'm actually waiting to meet his luh-lady wife right now for a stroll.”

 

John was unsurprised that George hadn't been particularly well taken for his charity. No amount of charity would rehabilitate Catholics so long as people felt they were a threat to liberties and the Reformation. John didn't think it was an unsolvable problem, at least not if York was willing to compromise on absolutism and to give up his control of the church.

 

“Excellent,” John said with a smile. John could be… demanding was one way to put it. It was more that he expected people to move according to his rhythm. But he did try to not be unreasonable. He would be truly dismayed to find out someone had complied with him and come out worse for it. “Would Wednesday m-m-morning work?” He offered. John had invited George along exploring at first, but George had wanted to go without John. That had soured John in turn, but he was willing to give a fresh start.

 

As for why he’d bought the house, “My Lord Devonshire lives next door. We are close.” John said. Unfortunately, there was nothing interesting in John’s decision.

[George Hardwick III]

"I leave you to your own judgement whether you might suggest the topic too her." George uttered of that, the Earl was arrogant enough that he was not about to beg. "I am not without an Irish connection myself, although through friendship rather than blood. Peter Boyle. Though he has now moved his warehouses and head office out town now, upon account of the threat."

 

It had been prudent since Boyle was Catholic.

 

"Ten?" George thought to confirm the time that he'd visit.

 

"I see." he looked at Maldon with those deeper looking eyes of his. An artist is a studier of people, the neutrality of John's reply in this circumstance was a charade, a smoke screen. Apparently the keeping of secrets was one thing that the current, and late owner of the house had in common. "You must have picked it up for a song," George commented of the houses tarnished-repute with wry smile.

[Guest]

John smiled. He’d not been speaking of Lady Ormonde but another lady. His idea was slowly fading into the distance. Still, he would keep the earl in mind for such things. Perhaps there would be a natural point to bring it up.

 

John didn’t know a Peter Boyle. Warehouses sounded like a commoner. Fleeing from threats made him sound like a Catholic too. “Where did he head to?” John asked, curious. He had no idea where the Catholics were fleeing to.

 

John nodded to ten.

 

John was hiding that the entire affair had been financially motivated. He found such ideas vulgar. But he'd seriously contemplated selling the house and pocketing a tidy profit rather than occupying it. “After the accusations l-l-landed they were in a hurry.” John admitted. He’d been glad to take the opportunity. He didn’t believe the former owner had been a real witch. She’d just been some poor woman with delusions of magic. "I'd b-b-been looking for a house before then and by chance m-m-meeting I was the only one who c-c-could put an offer in in time."

[George Hardwick III]

George thought John had said he was meeting lady Ormonde shortly, and that had been one of his highly ranked relatives that George might deign to painting upon account of their status. But none of that really mattered, talk was free.

 

"Bristol." He replied simply, as he arose to feet.

 

He did not intent to intrude upon the gentleman's revealed walk with the awaited company.

 

"Ah yes, no doubt." he allowed Maldon to keep his secrets, though the ever creative mind of Chichester drew any number of possible motivations behind Maldon's purchase. The occult was a popular fascination, why George's own interest in the topic might be just another aspect of his keen eye for the cutting edge. Perhaps Maldon had designs for the many books he'd purchased, or perhaps he was an avant guarde who would live himself within a curiosity-shelf setting, like some manner of museum of the occult? These and many other possibilities would ruminate about George's mind prior to their next meeting.

 

"But I shall leave you to attend to your lady guest, a morning constitutional is a very healthy regimen to enact, and I shall carry upon my own way." he gave a nod of his head to his peer. With a spin of his silver topped walking stick before he struck step with a cheery, "until Wednesday Maldon - god bless!"

[Guest]

“God bless!” John replied, despite the fact their opinions on God were not exactly in concord. He watched the Catholic earl recede into the distance and sat back as he was before. He looked around, wondering if Lady Ormonde was running late.

[Blackguard]

Indeed she was. Amelia Butler, Duchess of Ormonde came gliding into the Orangery, after George had departed. A middle-aged maid was in her company. The former beauty was bundled in a coat of fox fur, well protected from the elements.

 

It did not take long for her to note John. "Lord Maldon," she greeted him in a stately way. "I trust you were not inconvenienced by my tardiness? The line of coaches was overly long."

[Guest]

John stood as the duchess approached. Strictly speaking, he was excused from most such gestures, even before the King, due to his leg. But John only claimed that indulgence sometimes.

 

“My lady,” John replied politely, with his bow ever tinged with awkwardness due to his leg. “Not at all. It was p-p-pleasant to sit in warmth for a spell. Winter c-c-can be a bit frigid.” The polite thing to say, but also true. John had been riding before this and looked a bit weathered.

 

He hovered. There were places for her to sit here if she wished. He’d follow if she wished to walk.

[Blackguard]

"Yes, and it only grows colder as you get older," Amelia replied. "Or so I am told." It seemed that she preferred to walk rather than sit, so she moved along the orange trees, pausing to smell the fruit in bloom. "I have not been here in some time. It is rather pleasant, especially in the winter."

 

It did not seem that she arrived with any conversation in mind. Rather, she had decided to meet with the young lord to see what purpose he wished to pursue. He had sought an opportunity to speak to her and she was prepared to listen.

[Guest]

“Yes, and the p-p-plants here are very curious.” John’s tone made it clear that was a compliment.

 

John had told her in his letter why he’d wished to speak. This was why he didn’t immediately tell her why he wished to talk. “Your b-b-brother is well. I’m m-m-most curious to hear your thoughts on his… desire to marry me to the von Schwarzburg girl.” She would know John found the proposition a bit baffling.

