Lysander Digby

“Tsk. If you're going to stoop to some back alley brawl, Lysander, the least you could do is win prettier," She says, crossing over to him uninvited and goes as far as brushing a gloved finger over skin blushing to bruise. "I can hardly parade you in front of any viscount like this. What did you do to earn that?”

"Good reason?" He scoffed, keeping his eyes focused on his task of binding his hand in a bandage. "Bloody hell, woman, what do you want?" He had intended the words to sound much sharper than they had actually come out, more resigned than annoyed. Finally, he tore his gaze from his injured had to look up at her, a scowl settling on his face. "It was not some back alley brawl, and I won anyway. I'm sure you would be much more disappointed had I lost-" His words stalled for a moment when she touched his face, however fleeting it might have been. "...Well," he cleared his throat, regaining his composure, "we wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your prospects, would we? I'm sure you can manage without me for a few days. Far be it from me to prevent you in succeeding in your endeavours."

Lysander had intended to stretch his legs, having been cooped up in his office all day for various reasons, so he stepped outside for the moment. Fresh air would do him some good, he decided, about at his wits end with the papers he had been reading. He hadn't expected nor prepared for conversation, and his shoe sole scuffed slightly against the floor in his abrupt pause. Turning, he looked for the source of the voice, a polite smile settling on his lips. "Ah. Miss Kara, good afternoon." He greeted, gentlemanly yet charming as ever in his approach. "Regretfully, ma'am, I would have to agree with you. I remain tight lipped, as always." Never mind that he would, in fact, spill secrets to the highest bidder if he felt so inclined.

Cytherea Gallery would surely have his head for giving this piece to a gentleman's club. And if they knew just where he was hanging it, and what activities went on in this hall that he'd been making up for? They would surely drag him through the streets with every name attached to the gallery rolling in their graves. But a deal was a deal. The painting was part of the Claremonts' private collection, scattered across the countryside and never claimed by the new crown. This one in particular was large enough to be hung lower on the wall to hide a certain indentation. Caused by Thayer's knee a few weeks before. "If anyone is going to commit debauchery in here, they may as well do it under a Claremont piece," He says, standing back to take a look at it. "It's a hanging a little lower than tradition— but then again, so am I."

Lysander stood back with his arms crossed, leaning against the opposite wall with an expression of extreme disdain. After having found out about Thayer's... indiscretions, he was less than thrilled about it, naturally - especially as one of his paintings had been wrecked in the process. This was apparently Thayer's way of apologising and making up for it, and while Lysander was far from foolish enough to reject the very expensive painting (that he would be bragging about), Sir Claremont was not out of the woods. "Spare me the details of your intimate life, I have heard quite enough of it to last me a lifetime." He grumbled, wrinkling his nose slightly before pushing off the wall to stand straight. "I'm sure it hasn't slipped your mind, sir, that you are in fact banned from this establishment? I have turned a blind eye to you sneaking in with your friends, but if this is going to be a regular occurrence... I might have to start paying closer attention."

Lysander watched him from the armchair in his office, indifferent as William entered, and even more so as he spoke. He didn't care much for the excuses or the simpering, nor whatever pleas for mercy William thought would appeal to his generous side - a side that was shrinking further by the second. He let young William talk first, let him say whatever he thought might gain him points or non-existent sympathy, as he leaned back in the chair. Finally, when the groomsman shut up, Lysander reacted. "...Did you come straight here from the stables, or are you simply looking to provoke me further, William?" he asked as his nose scrunched slightly and his lip curled in disdain, wielding the full given name like a sharp blade. "I thought we had discussed this, but apparently you'd prefer to smell of a horse's back end that be somewhat respectable. I'm unsure as to how we're supposed to be on this... equal footing nonsense when you insult me by turning up like this." He gestured with his hand at the state of Will's attire, rolling his eyes in obvious disgust. "...No matter. We have more important things to discuss, and quickly. I don't want the smell lingering." He moved to stand, leisurely wandering closer to the younger man as if he had all the time in the world and William didn't look as skittish as the horses he tended to. "We had a deal, did we not? If you cannot uphold your end of the bargain... why should I? Hm?" He reached out to brush a fictional piece of hay off Will's clothes, before clapping his hand down onto his shoulder and gripping it tightly. "I told you. I will not be made a fool of." Lysander reminded him of his exact words, of their bargain struck in the very stable he thought William belonged in.

