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A Clerical Cleansing to Start 1678 | Chapel 2/1 10am- Xmas 1677


Defiance
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Close by to the Banqueting House exists the Royal Chapel.

 

Seven broad stone steps lead up to the old building; grand arched double doors are wide open. Within, great vaulted wooden ceilings capture a great volume of air above the congregation - high above heavenly depictions look lovingly upon the mahogany pews. Candles flicker in sconces, the building itself is not overly well lit - behind the altar stained glass windows filter the light in a brilliance of colours.

 

A priest moves quietly about lighting tapers, available to tend to the needs of the flock.

 

The sermon had just ended, and it had been about starting off the new year right with righteous and godly intentions for the coming days. A rededication to spirituality.

 

Whether or not any believed that would truly happen was another thing, but many felt either uplifted from the words or from a light nap during said words.

 

Chapel had been packed with all the added personages attending that season, and while some were in queue to leave, others were lingering to talk or to make arrangements to exchange gifts or plans for after the season ended.

 

(OOC - if there's someone in particular you are looking for, please post looking for them or even a few people simultaneously, and if they're around the mod who plays them might trot them out for you )

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Having been encouraged to arrive at Church earlier than all the rush, George had been bright and early and with eyes to match. He'd thoroughly enjoyed his conversation with Spratt some few days past, and was keen to continue it, further to meet these few others that Spratt had thought to introduce the Earl to.

 

"I have had some further thoughts on using art to further tolerance..." he had said just before he had to move off and claim a seat - done with a nod to Spratt as a promise that they might pick the subject back up after the sermon was done.

 

It was an entirely different situation to that which he'd faced some time passed - today he smiled and gave a nod of head to Norfolk as he saw him across the way. His eyes slid to see who was alongside the Duke, would his son keep the peace at this turning of the new year, or was he still making waves and in stubbornness not attending?

 

Even the sermon itself seemed lighter and with more promise than ere before.

 

Then as it was all done, he stood and used his height to locate Spratt and his small group again. George had to admit to himself that this 'being an Anglican' was not half bad, he could not remember the last time a Sunday had been so enjoyable, or when he'd felt so good about himself.

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Francis was rather tired, and this Sunday he did not think a retreat to his mother's for spoiling and a nap was going to be possible. Sundays were usually a quieter day for him which was perfect as he generally was on duty from Saturday through the morning rituals, chapel included. As one might expect, Saturday could be a busy time for His Majesty, and the King rarely slept late. Neither did Francis, which made him a good companion for crack of dawn walks when coupled with his long legs.

 

Unfortunately, Francis still did not really sleep at all when he was on duty, so he usually felt quite ready to sleep after the hum of chapel. There was something about attending the King which gave him enough intense responsibility that sleep just did not happen. He closed his eyes but that was about it. Nevermind that there would need to be a band and an arsenal to get that far into the King's chambers successfully, but one never knew.

 

Instead of a nap, Francis was going to traverse London with Lord Melville shortly.

 

Surely the traversing would require that they look in at least one coffee house!

 

Until then, the blond had made it his particular mission to see if he could even find out which old gentleman was Lord Devonshire. Francis was still not the best at recognizing all of the courtiers, even just the higher ones. Age did narrow down prospects, so he kept his ears open for anyone speaking the name and took a meandering path that brought him near several older gentlemen.

 

Buckingham he knew was interested in whether Devonshire had received a letter, and Francis had no idea how that knowledge was supposed to materialize or even how to squeeze even a hint of it out of a potential conversation...but he was curious and not one to sit and wait.

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  • 3 months later...

In good spirits George said his farewells to the group, with all intents to hunt each man out individually later in the week. Such robust conversations. Such conviction, such passion. What was there not to celebrate of these men!

 

Heading towards the doors George, with a warm flush to cheeks, looked about for another others of his acquaintance. Glimpsing Kingston, he gave a nod, yet passed by as men who's were known to each other but that was all.

 

George's gaze slid further past - more in particular looking for Lady Catriona. Word was that she was recovered, which surely meant she was attending Church today.

