mountainmarquess

Goodness, ISAAC ACKERLEY has arrived in London. He is 33, of the Appalachia Ackerleys. Though they are new to the Season, we can only describe them as industrious and courageous, dear reader. Accompanied by their mother and younger brother, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their complete lack of knowledge about how England works, not to mention the Season.

“Yes, it is, indeed an island – did you not –” He had turned, genuinely horrified at such a-a gap in his acquaintance’s knowledge – only to catch the hint of amusement on the American’s face. “Oh. Oh, I see – you were, hrm. Well, in-in any event – shall we?”

He had intended, upon that cue, to have the door separating the customers from the back of the house – the access to the horse and travel on offer – flung open. Instead, he found himself run straight into a still-stubbornly closed door, shoulder a shade worse for wear. 

“I say, this is – is quite –” Tried the handle again, but to no avail – took a step back, scrutinizing the mechanism. “Why, I daresay – at least they had the good sense to-to keep it locked.”

His eyes drifted back over to the opening through which the staff would have taken payment, offered suggestions – an opening that very clearly led to where their mode of transport was. 

A pause, wherein he straightened up his coat – dusted off the bruised shoulder from his attempt – and shot the other man a significant look. 

“It appears we are faced with one of two choices: either we attempt a way around the back from the outside – which may draw unwanted, hrm, attention to our endeavor – or-or we – well – attempt it through the window here.”

Then, generously, “I would be happy to keep watch – an eye out, in case any others come in and-and misunderstand the situation.”

-

Isaac blinked when Archibald slammed into the door. Had he been trying to tackle it open? His technique had been a little off, but Isaac quickly decided to not comment. “They must really be out.” Which is they were stealing a carriage or cart or something worked in their favor. Of course they would leave money. They weren’t true thieves.

Just momentary thieves.

“Hmm.”

He glanced Archibald up and down and then crossed his arms over his chest, considering the two options.

“What about you go through the window first and then open the door…since it’s your idea, and I’m really good at keeping an eye out.” Hunter’s eyes and all. Also he simply and honestly wanted the amusement of glancing back and seeing Archibald wriggling through the opening like an unfortunate lizard.

He had taken a step back – had been occupied with studying the rather informative table of prices for the various modes of transport posted next to it; why, any trip to Bath or Brighton appeared to cost twice as dear at the very least – the proprietors clearly anticipating Society’s exodus to its preferred haunts. 

“The park,” he said, half distractedly, “I say, Isaac, it is remarks like these that quite give you away – there are parks upon parks in London alone: Hyde Park, St. James’s – good God, these prices for a jaunt up to the Lake District amount to-to daylight robbery, look here.”

At the American’s mention of the coast, he gestured at the prices and destinations listed on the wall. “Well – if they can’t bothered to staff the damme shop, why, we may as well save them the trouble – put down the set price for the chaise to let and be about our business. Of-of course, this is – is entirely dependent upon which coast is to be your destination –”

Unable to help himself, he added drily, “As England is an island country, there are several coasts available, you see – just as there are a wealth of parks to choose from.” Then, “I myself am for Portsmouth – do you mean to take the sea air at the beaches, or are you for the docks as well?”

-

The tips of Isaac’s ears went a nice bright pink. “The park closest to my house,” he grumbled, still unsure of exactly which one it was. Did it really matter? But he knew Archibald meant well. He thought. Most likely? He glanced at the prices and converted them to dollars. No arguments from him, those did look like expensive trips.

Isaac lifted an eyebrow as Archibald began to lecture him again, then he eased into a smile. He didn’t mind so much being fussed at by him, though he did think this was an excellent time to tease his friend. 

“Oh, it’s an island? Well damn…I must’ve missed that somehow.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I think the docks. I’m half sure there’s air there, too, and you can take it. But you would know best.”

Isaa – no, Halifax; if they were here discussing any potential, hrm, obstacles to union with a lady of their mutual acquaintance, it must needs be done at a-a remove, at the very least – Halifax had paused before answering. It was not like him, he thought, uneasiness trickling back in – by Jove, he knew there may have been something; Miss Hale had sounded far too-too insistent – desperate, dare he say – 

It was a trick someone had told him about once, over one too many drinks – that the reason you flipped a coin when making a decision was less to-to let Fate or some other fancy decide, but that in the moment the coin was in the air – you would know which result you were hoping for. 

When the No came, he still was unsure – and that in itself was almost as bad. 

