ernestpembroke

[ernestpembroke]

lcnewolf​

“I know you’ll be good,” Sidney said with a quirk in his brow.

At the moment, Ernest reminded him of the cat. The creature could go from amicable to grumpy at the faintest slight. Sidney had no idea a cat could scowl until he took that one in. It seemed his setting of ground rules had ruffled Ernest’s feathers enough that he felt a little remorse.

His champagne glass, full, carefully tipped over Ernest’s, topping his off, in a peace offering. They were quite lucky to have the cover of someone else’s embarrassment to sneak in, so at least they hadn’t already unintentionally made a scene.

This is terrible. Sidney leaned over with a grimace. “I quite agree. Richards is a ratsack, I–” Noticing who Richards brought, Sidney lost his train of thought. Lady Castleton, really? How did he manage that. He shook his head. “Your Scottish friend, flouncing about with a Patroness of Almack’s as if nothing salacious transpired between them.” Sidney scoffed. “I could not have imagined a bigger bore for a table! Fortunately I had no invitation to attend this event last year, though I heard half the couples that presented to the Queen did not end up marrying in the end. I would have liked to see how that all happened, there must have been a fuss at the luncheon.”

He caught Ernest looking in Berkeley’s direction and tilted his head. “Shall we keep whispering like this, do you think?”

-

Fortunately for Sidney, Ernest was easily pacified, and once they were sitting and talking again he was no longer upset. Not with him, anyway. He smiled a little at Sidney for topping of his glass and then reached for it, taking another sip. They really should find another bottle, at this rate, it’d be gone before they finished eating.

Ernest tipped his head to the side, his smile twisting into a more interested smirk. He was always happy to listen to gossip, especially about people he didn’t know or like. “Is he? The lady he’s with,” he whispered, “I met her outside of Brooks’ . . . Perhaps I shouldn’t say all the circumstances but it was very peculiar. Why is Richards a rat sack?”

Now they were having fun and Ernest grinned as Sidney continued, glad for any dirt on Kenneth. He didn’t have any aside from what he thought he knew but the more the merrier. “I hope here is another fuss,” he admitted, “at least then we’ll have something exciting to say about it.”

Ernest did not catch Sidney’s meaning when he suggested they continued whispering together. He was oblivious at the best of times but he nodded and shrugged. “Sure, it’s better than the regular prattle.” 

He tore his gaze from Edmund and looked back towards Sidney, leaned in closer. “Doesn’t Berkeley look far too comfortable with his date? Apparently he’s been smitten with her for ages if Whistledown is believed and . . . Well they do seem to know each other quite well.” So much for not talking about Edmund but Ernest quickly resumed that choice and changed the subject. 

“Also is that–” He was looking over across the room, clearly perturbed by something else, “Miss St. John, over there, did she come with that quack? Surely not? I say we’re the only unmarried pair here that isn’t somehow offensive.”

#( lcnewolf - thread 04 ) #lcnewolf

[ernestpembroke]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay

The proffered napkin he took gratefully; the frothy monstrosity had done little to sop up the mess, yet somehow managed to-to stain itself – the handkerchief he tossed under the table. Let the-the would-be Reverend deal with it, with all the-the prattle of the cleansing power of Christ, amen.

“An-any good?” No, was his response; it occurred to him that were he actually a-a poet, such questioning would be bordering on-on offering insult. He sat up. “I should hope so, given that Her Majesty has seen fit to seat me at her table.”

Continued dabbing meant the stain was unlikely to spread – thank God Tewks believed in a darker-colored coat that did not show other colors as much. 

“And it is no surprise you have not heard of me; I write for a-a rather exclusive audience.”

His previous stammered attempt at original verse had not been well-received – he was wary of repeating such an instance, especially to one with as-as keen a nose for mischief as Pembroke. 

Pembroke, who looked more, hrm, eager for a distraction than even his usual. His scrutiny of the younger man had the happy effect of a view of the tables behind his own; somewhere, a blonde head was engaged in animated discussion with – with some other lady, unidentifiable –

“And-and poetry can never be-be on command; one must be – inspired –”

Yes, he thought absently, that sounded like something a-a Tewks would say, surely? before tearing his gaze back to the conversation at hand.