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It had taken copious amounts of tea and more makeup than she normally wore, but Cat finally dragged herself out of the house to attend church. Some how, she had made it through the service with minimal coughing and sniffling. Yes, her nose was a bit red, but it could be blamed on the weather. She was bundled up in her warmest gown of heather green and mink-lined sapphire blue cloak. Upon close inspection, one might notice the pallor of her normally sun-kissed skin and a hint of the dark circles under her eyes peeking from behind the powder she had applied.

 

She nodded at several acquaintances, including Francis when her eye was caught by George. The smile on her lips was natural.

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The definition of smug was Nicolette Vauquelin upon this Sunday morning.

 

She'd sat through the service with shoulders neatly set and a pert smile upon her remorseless face. Let anyone who knew anything think whatever they would - she knew the truth of it, and frankly loved the idea that many tongues about might now wag. Notoriety, yes that is what I shall have!

 

She quite forgot to actually listen to todays service, her head was far too busy upon other things. She would like more jewels, of her own, not loan ones like these of Lisas. She'd like Ranelagh to steal a kiss from her again, that had been so very nice. She wanted Chatham to remember her dare, so then she could reward him. She wanted Louis to admit he was jealous. She wanted...

 

The pretty dressed mademoiselle, in her dusky pink velvet dress trimmed with lacework in cream crochet with pink beads finally moved to stand as the congregation awoke from its pious slumber. Arching her back a little she toyed with the end of carefully crafted ringlet that had been neatly arranged upon her shoulder, coquettishly nipping it to her lips. She stole a look towards the King and Queen, then turned her smile around to the rest of the room.

 

Eyes were bright, glittering even, seeking some one person in particular. Pinned to Nicci's bodice was a little small white silken flower, half in bloom with little golden stamens just peeking out.

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G&C

"Wot you made it here without my carriage and violins?!" George teased good naturally as he approached, a ready smile upon his face. They had a curious history. (This was yet another woman to whom he'd proposed!)

 

"It is grand to see you again." it was plain that she could have done with another day in bed, yet he could understand the draw of court, especially when it is beyond conveniently ready. (Hed never wanted to attend a court functions so much as when he'd been in The Tower and unable!)

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G&C

 

Cat chuckled softly at the reminder of their carriage ride. "Indeed, as hard as it is to believe," she quipped back. She didn't hold his proposal against him as she might some other man offering a business marriage. Instead, she considered him a friend.

 

"It's good to be seen again," she sighed. "I was beginning to think I'd never see a kind face again." It was half a joke, since family wasn't required to be nice when you were sick and looking less than your best. "I hoped you had a good holiday?"

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G&C

 

"To be frank, Lady Catriona, if there is any woman less in need of a mans assistance it is you." he uttered as a compliment. She was a strong woman, even weakened by an illness there was not a individual at court who would think Cat helpless.

 

"Never see a kind face?" with a gesture he suggested them to move to the side, where they might talk without the bump of to and fros. "...that would suggest some misadventures about your person? But yes, you have been missed, and by none more so than Douglas." While Cat had been ill Fitzjames had kept the girls out and about as much as he was able. "I dare say he will be pleased to be relieved of his charges."

 

It had been a day or two since he'd seen Douglas. Hopefully he'd not succumb to the same flu that had kept Cat away for weeks.

 

"Ah yes." he smiled as she enquired of his journey abroad. "I find Italy a tonic for my soul, although there is certainly no place like home. Indeed, I think I shall not be returning there again." he gave a smaller smile with this more personal revelation. "My heart is with England. And," he gave a wink, "now my soul also you may have divined." Stood boldly in the Anglican church George revealed to his old friend that he'd converted.

 

“But back to these unkind faces….” He back tracked to her slip of comment (or at least he hoped it had been a mere turn of phrase and not revelation of any sort of personal harassment. “I can still get hold of the violinist if you have a need, we could detune the strings and set him loose for your revenge. If a detuned violin does drive a man to repent, I don’t know what will.” He was making light, but there was a soberness to his eyes. Cat might not need it, but still he had protective thoughts toward her.