 

Truthfully, John was less interested in the information than in her opinions. He felt it a rich topic: international affairs, intrafamily relations, and his marriage.

[Blackguard]

"My brother was trying to find a match for you?" It appeared that Amelia was ignorant of the topic. "Schwartzburg? Is she ..." her voice trailed off as she thought about it. The one with the horrible lisp? Given Maldon's stutter, there was no reason to highlight a speech impediment. In that moment she understood the reasoning behind her brother's match, but she held her tongue.

 

"What do you know of the girl?" she asked innocently. "Did he say the reason he found her suitable?"

[Guest]

“Is she what?” John’s brow furrowed. German? As a proper gentleman John had been trained to politely accommodate such things without comment. Talking about it directly was not only vulgar: it was a crime and offense to family honor.

 

“No,” John replied to why he’d thought her suitable. “That was what I w-w-wanted to ask you.” That was the source of his bafflement. He didn’t know what the count thought either of them would find attractive about the match.

 

As for what he knew, “She’s shy, musically inclined. C-c-connected extensively to Imperial nobles and apparently her family’s well known. It’s large too. Her… county is populous and wealthy, lots of manufacturing and art. The size of a larger shire, it seems.” That John had gone from describing the girl to describing her family’s connections to their holdings was entirely natural to John.

 

"It's not aligned with the Netherlands or Nassau, as... far as I can tell." He'd mainly heard of ties to Hanover and other north German states.

 

OOC: This is all information from your descriptions. The only thing I added was the rough size/location of their county.

[Blackguard]

"I was wondering if she might be Catholic, but then thought better of it," Amelia replied, thinking it a white lie. As John described the family, it seemed right to her.

 

"My brother and I tend to focus on matches involving the Continent," she began to explain. "Moreso than the English do. The common wisdom is for you to marry an English lady, but Protestant candidates exist in the United Provinces, Denmark and the Empire. I think, given your apparent interest in the Continent, he was looking for matches in that direction." That seemed logical enough.

 

"Are you looking to marry so quickly?" she asked as she moved to inspect more plants. "My brother cannot help but play matchmaker for guests. He takes great pleasure in it. Do not mind him. You should take your time necessary to ponder such things," she advised.

[Guest]

John wasn’t sure what had led Amelia’s mind to Catholicism but he simply nodded. He had no sense of the lie.

 

“My… apparent interest?” John said with a confused look. He wasn’t sure what she meant. “Do you m-m-mean where I live?” His family seat was close to the continent and near some very attractive ports. Not that John had taken advantage of that. He was very poorly travelled.

 

“I see.” John said as she explained her brother enjoyed meddling. He still didn't understand why either he or the lady would find the match attractive. But it appeared Amelia was telling him just to humor her brother until he was ready.

 

John let out a small laugh when she asked if he in a hurry to marry. “I d-d-didn't bring up the topic at all. But it is the… better thing to give his suggestion a fair l-l-look.” Besides, there was prestige in advertising that foreign royals were interested in his marriage.

 

“But matchmakers seem to l-l-like me.” John said. “I think they think I’d be quite the feather in their cap.” High rank, good blood, and yet enough issues to be troublesome.

 

But John expected to marry last, and his brother to marry after his sisters. Even with his sisters, John was still maneuvering his sisters to make them look like attractive prospects rather than seeking candidates. That was why he’d so easily agreed to Devonshire’s request he not marry for at least a year. He expected it’d be longer than that still.

 

So far, he'd only committed that he intended to marry at all. And he'd met a few eligible ladies he wanted to continue meeting. But neither of those seemed imminent signs of an approaching altar to the young lord.

[Blackguard]

"I meant that you and your siblings were traveling abroad, as I understand it." The Duchess paused to see if she misunderstood the situation.

 

"Young people do not need to bring up the topic of marriage in order to attract the interest of matchmakers," Amelia offered with a smile. "My brother has good intentions." When John acknowledged the matchmakers, she nodded. Yet, when he mentioned that he would be a feather in their cap, Amelia's smile vanished. She now worried that the young Earl had another purpose in mind for the meeting, namely one of her daughters. Her husband was quite the tyrant in that regard and more than one petitioner had approached her in hopes for a warmer reception. She needed to change the topic.

 

"How did you enjoy your stay in the United Provinces otherwise?"

[Guest]

“Ah, yes.” John confirmed. He’d thought travel wasn't notable. Not that her impression was entirely inaccurate, but it was important to know what formed it.

 

“I’m sure.” John said of good intentions. His doubts were whether those good intentions were towards him or the lady. When her smile fell, though, John noticed it. “Is something b-b-bothering you?” John inquired gently.

 

But on to the Dutch. “It was… an impressive country. Good gardens. The war had t-t-taken its toll, though not as bad as further… south. It was on… everyone’s lips, as was whether England… would enter the war. I w-w-was there when the announcement of the engagement was made. There was quite a celebration and Englishmen there were… very p-p-popular. As if an alliance had already b-b-been declared and they were saved.”

[Blackguard]

"Oh nothing," she deflected. "Just a stray thought."

 

"It seems your timing was fortuitous," Amelia admitted. "A good time to be an Englishman. It had not always been so. The Dutch and English were rivals and enemies for much of her adult life.

 

"Did you acquire a tulip bulb?" she asked. It was a popular thing even after the great tulip bubble had burst. "And what did you think of the food?"

 

It seemed as if a bit of banter was in order before taking her leave. He was speaking of her homeland and her brother after all. She only hoped that the subject did not turn to her husband and family.