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The Great BonFire | Saturday 17th, tenish


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...and bantering with Bucky

“A grievous mistake on my part, Your Grace,” a smiling James apologized to Buckingham, joking but also sincere. Not only was His Grace powerful, but he genuinely respected the man as a wit – indeed, a notion had begun to form in his mind of earning the support of both him and Rochester. “In my defense, it is for the greatest cause imaginable: I have been suffering for my art, you understand, and the tale is amusing.”

“In truth, I’d missed most of the season prior courtesy of scandalizing my lord father. I’ll not claim to rival our friend Rowley, but in addition to her being impressed with the work itself, I’ve panache enough to have charmed the mistress behind the publishing house I sought for my greatest piece to date,” the poet explained, grinning. He hadn’t told this story to anyone just yet. “Lord Iveagh was not exactly impressed to learn his heir was caught in flagrante with a common woman twice his age, but I could not resist the allure of experience.”

“I’ve since redoubled my efforts in service to Ormonde, to demonstrate my seriousness about remaining at court. The perils of being patron-less.” Rolling his eyes, James feigned a yawn to illustrate how he felt about the work itself (if not Ormonde), shrugging. “But Your Grace will see that it has all been worth it – there have been no attempts to sing the story of His Majesty’s realms in the manner The Rising of the Britons does.”

He paused a moment, letting the story sink in as he sipped on the mulled wine, savoring the spice. “As far as the encounter with Dorset goes, I could not help myself. With much respect to those three members of your Merry Gang, they had earned a reminder that a new generation of poetic greatness are on the march.”

 

Buckingham snorted at the explanation. Scandalizing one's father!

 

Well, in truth, Buckingham had a story or a dozen about the late King being scandalized (privately) over something he had done as a boy. Masturbating during a lesson with Hobbes had been high on the list of things he'd needed to account for at age twelve. Though it was amusing now, it had been utterly unamusing then. Alas, he had not had any fathers to scandalize by the time he was of a more adult age.

 

"Well done, you," the Duke complimented. "I think that story gains you forgiveness for your absences."

 

THere was a pause before he said, "Ormonde does not play patron for your literary endeavors?" It would not surprise him. Ormonde was as dry as a lady's face powder. "He is a tiresome man."

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Francis and Caroline...

 

And look who approached, why it was Francis!  The man she lost her virginity to and was eternally grateful for it too.  More importantly he had been kind and supportive to her from the beginning.

"Good evening, Lord Kingston, you are looking dashing as always," Caroline grinned.

He knew she was to be married. Well, he should have, afterall he had been sent an invitation to the wedding.

"Oh yes, quite true. I am truly happy about it too. Unlike the first time,"she nodded, "I do hope you shall be in attendance at the ceremony."

"How have you been?" she wanted to know.

Edited by Caroline Despanay
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Chatham and Cambray

Charles returned Anne-Elisabeth's nod and passed her a glass of punch.

"Coconut rum?" he mused. "I might try some later. For now, though, I must pace myself. I had an early start, one might say."

He laughed softly. His eye-patch meant that his visible pupil was always relatively dilated anyway, but despite that and the lighting, Anne-Elisabeth might see the signs of his earlier laudanum consumption and draw the correct conclusion.

Her little tiff with Rochester was of momentary interest, though he was not sure that jealousy lay behind it – the lady had something of a self-aggrandizing streak, he suspected. (Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. He had one too, after all.) He would be deeply disappointed in both parties, too, if giving as good as she got amounted to shouting out the blunt suggestion that they burn Rochester at the stake. The earl was famous for eloquence and vitriol both, and Lady Cambray was no mean wit herself, in his experience.

Rochester's shouted rejoinder amounted to bluntly suggesting they burn Anne-Elisabeth at the stake, and Charles resigned himself to disappointment.

Am I to be left with none of my youthful illusions? Ah well, the lady, at least, makes up for it by being pleasant company.

He smiled, thinking of a highly enjoyable afternoon in a gazebo, and idly wondering if the lady might be amenable to a return bout.

Ideally without us being dunked in the river first...

"Insist on pistols, on the grounds that one cannot fence in skirts, and feminine modesty prevents you from donning breeches," he advised her with mock-gravity. "Then it is just a matter of bribing the loader. Easier and probably cheaper than finding a champion, and more personally satisfying, too."

(Charles had seen one duel with pistols, where both duellists had been nursing injuries that made swords impractical and had decided on pistols as an acceptable compromise, and never fought one himself. On the whole, he thought it a ridiculously random process. One might as well roll dice.) 

"Of course, should you still prefer a champion, I would be delighted to act for you." He waggled his eyebrows. "I would not even require much in the way of inducement."

He shook his head in answer to her question, and fished out the bundle of letters he intended to consign to the flames.

"Not yet. Some correspondence I kept from my youth. I have grown beyond needing the spite it inspired in me, I think, and no more more apropos way of disposing of it occurred to me."

He gestured at her intended offering.

"They cannot be too embarrassing, to have survived so long." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "My own efforts tend to burn immediately."

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Rowley and Nicci

She smiled coquettishly as he advised patience, "Just a little longer?"  He surely appreciated that she was a very patient woman in fact, there was any number of things she was content to bide her time over, "where is my scribe, can I get that in writing?" she teased, moving closer that their scents be known to each other, "Oh but hear all their talk of burning writings, it makes me think we are better to keep promises to the heart only."

Of people around and about, collections of documents seemed to be a favourite theme to burn. 