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G&C

 

George's flattery made Cat's smile widen. True, she wasn't one to ever request help from a man, except for her brother, but he didn't really count as a 'man' since he was family. "Thank you," she replied.

 

Shaking her head, she realized how her words sounded. "I didn't let anyone in save for my maid while ill. I didn't want anyone else catching it. Though my brother listens as well now as he did when we were children and barged in a few times. Since I am a terrible patient and my brother is severely lacking in a bedside manner, well, let's just say our conversations were less than cordial." Her smile turned slightly wicked. "Oh, yes, he'll be glad to have me back in charge of the girls." Having to act responsible for 4 young girls probably drove Douglas to drink their strongest whiskey.

 

Having moved out of the way of the flow of foot traffic, she laughed again, though quickly muffled a cough that tried to slip out with a lace handkerchief. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. "No, Douglas has suffered enough while I was down. Though I might keep your off on the table should the need arise. You never know when an out of tune violin might come in handy. I dare say it would be an interesting negotiation tool."

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Isa & Nicci

 

Like the majority of those in attendance, Isabeau had endured the sermon demurely. With duplicitous ease she murmured each Amen at each appropriate moment, but it was her own virtues rather than those of the Christ that kept her thoughts occupied. The virtuous appearance, if it existed at all, was echoed in her choice of gown. It was no mere coincidence that it mirrored the shade of blue worn by the virgin mother gazing down upon the chapel altar. The brunette hoped it lent her a more pious air.

 

Once the service was concluded and the priest had released his flock to enjoy more earthly pursuits, Isabeau slowly drew herself to her full height. Casually she cast dark eyes over the remnants of the congregation, debating whom she should grace with her presence. Returning to court was one thing, but she need quickly to acquire the currency that brought power. Secrets, lies and sheer ability to make people believe you knew things you did not. Yet, in a sea of familiar faces, it was a solitary flower that drew her attention above all else. The flower perfectly mirrored the small silk corsage of placed over heart, even down to the delicate golden stamens. It was the most joyous revelation.

 

Wasting no time Isabeau moved to Nicolette’s side. “Sweetling, you look divine,” she beamed, making a show of drinking in the Frenchwoman from head to toe. “Interesting companions have been in such short supply of late. Life away from court has been so tediously dull, you cannot know how well it pleased me that you are still here.” Linking her arm through the other woman’s she drew her away to one side. “But tell me are still Mistress Nicolette.” She clearly that Nicci had been dead set against remarrying when they had first met. Yet she knew full well that things did not always work out as one desired, especially with a King with a curious habit of marrying people of on a whim if you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Or have the pressures of court vanquished your wishes?”

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Isa & Nicci

 

Nicolette had espied Lady Lismore the day prior, and from the moment of seeing her felt an insistence of heart to speak with her again! She had fond memories of the Countess met at Brighton, the lady who had corrected her mingled diction and then surprised her with this little silk flower gift. The gift she now wore pinned just so. The gift she used as indicator of warm intent.

 

And it worked.

 

Smile blossomed into fullness as Isabeau approached, hands were outstretched and held daintily during the theatre of air-kiss giving, "But Darling Lady Lismire, I have missed you horridly."

 

Which was even true, the appearance of court mentors - women that Nicolette fully admired and would emulate, had been frightfully sparse of late. Nicolette appraciated the full inspection of her 'look' and afforded Isa the same compliment. The same shade of blue as the virgin mother, yet the likeness ended there! "A vison." Nicci crooned. Yes here was a woman of obvious class.

 

While Isa lacked that hell-bent-hedonistic reckless streak of Nicci's idol Heather, she certainly made up for it in style and panache - and all with a sweet undertone of cunning that was frankly irresistible to the French girl.

 

Being certain to angle herself so that if the King happened to look their way he would be met with a pleasant view, Nicci was happy to lapse into adoring conversation. A laugh was given with Isa's recollections. “ 'Mistress' I am still addressed, though I would say I am indeed thoroughly and delightfully vanquished." her eyes sparkled, "Though really, it was perhaps more my own vanquishing of those others I might celebrate - and that those others might be equally pleased of!"

