#ixnay on the ipshay

[earlharcourt]

CLOSED STARTER || @ixnay-on-the-ipshay​ LOCATION | Effingham House

The Egyptian themed gathering that Archibald and his wife hosted had been a huge success, at least it was to Richard. Not only was everyone seemingly on their best behavior, Richard was successful in his treasure hunt but even if he left empty handed, he was thrilled that his friend had a successful gathering. Given all of the upset and commotion caused by Lady Whistledown’s sheet focusing on Archibald, Richard was glad to see that his friend and his wife was in happier spirits which meant they could celebrate Archibald’s happy news.

Turning up unannounced to the Effingham house, Richard was surprised at just how different the residence looked without all of the Egyptian decor. Once he knocked, Richard was taken to the drawing room, still with his gifts in hand, all wrapped in silver with a blue ribbon. Who knows if they were having a boy, but what man in this day in age had not hoped for such a thing? 

As Richard waited for his friend to come and greet him, Richard set the three presents on one of the tables. For Archbald, Richard had a fine bottle of Scotch bought all the way from Scotland that was paired with the finest cigars he could find. “Archibald!” Richard beamed as he greeted his friend. “I hope I am not intruding but I realized I had not thanked you for the invitation or for your good news.” Richard gestured to the neatly wrapped presents. For Archibald’s wife, Richard had selected a box of chocolates for the lady, unsure of what her tastes were, it seems like the safest option. Finally, for the future child of the earl and countess, there was a baby blanket with the Effingham coat of arms stitched into it. It may have been too much but Richard wanted to express his gratitude for the party and to pass on his well wishes. 

[ladywinsomes]

send ♣ for a text not meant for you

[in-singh]

🎐- Does your muse like to collect/hoard anything?

If he hoards anything, it would be his late father’s belongings. Peter does collect the typical stuff — medical journals, pocket watches, and rabbit’s feet.

[ernestpembroke]

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay, @halestcrm​, @sarah-st-john​

July 29th, 1800

A dreadful bouquet arrives at 20 Grosvenor Square. It was poorly made, more stem than flowers and consisting of geranium, foxglove, yellow carnations, and orange lilies; the exact bouquet that Miss St. John helped Ernest put together for the occasion. With it included a note:

After meeting I felt inspired to order a bouquet, seemed the good neighborly thing to do. I would be thrilled to host you and your family for dinner, August 3rd. Looking forward to your party. — Ernest Pembroke

In organizing this dinner, the big struggle had been the frogs. Ernest had to deal with an incredibly confused cook as he explained repeatedly exactly what he meant to do for that meal and after getting her to concede and do it, there was the next problem of procuring the frogs. It hadn’t been easy but he had managed, which he knew that he must. After all, he had to find that Miss St. John and tell her about it, he had promised to fill her in on the event so there must be an event.

August 3rd, 1800

At last, it was time for the terrible affair! Ernest had walked about with a skip in his step all day, only too excited to witness the earl’s reaction to the evening he had planned. He adored the earl and would gladly admit it, too. It wasn’t an adoration anyone would hope for, since the particular cause of it was Effingham’s rather amusing outrage. All the same, he enjoyed his company immensely, particularly when he was wound up.

He waited in the drawing room and stood upon their entry, offering a winning grin as they were announced. “Welcome!” Ernest said to the earl, walking over and offering his hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to have you for dinner and – Lady Effingham, please forgive me for my behavior at the party you must know I meant no harm. Lord Effingham should know I’m quite fond of him.” 

As he spoke, his eyes fell upon Sarah, only just recognizing her, and his jaw just about hit the floor. He’d put together that she must be of some relation to Effingham when he ran into her at the party but he hadn’t expected her to be there. He realized he probably should have after that revelation but all the same, he was taken aback. She knew at least a few of his designs for the evening, what if she gave it all away? “Miss St. John, what a surprise.”

[jeremiahtheyankee]

Dinner after the Gentlemen’s Grouse Hunt Cliveden Dining Hall @ixnay-on-the-ipshay​ (& @francesfitzroy !)

“H-How do I look?”

Perry took extra care with preparing the marquess for dinner, coiffing his hair just-so, and scrubbing clean the mud and muck from the hunt. Jeremiah was not sure he’d ever seen his nails without dirt somewhere beneath them before. 

His valet knew what hung in the balance: another (hopefully) better impression and introduction to the Duke of Buccleuch. This time, Jeremiah would not be caught off guard by Lord Fletcher’s snobbery. This time, Jeremiah had the Earl of Effingham to vouch for him, a respectable gentlemen and a Captain in the Navy. This time, Jeremiah would be facing the Duke already assured that regardless of what he said, he belonged with Frances.