“And there is so – so little that is inspiring here, despite the-the reason for this gathering. Inspired Sisters, ha!”

He suppressed a cringe at the slip, and hastily added, “It would be easier to list wh-what is boring and entirely expected. For-for example: roses at a summer afternoon tea.”

-

As disappointing as it was that Tewks would not recite any poetry for him (for he really, desperately was in want of an escape), he wasn’t surprised. Artists were fickle with everything from their craft to their affections, he thought, passing another glare at Edmund and his date. His feathers had been ruffled all afternoon and though he tried, he was not in his usual bright spirits. Hopefully later on he’d find something to be amused by . . . Or maybe after some drink Sidney would be more open to causing a stir, or at least allowing him to.

“An exclusive audience?” He asked, going back to that comment with a raised brow. “Whatever for?” Ernest never understood artists like this, if one were to put the effort in, wouldn’t they want to be well known for it? 

He sighed, nodding his head in firm agreement. “It’s terrible,” he said, glancing at Sidney and then leaning in towards Tewks – conspiratorial, “what kind of a poet are you? My understanding is there are two kinds, the very dull and the very wild. I’m in need of the very wild, you don’t need to read your verses, but . . . Well? It is well within your power to make all of this much more interesting for everyone here, doing something unexpected would surely inspire, too.”

He paused, pursed his lips, then drew in a long breath and continued. “I’m not allowed to make any fun but you could for the both of us. I think it would be of mutual benefit and . . . Well, it doesn’t have to be too extreme just to break from the current rhythm of things. I have some ideas if you would like to hear them? I’m also open to your own, of course. I trust you’re the second kind of poet, the first kind, the dull, they don’t write anything good.”

#( ixnay-on-the-ipshay - thread 03 ) #ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[ernestpembroke]

earlharcourt​

Richard took the man’s social cue and dropped the subject of Lord Ridel entirely, thankful for the change in topic. New love was always a wondrous thing though it could be all consuming at times as well. It was clear that Ernest was in the throes of such a thing at this present moment. “Well if he was comfortable painting you in such a way while you were vulnerable enough to expose yourself, I think he may be smitten as well.” Though truthfully, Richard did not know. The man in question was a mystery to him but Richard was never one to say no to love or such a possibility, no matter how much trouble it got him in. 

To express something so secretive, Richard did not blame Ernest for wanting the secret to be kept. “You do not have to speak his name if you do not wish but know that I wish you both happiness.” Not all in society would but Richard never saw an issue with this sort of thing. During his time in education, it was known to happen and to Richard, it was never an issue. “Are you looking to take the relationship further?” Perhaps it wasn’t his place to ask but in the midst of preparing for his own wedding, Richard was curious about Ernest’s romantic prospect.

-

Ernest laughed at that, because that was not what happened and really offered very little reassurance with that considered. “Well I did not actually pose nude, in the end.” No, what actually happened was far more odd and embarrassing.

He smiled and stepped towards the counter to go and pay for the cane, halfway there when Richard spoke again. “Hm? Oh, yes. I plan to propose, that’s why I say you may find out soon enough.” But that was assuming Edmund said yes, which . . . Well, Ernest wasn’t sure. He always imagined proposing to be an easy thing, surely, you did it once you were certain you’d be told yes. But he’d tried to get that certainty and the only thing he got from it was knowing that he himself felt sure, and so he would try, terrifying as it was.

“I should be going now, though. Congratulations again on your upcoming nuptials.”

#( earlharcourt - thread 02 ) #earlharcourt #end here or on yours?

[ernestpembroke]

mmthorne​:

When: 29 August 1800 Who: @ernestpembroke​ Where: The Queen’s Luncheon

Emmeline all but collapsed into the seat next to Ernest, quickly helping herself to a drink from his cup. She had been waiting for an excuse to escape from the Queen’s table since she arrived, shooting off from Mr. Leary as soon as she realised someone had left what she had already identified as the fun table. 

“Who on earth did this seating arrangement?” She asked him, eyes drifting back to her dreaded table. “After my disasterous arrival surely someone must have realised I do not belong at that table! Although maybe I was put there as punishment…” She paused for a moment, considering that thought.