 

It was perhaps an out of place brag to make given the setting, but this was the Merry Court of King Charles the Second.

 

"La! What a joy that you have come to us, the lack of invigorating company is not a feature of the country only." Flicking open her fan she screened her lips to softly utter, "There is a dreadful trend amongst courts lady folk to consider feminine ambition and manipulation as ignoble artforms - yet are they not the very heart that pump's courts life blood?! I have been fairly bereft of feminine allies to fully scheme with."

 

For as much as Nicci loved her best friend Caroline, Caroline simply was not interested in such.

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G&C

 

"Aha." Georges closet-hero-inclination was pacified by her reply, the call to action dispelled. He even laughed then as she detailed the peril her nursemaids had suffered with an ill Cat in the house and a less than patient brother. He laughed of it, but was gentleman enough to then exclaim, "You exaggerate of course, why Douglas practically dotes upon you and the girls, when we are together he barely speaks of anyone else." Which was not far from the truth, the braw Scott was all about family.

 

To the side of the flow of people they stood in comfortable relation to each other. He'd made her smile with his humorous offer of out of tune violin, which made him likewise feel good. "Perish that my sister ever hears of it, she is one of those that obsess about music, though no doubt you already know about that. While I... well the world is full of different natures."

 

Which had him wonder a question, and after a pause he voiced it. "Have you and obsession Countess? I know you are just as devoted to family as your brother, but have you a pursuit is it that makes you lose track of time?"

 

As he spoke his eyes swung to those nearby, it being likely that Cat's sisters were also nearby (It was rare to have Cats undivided attention, it was an opportunity not to be squandered). “Of my own, it is of course my passion for Art. In that regard I am newly ambitious towards a position in that regard.”

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G&C

 

The idea of Douglas doting on his siblings made Cat chuckle. "Douglas is just starting to tolerate us all. For years, we didn't speak. Now, there are times when I think he wishes that were still the case," she admitted. Indeed, their father and her mother had seen to it that the eldest MacBains were enemies during their childhood. But distance and death had brought them together as adults. "Of course, it is around that time that he decides he needs to see about his own estate and off he treks to dear Scotland."

 

At his admission that he differed from his sister when it came to music, she nodded. "Ah, siblings. No matter how different they are, we love them. Even if sometimes we imagine smothering them with a pillow in their sleep," she replied with a wink. "And thank goodness we are not all alike. I don't think I could live in such a drab world." She gave a small shudder just at the thought. The English world had experienced something close to that with the Commonwealth, but Cat was 2 when the monarchy returned and thus had never truly experienced it.

 

Cat glanced around, making certain no one seemed to be taking too keen an interest in their conversation. It was known by her friends that she enjoyed her time in the kitchen, but the general world didn't know that much of the baked goods served in her tea shop were actually made by the countess herself. A noble, doing something so common as actually baking? But, she considered George very close to a friend, so she lowered her voice and said, "I am never so happy as when I'm baking a sweet treat. Drives my cook up the wall when I barge into her domain and make a mess with my biscuits and cakes."

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G&C

"... he is a barstard for gadding off." George had spoken before he realised it. Eyes flared, and he apologised. "please excuse my language." The fact did remain that Douglas was prone to disappearing upon this mission or that!

 

Ah, it was good to see Cat again. He snorted a laugh with thought of suffocating siblings! "I hear you on that!" There had been days he thought Mirtel barely deserved to live, though he still loved his baby sister so much. Which was perhaps why the betrayal had hurt so much. "Sometimes it is simply for the best that there is a distance of some few hundred miles." he considered. This was the current situation between he and Mirtel, he had no idea how he'd deal with seeing her again.

 

"Baking?" Perhaps George should have guessed as much, she did happen to own the first tea shop in London, which happened to have a fantastic selection of baked goods. "Well I never..." it was entirely uncommon for a noble woman to have such a passion. With a smile he shook his head settling the detail into place. "Well if you are ever short of cake-samplers, I'd be happy to oblige."