He cleared his throat, inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Oh. Oh, well, then – right. That-that is – good to know. I-I thank you, for the-the honesty – the well-wishes – and for not taking offense at the-the inquiry.” 

The mention of excitement led to a grimace – there had been quite enough of that, and Isaac need not be privy to his plans, well, after the fact, but still – he shook his head and attempted a relieved smile. 

“She is – quite spirited, yes. But enough on-on myself – what news of you? You have been remarkably quiet as of late – whereabouts are you headed? Out of town as well, I presume – perhaps wise, given that the Swarm has two sisters yet unattached.” 

He quickly shot a look around the waiting area, reaching for his pocket watch to check the time before remembering – “Dash it all – damme thieves got to my watch the other day – where are the damme staff here?” He stalked up to the service window – leaned in to get a look – “I say, is anyone here?” 

There were sounds of whickering towards the back, so clearly, some form of transport was available – 

He pulled back, shooting the side door to the back a look – back to the American – then, “How – how in a hurry might you be, and-and in what direction are you heading?”

-

Isaac nodded, not really knowing how else to respond. ‘You’re welcome’ would sound strange or possibly smug or callous. So nodding seemed like the best course of action.

At Archibald’s grimace, Isaac’s eyebrows rose. Huh. Well, the Englishman probably wasn’t interested in excitement at home when he had the sea in front of him. Hopefully Victoria would find enough to keep herself occupied. She could always break into people’s gardens and talk to random birds, he supposed.

“I’ve been in the park,” he said vaguely. Because most nights, that was where he had been hiding. He made sure to stay in the less populated areas and to avoid any officials, and so far, he had done well. He did feel more at ease there, after all. “And I took some time to visit the country.” Which had been nice, but not as satisfying as the mountains at home. “But yes. Out of town is the aim.”

Isaac frowned. Thieves? Huh, where had Archibald been to run across thieves… He drew his head back as the other man called through the service window.

Isaac held up his hands. “Not much of a hurry, and I was going to head to the coast, possibly…why?”

“I – wh-what – no!” He had bristled, temper flaring before he had a chance to wrestle it down – why, once he had given his word to do something, he would damme well do it, even if he thought the request unmeet. 

The exclamation sounded loud and harsh in the otherwise empty antechamber – incongruous to the friendly spirit in which it had likely been proffered; he flushed, hastily corrected in more tempered tones, “No. As-as a matter of fact, I am on my way to-to preparations in that regard –” 

He stopped again, once again perplexed at the-the exceedingly awkward nature of the situation – how did one converse about one’s marriage to someone’s – to a lady the other man clearly had had a tendre for?

It occurred to him that Isaac had somehow gotten wind of the wedding – they had decided against posting the banns, given the need for a special license anyway, but he supposed Miss Hale’s formidable aunt had taken charge of ensuring the ton knew of the match. His own Mum had shut herself up in censure – a cut direct to her own son – by Jove, he ought to have married sooner if this were the happy result.

Gotten wind of the wedding – but had not offered congratulations. For how could Isaac be expected to? The American might have actually felt something for the-the vivacious Miss Hale – whereas he was still trying to figure out what, aside from general consternation, he himself felt at the situation. 

He swallowed – decided to throw all caution to the wind and-and take a leaf out of the American book, so to speak. 

“I – I beg your pardon for asking – and-and in the full understanding that our acquaintance is nowhere near as-as long as to merit such a question, let alone expectation of a-an honest answer – but you must understand that I must know, in the event there is any objection – ideally prior to the-the ceremony itself –”

His mouth snapped shut, half-horrified at the rambling that had emerged – he took a breath, and tried again, this time in carefully measured words: 

“Isaac – no, Lord Halifax – is there anything between yourself and-and Miss Hale?”

The lady had denied it, but he did wonder whether the lady had denied it too much. 

-

Isaac blinked and pulled his head back a little as the captain seemed to fuss at him, clearly aggravated though that hadn’t been Isaac’s intention. Had it? Nah, he had simply been joking. But in hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have.

There was a moment of silence that filled the space between them, and he wasn’t sure what to say or how to fill it. What was the proper thing to put there? He might intend to leave England for America, possibly, but he didn’t want to leave bad blood behind him.

As Archibald spoke, Isaac stared, trying to piece together the meaning of it all. It was like a riddle, and where it was going, he didn’t know. Well, he had an inkling, but he wasn’t certain. He started to hold up his hands to tell Archibald to slow down, take a breath, then—

Oh.