"I wonder though, if by the simple act of bringing writings here, people actually want to make a swan song of them.  For surely any truly tragic works have long past being turned to ashes..."  Nicci was very happy to share moments with Rowley.  While yes they romped together, they spent more time in conversation than most might think.

Of the clogs, he approved.  "Aside from my contempt of the Dutch, I've really nothing witty to say of them when I toss them into the fire." she admitted quietly, "though I did find a joke, but perhaps it is too rude to say out aloud?" she wondered to Rowley, and leaning closer still she whispered it to him for his opnion.  It was definitely not your usual Nicci style of joke, though possibly more suited Envy.

 

OOC: pming her whisper

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Francis and Caroline

 

"Ha! You flatter," he said, grinning. "I'm....basically wearing a cloak!" Perhaps it was his hair that was dashing. The ladies always seemed to favour his golden curls and their jauntiness. 

 

"Yours may be the only compliment from a pretty lady I've received all season, so I thank you for that." He chuckled at the thought. When he gave it a further thought, Cat and Nicci had probably said something flirty to him, but the point was that the compliments were a rarity  in comparison to the level of flirting he had become used to. The broadsheets had done their work, though not amongst his friends and libertines, at least.

 

"Then you are most blessed. Lord Chichester is a worthy fellow." He paused and nodded. "I shan't miss it, of course, though you shall have to lie if your new lord husbands asks how it is that we know each other," he teased.

 

"Me? Well, let us not ruin a fun evening with talk of my tribulations. I will say that I spent most of recess in the North in Yorkshire. I do not recommend it." He gave her a sideways glance, lips pursed with amusement. "All sheep and horses, very little fun."

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Henry Approaching Lady Cambray and Lord Chatham

As soon as the bonfire was lit, word was sent to his rented townhouse that the event was starting. Henry was, however, checking the symmetry of a lens at that point, so it took him a while to finish what he was doing and travel to the Castle. He was wearing his usual lab clothes, which were not current fashion nor notable finery. He had, however, thrown his black bear fur on top of that, to ward off the cold.

Once arrived, Lord Grey took a moment to take the sight in. He started looking for familiar faces, and he found a few. From his peripheral spot, he could see Lord Kingston, escorting a man that looked suspiciously like the King, but whose hair was of a different colour. Is that His Grace Cumberland? His Grace Buckingham was also with them. Lord Beverley was also there, as was Lady Cambray, chatting with Lord Chatham. There were many others, but the Baron did not know them.

Deciding to approach his fellow astronomer and her companion, he walked to the pair, bowed, and greeted them. “Lady Cambray, Lord Chatham, a pleasure to see you both. An interesting event, a bonfire. Have you been here long?” He pulled his bear skin closer. It was getting chilly.

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"I was rather hoping there would be more entertaining things to burn than paper, but I suppose that is downside of many libertines being prolific writers!" the King mentioned with a snicker of amusement. "In truth,  you are right. I would think anything truly horrid would have been tossed in the nearest hearth! I did not think the evening to become a recitation."

 

Clearly, from his response, he would find such a thing boring. Spontaneity was far more coveted by the King. Wit that could deliver on a moment without fanfare. Many did not understand such a thing. It did not do to try to hard for it ruined the point!

 

"We shall let them throw it in the fire without asking for a sample, then," he chuckled.

 

After being torched, the bonfire quickly got going, and with the copious amount of wood filled the area with light and it was very shortly nicely warm unless one wandered too far away.

 

Nicci then leaned in to deliver her joke, and he boomed with laughter. So much so that it drew looks from nearly all those nearly. Bucks looked distinctly put out to not have heard himself, but Shannon, Ranelagh, Denbigh, and Etherege also looked their way. 

 

"There is very little too rude for this company, and that is hilarious!" Rowley complimented.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Lord Camberwell  with Lord Paston commented, "This is a veritable sausage festival! Where are all the ladies!" A hilarious comment of its own, considering.

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The Ambassador settles down

Pyotr played a march he had learned from German military musicians. No one did military marches like the Germans, or so he thought. Afterwards, he removed his hat, which was good for formal occasions but not for a bonfire, and replaced it with a tightly-fit hat made of silver fox fur, which wind would not topple. If anyone was paying attention, they would see that his hair was cropped short and he had been wearing a black felt cap under the tall hat, which was then taken to safety by one of his servants.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Master Rowley arrive with his companions, although he gave no sign of recognizing the King or not. The Russian nobleman did approach the beverages table and had his servant pour him a generous glass of flavoured vodka. The action was designed to let those looking without being seen that the drink was not poisoned. Diplomacy was an art form that by necessity included many subtle cues.

The ambassador then proceeded to find a comfortable chair that would hold his weight, one that had at least one other close, so he could be approached by others. Setting his glass within reach after a few sips, he started to softly pluck his balalaika’s strings, playing a lively folk song from the lands of the Cossacks. If Louis wanted to approach, that would be the best time to do so.

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"The only compliment? Why that defies belief. You are perhaps the most handsome man in the kingdom and let me add, the competition is quite fierce too," Caroline only added to her first praise.

He approved of both her marriage and the groom, much to Caroline's satisfaction and assured her he would definitely be in attendance at the wedding. As for how they met...well.

"Oh he knows my libertine past. Surely it would not shock him if I did ever reveal to him my bed partners. You were my first though and no one ever forgets their first or so it is said. Plus I have made up my mind not to lie to my husband. I want this - my second marriage - to succeed," she remarked.

He mentioned where he had been and obviously it had not gone well there.

"Then I shall avoid North Yorkshire," she assured him.

