The Poet

Captain Lord Effingham, @ixnay-on-the-ipshay

I hope this correspondence finds you in finer spirits than I saw you last. I am writing to let you know that I have retired to the country with my mother for the rest of the season, as she has taken a turn. The physicians have told us that the fresh country air would do her some good.

London is so very stuffy, is it not? Especially when one is so unhappy. 

I am sure you are over-joyed at the news of my leaving, but alas I must take great pride in crushing that joy.

I have not changed my stance on being your heir, and I hope you understand that I will continue to be a thorn in your side until your wife produces a son. 

Your cousin,

The dust of colored chalk stained her fingers as Aurelia worked the drawing in her lap, undoubtedly staining the peachy pink dress she had donned for the day. It was no matter, though, not was she was so deeply absorbed in the work itself. It was on days like this that she missed her late brother and took to drawing and painting. Oliver had always been a fine artist and she felt a certain closeness to him when creating new works.

“And you’re rather kind. It’s lovely to see you again, Mr. Howard,” Aurelia responds, a gentle smile playing at her lips. 

Truthfully, she recognizes him immediately– how could she not, having witnessed (and participated in) the very event Lady Whistledown had so animatedly detailed in her latest column. In Aurelia’s opinion, it had all been rather overblown, and thus, rather than shun or scold, she motions for the man to sit beside her. Besides, the loose, alcohol-hazed memory Hugh in the wet shirt during their game was enough for Aurelia to overlook whatever latest scandal had befallen the ton. 

“At the risk of disappointing you, I’m afraid I’m just an hobbyist,” Aurelia says with a small laugh, “Though, I will admit my governess once said my ability to draw is my sole redeeming quality, so take from that what you will.”

.

 Though they had met briefly during their voyage to Margate, Hugh had not had the proper chance to speak with the woman one on one. She had caught his eye, but drink and that damned game had taken his mind elsewhere. He was pleased to have a chance to get to know her properly. Or at least, as properly as one could out in the open in a park. 

“I am only kind to those that deserve the praise, and you madam, certainly do.” He mused, a small smirk forming on his lips as he sat down beside her. 

Up close he could see the drawing she was working on in finer detail. She truly was talented. Most young women were, but this one was different. It did not seem juxtaposed with force - an attempt to impress anyone. It simply seemed as if Miss Merchant was simply enjoying the day - as he had. 

“Your governess either sounds like a closed minded chit, or you were a hellion and vexed her so much she said it to get under your skin.” He replied, a glimmer of mischief in his gaze. 

-

He had never been more grateful that-that White’s, his beloved White’s, had recovered fully from the fire – was open and available again – a much-needed sanctuary from the insanity, revolt, mutiny, and chaos without. His study was no longer his own; he felt the stares, weighing, judging and finding him wanting down each and every hallway – could not bring himself to walk by either her room or the nursery (being worked upon again) without feeling the hurt, like a bruise not yet healing. 

So – the club it was, never-changing, the smell of smoke and languid drawls and laughter, the burn of good drink –

“Mr. Howard,” he clipped out, wishing his previous table-mate back despite having wanted the other to quit just moments before, “I – I say, is it visitor’s day at the club? I cannot imagine they have – lowered their standards so much as to let any man or Jack in from the-the streets.” 

The instinct to dismiss the imposter was strong, but – 

With the situation on the, hrm, home front where it was, and the clear and present threat this particular man presented – well. Best deal with it now, and away from – from Victoria and his future heir. 

“Come. Seat yourself, before they realize their mistake and kick you back out. Have a drink, even.” He signaled for another glass before pinning the other man with a look. 

“And you will tell me what makes you think you can maintain this-this charade that we are at all related.”

-

If Archibald Howard St. John was anything, he was stiff. Stiff in his manner, stiff in his views, and stiff in his opinions. Hugh pitied the poor mans wife; she would have to deal with his rigidity for the rest of her waking days. 

There was something about what he said that was supposed to get under Hugh skin, but he just smirked. He was an outcast, no doubt, but he had managed to get in just like the rest of them. How shocked the man before him would be should Hugh mentioned he dropped the Captains name to expedite getting in. 

He took his seat opposite his cousin, attempting to ascertain in the back of his mind if the man before him looked anything like his father. Surely with their own fathers being brothers he could share some sort of similarities. However, the image of Hughs own father had long been blurred, which was expected when the man had been gone most of his life. 

A drink was put down on the table before him, and Hugh took a slow sip of it. Both to annoy his cousin, and attempt to work out how he wanted to steer the conversation. 

“I will admit, I do wish it were a charade.” he began, assessing the dark liquid in his glass. “It is not something one takes easily finding out that their cousin is an Earl, and has long forgotten about them. A shame, really that kin could do that to one another.” He paused then, gaze reaching up to cut the other man. 