His jacket was dark green, with a darker green threaded jacquard pattern, with silver accents and a black cravat. An even newer pair of boots had been shined enough that when he looked down, he could nearly make out his own reflection.

Jeremiah looked warily to the doors leading into the dining hall before returning his attention to the earl. “Lord Effingham, uhm, I--I thank you for, uhm, doing this. For me. You are very kind.”

[lcdyofcobham]

Late May 1800 Early Afternoon  Back Garden of Weston House   Closed starter for @ixnay-on-the-ipshay​​​

☩   ⸻⸻  It was a warm sunny spring day, and rather than attend to her household duties, Sophia had settled in on a wrought iron chair in the back garden of Weston House. When she was married, she had little say on the decoration of the home, save for the main bedroom. The garden however, had never been Matthew’s forte, and it gave Sophia a chance to shine - truly make it home. Both at Cobham house, and Weston House. A fresh set of gardenias had been planted, along with some morning glory. 

It was rather a treat to see the fruits of her labor come to pass, and grow. The garden was her oasis, an escape from the pressures of trying to get her sister wed. A set of tea was laid out, and Otto was sleeping lazily in a doghouse she’d had constructed. 

“Madam?” The deep timbre of her butler’s voice caused her attention to drift from her four-legged companion and to the gentleman. “The Earl of Effingham is here to see you.” The butler was an older man, who looked as if distain were permanently on his features. 

“Send him this way Regis, and have some fresh tea and milk brought out.” 

The butler disappeared without a word, and Sophia stood, anticipating the arrival of someone who she considered a friend. 

When she saw him enter the garden, a bright smile formed on her features. “Lord Effingham, what a pleasure it is to see you!” 

[hughxhoward]

July 1800 

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,

     Hugh Howard

[lordedmund]

10 august 1800 / colchester-mulberry soirée

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay​

His feet hurt and he hadn’t even danced with anyone yet. Why on earth was Baron Colchester’s home quite this big, he wondered, crossing the ballroom to get a fresh cup of lemonade. Edmund felt he ran a half-marathon every time he went from one conversational partner to another. He took a sip - ah, the punch wasn’t even spiked! - and placed the glass back on its tray with a grimace. 

Edmund considered taking off again, perhaps go look for Ernest or anyone half as dreary as the people he’d had the pleasure of conversing with so far when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a female figure, waving excitedly, setting off to come his way. “Goodness gracious.” Of course she’d be here, she was right about everywhere he went - his mother’s oldest friend, quite easily considered the most eager of marriage-minded mamas. Oh, why him, why him, why him? There were plenty young, eligible bachelors in attendance that night - why him?

He pretended not to see her, already plotting his escape, when he turned rather swiftly and collided with another person that had been stood behind him. “I’m so- Effingham!” Oh, he’d never been quite this happy to see Archie before. Claping a hand on his shoulder, he grasped it, leading them away from the scene to another spot in the ballroom that was not too-crowded. He let go. “I’ve been looking all over for you, my sponsor. You’ll be happy to hear I have not yet come into contact with a seafood fork.”

[viscountii]

location: outside the hand & shears pub time: well past nightfall, before january 1800 participants: lord archibald clare howard st. john

               trying to hold down his supper was not the main issue at the moment. in the interest of clarification, it was an issue, but not the main one. no, a more pressing matter right now, as oliver exited the hand and shears, was that he could not exactly stand. the sort of damaged leaning that he was doing was not standing, and the cobbled stone that made up the wall that he was doing this upon was bothering his skin. his next steps were all very thought out. oliver berkeley could hold his liqueur very well, you see, he was a soldier. well, not really a soldier. in any case, he would push off of the wall and walk straight home. he would be poised and collected. he would be sober. bracing his hands against the wall was easy, a fluid motion that he proved to him, in some way, that he was not utterly plastered.

                            and then step two  .        .        .               he fell. the muddied surface of the ground welcomed him with open arms as his living corpse smacked straight down. prone upon the ground, the last drunk leaving the pub politely stepped over him and he was alone. weirdly, though, oliver was comfortable. he'd slept in beds worth a poor man's income, and in cots that a poor man probably would have thrown out. none could compare to the warmth and softness of this english mud. it was before he knew it that he was fully unconscious, sprawled in the mud, his arm under his cheek.

[mountainmarquess]

Late July 

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?”

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay​

[lucyofedinburgh]

note: my muse leaves a note for yours [Archie!]