"That was before I became aware of your conduct towards dear Juliet. Tell me, sir, do you make a habit of going around assaulting pregnant women, or just those you deem troublesome?" He did not care a single iota that Juliet had told him that she and her step brother were on better terms now. Lysander was not likely to forget exactly what Tobias had done, whether it was provoked or not. "It certainly makes me wish I was much less considerate with my own conduct when we first met." The brandishing of the ring did absolutely nothing to impress him. Lysander raised an eyebrow as he spared it a bored glance. "Is that all? Here I thought the Thorpe's were among the elite, is it not rather... small? Simple? I certainly would not be brandishing it so boldly - then again, I would not own such a piece in the first place." He took a sip from his drink, blue eyes cold and hard as the glass in hand. "...Though I suppose, if you're so desperate for my help, I won't pass it up. I shall have to restrain myself from spitting in the barrels." The mention of the matches raised his hackles higher, and his back straightened ever so slightly in reflex. "...Perhaps your new husband did all of Mayfair a favour by removing you from the streets. I only hope for your sake that he does not find out the rats down by the port are better company than you."

“I need to settle up my membership,” Piet remarks to the owner of the establishment with a coarse voice that masks the true accent with the new one his tongue is trained to conceal. “It is my understanding that the application is complete and approved but only the matter of payment. I hear the more donated, the more access and discretion is given in return.”

Lysander made it a habit to watch every newcomer on their first visit, especially when they come asking for membership. Whether or not this was his true first visit, Lysander couldn't confirm yet, as he could've slipped in upon the vouch of a friend. Still, Lysander didn't recognise him, so he watched, and something about the man's movements were simply far too... familiar. Like looking in a mirror. Strange. "Indeed. I reviewed your application, and among the opinion of others, it was accepted." He agreed when the matter of membership payment was brought up, and naturally, his eyebrow twitched up in intrigue through the implied question posed. "...You would be correct. The more generous you are, the more generous I am. Especially given your... newfound position." After all, Peter's little inquiry into his club had turned up a single fact that formed Lysander's opinion in an instant - his marriage to one Tobias Thorpe. A fact that almost had him deny the application altogether, but as they say - keep your friend close and your enemies under your thumb. Or something to that effect.

Lysander wasn't one to ban people from his club - it was bad for business and people asked too many questions that he could scarcely be bothered to answer. In fact, only one person had been banned by himself, and yet somehow he kept sneaking in anyway. Maybe one day, Lysander would find it less amusing and enforce it. However, if there was one person he was most tempted to ban, it was Tobias Thorpe's smug, irksome face. The mention of the Queen's matchmaking only made him bristle further. "A business opportunity? From you?" Lysander drawled, sipping his own drink as he stared Tobias down like he was trying to puzzle pieces together. "Interesting way to approach it, considering I'm quite sure you know of my... enmity towards you." A tilt of his head did nothing to hide the calculating gleam in his gaze, more apparent than ever. "I suppose it depends - how much are my efforts worth to you, Mister Thorpe?"

She waits as he finds her name, and the silence that befalls him brings Aylin to snap with her curiosities, "Who is it?" Reaching forward, she tries to take it from his hand without causing a scene. "Is our work here already done by the hand of the queen?"

"Is that all you think I care about?" He asked, though where he would usually sound mocking or teasing, he only sounded immensely grumpy. "Perhaps we will get along and the Queen was correct in her matchings. Then what?" Even so, he knew as much as he may (or may not) get along with Miss Lockridge, it would never be a perfect match - not when he was sure he had already found it. He didn't bother answering her question either - his mood had considerably soured with the words written on paper in front of him. Instinctually, when her hand reached for the page, he pulled back out of range, keeping the paper held firmly in his hand and creasing it slightly in his tight grip. "Well, that depends, dear Aylin, on whether you think the risks of touching Tobias Thorpe are worth whatever you think you may get out of the match. Though I cannot foresee anything other than an ailment that will make you itch in the most unpleasant places."