"Oh I do like horses but sheep......they hold no interest for me. You cannot ride them after all," she grinned, "Though my father once said that the Scotch and sheep have an unnatural affection for each other. He can be a nasty fellow at times."

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Charles, Henry, and Anne-Elisabeth

 

Anne-Elisabeth took the glass of punch Lord Chatham handed her, making certain that her fingers lightly brushed his. She would be spending most … if not all … of the night with Dorset, but he had not asked her to be faithful to her and she seriously doubted that she was his only lover. “I see.” And she did, in that beautiful blue eye of his, and he had been doing more than just drinking. “Well, it’s here, if you want to try it.”

 

After taking a sip of punch, she opened a bottle of coconut rum and poured a bit into it. “It adds an extra layer of flavor,” she remarked after another sip. “I highly recommend it if you decide to drink another glass later in the evening.” She might not be around to hear whether he liked it or not, as would need to leave early in order to change before going to the bath house.

 

She grinned at Charles’ dueling advice. “I shall keep that in mind. Though even without any training or practice, I think I’d have a better chance at hitting Rochester than he would at hitting me.” Anne-Elisabeth had never even watched a duel but she’d read descriptions in books (mostly cheesy romance novels which she had devoured as a young teenager and couldn’t stomach now). Duels in books were not illegal. A funny image came to mind of two finely-dressed gentlemen actually dueling with books.

 

“However, if I do need a champion, I will call on you.” Her grin took on an alluring and seductive quality. “I will definitely make it worth your while.” She would certainly not turn down an opportunity to shag him again.

 

The young Countess wondered what kind of letters could have aroused Lord Chatham’s spite. Missives from his family perhaps? Or a former lover? “I guess I like to torture myself by keeping them around.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “But it’s time for them to go.”

 

She looked up at him, curiosity sparkling in her dark eyes. “You write too, my lord?”

 

Lord Grey approached them with a bow and a pleasant greeting. Anne-Elisabeth would have introduced him to Lord Chatham, but the two gentlemen seemed to be acquainted already. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow evening, Lord Grey.” She was looking forward to their dinner. “But I’m glad you’re here. I arrived not too long ago.  Did you bring an offering to the flames?"

 

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Francis and Caroline

 

Francis rolled his eyes and smiled as she doubled down on her compliment. "Ladies who aren't my friends seem to be avoiding me this season, and one can hardly trust the compliments of their lady-friends," he let out a tenor chortle. "Though I do trust that I am good-looking, if not the tradition of strong-jawed masculinity. We Villiers-blooded blokes tend to have an affliction of the femininely pretty and boyish." 

 

Even if he acted in no way feminine, he had soft features bordering on a full-grown cherub...Did that make him angelic-looking? Revolting! 

 

"But the most handsome at court! My my, do not let you new husband hear that!"

 

As to telling Lord Chichester the truth, his eyes enlarged briefly, whites exaggerated. "Well," he wet his lips, "Well, then," he continued, finding some way to put it in amused fashion, "At least do not forget to include that dear Lord Kingston had no idea you were no merry widow when he was made your first! For I do think you seduced me!" He leaned in and added, "I am sad we never had opportunity to repeat it, but it seems we are of the same mind of marriages, and I would not intrude on that success. I would hope we can remain friends." 

 

Francis had his libertine tendencies, but he also had his own moral code. Having a merry time with willing and available ladies was one thing, but intruding upon another man was asking for nothing but trouble.

 

"And sheep are only good for eating."

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Rowley & Envy - clogs to the fire & then cossack dancing w. Camberwall

Nicci clapped her hands together, "You are wicked!" She delighted that he thought to thwart the night of recitals, which might have been interesting if they were truly bad, but who was going to embarrass themselves like that.  No, this then prevented self aggrandisement, which her friend had to tolerate plenty enough of when he had his other hat (or was that periwig) on.

"Where are our cups, lets toast to that!" She lifted her own, which was only half full.  "To the seats of our pants that we might hold onto tonight!"  She think she had the English saying right, though it made no sense to her. There would be no pre-rehearsed readings tonight!

Rowley gave a great laugh at her joke.  His laugh was a wonderful thing, and she saw eyes look her way wondering at it.  Which was cue enough to pull the clogs on rope from round her waist and toss them into the blazing flames.  Her face aglow of the light, then falling into shadow as she turned back and called out her joke. "What is the difference between a pair of clogs and a french letter?" She paused then answered, "You can hear someone coming in clogs."

Flashing a grin from Buckingham to Rowley, she fancied how comparable they were when dressed like that.  A night with Rowley might almost be like a night with the Duke... who might have been horrified if he knew she thought about such things. Though then, perhaps he’d not really be as surprised as all that. 

Reaching up to her hair, Nicci pulled her comb free and shook out her preened locks.  The Russian was picking out a tune on his music box, and she had a thought to dance.  And clap. And stamp.  "Come dance with me Camberwell!" she called, having laughed at the joke that the wearing of breeches made possible.   "And Rowley, come dance around the fire with us. Tonight we shall be moths, not butterflies I think!"  

Nicci knew of his first crush, and the writing pseudomyn, and fancied it was a clever to further entangle herself with such words and persons - while it was also as the Duke said, 'always have fun when you can'*. 

ref

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On 2/5/2023 at 4:11 PM, Duke of Buckingham said:

 

Buckingham snorted at the explanation. Scandalizing one's father!