 

Pausing upon that through, he compared the idea to his own passion for art. "Do you perchance create your own recipes? Hmm... and doesn’t' it somewhat disturb you, that your creations are demolished. Theirs is a fleeting lifespan. Do you not yearn for something more, ah, enduring?" But how could a cake last longer he wondered?

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Davina

 

She was in her usual place amongst the Queen's Ladies but quiet. Dressed in dove grey velvet with white lace at her elbows and around the necklne of her bodice and wearing only a double strand of creamy pearls at her throat with drops in both ears she was hardly her usual self.

 

Her eyes had roamed about the congregation as one did careful not to draw any attention to herself by it and when she had found Lord Chichester her gaze had stilled. He looked the same yet not. That he was changed was a Truth but the how and why of it was a thing she'd probably never discover.

 

He had not responded to her letter written days before. She had asked for some time after Church to speak to him - she wanted to clear the air as it were and to lay the Past to rest.

 

That she was disappointed in his lack of response caused her some distress. He was not her enemy. They were just not fated to be. They shared a History and there were still things that she longed to hear from him but now held no merit. Would she ever know why he had gone to the other woman and been so cruel to her that day on the Tower Battlements? His rejection of her had been like a knife in her heart.

 

She shifted in her pew then stood as they all did a half smile in place barely listening to the conversation that flowed about her, nodding here and there which drew looks and whipsers from her fellow Maids, gave a slight curtsey to Mrs. Bets who whispered some displeasure she had found - that Lady had come in place of the Mother of The Maids and was, if possible, even worse!

 

Freed of her 'Duty' for a few hours she did not leave with the others but walked to a now empty pew and sat her eyes watching as LC was in conversation with that Scottish Lady Catriona. She could hardly go up to him - well she could - but the reception would be far from welcoming even in this Holy Place.

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G&C

 

Cat merely raised an eyebrow at George's outburst, though a smile played around her lips. "If that's the worst you can do, there's no need to apologize. Douglas never feels the need to censor himself. I'm just glad the younger girls haven't picked up on his habit." She normally could control her wish to cuss sometimes, unless her temper was really up. But by then, she'd normally slipped into Gaelic and only her family could understand what she was saying.

 

She sighed at the image of family being far away. "Alas, I shall not have them at a distance until they are all married. And with Aileen not even in double digits yet, I've got years to go. Not to mention Nessie..." The baby was barely a year old. Cat would not have to worry about being alone for more than a decade.

 

Amusement creased the Scot's features at George's surprise. His request to be a test subject had her nodding. "I will probably need a new taster soon. Fiona has informed me she thinks I'm doing it on purpose to make her fat. So, if a basket of sweets gets delivered, don't be surprised." Not yet, though. She'd give herself at least another day before bursting back into the kitchen.

 

"The immediate enjoyment of my creations brings me joy. You're never sad eating cake," she said. "And the fact that it has such a short amount of time in which it can be enjoyed adds to that small thrill. Sure, you might be able to enjoy some biscuits a few days after which they had been created, but they won't last as long as one of your artworks." She shrugged. "Plus, breadmaking is a great stress reliever. Punching dough and imaging an enemy's face can keep you from doing something stupid." Like putting a pillow over your sibling's face.

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G&C

 

It had been a disappointed sort of cuss, for George never got to see Douglas enough as far as he was concerned. The lanky Scot was his truest friend, he's really been there for this Earl when he'd been at an absolute low. He since held Douglas in a position of ultimate respect and loyalty, but got so see him far too seldom.

 

George was chuckling again, he'd witnessed just how colourful Douglas language could be. "He could curl the toes of a fishwife." he winked. Cat was unlike the most of Courts ladies, perhaps it was her Scottish heritage and upbringing that formed a down to earth and honest frankness to the way she viewed life.

 

Cat Voiced her relief that the younger girls had not picked up the bad language. "Younger. Do you mean the elder...does?" Though it was not really such a stretch of the imagination to think of the headstrong Fiona spitting expectatives if she did not get her own way. Out of curiosity, and consideration for the difficult position Cat thus found herself in he then asked "How goes your progress in settling her to a future?"