It did not take long, however, for her to turn back to Ernest, giving him her whole attention. “Tell me, Lord Pembroke, how is it you managed to sneak in without being noticed, and I managed to attract the attention of the entire party?”

-

Ernest was still staring and glaring at Edmund at regular intervals, distracted every so often by chatting with Sidney or some other person who managed to catch his attention. Edmund really did seem comfortable with that woman beside him, Whistledown had to be right. What a fool he was! All this time and he had no idea he was courting a lady, one he was clearly so close to. He huffed, just as Emmeline took her seat beside him.

He whipped around towards her, a grin immediately showed on his features. There! He remembered her! She was like a ghost, that terrifying, interesting woman from the ball that he had met a month ago now and not seen since. Terrifying for her hints at ghosts and interesting for proving herself willing to enjoy a good scene.

“I know!” He agreed emphatically, clearly cheered by meeting her again. “It’s awful, truly. Though . . . I’m sure mine is worse, I don’t see how anyone’s could be worse than mine.”

He twisted in his chair, rested his elbow against the backrest and leaned towards her. “I was forced to behave,” he answered, “honestly, I’m a little jealous. Attention is a good thing, even if it’s all gasps and outrage, it’s entertaining. If I recall, you would agree?” He paused, his grin twisting into a smirk. “Or is that only if I’m the one causing the scene?”

#( mmthorne - thread 02 ) #mmthorne

[ernestpembroke]

ixnay-on-the-ipshay

He had forgotten what, hrm, interacting with Pembroke was like – he wished heartily to once again forget. 

“Bored – no, no dis-distractions!” The last punctuated by a twitch – the instinct to turn and check whether Her Majestic Attention was on him or not. “And nevermind how I look; there was an accident with the – wine and a lady at the table, if you must know –”

Slowly, he told himself, speak slowly – no stammering, spluttering, or expostulations – 

He tugged at his coat front, cropped a little shorter than he would have preferred, which meant that some of the wine-stained shirt beneath was still visible. 

Tewksbury, he was Tewksbury – no, he was Tewks, he was a poet – and by some miracle divinely Inspired Pembroke had yet to recognize him:

“Original? I would hope so.” He tugged a handkerchief edged with a truly horrific amount of lace from a sleeve and – with a suppressed grimace – flourished it, before dabbing at the wine stain. “The ladies at my table have been – been pressing me for my verses –”

The pressing was quite literal, in at least Miss Griscomb’s case. 

“But poetry, like any art, cannot be rushed – not even by-by royal command. You, sir, look as if you would understand.”

There, hopefully that should – should forestall any demand for recitation, at least from this front. 

-

Ernest shrugged when the other demanded there be no distractions, it wasn’t the first time today. He was trying to be good but it was hard, especially watching Edmund with that woman and sitting at a table with Lord Ridel. He should have a word with whoever made the seating arrangements.

“Oh, you actually do need a napkin?” He turned and grabbed his off the table, held it out. He followed the other’s hands to his tailcoat, and spotted the spill with a smirk. Well, that was a fun way to start a luncheon at the queen’s table, Ernest thought.

“Oh, do you write? I’m sorry I did not catch your name, are you any good?” Ernest would gladly consider himself a connoisseur of good poetry, if this man was any good then surely, he’d recognize a few of his verses. 

“I’m no poet,” he answered, “I only enjoy it, but surely, you have some already written you could share? I wonder if I’m familiar or not, you look familiar so I must be, you shall just have to remind me.”

#( ixnay-on-the-ipshay - thread 03 ) #ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[ernestpembroke]

💀 for our hungover muses trying to revive themselves on a Sunday morning (Sid 😈)

Ernest hungover was . . . Well, hard to spot. He drank so often and was always so full of energy that it was only evident in the occasional wince from a headache or the frequent trips to the restroom he made in a morning after drinking more than usual.

He cracked open a beer after returning from one such restroom trip and took a few large gulps.

"I told you my parties are fun too," he said with a smile, "Oh don't look so miserable! That pain is only proof that I throw great parties . . . Here," he grabbed another beer and held it out to Sidney, "if you drink some more the headache will go away, trust me. Anyway, it's not as if you have class."