 

Well, in truth, Buckingham had a story or a dozen about the late King being scandalized (privately) over something he had done as a boy. Masturbating during a lesson with Hobbes had been high on the list of things he'd needed to account for at age twelve. Though it was amusing now, it had been utterly unamusing then. Alas, he had not had any fathers to scandalize by the time he was of a more adult age.

 

"Well done, you," the Duke complimented. "I think that story gains you forgiveness for your absences."

 

THere was a pause before he said, "Ormonde does not play patron for your literary endeavors?" It would not surprise him. Ormonde was as dry as a lady's face powder. "He is a tiresome man."

Buckingham and James

“Thank you, thank you,” James replied with a smirk, giving Buckingham a flamboyant reinterpretation of a stage bow. “Singing for one’s supper has a certain charm when it isn’t strictly necessary.” The poet chuckled, being playfully and obviously dishonest as he added, “Furthermore, while I am e’er avoiding the appearance of impertinence…”

“Your Grace has ever struck me as a man who knows that it is on occasion necessary to scandalize, when one has a greater objective in mind.” Shameless flattery it may have been, but also completely sincere. Of the Merry Gang, James aspired to write like Rochester, but it was Buckingham who commanded the most respect from him.

The duke’s opinion of Ormonde was low (curious, that, but not unexpected – certainly, other libertines held similar sentiments), prompting him to tense his jaw and run a hand through his hair, smoothing back errant curls in an attempt to find a diplomatic response. “Ormonde is…” He cocked his head to the side. “Necessary for me to remain at court.” And for Ireland, too, but there was that line about avoiding politics again. “So long as he finds me useful, my lord father has no room for complaint.”

The Lord Steward also rather intimidated James, certainly much more than Iveagh did, and despite often being unpleasant, had treated him fairly.

“In truth, Your Grace, I haven’t even considered attempting to enlist him as a patron.” Although it made a certain amount of sense, given that many of his works involved bringing Gaelic or Celtic themes and stories to a Saxon audience. “It just seems…inimical to his being. But if it could bear fruit…” Awaiting a reaction, his gaze wandered back to the fire, where Flora seemed to be making merry.

Edited by James O`Neill
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Rowley and Nicci

 

"Odd's Fish! I'd forgotten for a moment who I am tonight and wondered why Kingston hadn't kept my cup full," he said, laughing at himself. "Ahhh, the delights and drawbacks of being simply another gentleman!" 

 

Looking at her cup, he said, "Gah, but I am a poor example of a gentleman to my lady as well!" But quite honestly he did not wish to leave her side either. 

 

He looked for the nearest unincumbered person. Spying Beverley, and enjoying the sport of putting Ru's proper young man on the spot, he said, "Beverley! Do grab a bottle or two and join us in a drink!" He favored Nicci with a conspiratorial smile. He did so love loosening up young men who needed it. Nevermind that if he were a simple gentleman and not even a peer, he probably wouldn't have yelled at the poor viscount; Rowley had leeway in his merry-making!

 

Bottles received, he handed Beverley his cup and took one bottle, downing a healthy swig. "Go on, lad, from the bottle!"

 

In the meantime, he refilled Nicci's cup, laughing at her joke again. Several roars and claps were heard. Gentlemen especially loved bawdy jokes.

 

"Tonight we shall dance around the fire like Pagans!" Then he said in a whisper to Nicci, "I'll give 100 pounds to the first gentleman who takes off his clothes at that comment."

 

Camberwell, who had come near at Nicci's invite, took no issue with saying around Lord Paston, "Rowley shan't see my secret bits that easily." Which made the pretty Paston giggle. They were ready to join in the fire dance.

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Beverley getting the booze for Nicci and Rowley

 

Beverley had been standing around awkwardly, for he did not have the freeness of most libertines. Were it not for the invitation and for Cumberland telling him he was required to go in order to make sure Windsor didn't burn down, he probably would not have dared to come.

 

Most everyone had paired off to speak with their close friends and...well...unsurprisingly Beverley did not have any close friends in attendance.

 

It was then that he heard his name bellowed, which was somewhat unexpected. He turned. The King who was playing Not King was telling him to bring the liquor. 

 

He briefly wondered if one bowed to the King when he was pretending not to be one. In the end, he didn't, because nobody else was treating him specially. Instead, he selected two bottles that appeared to be brandy and brought them back to where the...Rowley...and Nicci were now cheering about dancing around the bonfire. 

 

The King plucked a bottle, corked it, and took a giant swig, telling him to do the same. His hazel eyes widened. Really? His eyes went to Nicci. The last time he'd drank something around any libertines was when Rochester had spiked the punch and he subsequently thought he was about to die. Peg had taken care of him. The burn of anxiety was real, but he couldn't refuse. 

 

With less ease, he popped the cork on the other bottle and took a much less large swig with a "cheers" beforehand. 

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Francis and Caroline

"Bah, if they are not your friends, then who cares? Ignore them. And fair weather friends are not really friends at all then, are they?" Caroline despised disloyalty when it came to such things. Once she made a friend, she stuck with that person come hell or high water.

"You are young looking, yes. But not feminine. You are also far too hard on yourself. Stop it, Francis," she chided him but with a smile and in low tones lest someone looking their way think they were arguing, for they were not.

Now as to most handsome in court, she really did think he was certainly right up there but added, "Yes, my George is quite handsome too. If people want to think I married him for his looks, I care not what they think. "

She also boldly offered that she might well tell George the truth about her bed companions. After all, she had done all that prior to this current commitment she had made with Chichester for marriage. It was certainly not cheating! Just honesty and she had told George she would always be honest with him.