Isaac pulled both his lips in-between his teeth for a moment as he thought honestly about that question. For both their sakes, he should’ve said no instantly. But. He also didn’t want to say anything to hurt Victoria. He had started to have feelings for her, but…but anyway. She was all wind and fire and mystery and lion-hearted purpose. He hoped that Archibald knew that his future wife was intriguing and captivating and would always keep him on his toes.

“No,” Isaac said simply, giving his head one shake. “We were…friends.” What an odd way to put it. “She’s a wonder. I think you’ll have an exciting life together.”

He had not thought his decision to take the Effingham carriage to Almack’s a particularly controversial one, but given the way the Mums had sniped – and Freddie’s stumping about afterwards – it certainly made him think twice about using it for his personal errands. 

Pity he hadn’t also thought twice about leaving his valet at Portsmouth – of course, Giles would be able to make more of the necessary arrangements, and a valet on a mission was far less likely to catch the eye than an earl – 

But that decision left him to make several uncomfortable discoveries as he learned to navigate London on his own – the territorial nature of the various modes of transport, for one. This would be his fifth – fifth! – carriage house visited today alone, the fact rendering him more irritable than his wont; his response to the blunt and direct question was therefore also equally blunt and direct:

“Same as any man walking into a dashed carriage-house – in search of the last post-chaise still available for hire in London, evidently!”

Blinked then, upon registering the accent and the rather familiar face. 

“Halif – I-Isaac? Why, what –”

Isaac, the man who had appeared at Her Majesty’s luncheon – engagement by fiat, whether the attendees were willing or not – with Miss Hale on his arm. The same Miss Hale – who, by a series of unfortunate events, would be Countess of Effingham before the month was out, God help them all. 

He almost took a step back before he steeled himself – offered a hand to shake instead, attempting a smile. 

“– are you also arranging travel out of town then?” 

-

Isaac offered a half-smile. “Considering it.” He shook Archibald’s hand and then looked around. “Not that anyone seems overly keen on helping me.” Most likely it was because he was wearing the wrong clothes or simply didn’t look like he deserved quick attention. Fine. Let them be that way.

“Shouldn’t you be arranging a wedding, not a carriage? Unless it’s for the wedding.”

Not too long ago, Isaac had been considering asking for Victoria’s hand. But it wouldn’t have been entirely fair to her, would it, to pull her away from her life and drag her around with him if he decided to go home. Perhaps it was for the best that she had taken Archibald’s hand instead. He could provide for her in ways that Isaac couldn’t.

“Or are you getting cold feet?”

Isaac crossed his arms over his chest, trying to be patient as he waited to speak with the man who owned the establishment. He knew that he could probably ride his own horse all the way, but it seemed like that would be hard on the creature. Especially since he didn’t plan on stopping much. And he wasn’t yet decided on if he was simply leaving London or entirely leaving England. He hadn’t spent any time hardly at the country estate. Maybe he should give it a chance.

Or he could simply drive a knife into his own hand and see which made him suffer more.

As he waited, he heard someone open the door to the small office. Glancing behind him, he didn’t expect to recognize the newcomer. One eyebrow raised when he did.

“What’re you doing here?”

Isaac avoided eye contact and dodged conversation. He had gotten used to garden parties and dances and that sort of thing, but this? He poked at his plate with less enthusiasm than he should have, being at a queen’s table and all. But she wasn’t his queen. Unless he really did want this whole marquess thing.

As he played with the food in front of him, he let his mind wander to back home. It seemed to happen more frequently now, stupid daydreams of the mountains. He could imagine the sunlight through the leaves, the smell of fresh growing things. Blackberries on the vines. Cool mountain streams. Trout and homemade butter. Laughter, carefree and loud against the silence of the forest. He glanced around at the people stuffed into fancy outfits, everyone scared to move wrong unless they did some offensive or said the wrong thing.

Yeah. The mountains might be uncouth, wild, and untamed, but he liked them that way. And maybe he was better off there.

The twig he had been playing with broke in his hands, one bit of bark keeping the two pieces together. He messed with it, twisting the supple summer wood around his fingers as he watched the fire burn down. 

So far, he hadn’t been arrested for camping in the park. Then again, he usually didn’t burn a fire. One of these days, his luck would run out, but maybe by then he’d be out of the city. The seasons were always changing, after all.

Usually, he loved summer. Back home, it was humid and full of life, every part of the mountain bursting with fresh green. Apples were growing, people were working the fields, the woods were abundant with animals. 