 

"Well I am ready and willing." he replied relaxing into this new knowledge and finding it agreeable indeed. Mirtel used to send him food, hampers of this and that - it had made bachelorhood feel less solitary. Perhaps she was only being polite to say she would. but false words were not Cats way. His mouth salivated with the thought of home baking, stomach stirred. (It was after all nearing the hour for lunch!)

 

"How might I repay you?" he mused, "What say a portrait of yourself with young Nessia? In the style of Madonna with babe." as he spoke it he found he fancied the idea… his eyes slid to the distance in imaging the piece. Then a he refocused he discovered himself looking towards Davina. Davina. She had written, they were to meet and talk today. Had he remembered to reply? With eyes met he gave a small motion, hoping to indicate he would speak to her anon.

 

But for now he was utterly absorbed with his reunion. Such warm conversation felt so good! And the feeling seemed to be mutual - with Catriona doing her best to explain her pleasure of a creation that did not last very long. "It is a most particular type of joy." he supposed, finding it had to get his head around. It was not applicable to his own craft, that was clear. And yet the creative mindset was within both spheres.

 

After a further pause he looked at her coyly and asked, "Perhaps it is your gentle nature of nurturer that discovers joy in delighting recipients so?" he rose eyebrow. But then was laughing again as she brought breadmaking back to venting anger - which was not so Gaia after all!

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Sophia had sung as clearly and as beautifully as ever during the musical part of the service. She had considered asking the priest if she could sing a solo, but had decided against it, thinking that he would believe that she was doing it for her own glory and not the glory of God. There had not been enough time to charm him into believing that her motives were pure, but she would speak to him about it before the first service next season. Perhaps she could convince him to let her sing a solo every week. It was worth a try.

 

As usual, she had daydreamed throughout the sermon, alternately thinking about being reunited with Juan and her planned tryst with Lord Arundel in two days time. The petite blonde didn't have a clue what the priest had spoken about, but at least she had not fallen asleep. Now that it was over, she remained in her pew, content to wait for a bit before stepping out into the cold. She saw several people that she knew, and even more that she didn't. Perhaps someone would see her sitting all by herself and decide to join her.

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G&C

 

With a wicked grin (most inappropriate in a church setting, probably), Cat leaned a bit closer to George and said in a low voice, "I have no doubt that my brother has done more than curled the toes of a fishwife or two." She added a wink, then leaned back quickly for she had to cover up a cough that was supposed to be a laugh. Stupid sickness. "You're pardon, please."

 

The mention of Fiona had Cat's eyes rolling. "I despair of ever getting her settled. You would think being connected to the King through her niece and having a title, lands and being well dowered, I'd have to be knocking off suitors for her hand left and right. But no. Not a single one. Sometimes I think the Catholics have the right idea. I think she'd look lovely in a nun's habit." She was only half joking.

 

"You don't have to repay me," she scoffed. "We're friends and besides, you put up with my brother. That's repayment enough in my eyes." The portrait idea made her chuckle. "Oh, wouldn't that be something to see." Then she remembered another time she had a portrait started and the smile dropped from her lips. Oh how she had cried when she lost Adam's baby. "No, not of me. And Nessie doesn't understand the concept of not moving. Fiona would likely love to have a portrait of herself done." Her sister was well aware that she was pretty. "I don't know..."

 

The idea it was her role a mother (and mother hen to her friends) that made her enjoy baking made sense. "I believe that is a remarkably profound insight. Perhaps that's it exactly."

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  • 2 months later...

Doctor Sprat had enjoyed his conversations with Lord Chichester and introducing him to the others*. When the younger man had been joined by Lady Alyth, Sprat was not one to judge. He was the King's chaplain after all! She was the mother of one child. He might make sermons now and again, but his true passion was writing and wit and a little indulgence too. 

 

That all in consideration, he had no issue approaching the pair. 

 

"I hope your morning fares well, Lady Alyth. That Northern constitution should fare you well in such unseasonable weather."