Francis seemed a bit taken aback but as ever, cool and collected. He did point out though that when he took her that first time that was on her. She had seduced him?  Had it really happened like that? Caroline seemed to remember it somewhat differently but no matter, he had been kind and it had been a wonderful night in her young life. However they did agree on one thing - both wanted to be respectful of marriages. She would not sleep around but was determined to be a faithful wife to George. And trust he would be the same to her.

Then he very solemnly hoped that they would remain friends. Caroline immediately nodded.

"Oh yes, without a doubt. You will always be my friend, Francis. Til death. Which hopefully is a long ways away," she meant every word of it.

 

Edited by Caroline Despanay
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Chatham and Cambray

He was not the only one fondly remembering their previous encounter, Charles thought, judging by that brush of Anne-Elisabeth's fingertips. She really was a marvellously sensual woman, he thought, even if he generally did prefer voluptuousness in his partners. There was a pleasing novelty to her slenderness, too, if he was honest, and even in her occasional lack of refinement.

"Ah, we live but the once," he said in reply to her recommendation of the rum and punch. "I shall chance it." He took the bottle and added a measure to his glass. (Not an overgenerous measure, for he still meant to pace himself at least somewhat.) He raised his glass in salute and sipped slowly.

"It does add something," he agreed. "Not something I could drink all night, perhaps, but certainly pleasant."

Not so pleasant as the hypothetical rewards she offered for championing her in hypothetical duels of course. Her grin, in and of itself, warmed him more than the drink, to be frank. He gave her a grin of his own, eye shining wickedly.

"Oh, no gentleman would ever need anything beyond the honour of championing you, my lady," he replied, a warm purr coiling through his voice, "but it would be churlish to refuse anything further you would be gracious enough to offer."

The conversation turned then to what they had brought to be burnt, and why. Anne-Elisabeth, it seemed, had decided to rid herself of old writings she had kept just to torture herself.

"I can understand the impulse," Charles admitted. "In truth it is not so far from that which led me to keep these letters for so long."

He smiled ruefully at her question.

"What I do, my lady, is sit at a desk with a quill and waste good ink. None of my attempts have ever been good enough even to torture myself with, only to immediately feed the fire with."

 Joined by Lord Grey

Fortunately he was spared the need to dwell further on his creative failings by the arrival of Lord Grey. 

"Likewise my lord." he said, returning the other man's greeting. "Would you care for some punch? Lady Cambray brought coconut rum, which makes for a pleasant and interesting accompaniment." 

The bonfire caught audibly, and Charles took a moment to admire it before something else caught his attention. He recognised the tune the unknown musician had switched to. A German march, and one he had last heard at Turckheim. He resisted the urge to tug at his eye-patch, and instead sipped at his drink.

"We should present our offerings," he suggested. "The flames could grow uncomfortable to approach 'ere long, and if I am honest I find myself most eager to be rid of these now." He hefted his father's letters, and then found himself roaring with laughter as Nicolette's jest echoed across the square.

"That depends on who is coming, surely?" he commented idly, still chuckling.

 

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Rowley and Nicci

“You shall fill my cup admirably later.” Nicci purred, while partially dismayed at the blatantness she also mused that it was a very English way of speaking.  Still she was pleased Buckingham was too far away to overhear that, for surely she could and should do better.

Meanwhile though, the fire lit fete was a more general sort of fun, and while Nicci called Camberwell over to join in dancing, Rowley called Beverly with mischief of his own. 

“Touche!” She called with laughter at Chatham’s retort, “Do you allege the coming of an Englishman is louder than that of either.  We shall require witnesses to that fact, who do you call Lord Chatham?”

Nicci danced closer to the Ambassador playing his musical machine, he’d removed one hat and had replaced it with another.  “Can I throw your offering into the fire for you?” she asked all while within her Cousin Louis’ hearing, intent to goad Louis to action. (Lest she snatch and toss the stupendously pointy hat to the nights flames!)  

Dancing back towards Rowley again (just as poor Beverley valiantly sucked upon bottleneck of spirits, she reached to claim the bottle then.  “Fie Gentlmen, that is not how you should drink brandy, you must tease it as your lover to lips with coy and tender, treat it as your paramour in a tower… not a whore on street corner.” She crooned lifting the bottle neck to her lips to barely brush – while keeping her eyes upon Rowley. 

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Cambray, Chatham, and Grey

 

“Lady Cambray, I am surprised to be here myself. Truth is I was setting up my telescopes on the ramparts, and after a few inquiries decided it might be a good idea to attend the event. I was going to be awake anyways, and my mind needed a rest form astronomical matters”. It was true. Anxiety had crept in with all the preparations for Wednesday evening. “As for offerings, my servants added wood to the mound throughout the day. I am afraid I did not think to bring anything else”. To Henry’s mind, a bonfire was fuelled by wood. Why would people add anything else to be burned? He was at a loss.

At Chatham’s offer of punch and coconut rum, his eyebrows rose. “Punch and coconut rum sounds like a pleasant and warming combination, my lord”. Lord Grey called the attention of a servant and made his request. After receiving his glass, he sipped and nodded appreciatively. “I must say that the flavoured rum gives it an exotic and pleasant touch that does take away the chill from the bones...” He sipped again. "Definitely delicious. It is a welcome surprise. One can learn something new every day". A third sip. The beverage was strong but sweet and aromatic. I will have to purchase a case or two.