“As you are an educated man, I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you were given some knowledge of your family tree. Now,  my father - Thomas Howard, left for the American frontier when I was 6 and has yet to show face. Thomas, as you should know. Is your uncle.” 

-

In his life, especially in his younger days, Richard had not been one to shy away from scandal or situations that would be frowned upon in polite society. He had slept around, even gotten a daughter of a French noble pregnant but the one thing Richard had was discretion. No one in England or the majority of France knew of his affair with the woman and Richard preferred for it to stay that way and so far, it had. Even Whistledown knew nothing of it. 

Brooks club was the best place for any man to relax and recuperate without the hassles or pressures of the ton, or at least it should have been. All night, men had been gossiping about Whistledown and of how Miss Margaret Mulgrave was the talk of the town but now it was all about a rumored dalliance with a man while she remained unmarried. Richard had swore under his breath. The men were just as bad as the women when it came to gossip so he tried to remove himself from the situation. As he made his way across the room, he was stopped by another gentleman he had not recognized. 

“As long as the name Whisteldown is not mentioned then yes, I would love to join you.” He smiled, taking a seat opposite the man. Richard ordered another drink and a cigar to complete the night as he sat back in the leather chair, finally taking a break. “You look as if you need more than one drink in your hand,” Richard noted as some other gentlemen started to look in their direction. Richard furrowed his brows as he looked to them and then back to the man. “I do owe you my gratitude. If I had to endure one more conversation with those men, I may have drank myself into oblivion.” 

-

If he could have laughed without looking like an imbecile, Hugh decidedly would have. Whistledown was the exact reason for his presence, at the club. The very reason that he sought solace. It was not that he had been exactly outcast from society, but it did not look well for a gentleman to have such things written about him. Even if some of the married and widowed women of the Ton had begun looking at him a little more closely. 

“I can assure you good Sir, the name Whistledown will not pass from these lips whilst you are seated with me.” He mused, taking a sip of his drink. 

The gentleman opposite him was not incorrect. Another drink or three would undoubtedly assist his current predicament. However, Hugh was eager to avoid another scandal, and being drunk off his face in a club would certainly not help anything. 

“Another drink would be lovely, but I will take my time...” Hugh paused and glanced in the direction the other had come from. “Was it that horrible? Normally the conversation is not that bad. Even if you cannot particularly stand the gentleman with whom you’re speaking to.” 

Covent Garden had proved a rather fruitful expedition. If there was one thing that Hugh loved about being back on English soil, it was the fact that there was such debauchery hidden right in plain sight. For a people who prided themselves on propriety, the English really did enjoy a rather scandalous tumble. 

He swayed slightly as he walked back towards his newly acquired lodgings at The Albany, his evening had been filled with port and brandy, and he feared that he was half alcohol. 

He whistled quietly to himself as he walked, the city streets containing a few stragglers from the evenings events. As he walked on the cobblestone street, he noticed a form below a dimly lit light. For some reason, whatever it may be, he felt drawn to the person. “You alright?” He questioned, noting their attire. 

​He had fallen asleep under the shade of a tree while attempting to write something. Anything. It had been weeks since he had landed back on English soil, and his pen had suddenly become drier than the Sahara Desert. It was not like him to lack passion, or lack the fundamental skill to write. It was one of the few things he was skilled in. 

He clutched his journal to his chest, along with his overcoat. It was far too hot, and propriety be damned. Layers were his enemy, sod anyone who thought him a scoundrel for still being dressed in such heat. 

As he made his way through Hyde Park, he nodded to the various women that he would pass by, offering them all a smirk and smile. No matter their age or figure. He did not stop in his tracks however, until he saw a young woman painting? No, drawing? Whatever it was she was doing, she was doing so in the park - and rather well. 

After Whistledown’s scathing report from the festivities of the regatta, Hugh had to work on some damage control. Especially where his prospects were concerned. Though he wasn’t exactly in the mood for marriage, being regaled as a rake was not necessarily a good thing - at least not in polite society. Nor, was it a good thing to have the front door to ones home decimated. 

The paint had been one thing, but the scratches had been another all together. Though, in true Hugh fashion, he had begun donning red accents in this attire. Whoever had done it would surely get their feathers ruffled if they assumed he thought it a joke. 

Of course, the defamation of ones character was never a joke, especially when it came to a lady as wonderful as Miss Mulgrave. Of course, he owed her an apology, and perhaps even rightfully to pay for her door. However, before doing such a thing, a drink would be in order - or a few at the very least. 

Hugh situated himself comfortably in a leatherback chair at Brooks and sipped rather slowly on a brandy. Surely there was no rush to amend such a thing when brandy as good as this was to be had? 