It was a busy time, but a good one. There were more gatherings what with the snow being gone, which meant there were plenty of times to get together and enjoy good food and friendship. Around here in London, he must’ve always seemed a little surly and unsure of himself, but back home…

Isaac tossed the twig into the dying fire. Maybe he should just give the inheritance to Jeremiah whether he wanted it or not. That’s what had happened to him. But it would be a cruel thing to do if Jeremiah still didn’t want it.

Sighing, Isaac leaned back against a tree, grounding himself in its solid presence. Maybe he’d just become a recluse.

It was not ideal, but not out of the ordinary, for Victoria to be on the later side of things. The American marquess arrived to pick her up a bit later than expected, which would have been fine, except in the final stages of pinning up her hair, her lady maid Gloria’s hand slipped and completely ruined her braid. After redoing it, Victoria rushed to join Isaac in his carriage.

Victoria glanced at Isaac while his attention was drawn out of the window. When she sensed he was about to turn toward her, she looked out of her own window with a subdued smile, only glancing back at him when she was sure he was looking at her.

His suggestion could get them scolded, sure. Would it be worse than their tardiness? Victoria found herself rather eager to make a statement arriving on the arm of the marquess. And it was less about the the status–she realized a while ago she cared less about the title and more for the man himself. And if he cared for her the same way.

But with the luncheon, there would be attention drawn to their family names and titles (or lack thereof). The season was long from over and all it took was a gifted hair ribbon and the return of Frances Fitzroy to remind Victoria nothing was guaranteed until there was a proposal.

Her stare became rather intense as these thoughts crossed her mind. If it looked as if she was about to pounce on Isaac, she didn’t notice, nor would it have been the first time she’d looked at him that way. “I am not afraid of being scolded,” she declared. “And to be quite honest with you, the queen can always find something to be cross about, so there is no need to wait here to save ourselves from her judgment.” Being scolded by the queen was inevitable and Victoria was under no impression she or Isaac could escape that fact.

She grinned, raising a brow at him. “I should warn you, seeing as we are already late, we will likely draw some attention. Are you ready?”

-

Isaac stared back at her, not exactly unnerved but a tad wary since Victoria was unpredictable and did look rather like a lioness at the moment. He had no idea what was running through her sharp mind, though it did make him curious. She was quick and odd and interesting, and he enjoyed how she kept him guessing.

He huffed at the idea of the queen always being cross. That sounded about right. He doubted she would be pleased with him, in any case; a random American in her court? Why would she want him there?

A quick grin brightened his face for a moment. In answer, he reached out the window and popped the clasp on the carriage. Opening the door himself (glory be, the look on the footman’s face, if he could’ve seen it), he climbed out of the carriage and rolled his shoulders. He lifted his hand in a small cocky wave at the servants by the door and then reached a hand back to Victoria.

“Sir,” one of the servants squeaked, peeking around the edge of the carriage. “Sir. Sir?! SIR.”

Isaac ignored him and gently wrapped his fingers around Victoria’s to guide her down from the carriage. “Great day for a stroll.”

One of his buttons was missing. Isaac had noticed it a minute ago and was deciding not saying anything to Victoria about it because he wasn’t sure if it would cause some kind of incident. It was the last button on his coat, which meant he was going to wear it unbuttoned for…for forever. He looked out the window of the carriage and then over at Victoria. She was put together. He didn’t think she was missing any buttons.

He offered her a small, not-entirely-apologetic grin. They were running late, which wasn’t entirely surprising for anyone. For one, he had slept late. He had spent last night in his actual bed, which was never his favorite experience since the bed was far too soft for anyone’s taste. But he was attempting it since he was starting to consider the fact that he might have to sleep in a real bed more often.

As the carriage slowed down and then stopped without anyone jumping out to open the door (as if they couldn’t do it themselves), Isaac leaned over and glanced out the window. “So, we’re not the only ones late,” he said with a smirk. Two carriages ahead of them, a lady in an overly massive purple dress was causing a delay since her skirts had snagged on the door on the way out. Isaac leaned back inside and tilted his head as he regarded Victoria. “I mean, we could get out and walk, but we might get scolded.”

Sebastian looked at the… bear-man that approached him, a quick sweep of assessment from boot to mask. Then he blinked. “Good? At–” Sebastian collected himself after the blunt question, nodding curtly. “As a matter of fact: yes.”

With a smile, Sebastian took the ball and went to the nearest empty lane. He assessed the length of the lane–in the dark it was hard to account for any dips or bumps in the grass, so he would have to improvise–and once he was ready, he bent low and rolled the ball toward the pins. The ball skipped over an imperfection in the lane and lost some momentum, crashing into the pins but only knocking down about half. Sebastian sighed. “Verdammt.”