He took another sip and reached for a slice of leftover pizza from a box that was left on the ground. "Grease is also helpful. More alcohol and grease, it cures everything." He took a bite of pizza, catching a stretch of cheese in his other hand.

#( answered. )

[ernestpembroke]

💀 for our hungover muses trying to revive themselves on a Sunday morning [your choice on whether it's Sarah or Archie]

Ernest rolled off the couch, having been one of many to crash in the fraternity house. Plenty called it a night there, not wanting to walk in the cold back to campus or have to drive home. As president, he was obliged to stay (not obliged to stay sober, thank heavens) and stay he did, also glad for an excuse to avoid the snow outside.

He started towards the bathroom and tripped over a body — Archie. Was he there last night? Did Archie party? Ernest had questions and though his head absolutely throbbed, he was eager to ask them. With Archie now awake, he crouched down and held his chin between two fists, studying him.

"How come I didn't see you last night? Did I?" Bathroom. He really, desperately needed to go. "One second."

He was back in a few minutes, stumbling around, avoiding stray beer cans and humans. "Alright!" A few grumbles at the volume of his voice, "Come on, I'm making a remedy and you are helping. We'll need eggs, tobasco, nutmeg – or cinnamon, I suppose . . . And bacon grease. First step is to make some bacon."

He moved towards the kitchen and then turned on his heels when he realized he was not being followed. "Well come on!" Some snickers sounded from a few half-awake fraternity brothers of his, apparently aware of this ritual.

One spoke up. "Don't haze him it's too early."

Ernest shot a glare. "It's not hazing if he's not a pledge. Anyway it works! I'll let you eat the bacon too."

#( answered. )

[ernestpembroke]

🤓 for study habits headcanon

As president of his fraternity he can't be the worst student in the world, but he certainly does not need to be the best. He's mastered the art of cramming and spitting out an essay two hours before it's due. If he's nervous about a test then he gets a lot better about studying (STEM subjects are always a struggle so for those first few semesters when he took a lot of gen eds, he was a much more dedicated student). Mostly, he's your average student, not fantastic and not terrible but getting by well enough. He graduates with lower second-class honours.

#( answered. )

[ernestpembroke]

🧦 for a dorm room headcanon [I am the HGTV addict here, tell me all the deets, is there a minibar]

Ernest could have stayed in a single dorm but chose instead to have a dormmate — Mostly because that's a guaranteed friend, right? But unfortunately, his dormmate's study habits were much more . . . Habitual than Ernest would have liked and so there were frequent clashes about guests and "reasonable hours for this level of energy and noise."

As for how the dorm looks it was very small. Two twin beds raised above the ground on platforms. On Ernest's side, he had books, bottles of liquor, and half-unpacked suitcases from home stuffed beneath his bed.

His wall is littered with various pages that have been torn out of thrifted books . . . And a few library books. Why are there torn book pages on the wall? For the aesthetic entirely. At first he was selective with which pages he chose but then he grew bored and just started ripping them out at random. He aimed to make a sort of wallpaper-collage out of it but wound up only cluttering the back corner before stopping. His desk is a mess of notepads and trash, takeout that really ought to have been thrown away days ago.

His blanket is of his fraternity's flag and he used thumb tacks to hang a sheet above the window that is in the same shade of red as his blanket.

#( answered. )

[ernestpembroke]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🧣  Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy! 

University AU drabble prompts! Send a symbol + the prompt for a drabble!

🏠 you run into my muse at a house party (optional: one or both are drunk) 👋 your muse catches up with my muse after class to ask for help 👯‍♂️ our muses have a partner project due tomorrow ☕️ for our muses to grab coffee at a cafe together 😳 for our muses to wake up beside each other after a wild party! 💀 for our hungover muses trying to revive themselves on a Sunday morning  🕰 for our muses hanging out after midnight  🚗 for our muses jumping in the same rideshare without realizing it ⚔️ for our muses to be on opposing teams (either sports or academically)

#( meme. )

[ernestpembroke]

Welcome to Meme Friday at The Season! 🧣  Each Friday, we’ll post one or two memes for characters to reblog on their accounts. Reblogging the meme indicates that you are accepting asks from it, and that you’re also sending asks out to others. Feel free to reblog and answer memes until end of day Sunday. After that, save what’s left over in your inbox for the next Meme Friday. Enjoy!