As the lord and lady wanted to fuel the flames with their offerings, whatever those may be, Henry asked, “may I join you? I have no offering, but… Hmm…” The baron searched inside one of his inner pockets, and found a few pieces of paper with failed lens designs. “I do happen to have something here. Not much, but it would be poetic justice to sacrifice failure to fire, don’t you think?”

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Chatham, Grey, and Cambray

 

Either she was very convincing or like herself, Lord Chatham could not resist the impulse to try something new. Anne-Elisabeth watched his lips as he took a sip of his fortified punch before moving her gaze back to his gorgeous blue eye. “I agree. It is a flavor that is better savored in small measures.  And we must leave some coconut rum for others who wish to try it.”

 

There was a seductive purr in his voice that sent flames of desire blazing through her body. She said nothing more for they understood each other without the need for words. However, Lord Chatham’s remark about torturing himself inspired a suggestion. “You know,” she began, her voice low and sultry, “instead of torturing ourselves, perhaps it would be more fun to torture each other.” Let him make of that what he would.

 

“Maybe your writing is not as bad as you think it is. If you are brave enough to share your next attempt, I should like to read it.” Her grin this time was positively wicked. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

 

Lord Grey’s arrival put an end to their banter. Of course, he would mention his telescopes.  “What a perfect place for them! May I set up mine there too? I have been longing to study the stars ever since I left Cornwall.” The telescope he had given her was stuffed into her tiny closet of a room. Anne-Elisabeth had been thinking of setting it up in the garden, but the ramparts would give her a better view and there would be fewer people to interrupt her.

 

At Lord Chatham’s urging, Lord Grey tried the coconut rum-laced punch. “I’m glad you like it. The coconut rum is my contribution. It comes from Barbados. Every season, I bring a new supply with me.”

 

The enticing Earl suggested that they should present their offerings to the fire. “Yes, it seems like a good time.  Eventually the fire will be too hot even for me.” She looked toward it, now burning brightly. The oddly-dressed gentleman had changed hats and was now playing a livelier tune. Nicci was dancing.  "And we should pay our respects to our lovely hostess ... if we can catch her."

 

Anne-Elisabeth smiled at Lord Grey. “Of course you can join us and your offering is perfect."

 

After a brief but suggestive exchange, Nicci issued a challenge to Lord Chatham. The Barbadian Countess leaned toward him. “Shall I volunteer?” she joked, whispering low enough that only he could hear.

 

Picking up her bundle of atrocious prose, she grinned at both of them. “Let’s go join the fun, gentlemen.”

 

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Chatham, Cambray and Grey

Charles grinned again, toothy and hungry. That was a delightful suggestion, and he found himself very aware that it had been quite some time since he had satisfied that particular appetite. It would probably be rude to duck away into the shadows this early, he reminded himself, and Anne-Elisabeth deserved an answer first in any case.

"Oh, I am certain that it would be," he murmured, drinking in Anne-Elisabeth's reaction. "But what form of torture do you propose? We both know, I seem to recall, that gratification delayed might well be a torture in and of itself, but it does make that eventual gratification all the sweeter. Or are you pondering a more... direct taste of torment's lash? That leaves a wonderfully pleasant clarity in its wake, I find."

He laughed at her next sally, feeling warmth coil through him at the sight of her grin.

"I must accept, I suppose, when the bargain is so far in my favour," he quipped in return. "Yours, after all, makes for much better viewing than mine." He laughed again and went on, a trifle more seriously. "There are a few personages around court I think could do with a lampooning —" Langdon. He meant Langdon. Perhaps Albemarle and Ogle too, but definitely Langdon. "— and I have been considering trying my pen at it."

(Only since she had raised the topic of writing, admittedly, but that counted, surely?)

"If I manage to commit anything to page and ink, I could send it to you for critique, if you think you could bear suffering through it?"

They were joined by Lord Grey, the baron having apparently been occupied with his astronomical work before he found himself in need of a break. Perhaps very in need of a break, from the way he went at the offered punch, but Charles had very little room to judge on that score.

"Rum is not my usual tipple of choice, but it does, as you say, add something exotic here," he agreed with the other man. "And it does not do to allow oneself to become trapped by habit or tradition, lest all you learn each day is the same thing repeated."

Preparing to move to the bonfire, he joined Anne-Elisabeth in reassuring Henry.

"It is entirely of a piece with what most here will be offering to the flames, my lord," he said, already imagining feeding his father's old letters to the fire one page at a time, savouring the experience, picturing how the the flames would leap as each missive was devoured, and feeling something in his soul leap at the image. Perhaps it was just the laudanum, but in many ways this promised to be more satisfying than pissing on his father's grave had been.

Perhaps that acknowledged him as having still some influence on me, and this refutes it?

It was in that lightness of spirit that he replied to Nicolette's joke, and laughed heartily at her returned challenge. In lieu of a wink he waggled his eyebrows at Anne-Elisabeth, for she really was a most delightful minx, and turned to face the French belle. He had not expected a reply, occupied as the Frenchwoman was, but in the mood he was in the need to reply ex tempore seemed a most amusing challenge.

"Why, Mademoiselle," he said, composing his face into an entirely and deliberate incongruous image of angelic innocence, "all I meant was that I have known some so utterly lacking in weight or presence, so determined to pass unnoticed and unremarked, that one would never hear them coming, whether in clogs or in anything else."

He laughed again, angelic mask dissolving into a smile of devilish mischief and merriment.

"But if I am called upon to champion England's honour, then I must confess that it was never the sound of my comings of which I took notice, but the effusiveness with which my arrivals were greeted. It does not do, after all, to intrude where one is unwelcome, a lesson those who wear clogs, for one, could stand to learn."