For once, it was not the letters themselves that gave her trouble.

Lucy sat at her writing desk, all spindled legs and baubled knobs. A wretched thing in her heart of hearts, one of the places she had come to fear the most. Her hands sat idly on either side of a page, ink pen poised in her hand until it dripped on the page.

What was there to say?

Captain Effingham always required more explanation than Lucy liked to give, and she was even less prone to details when they necessitated the act of writing. A line knit across her brow as she frowned, staring at the blot and the page. It would be scrap, anyway.

Captian--

strike.

Captain Effinghma -- 

strike.

Cap-- Lucy bit down on her tongue and exhaled slowly, counting the letters in her head. -tain.

And so it went for several minutes, the careful, methodical working of letters into words, into sentiment, into meaning. Her thoughts flew ahead of her more often than not, letters grew scrambled and she edited them back, carefully striking and annotating their correct order along the way. And she knew it, the correct order. She knew when she made a mistake. It was just her mind, and the way it ran ahead of her.

Satisfied, she set aside an ink-spotted copy and reached for a fresh piece of paper, made with pulp of soft lavender and rose.

Captain Effingham --

For you, in your endeavour for peace. I recommend sampling this in the evening, to calm your mind.

Warm regards, Miss Needham

Folded and sealed, she tied it with a satin ribbon to a satchel of herbs, intended for tea. 

@ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[earlharcourt]

CLOSED STARTER || @ixnay-on-the-ipshay​ LOCATION || Harcourt House

Once the ceremony was over, all of the guests were invited to Harcourt House, Richard’s London’s residence though now it would be Margaret’s as well. At the wedding reception, Richard spared no expense. The drinks were freely poured and the food was displayed on various different tables, constantly refilled if they needed it. There was a variety of bread, hot rolls and buttered toast on one and different meats on another. There was also white soup on offer, a popular treat it seemed, as well as servings of lemonade and hot spiced wine while the wedding cake took center stage in the middle table, towering above all the other food on offer.

It didn’t stop there. Richard had an entire string-and-wind orchestra to entertain the guests and everyone seemed to be having a good time. While Margaret was busy doing something else, Richard surveyed the crowd and smiled when he spotted his best man. “Archibald!” Richard said rather energetically as he patted the man on the back. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Richard was too happy, too excited to contain himself. “Have you had anything to eat?” Normally it was Archibald with the erratic talking but it was Richard’s turn now. 

[ladywinsomes]

🏠 you run into my muse at a house party (optional: one or both are drunk) [Archie, bonus if he's threatening to snitch to Conrad about Kenneth]

“Hey, Mowbray!”

Lydia stopped still in her tracks, the stale beer sloshing out of the solo cup from the force. Shit, shit, shit! How did he find me? She thought, although stupidly, for she was at his fraternity house, dancing with his frat brothers. A tight smile plastered on her face, Lydia slowly turned to meet Archie’s face. “What do you want, Arch?”

“I saw you and the prof at the museum off campus yesterday. How does Conrad feel about his baby sister hooking up with her boss? Better yet, how does the Dad feel?”

“We were just checking out the new exhibits! And he’s not my boss, I just assist him two days a week.” And do other things, she thought wryly. No one needed to know the other parts. “And if you must know, my dad is the one who got me the position and he thinks highly of Kenneth, so no need to worry there, you little brown noser.” The last part was whispered as she turned on her heel and strutted down the hall to the party.

[francesackerley]

💌 + Really now, would you have been less offended if you were asked for a kiss rather than-than asked to kiss a dart?

“I think most women would prefer to be regarded as an object of affection, rather than simply an instrument used to achieve winning ends. Assuming that I would have been, the more prudent question seems to be: why are you so interested to know?” 

[ernestpembroke]

💌 + what would Ernest say to Teddy if there were no consequences guaranteed?

Ernest has said all that he currently feels the need to say, though rather vaguely so I think he'd just be more direct. He’d tell Edmund more clearly that he's confused and inexperienced but also very much enjoying whatever they're doing. I could also see him asking Edmund if he thinks they're just doing Friend Things™️ or not because he’s very unsure where Edmund’s head is at.

[jeremiahtheyankee]

Late August, 1800 @ixnay-on-the-ipshay

Dear Lord Effingham,

I am writing to apologize for my behavior at Cliveden. You were very kind to try and help me speak to the Duke. I am sorry I lost my temper. I am not used to being so insulted.

Lady Fitzroy and I have been married, in Gretna Green. I hope that you will give us your support, even if it is only for the sake of my wife.

Sincerely, Halifax