#lebonton.starter

Upon reaching a grassy meadow, Esther tugged on the reins and urged the horse to a halt, then dismounted. A collection of pretty yellow flowers had caught her eye. Their petals would be perfect to embroider on a piece of calico, perhaps even as the design for a new dress. Esther tied the reins to a tree and began to pick the flowers, gathering them in her arms. A bird chirped overhead and took off into the air, then the galloping of hoofs shattered the silence.

A horse and rider darted through the meadow just inches from Esther, causing her to drop the flowers at her feet. “Surely you couldn’t have come any closer?” She called after the rider, heat rising in her face and her hands balling into fists. “I was looking forward to being trampled to death!”

               as a knock rasped upon the door --- full of surety and stride, heralding someone of importance, perhaps a guest of the earl’s -- frederick swept up to the bay windows overlooking the mornington’s vast london property: sprawling lawns, gently sloping hills, and mulberry trees. the breeze that filtered through softly rippling linen curtains swiftly masked the incense - like smell of laudanum tablets that pervaded through the sitting room, replacing the scent with a fragrance unique to london ----- smoke, greenery, oil, and parfum français. 

The transformation undertaken by Barbara at her every return to The World was now well underway; by the end of the first act the laughter of the crowd had lifted her spirits, the whispers she elicited from her box on high inflated her mood, and the recognition from those acquaintances of many years-regardless of what side their regard for her, and her reputation, falls on-as she entered the ballroom of Melbourne House brought a clarity to her mind that she had not felt in some months.

Her presence, as always, was not insubstantial. What the crowd obscured of her movements her headdress betrayed; a dyed aigrette bobbed and swayed on a slight delay as she nodded and curtseyed in acknowledgement and kissed the cheeks of those ladies she would consider of intimate acquaintance and long friendship.

It was not long after having acknowledged her hosts that Lady J found herself with a glass of claret in hand, joining a group of those of both old and new acquaintance discussing their opinions on the night’s entertainment. “Oh, I thought it was marvelous, truly! The Camp itself should have been so entertaining, and personally I have always taken parody as the highest compliment, you know, and Mr Sheridan is the master of the art.” Taking a sip of her claret, she turned to a handsome good fellow to whom she had just been introduced-oh, how she had missed the company of People. “And may I solicit your opinion, my Lord Palmerston?”

                the atmosphere of the assembly rooms were, as usual, expectant. mothers twiddled their thumbs, their eyes lurching around the ballroom, awaiting the moment a gentleman asked their daughters to a dance. noblemen flicked the cards in their hands, serving them up across the gambling tables, loosening their cravats as tensions mounted and the temperature of the room soared ----- summer was in full swing, and london was expectant. 

Autumn sunlight filtered into the dining room windows that overlooked the small, but finely manicured garden of Devonshire House. William sat at the head of the table, idling flicking through the morning edition of the newspaper that had been brought with breakfast. Sheridan’s play had proved to be a hit, if the glowing review was anything to go by. Folding the paper carefully, he set it down on the crisp tablecloth. “Did you enjoy the play last night?” He asked his sister, reaching for the teacup in front of him before taking a sip.