Amongst all of the whispering mamas, Beatrice saw Lysander. If there was one person that she knew wouldn't be judging her cousin through all of this, it was him. She hurried to catch up to him. "Excuse me?" She called out to the other, "Could I walk with you a little Mister Digby?" Beatrice questioned. She had no idea if it would help or hinder the whispers but she didn't particularly care. She would feel better if she had a friendly face by her side.

Lysander stalled in his steps as he heard a familiar voice, turning to face the warm presence of Juliet's cousin. That rare genuine smile of his settled easily on his lips as he greeted her. "Ah, Miss Bennett. It would be my pleasure." He agreed all too simply, but then again, he had a soft spot for anyone Juliet spoke highly of. Besides, he had met Beatrice on a few short occasions, and she always seemed perfectly pleasant. Lysander gestured for her to stroll beside him, making sure to position himself on the side of the pathway closest to the roads. "What can I do for you? I assume you've not sought me out simply for my charming smile and handsome features?" he joked, looking down at her as they walked.

"I am so sorry, I am so sorry," She cried, shaking her head, her back turned to him. "You - You can leave me if you wish, Mister Digby. I - I do not wish for you to be enthralled in all of this. I - I do not know what to say, only that I am sorry." She whimpered, face still unable to meet his, to look at him, to bear the shame she felt radiating off of her.

"I wouldn't wish to stay a minute longer, ma'am, lest I contract a disease." He spat his final remark, every bit as scathing as before, leading Juliet out of the shop with his head held high and his hand resting over the tight grip she had on his sleeve. Lysander hadn't even considered the idea of being embarrassed - it was the last emotion he could ever feel for Juliet. No, he was on the brink of vengeful, anger coursing through his veins and almost giving him a headache from the restraint he had to show to keep himself in check. The moment, however, they were in an alleyway and hidden mostly from the street view, he refocused on his friend. Her body language made his stomach sink, and her words weighed it down even further. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" He scowled, abhorred by the very idea of ever abandoning her. "You have nothing to apologise for, little lady, don't you dare stand in front of me now and take the blame for that- that gaggle of claptraps." Despite his obvious fury and harsh words, his hands were gentle as he reached for her, grasping her shoulder and coaxing her to turn and face him. Once he had her at least standing nearby, his hands moved up to cup both her cheeks, his thumbs naturally moving to swipe away her tears much like he had when she was a young girl in trouble with her mother. "You listen to me, Juliet Bennett," the wrong name, yes, but she would always be that little girl in his eyes, and his tone mirrored the same one he used when he was stern with her then, "you have done nothing wrong. They are the ones at fault here. What sin have you committed, truly?" Tenderly, he tilted her head back with his hands to ensure she was listening, holding her gaze with his own. "If they are truly going to forsake you for falling in love, then they are miserable, bored old women with nothing better to do than judge others to avoid their own misdeeds being judged. You are far beyond them, in every way, and they are jealous of your beauty and your happiness." In an attempt to cheer he up even a little bit, he managed a small smile. "I mean, really, little lady, who are you going to believe? Me or them?"

"Open it then," She instructs him, leaning back in her seat. "Perhaps it's some Viscount and I won't need you at all, Lysander. Would you toss me aside so easily then? We both know you don't have many friends unless they bring you something. I'm sure we could work something out if you'll miss me."

"I could never toss you aside, my dear." He admitted perhaps a little too honestly, but it seemed she had that effect. "It is you who will have to leave me for us to truly part ways. Else, I do believe you are quite stuck with me... Though it is rather presumptuous of you to believe I would not miss you and your scheming little ways." She was right, of course - he didn't have many friends, not that he really wanted them. He had Juliet, yes, but other than that, who did he have that truly cared about him? That he could safely call a friend and not face rejection? No one came to mind, and as such, he ignored the remark, unwilling to admit her accuracy. Instead, he unfolded the letter fully and began to scan it. His name first, connected to a name he was familiar with at least. "Hm... Miss Cassandra Lockridge. Interesting, the ward of a friend of mine." Though once again, the term friend was used loosely for Thayer Claremont. "And you, darling..." Once again, he began to scan the page, finding her name above his- Shit. Oh, he did not like that at all and his eyes narrowed slightly at the paper in his hand. Of all people, she was matched with the man in Mayfair that could not only rival his own rakish ways but far surpass them? Something hot and sharp burned in his stomach that he refused to give a name.