It was almost certainly the laudanum talking, but Charles found himself very pleased with that little bit of improvisation as he offered Anne-Elisabeth his arm.

"Let's," he agreed to her exhortation, and moved to the bonfire.

 

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Cambray, Chatham, and Grey

“I do not see why not, Lady Cambray; I will just ask Lord Beverley, out of respect. If I understand correctly, he basically runs the place for the Duke of Cumberland”. Henry did not think Lord Beverley would object, but it was good form to ask first and do later.

“As for the rum, it is delightful. I wish it was more readily available”. The baron had not noticed how his exhaustion had surreptitiously nudged him to drink more than usual. Perhaps at some point he would, but it was not to be that night.

Both the lady and lord agreed with his proposed offering. It was not much, more of a token, but Lord Grey had sent a fair amount of wood during the day, so he did not feel like he needed to do more. It was then that he noticed Nicci and Master Rowley. The young lady had a noticeable French accent, and the gentleman had an uncanny resemblance to the king. Lord Beverley and His Grace Buckingham were also nearby. An interesting event, this bonfire. And it is much better to be part of it than to see it from the battlements.

“You lead, and I will gladly follow, my lady”, Henry said notes firmly grasped by his right hand, his left not releasing his glass. “And may failure burn engulfed by flames”.

Edited by Henry Grey
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Nicci and Pyotr

Pyotr jumped, startled. He had been lost in thought, enjoying the playing of his homeland’s music. Without stopping, he answered: “my lady, my servants have already added wood to the pile. I have nothing left that merits burning…” he noticed Nicci looking sideways at his gorlatnaya hat. “That hat you see there is made of fur from the throat of black foxes. If sold in Moscow, it would comfortably feed a family of eight for about two decades…” Hopefully Nicci would understand that it was off-limits. The hat was a symbol of his status, and the Mongol was in charge of its safety, on pain of death. If something happened to it, it would bring great shame.

“So, since I have no further offering to make, perhaps you would instead accept my men performing a traditional dance from the lands of the Tsar?” There was a particular one he had in mind. He would have gladly performed it himself, but hell would freeze over before he let anyone else play his instrument. “I think you would find it interesting”.

He stopped playing for a moment and raised his left hand with a snap of his fingers. Four servants approached instantly, ready to receive instructions.

Edited by Pyotr Fedorovich
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Rowley and Nicci, with a Beverley, kinda

 

Rowley laughed loudly as Beverley put the bottle to his lips.

 

Nicci then snagged it from the lad and censured him, showing them how it was sensuously done.

 

"I think I will need a lesson in that later this evening," he said, wagging his brows at his mademoiselle. "I thought we were to dance around the fire? Shall we lead the way?" Her small hand was taken in his and he encouraged her to come, bottle and all.

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Beverley

 

Beverley resisted the need to make a face as he took a healthy swig, just for the benefit of his (non) king. 

 

Thankfully, Nicci grabbed the bottle from him at just the right moment to prevent Rowley from goading him into more. Or rather requiring him. 

 

He attempted to make his escape from the things that made him uncomfortable and inched closer to the Russian playing the music. That seemed far safer!

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At a controlled event, Louis would move to seize the center of attention; but the presence of the King, Buckingham, his cousin, and an assortment of others, including a Russian ambassador who seemed pleased to play music and order servants to perform actions to amuse, Louis thought it best to wait for the initial exuberance to die down and the liquor to have its effect before making a move to seize attention with the burning of offending pamphlets.

If things were more somber, there would be an occasion to greet Caroline, Francis, Beverley and others in a normal manner.  A conversation with the Russian seemed in order, but the man seemed intent on entertaining the crowd.  Perhaps later they might speak as the cool night air sobered the scene. 

For now, he was content to smile and watch his cousin at work.  She had the gift and he rarely had the opportunity to watch her work her magic surrounded by royalty and the most powerful men at Windsor, all content to dance to her tune, rather than that of the Russians.

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Niccis brief interactions with Chatham, Pyotyr & AE, then back to Rowley

Nicolette thought Chatham’s reply was splendid, so fine that she hoped the Duke Buckingham had heard (for she considered him, even moreso than the King, the paramount collector of English wit).  Her eyes glinted with laughter, gaze then slid to her lady friend with approval of Anne Elizabeths candidate for the night. "Well said Lord Chatham, unless by arrivals you mean the squawking nine months later kind." she cheekily replied as she spun on away...

The bearish ambassador then was less than fun, explaining that the ridiculous hat he had worn was not intent for the flames but had been an attempt at showing off status (the attempt had definitely flopped within this crowd.)  He had a lot to learn about England.   Blinking with amusement, most particularly that he asked her permission before summoning his trained men to perform (and moi, just a Frenchgirl from Normandie).  But Nicci was careful to be no mans political entrance.    "What do you think Lady Cambray?" she threw the question to her friend - for her instinct wished to carry her back to Rowley...

For this night was, or course, solely for him.   

And he was ready for her return. 

Nicci's fingers fastened around his, her eyes bright, with additional intensity begat of the scary conversations she'd had with Buckingham and Francis.  "Yes lets drink, and dance, and laugh.  Oh Rowley did you hear how clever a wit is Chatham, why he might rival Rochester in more than just debauching women." her eyes held his, these words were mere noises really as she felt the magnificence of where she was, here right now with her lover the actual King of England.  She did not want this to ever end.  "Shall we dance with grace like the Duke's french ballet? Or, saucy, like Killigrew's actors upon a stage?" one hand had slipped down as she spoke and she pinched Rowley’s rump hard enough to try make him jump - a grin on her face. 