He glanced up then and met eyes with another gentleman. “Care to join me, Sir?” He might have wanted to sit alone, but after all, connections in the Ton were nothing but necessary. 

Hugh had spent far too much time with his mother and her relation of late. He had left the regatta rather quickly upon learning of her ailing health, much as a dutiful son would. However, upon reaching home, he had found his mother to be in rather good health. His loveable mama was always one for the dramatics. 

Needing to get out, and be amongst men, Hugh found himself walking towards White’s. It had been some time since he stepped foot inside the club, the chance at some sort of freedom from monotonous conversation was exhilarating. He did love his mother, but hearing the same story five times over made one go slightly mad. 

He made his way into the club, relaxing as soon as he inhaled the smell of cigar. There were a few tables available, but it was almost as if fate had lead him to the club on purpose, for his eyes almost immediately fell on the form of his cousin. 

How perfect. 

Hugh stood a little taller as he walked over to the man, offering him a mix between a smirk and a smile. “Good day, cousin. Running away from the world for a moment, are we?” 

“I suppose the weather isn’t trying to capsize us, if that’s what you mean.” William muttered, taking a sip of his drink before casting a glance at the chatty stranger of the day. He didn’t appear familiar, which meant another person to go through meeting that would likely be lacking in any interest.

Another sip, and William had the thought to check in with Brooksbury and acquire some Mexcal for himself.

“Are you much of a fan of boats?" 

There, one useless and bland conversation question in return for another, William had successfully engaged in small talk with the gentleman. His mood was not at all agreeable to the day’s events and considering they were stuck at sea for eight hours, that didn’t bode well.

-

A curt chuckle sounded from  the back of his throat at the other mans’ input. One wouldn’t expect the Thames to become exactly frantic enough to capsize a barge, but stranger things had happened. 

“I am, quite. Travelling for years will do that to you. Though, I will admit to enjoying a smaller vessel with more alcohol. And yourself, Sir? Do you enjoy boats?” 

It was a rather mundane conversation, but it saved Hugh from having to face his cousin right away. 

Archie

“I – “ A shadow fell over him, quickly followed by a solid wall of-of weight – whooshing his breath out of him –

And the contents of his glass splashing over onto his, hrm, passenger.

“Wha –” Attempting to shift to a-a less uncomfortable position was in vain. “What do they feed you, bricks?”

Off – off – off – he chanted internally.

Margaret

Mr. Howard was right, his turn would make her laugh. As Hugh sat down upon Lord Effingham’s lap, eliciting quite the unhappy response. She laughed openly over her glass, “How graceful. Oh but look-” Margaret almost gave away Archie’s position and she bit her bottom lip, motioning to the pair, “Your clothes are ruined.”

Aurelia

“Tragic, indeed, isn’t it, Miss Mulgrave,” Aurelia says, offering her new friend, Margaret a small wink. “Although, you ought not to stay in wet clothes, like this,” Aurelia advises, turning to Hugh, “I’ve heard it can lead to all sorts of unfortunate diseases a such…” 

Hugh

What a right mess this was. Not only had Effingham spoiled the game, he had spilled poured something on him. A grimace fought to get on his features, but Hugh would have none of it. The game was still young, and there were plenty of pretty faces he still had the opportunity to engage with. “Not bricks, but hearty food. Perhaps you could use some Effingham. You are awfully boney.” He retorted, taking the blindfold off to assess the damage. 

Damn. His clothes were new, too. 

ladyaurelia​:

Aurelia 

Aurelia has to stifle a laugh– there was something to be said for watching the whole game unfold before her. Leaning towards the two gentlemen, who sit on either side of her, she lowers her voice whispering, “Well, I’m just glad she did not guess me. I should find it quite worrying, should I feel like man…”

Margaret

Since she was not declared correct, and Margaret swore she could hear sniggers around her she went with the only other gentleman partaking in the game. “Mr. Howard then?” At the realization, she pulled her hands back and away, flush deepening from inebriation to added embarrassment.​

Hugh 

There were only two men participating, so she had a 50/50 chance at guessing once her initial reaction had been shot down. As soon as his name passed her lips, her hands retreated and the flush that crept into her cheeks had him warming with an odd sense of pride. Hugh gingerly reached for the blindfold and carefully took it off of the woman, allowing his fingers to linger on the skin of her temple for a moment longer than necessary. “I hope it was not too much of a disappointment, my Lady.” 

He placed the blindfold on himself and patted the womans knee. “Now you can at least laugh while I take a guess.” And once she was off of his lap, stood so that the next victim could take their seat. 

Aurelia

“Well, then, I guess we’re off to a fine start,” Aurelia says, wondering if the distance of her voice will give anything away, “Any guesses Margaret?” she asks.