University AU Headcanons! Send a symbol + the prompt for a headcanon!

🧦 for a dorm room headcanon 😴 for a sleep schedule headcanon 🤓 for study habits headcanon 🍣 for a late night food/drink headcanon 🍰 for a social club headcanon ⚽️ for a sports headcanon 🤔 for a why they chose their major headcanon ☎️ for how often they call their parents headcanon 🍠 for a roommate headcanon 🐦 for how our muses met

#( meme. )

[ernestpembroke]

themarquessofislay​

Kenneth watched as eyes turned to look at him, before quickly darting away. Word of his outburst had the men of the Ton giving him a wide berth. In some ways, he welcomed the reprieve from being forced to engage in dull conversation. Men could only talk about sports and family affairs for so long before it became boring. But the tense atmosphere was not what Kenneth wanted in a place of distraction. He wanted respect, not fear. Still, he kept his head held high as he sauntered over to the bar.

The bartender had his drink of choice ready before he opened his mouth. “My Lord, you are a fine customer, but I won’t tolerate riff raff in my place.” A lack of humor in the man’s eyes had Kenneth nodding, taking a small sip of his whiskey. 

“I am nae haur tae cause trooble." 

"Good, because your friend is here.” A glance across the bar found his adversary scurrying to the next room. A small part of him was filled with delight at his escape, but his conscience felt guilt. One can not be a man of morals and start fights. Kenneth took a deep breath, then chugged his drink. The burn in his chest had him moving towards his foe. 

Kenneth kept his arms at his side, palms facing him. Spooking him further was not his intention. "Guid evenin’, Laird Pembroke.“ Kenneth spoke amicably. "I woods loch tae spick tae ye abit whit happened at th’ soiree an’ apologize.” It was up to Pembroke if he continued. 

-

Ernest nearly darted for the door when Lord Ridel began to approach him, perfectly fine with abandoning his acquaintance there and not getting into another scuff with the Scotsman. He might have been careful to not appear intimidating but Ernest could remember being punched well enough to feel it again. 

He wasn’t fast enough. Good evening? Ernest turned on his heels, looked at Kenneth like he had just told him that pigs fly. What on earth? Ernest opened his mouth, unsure what would come out of it, maybe something cordial to avoid a fight, maybe something stupid to cause one, but Kenneth beat him to it. 

“Apologize?” Ernest repeated, his brows shooting up on his forehead. That was a surprise. “Well, you’re speaking to me now, do go on. Pray make it loud so everyone here can tell you are in the wrong and not I, did you see what Whistledown said? That it was over skirts, did you spread that rumor too? I’m sure it saved you a good deal of face while I tried to shed light on what really happened.” 

He spoke loudly, not quite yelling but certainly wanting witnesses to what transpired. He was not going to be wrongly said to have started a spat over skirts again, that was certain. Nor would he make this apologizing any easier for Kenneth. Even as he spoke, he took a few steps back, out of punching range from where his adversary stood. He would be sure to keep it that way.

#( themarquessofislay - thread 03 ) #themarquessofislay

[ernestpembroke]

-

He could not have been more obvious, staring over at Edmund at the Queen’s table. At one moment he was glaring with jealousy (was that the woman Whistledown mentioned? The woman he was supposedly in love with this whole time?) and at another, staring near pathetically across, wishing he’d come over. 

With all the staring and leaning back which he really ought to stop doing, it was no wonder he was the one addressed. A napkin. He leaned forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the ground when he heard the second plea. Oh?

He turned back with a smirk. “Are you bored?” He asked, a clear eagerness in his tone. “I’m very good at distractions but . . .” Well, he wasn’t allowed to make any good ones, no thanks to Sidney beside him. “You can have an engrossing conversation about my clothes?” He asked. “Who are you? You look. . .” He couldn’t place it, only shook his head. “I cannot pretend to be amused by discussing my outfit, I’ve already had that conversation today.”

He stole another glance at Edmund and then looked again at Lord Tewksbury. “Is it boredom? You know, it’s quite original to face away from the queen to speak to me instead.” Clearly, he was impressed. 