Servants rushed to reset the lane and the prince turned to his bear companion. “You receive points for knocking down the pins. If you get all of them, it is called a strike, and it is worth extra points.” 

The prince accepted the ball back from a servant and handed it over to the bear. “Your turn, sir.”

-

That was an interesting accent. Isaac’s eyebrows knit together for a moment. Huh. Well, he didn’t really have any room to talk in the accent department. It seemed like everyone around here said he had the strangest way of talking.

Isaac watched the white-masked shoulder wing man roll the ball down the lane and take out half the pins. It didn’t seem like such a bad roll to him.

He took the ball and judged its weight, considering. A small smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “I guess literally throwing it is a bad idea…” He almost still hurled it down the lane, but instead, he drew back and rolled out. There was still too much force behind it. The two pins that he did hit soared a couple feet, and one might’ve been cracked.

“How many points is each pin?” he asked as one of the servants raced off to get the pins and the ball, which had rolled a good ways before coming to a stop.

17 June 1799 Vauxhall, a little after 10pm

To her credit, she was having the best time simply watching. A little mix-up at the punch table had led to an accidental encounter of two paramours interested in the same, bronzed Adonis (and there were several milling around the pleasure gardens). Lucy watched, seated on a low stone wall, her expression a mix of amusement and pity as the encounter ended with Adonis, alone.

She tilted her head. He was good-looking. Was that Baron Helford? It was difficult to tell; he’d also managed to paint his hair. 

Hopping down, Lucy narrowly skirted another couple, star-crossed. Whatever pang of loneliness she felt, she swallowed back with a private smile: Vauxhall always did this, knitted pairs together in dark hedgerows, spurred couplings with heady punch. The amount of scandals that spilled out of the London midsummer alone were enough to fill parlors through Twelfth Night and she, ever the dancer, sidestepped them all.

And yet –

As the greenery broke, she scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Graham, perhaps. Freddie, certainly. Even the wayward Captain would make a good anchor, someone to stand close to, to tease out a game with. Blue eyes landed upon a familiar pair of shoulders, facing an archery target. Lucy smiled.

Obtaining a quiver and bow from the attendant, she stepped alongside him, judging his marks. Better than the average. Passing a quick glance, Lucy loaded her bow and grinned.

“Hello Isaac.”

Just Isaac, he’d said. Just Lucy. Curling her fingers around the strings, she stretched them just a breath farther and released. Aim, fire. The arrow struck almost on-center.

She released her lip, not aware that she had bitten it. “And here I thought you’d be dancing.”

@mountainmarquess​

Out of everything there was to do at this massive endless party, he hadn’t expected to find an archery range, however small. It seemed that the mixture of masks, rivalries, alcohol, and potentially other things to distract were all things that you wouldn’t want to mix with weaponry. But someone, in their infinite wisdom, had done just that. And who was Isaac to correct them.

He grabbed a quiver and a bow and retreated to the end of the row, close to one of the hedges. The targets in the distance were fancy and gold-rimmed. Isaac nocked an arrow and let fly. It pierced the outside golden rim. The next embedded itself into the second ring, though it was a little off from the gilded part.

When he heard his name and not his title, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “’lo, Lucy,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her.

He watched as her arrow hit the target. Good shot. It seemed like archery was one of the few sports that women could take up and remain in good standing in English society. “No, I’ve avoided that so far. Narrowly.”

Drawing another arrow from the quiver at his side, he turned toward her. “You look very nice. And you shoot well.” Which was more important in his eyes, but she deserved both compliments. He glanced down the line at the other archers and then leaned toward her. “Can you hit the center on everyone else’s targets? I can help.”

Lips pressed into a pert but subdued smile. Dinners were hardly Victoria’s favorite event of the season, but seeing and being seen were the only ways to win the game. And the Grisham’s were familiar territory–knowing it was best to bring a date, to stave off an approach from the aging Lord Grisham–otherwise the company was generally agreeable, the food was above average, and the entertainment for the evening was enough to keep her from falling asleep.

It made for a mediocre evening that Victoria would have normally left at the earliest opportunity, date or not. Tonight was different, though.

Victoria didn’t feel the need to escape, either. Lord Halifax’s hand reached for her and any smugness in her eyes turned to anticipation, her chest expanded once, twice–he caught a piece of her hair hair, toying with it. This was the moment she would wear another grin and straighten her shoulders and preen over the attention.