"That's because you are one." Lysander replied smoothly as he crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of door behind him, watching and nit-picking through the mirror. "But this is what you wanted, and so be grateful I offered it so willingly. I'm nothing if not generous." The sarcasm came naturally as he continued to assess William, looking for faults. "...It will do, though, I suppose. You no longer smell like a stable at the end of a week, nor do you look like you slept in one." He sighed, pushing off the door jamb and standing up straight to wander closer, puling a non-existent thread off William's shoulder. "...A friendly warning, William. All anyone will be talking about is the recent pairings Her Majesty has bestowed upon us all... and the whispers of the Lady Whistledown." He was fully aware, of course, that the woman he had been matched with himself was involved with William before. He knew very little about Miss Lockridge other than what he had heard from Thayer and the Whistledown papers, so perhaps, if he was going to make a real effort, he should pick William's brains? Besides... it would certainly piss off the groomsman.

"Le-Let us - Let us go, shall we?"

"For Miss Cassandra Lockridge," he spoke loudly as she sat her book down, "A Mr. Lysander Digby is here to call upon you Miss." Her heart raced at the introduction before Mr. Digby stood in the opening of the door.

Appearances were everything - his mother had drilled it into him at a young age. How you were perceived could make or break you, especially within the tumultuous environment of London Town. Now, he applied that logic to everything he did, out of habit or out of real necessity, he wasn't sure, but he was sure his mother would approve. Whether he should be proud of that or not was up to him, and he didn't have an answer. It did answer, however, why he had chosen to go all in with the courting of the person the Queen had so graciously matched him with - a Miss Cassandra Lockridge. It was ironic in so many ways. According to the biggest gossip in England, Miss Lockridge was involved with the very man he had coerced into working for him mere days ago. Poor William, though it was certainly good for Lysander, another way to show just how much control he had over the little groomsman. As well as this, though, she was the ward of a man Lysander had a shaky understanding with. Sir Thayer Claremont had been a staple within Gentleman Jack's for a long time, despite technically being barred from membership. His sneaky workaround of being invited along with his friends had impressed Lysander to the point he allowed the disgraced former prince to hang around like a ghost... And he wondered what this pairing would do to their understanding. All of that was pushed aside, though, as he was led through the halls and stepped into the doorway where Miss Lockridge awaited. A smile settled across his face, every bit as confident as he was in his comfort zone - and this was firmly out of it. Courtship wasn't something he had ever seen himself participating in, but as with everything else he ever did, he took the risk. "Good afternoon, Miss Lockridge. Forgive me for the... dramatic bouquet, but I was unsure of what flowers you preferred. So simply, I bought a selection of many."

Lysander had stepped out for a rare moment of fresh air after a particularly... riveting conversation with yet another man who bet against him and lost. Was it a valid loss? Perhaps not, but it was a loss nonetheless and Lysander was not in the business of letting things go so easily. He turned as he heard someone call out in his direction, raising an eyebrow and tucking one hand in his pocket as he wandered slowly towards the rather brave woman. "...Why is that?" He repeated the question with amusement. "Escaping judgemental wives, or perhaps simply for socialisation... a decent drink in more decent surroundings... choose your reason, ma'am, there are plenty."

"Is your socializing in there safe from Whistledown? Because, if so, I think would it not be prudent to have places like that just for women? Might be able to smoke her out if so," An attempt to sort of clamor up a reason for her questions based on the other's answer. In truth, she did not want to stop Whistledown at all.

Lysander heard the hostility loud and clear - it was interesting, perhaps even amusing, that this woman seemed comfortable to so boldly question the status quo. He came to a stop in front of her, blue eyes locked on as if trying to figure out what cards she held in a mental game of Commerce. "It is not in my interest to establish such a place for women, but if it is something you desire so badly, perhaps you should start one? I have no interest in smoking out the Lady Whistledown either. She is yet to bother me so." Though granted, her ramblings had upset a great deal of people, some of which he might care about. Lysander's head titled to the side. "You ask a lot of questions and I cannot help but feel... targeted. Do you take issue with my business?"