 

(*OOC - I still want to have an actual conversation sometime with these others ;) but it's also nice to bypass introductions ) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Francis did not have much luck locating Lord Devonshire. Perhaps the elder gentleman had not felt venturing out in such cold was a good idea. He could not begrudge him that. He kept himself from yawning. If it was not somewhat compulsory for him to attend, he might have found an excuse now and again. However, His Majesty generally declared quite jovially that if he had to endure it, then his gentlemen did as well. 

 

Being free of his duties and soon to head back to the Duke's to prepare for his excursion with Melville, Francis stopped by Sophia for a moment.

 

"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked. He was not always the best judge of spacey versus sad. Francis understood women better than many, but they were very far from an open book to him. He was just as male as the next gentleman, no matter how soft he appeared. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Francis and Sophia

 

Church was a strange place to suddenly realize that your passionate encounter with your new and delightful lover might result in a child, but that was where Sophia's thoughts had taken her. Even if it wasn't the case, she could become pregnant when she met Henry again in two days time. I must sleep with my husband as soon as possible so there will be no doubt in his mind that any baby I bear is his.

 

There was little chance that she would be reunited with Juan in time for her to claim that he was the father unless they joined him within the next month or so. Coaxing Esteban into her bed was not going to be easy, as he avoided performing his marital duties, but maybe he would be more willing now that they were on better terms with each other.. She would just have to be the one who did the seducing.

 

Or perhaps luck will be with me and I will not fall pregnant until Juan and I are together again.

 

Startled out of her thoughts by the familiar voice of Lord Kingston, she blinked a few times to bring herself out of her reverie and gazed up at him. “I am fine, my lord,” she assured him with a pretty smile. “Thank you for your concern.” Recalling a less distressing conundrum, she added: I'm just waiting until the crowd thins out and pondering something that you may be able to help me with, if you are willing.”

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Had Francis known what Sophia was thinking about, he would have been quite scandalized. Not because it was so very daring, but because she was Sophia, and it was something of a cross between having a child and an annoying little sister. He was protective. 

 

"Ah, well, what is that?" he asked, raising a blond brow in a way spectacularly similar to Buckingham. He smoothed the back of his justacorps and sat down next to her for the moment.

 

 

 

 

 

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She had caught his look but now he was too deep in conversation to glance again. It had been a foolish thought to think that Lord Chichester would have the slightest interest in speaking to her.

Time to leave. Her gaze looked to the side entrances but they both were clusterd with groups talking or loitering so the only way for her to go was thru the main doors. A small nod and then a gathering of her skirts as she rose giving a nod or smile as she was engaged by others and all to soon she was beside the place where Chichester was but she did not spare a look at them and continued on intent upon reaching the outside and once gained released the breath she had been holding.

Her steps took her towards the Cloisters and thankfully she saw no one else for it was cold. She wandered without a direction her gloved hand touching each pillar as she passed until she had reached one end then turned and walked back. Then air was clear and crisp and her breath white but she was warm enough and suddenly tired took a seat upon a well worn stone bench beneath the carvings of some ancient Saint. 

She would be visible to any that happened to come wander there.

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Francis and Sophia

 

Sophia appreciated Francis' protectiveness and she knew that she could turn to him if she ran into any problems that she couldn't deal with herself. She thought of him as an older brother and trusted him implicitly. He would never hurt her, she believed, even if England became bitter enemies with Spain.

 

The similarity in expression did not register with her, for she had very little contact with his cousin and didn't know his ways. However, it was the Duke whom she wished to speak to him about.  “I have a gift for Lord Buckingham and I would like to know the best way to get it to him.”

 

Remembering Lord Grandison's advice, she didn't suggest giving it to Duke herself. Hr former guardian would let her know when the time was right for a meeting between them, even if it wasn't until next spring.  Being patient had never been easy for her but she did appreciate the time to practice how to present her idea in a way that would entice him into bringing it to life.

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Anne-Elisabeth approaching Davina

 

With so many people crammed into the chapel, the air seemed quite rank to a young lady accustomed to the fresh ocean air and the wide open spaces of Barbados. During the sermon, Anne-Elisabeth had often sniffed her rose-shaped pomander while trying not to groan at the obvious message to be more pious in the new year. Maybe some members of the congregation would heed it, but she was more likely to do exactly the opposite. She wasn't sure she even  believed in God and would never be certain He existed unless He walked up and slapped her in the face. And there was little chance of that.