Instead, she stared with wide, curious eyes. When he answered her question, it was not with what she expected–a kiss–but his reply stirred in her. Thoughts of her, even when they were apart… The thought of occupying space in his mind was exhilarating. And Victoria would be lying if she said she had not thought of him each day since the ball, too.

Her eyelashes fluttered, a reply was required. Lord Halifax was asking, which suddenly she found–intriguing, and awfully polite. His fingers grazed her cheek and she sighed, shoulders collapsing. The moment of wistfulness passed, and suddenly she recalled the advice of the duke. Damn him for being right.

Victoria reached for Lord Halifax, fingers curling beneath the edges of his jacket and drawing him in–down–and she lifted her lips to meet his. She heard a sound, felt a scrape as their mouths collided. His beard was rough, to say the least, and her eyes flew open wide. Victoria drew back, but not far. “Oh,” she whispered, staring at him. “Your beard. My lord, I–” She pressed her fingers to her lips as if to feel they were still in one piece. She needed to do that again. Her breaths quickened and she ventured another kiss, this time anticipating the sharpness. She mirrored Lord Halifax’s gesture from moments before, the backs of her fingers stroking down his face, his beard. 

Easily, she could have deepened the kiss, but she remembered herself, and where they were. Victoria released him and cleared her throat, straightened her spine. The only advice she ever paid attention to when it came to the season was her aunt’s stern warning: don’t be desperate. And yet–

“Every day?” Victoria asked. A false innocence should have been applied, but she didn’t feel the need, allowing her voice to go low and her eyes to remain fixed on him. “Was a kiss everything you wanted? From me.” Her brow quirked, challenging. “My thoughts have been occupied, too, wondering if you would–” She nodded. Smirked. “You are unlike any man I have met, Lord Halifax.”

-

Judging by her sigh, Isaac guessed that there really had been a time limit. He pulled his fingers back, suddenly uncertain. Sometimes it was so hard to read Victoria. And there was that whole prince thing, always riding around in the back of his mind thanks to how adamant she had been the first time they met about marrying one.

Then her hands were on his jacket, and the kiss that he had been anticipating for quite a while was happening. Both unexpected and a shock, and he had only started to kiss her back when she stopped. His eyebrows rose. 

“What—” He didn’t have time to even ask what the problem was before she leaned in for a new kiss, one that didn’t end so suddenly. One hand rested on her waist as he drew her closer, forgetting where they were and how many people were around.

As the kiss ended less abruptly than the last, Isaac kept his hand on her waist. He pretended to think about it, grinning. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not,” he said, “And I think I need one more kiss. To properly judge.” With a smirk, he bent to kiss her one last time, knowing that with eyes all around them, he didn’t want to compromise her virtue. People in London were so up tight.

“Mothers – say no more,” he shuddered, then took a long sip in fortification. “I-I suppose you’ll be making a bid for it then, the title? I have no great expertise in the-the details and technicalities involved – but I must say, even I had more than just a-a letter when I assumed the title, and that was when, well, there was little doubt I was the heir.”

Little doubt, not no doubt – relations between his late father and his mother had never been fully cordial, and the sniping between the Dowagers had not helped matters much either – 

“No, no, no – no dueling – or at least I should hope not, such things are illegal – and certainly not where more-more civil means of settling the matter are available. You are right though that if there were a-a challenger, he is biding his time.” He thought for a moment. “You may want to request to be seated as Halifax – in the House of Lords, that is – surely such a move will flush any such pretenders out – best deal with them now rather than later.” His face darkened. “Especially with that damme Whistledown about – did you see that rumor about-about you? By Jove, is there nothing to which that rag would not stoop?”

A clink and clatter behind him had him turn. 

“Ah, the main event,” he said, happy to take advantage of the arrival of their food. Servers placed down plate after plate – side dishes as well as the necessary mustard and cheese on toast in accompaniment – before being waved away with thanks. “No need to stand on ceremony here, man – help yourself!”

“I thought I already had it,” Isaac said, looking mildly confused and somewhat aggravated, though that wasn’t focused on Archibald. Did he have to go through some sort of complicated process to officially get the title that was already his? A headache was starting to slowly build in his right temple. More alcohol would help.

Isaac’s eyebrows raised. House of Lords, request  seat…Whistledown… “Which one?” he mused, his expression brightening with a twisted grin. “There have been a couple, apparently.” If he remembered correctly, there was one about how he was making moonshine (true) and selling it (false). The other one was that he was possibly a murderer, which seemed extreme.