29 August 1800 | Inspired Sisters Luncheon | Between Tables 

There was a phrase for the situation he found himself in, he was certain of it; something about a-a rock and a hard place – between Scylla and-and Charon, or-or something suitably terrifying from the Greek or Roman or-or Greco-Roman pantheon of monsters – 

Sermonizing pedant on one side of him, Griscomb with the wandering hands and poetry on the other, and facing them all – Her Majesty herself. 

Enemy on three sides; his only recourse, then, was behind him. 

He leaned back in the chair, hoping that if he removed himself from the direct line of conversation, why – perhaps Miss Griscomb could engage He Who Would Be A Reverend instead.

“Pardon me, but –” damme it, he needed to be more careful about how he spoke; he was Tewks now, “would you happen to have an extra napkin? There-there was an unfortunate – spill –”

And came face to face with – ah. Pembroke. 

Hellfire and damnation; if there was one person in the ton who would take extra delight in this should he be found out – 

Under his breath, he added, “For the love of God, pray pretend we are engrossed in-in intense conversation – I beg of you.”

Out loud, he resumed, “Ah, pastels for a-a floral luncheon; how – seasonal.” 

If his smile was a shade, hrm, manic, he would blame the circumstances and defy any other gentleman to do better. 

@ernestpembroke​

#( ixnay-on-the-ipshay - thread 03 ) #ixnay-on-the-ipshay

[ernestpembroke]

lcnewolf

“Not terribly long.” He scoffed and looked down at himself, in light grays, blues, and whites, much unlike himself. He wondered if anyone would actually recognize him in such out of character colors. He gave Ernest an appraising look as they began to walk. “The colors suit you.”

Sidney inhaled back his annoyance, unable to argue that Ernest’s current state was, indeed, the only way he knew him to be. At the first sign of Ernest wishing to cause mischief, Sidney stiffened, and paused to look down at him.

“I’ll have no part in your tricks, not in front of the Queen.” He wasn’t sure where the sudden urge to feel responsible came from, other than he tended to not draw attention to himself at society events, given his lack of title. That, and his businesses had gotten progressively more… illegal in the past several months, so the last thing he needed were royal inquiries.

His grip on Ernest’s arm tightened and he managed a grin. “Do be considerate of our friendship and the favor I am doing for you. I have no title to fall back on should we find trouble.”

-

Ernest was clearly very disappointed in Sidney. He looked towards him with an expression that was far too fallen to be anything other than his usual dramatics. Out of everyone he could have invited (a limited number), he chose Sidney because he thought they could have fun! This was the second time he’d been surprised this season to find how a friend changed the rules they abided by within society versus out of it, what a bore. He supposed he forgave Ophelia so he could forgive Sidney, too.

He was about to say something about his plans, how he was sure they’d be able to get away with it, when Sidney’s grip on him tightened. “Favor?” Was that was this was? “I thought you didn’t have anyone to go with, this is an event that people are apparently very eager to make it to.” Perhaps, he should not argue that point, considering it was a favor - He just didn’t want Sidney to know it or see it that way. Ernest was fond of him and considered him a friend but he was also wary of owing a favor in return, he didn’t seem like the sort to be indebted to. “I’ll be good,” he acquiesced with a wave of his hand, “I did run it past you first, after all. Come on, let’s go inside.”

They made it past the guard and while they were not quite discreet, they did manage to make it to their table without causing much of a ruckus. Ernest was glad that they also managed to secure some champagne on the way, less glad about some of their seating arrangements. First, he noticed Lord Ridel, which clearly he was less than pleased to be seated near, and then at the table beside them he noticed Edmund. With a sharp breath in he reached for his glass of champagne.

“This is terrible,” he whispered to Sidney, “did you attend this luncheon last year? I think it happened last year, I didn’t go. I can’t believe we’re sitting with . . .” A huff and a shake of his head. “I think I am doing you the favor by not causing trouble.” He shot a glare at Edmund and then quickly drank down his glass of champagne. 