 

As she had strategically chosen a seat in a pew near the back, Lady Cambray was one of the first people to step outside after the service had ended. She had never thought she would welcome the cold air, but it was much better than the stale atmosphere in the chapel. Bundled against the cold much as she had been at the sleigh race, she wore two pairs of wool stockings and a woolen under dress beneath the sapphire velvet gown. Over the gown, she wore her amber cloak trimmed with red fox fur, the hood pulled up over her raven hair. Her hands were covered by amber gloves and stuffed into a red fox fur muff.

 

Being so new to court meant that most of the courtiers around her were strangers and as they were all currently occupied, she couldn't very well interrupt them just to introduce herself. First impressions were everything and if she was going to be thought of as rude, at least she could do something more spectacular than barge in on a discussion to earn that reputation. Those she had met were also engaged in conversation with others. As she strolled around the area, though, she noticed a lady sitting alone on a bench … Mistress Wellsley, whom she had met at the ball and who seemed alternately shocked and impressed by her limericks.

 

Would she welcome her company now? Anne-Elisabeth glided in her direction, smiling as she approached her. “You look lonely out here all by yourself,” she said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

 

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She knew by instinct that she was not alone and so her gaze soon rested upon the intruder - all bundled up aganist the cold much like herself. Her standing was automatic as was her reverance for the other was a Countess as well as a widow.

"Madam" Said firstly then followed by "Do I? Curious I have not that feeling at all. Rather I would say 'contemplating' and here seemes so much better than in there."

She sat back on the stone now warmed from her body and settled into its depression made by hundreds of those who, like, her, had sat there.

"There are many seats so pick your Saint ... I have ... "

Here she glanced up over one shoulder to the effigy of carved stone above where she sat.

"Well I know not for tis impossible to tell but I shall think kindly of Him nevertheless. Odd how one finds them still present when so many have such Hatred for it. Perhaps no one thinks of this place as Threating? I hope so."

"And you? Have you come here to think upon the Sermon or compose a verse?"

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Francis blinked, not expecting that to be the issue. 

 

"In the normal fashion?" he replied candidly, caught with confusion at what the dilemma was with that situation. Most sent servants with their gifts, other than to close friends. 

 

"Why, what did you get for His Grace?" Francis then asked.

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Davina and Anne-Elisabeth

 

Mistress Wellsley's manners were excellent, which Anne-Elisabeth supposed was expected of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting. As she had been sitting with the Queen during the service, the Countess assumed she held that highly-prized position. What would Her Majesty say, she wondered, if she knew that Davina had indirectly participated in a bawdy limerick contest? Not that she had any intention of telling. Maybe the other woman was a closet libertine, which Anne-Elisabeth would applaud her for.

 

“A more truer statement was never spoken,” she agreed. “It was so crowded in there I could hardly breathe. I would rather be cold than suffocated in stale air.” She was about to excuse herself for interrupting Mistress Wellsley's contemplation but she invited her to sit by suggesting that she pick her saint.

 

As Davina explained that she didn't know whose image she was sitting beneath, Anne-Elisabeth walked past the other carvings until she found one who looked as if he had a wicked smirk on his face. Maybe being exposed to the elements for countless centuries just made him appear that way, but it seemed to her that he was silently making fun of everyone who passed by him. Definitely my kind of saint.

 

She sat down on the bench beneath him. “I have no idea who this fellow is either, but I hope he doesn't mind if I share his space. I think that this place has been here so long that everyone just accepts it as part of the scenery. I doubt anyone is threatened by it, but since we're the only people here, perhaps it is mostly avoided.”

 

Asked why she had made her way over to the area, Anne-Elisabeth smiled. “Like you, I was contemplating. I was wondering what would happen if everyone took today's sermon to heart. Court would be much different if balls and parties were replaced with prayers and Bible study. Perhaps I will compose a poem about that.”

 

She raised one eyebrow as she gazed at her companion. “And what were you contemplating, if you don't mind me asking?”

 

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