Archie

There were not that many other gentlemen available – participating – available to participate, that is. He leaned forward, glass of-of champagne? whatever it was – sloshing dangerously –

“Don – don’ give it ‘way now,” he said – reaching out to slap the would-be cousin – imposter – whoever on the shoulder. “Sturdy!” he added, in a tone of some surprise – staring at his hand. 

Margaret

Margaret felt about the stranger’s clothes carefully, noticing there weren’t exactly layers to anything. A hand resting on the unknown passenger’s upper torso (hopefully?). A gentleman by the clothing then. Since the naval captain decided to be so loudmouthed she assumed abruptly, “Lord Effingham?”​

Hugh 

party games \ the sage boat w/ @ixnay-on-the-ipshay @hughxhoward @ladyaurelia @lucyofedinburgh

Margaret readjusted the blindfold tied around her eyes and stepped in a slightly wobbly circle before brushing against a fellow passenger’s clothes (legs?) and taking a seat.

the sage boat, early afternoon

 for @hughxhoward​

Margaret worked to get the ship back on course for their expedition to Margate, a few of the deckhands muttering suggestions in hopes that Sir Archibald did not overhear his suspicion that Lady Mulgrave was indeed not well informed enough to be captain confirmed.  It was only when their direction was confirmed that Margaret rushed away to gather the things she had tossed in irritation earlier in the day. Reticule, parasol, and book secured she turned back for the helm, catching sight of Hugh Howard fumbling with a flask and his glass.

It was amusing really, Margaret had delighted in spiked lemonade herself, but of course, the gentleman’s drink looked to be made of harsher stuff. “Mr. Howard,” Margaret exasperated through a smile. “I dare say…is that whiskey?”

-

Though the idea of being surrounded by people in a boat for a few hours had seemed a good idea at the time, after climbing aboard, Hugh quickly came to realize just how much of an error he had made. Though, there were plenty of pretty faces to look at, he much rather would have been on a boat with perhaps less people. 

Thank the Lord for alcohol and the invention of a flask. It had been something his mother had advised against, and though he listened to his mother in a great manner of things, alcohol was not one of them. 

Just as he was pouring his salvation into some lemonade, he heard his name and looked up. Goodness. His captain truly one to behold, wasn’t she? 

Hugh smirked and stopped pouring. “It very well may be, my lady.” He paused then, swirling the contents of his glass about, before offering it to her. “Care to give it a try?” Were he gentleman he wouldn’t have done such a thing, nor smirked at her. Yet, a gentleman, Hugh was not. 

8 July 1800 | 12 noon, or thereabouts | Bennetton Regatta, Sage Boat

Four boats – no, barges; large, lumbering things – already set loose from the pier, so too late to double back. Rotten luck to have been in the barge in the lead, leaving him hovering at the aft – peering out behind to figure out who was in which other barge. Which he would not have had to do had the dashed Bennetton-Quincy-Pembroke fellow deigned to tell him which one carried his wife, and what measures were being made to-to reunite him with her. 

The one immediately behind them was festooned in cheery yellow; he would be less annoyed at the-the profusion of pennants had they not obstructed his view of the barge’s passengers. 

He squinted, adjusted the glass – tried again, doing another sweep. “Damme this breeze,” he swore; then, hearing footsteps behind him, gestured for that other person to step forward. “You there – can you make out who is on that boat – there –”

Stopped and lowered the glass, finally taking in who had approached. 

Then, curtly, “My mistake – I-I believed I was speaking to an acquaintance, but I see I am mistaken. I do not believe we have met.”

That he suspected the identity of the other man – well. That was neither here nor there. 

He made as if to resume peering out across the Thames. 

@hughxhoward​

It had taken Hugh about ten or so moments to gauge whether the rigid man that seemed to be pestering every working person aboard the vessel was his relation. They had never met in person, but Hugh had heard descriptions of the man, and tales. It seemed to him, that Archibald Howard St. John lived up to his reputation. 

It was amusing really, that a man he was related to would be a navyman. What an interesting tide life had turned for them. 

It took him ten agonizing moments longer to deduce whether or not to approach the gentleman. They were in the middle of the Thames, and should the conversation go awry, one (or both of them) could end up swimming to their destinations. 

Luckily for him,  he was a strong swimmer. 

Almost as if he were a child looking for praise from a schoolmaster, Hugh fixed his vest and made his way to his long lost cousin. The one whom had denied him so easily of his birthright. 

“We have not,” Hugh began, glancing from Archibald to the boat in question. “Though I may be of some service, should you still be curious as to who is on that vessel.” 

Hel ooked at his cousin easily. There was a very vague resemblance, if anyone knew they were related, they may see it - but in passing one would not. 

“Besides, what is an acquaintance but a stranger you have yet to speak to for more than a few moments?”