Beyond, she saw Beverly move uncertainly away, and she was pleased while hopeful that nobody else thought to make sport with him.   Louis was here too though, so might look out for the extended family relation.

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The grin Lord Chatham gave her was ravenous and feral, and the fire within her could have rivaled the bonfire’s flames. Anne-Elisabeth had sometimes contemplated the kind of torture he spoke of, but had never suggested it to a lover for fear that he would flee and tell all his friends what she had proposed, thereby scaring potential partners away. How could she turn down what she had often longed for? “I believe I would prefer the direct approach,” she whispered, “though I have yet to try it.”

 

She looked him up and down, admiring his fine form. “I would much rather view yours than my own.” The young Countess wondered who he was thinking of lampooning. “Please do. I doubt I will have to suffer through it, though if I do … well, you know how I enjoy torture.” This wasn’t the time or the place, but whenever they found themselves alone together, she planned to tell Charles about the epic she had been assigned and ask him for advice while it was in progress and critique when it was done.

 

Lord Grey’s arrival lessened the excitement of her body but increased the enthusiasm of her mind. “Please let me know what he says. I have met Lord Beverley but we do not know each other well. If he refuses, perhaps you will let me look through one of yours?”

 

As to the coconut rum: “I am working on that.” She really needed to arrange a meeting with Ellen Doolittle, who might be able to help her with distributing it. “In the meantime, I can bring you a bottle or two when I join you for dinner tomorrow evening.”

 

Lord Chatham’s rejoinder brought a chuckle to Anne-Elisabeth’s lips. “That was an absolutely brilliant comeback. My wit pales next to yours.”

 

She took the arm he offered her and the three of them walked away from the punch table and toward the rapidly growing bonfire. Nicci was still dancing and she joined a tall figure whom the Countess recognized as the King in disguise .As she had not heard the original inquiry, she had no idea what her friend wanted her opinion on.  “Why think when you can drink?"

 

After stroking Charles’ sleeve, she let go of his arm and stepped as close as she could to the raging bonfire, unwrapped her package, and began to feed her play to the blaze, one page at a time.  "How wonderfully freeing this feels!"  Her gaze moved between Lord Chatham and Lord Grey.  "Come and join me, you two."

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Chatham, Cambray and Grey

Charles grinned yet wider, teeth flashing in the firelight. Anne-Elisabeth had a way of diverting his mind in a distinctly carnal direction, and he found his thoughts almost fully occupied with images of how they might explore the 'direct approach' together. 

"Is that so?" he all but purred in reply, something liquid and silken entering his voice. "Well then, we shall have to engineer an opportunity to... satisfy your curiosity, won't we?"

He laughed softly.

"And in the interim, we can both enjoy the pleasurable torment of gratification delayed."

The conversation then moved north of the waistline, at least as far as any conversation between them could. (Which was to say that it would still scandalise any matron, but they were using innuendo rather than baldly propositioning one another).

"That is blatant flattery," he observed. "Fortunately I am frightfully susceptible to such. Very well, I'll send on whatever I manage to put to paper, sating your need to torture yourself, and in return you can... show me yours, as you put it." He returned her admiring appraisal.

Lord Grey's arrival necessitated prevented further exchanges of innuendo, which was probably for the best upon reflection. In his current mood, Charles was not sure how long he could refrain from suggesting they leave in search of a dark, quiet corner. The conversation moving to rum and stargazing gave him opportunity to compose himself.

"Lord Beverley has always struck me as very diligent in his duties as aide to his highness," Charles agreed. He did not have much to contribute to a discussion of astronomy, but on the topic of people he had a great many opinions and no reluctance in offering them. "And while I cannot conceive of him objecting, he would appreciate the courtesy of being asked, I think."

He knew Beverley solely from court events, of course, but the younger man had always seemed a perfect gentleman to him, and he had heard nothing to suggest that that impression was in error.

It was shaping to be a glorious night, the sort of thing he had been missing for far too long. The firelight, the rum punch, the flirting with Anne-Elisabeth, the by-play with Nicolette, and (perhaps especially) the laudanum had him in magnificent humour. He laughed and bowed at Nicolette's rejoinder, and waggled his eyebrows again at Anne-Elisabeth as he straightened.

"You are kind to say my lady, but I do not think one can measure wit thus. It is a protean quality, with manifold peaks and troughs. What matters is whether one possesses it at all, and you most assuredly do."

There was something deeply admirable in Anne-Elisabeth's exultation as she fed her writings to the bonfire, something that spoke to him as much spiritually as much as it did physically. He paused a moment to fix the image in his mind and then stepped up to join her. Holding out his letters, he let the fire take each sheet one by one, allowing the flames to lick up almost to the tips of his fingers before releasing the page and bringing out the next to burn. He said nothing, but a beatific smile grew on his face as each letter was consumed.

Oh, I should have done this years ago.

 

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Rowley was eager to agree. "Chatham is quite high in the King's esteem I hear, but I confess that I do not know the gentleman well," he added with a cheeky baritone chuckle. 

 

"Rochester has seemed in one of his spiteful moods lately. His friends have not been buoying his esteem of himself, I think."

 

"Yaaa!" he yelped as she pinched his backside. 

 

"Pah! Not like any ballet! One does not ballet around the fire. We gyrate like the pagans did, of course," he said, before he leaned down and kissed her. The fire wasn't the only thing burning, so was the way he kissed her.

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