#( lcnewolf - thread 04 ) #lcnewolf

[ernestpembroke]

missvane

Ophelia could feel the summer sun waning into early autumn. It was a sudden change, a more languid heat, lazy in it’s final blaze of glory. It washed the park in golden light, catching upon the blades of grass, the leave chuckling in the wind. She sighed, glad for the opportunity to stretch her legs. It seemed that in these final days of the season, everyone at once was rushing to fill their diaries with teas and luncheons and evening soirees. It was exhausting to say the very least. 

Her thoughts were scattered, listless as her movements as she made her way down the path. It was rather jarring then, to hear her name shouted from somewhere in the distance. She pulled up short, her hand snapping up to look into the direction of the sun. 

Ernest materialized from the light, and a smile captured her features. “I do see,” she greeted, her eyes flickering across his features. “We’re all in trouble then,” Ophelia teased. “Would you like to walk with me? Or…” She glanced in the direction from which he’d come. “Are you preoccupied?” 

-

Ernest laughed, that fondness he so often felt with Ophelia filling his chest at her teasing. It really was too bad she was a woman, it’d be so much easier if she were a man, then they wouldn’t have to pose for society or else sneak out of it. It’d also be nice if she were less worried about her reputation but Ernest would not force scandal into her life (at least, not on purpose, not after being asked not to).

“Yes, of course! Hm?” He looked over his shoulder at a disgruntled McNutt and then shook his head. “No, not at all,” he leaned towards her and whispered, “we didn’t come together, he only has a lot to say and well, you know how polite I am.” He smirked and offered his arm. “I would much rather be in your company, especially since we can now speak clearly, although . . . I really am curious what was in our drinks. I would try it again.”

#( missvane - thread 03 ) #missvane

[ernestpembroke]

earlharcourt​

“I promise I am completely neutral in this debacle.” Even with the sour look he was receiving, Richard kept his smile in place and his tone still calm despite the accusation. Richard sighed and mulled on his thoughts, trying to think of the best way to explain such a thing. “For men like Lord Ridel, a dance with a woman on the marriage mart could indicate that you are interested. If you had an altercation with him already, that may be the reason for his reaction.” Though Richard could not speak for the man, it seemed like the best way to diffuse any tension. 

Richard listened intently to Ernest’s words. He could tell that the man was besotted with his lover and knowing the effects of love, Richard could hardly blame the man. “Friendship is the best way into the heart I have found. There’s a pull, only between the two of you that starts with the gentle tug of friendship until you are drawn to each other more so than ever. Am I correct?” It was a heavy secret and one that Richard suddenly felt the weight of but he did not let it show. “I won’t pressure you but if you want to tell me, I am all ears.”

-

Ernest gave Richard a pointed look, clearly doubtful. It sounded a lot like a defense to Ernest and while it did irritate him, he was not one to make such a thing a terribly big deal. Annoying as it was. “As I said, I did not dance with her.” He said nothing more on the subject, suspecting he and Richard were not going to see eye to eye. Would anyone? Was it so hard to find someone to gossip and slander one’s enemies with?

Edmund was a friendlier subject, though full of risks. The risk of him rambling like a school girl, the risk of Edmund being upset if he told Richard (if he told Richard), the risk of letting show just how insecure he felt regarding it all. Worst of all, of seeming as thoroughly smitten as he was, it was all terribly embarrassing.

“I. . . don’t know,” Ernest admitted, “I’m not experienced in the department. I made a joke about posing nude for him, he’s a painter, and it went further than a joke.” He paused, raised his brows when he realized what he’d implied. He briefly considered clarifying that he did not actually pose nude for Edmund but chose not to with a shrug.

“I really shouldn’t say his name, for his sake more than mine. If all goes well you should know before the season is out.”

#( earlharcourt - thread 02 ) #earlharcourt #spoiler alert: all did not go well

[ernestpembroke]

lcnewolf

“Next season? Who’s to say. I may be dead by then.” His words were loose from the wine but his humor remained as he chuckled dryly. He winced at the sound of broken glass from inside.

“My staff will resign if I put them through another party this season. By next season I am sure they will be rested enough for another season’s worth of parties.”

Sidney half sat on one of the stone walls, eyeing Pembroke up and down. “Now, now, I would not be so hasty to take over this particular enterprise. But. I should like to attend a party hosted by you, Pembroke. I am sure it will be a delight.”

end!

#( lcnewolf - thread 02 ) #lcnewolf