exrlspencer

[exrlspencer]

BEATRICE: 

Beatrice exhaled sharply. The word treason ran through her like wildfire, but it was not her word. The thought was not hers either, rather an automatic response that had been carved into her from the moment of her birth. It was not what she wanted to think nor what she wanted to say, and yet it still took all her might to keep it from tumbling from her lips.

It was George who had taught her to think before she spoke, actually. She had met him years before after she requested a private (and non-court appointed) tutor to help her to continue her studies even though she was long past the age of education at the time. This was a direct result of her failed engagement to a certain German elector, as after such she wished deeply to improve upon herself further, both in the sense of etiquette and academia. Since then, her relationship with the Earl had evolved into one of close confidants and had learned a great deal from the man especially in the areas of philosophy and politics, both of which Beatrice had soon grown partial to. Once, in the early years of their tutoring (when the end of the war was still fresh on the mind of England) they had been reviewing a passage from Thomas Paine’s Common Sense. It was the first time she had ever even seen most of the revolutionary texts that had come from America - somehow, at her curiosity and behest, George had been bold enough to sneak them in within a carved out section of a thick Latin book. As they read, the princess royal felt herself grow more and more angry, until finally she ripped the pamphlet from his hands and cried. She had mumbled something about treason, to which George looked at her blankly and replied, “What about Mr. Paine’s words grieve you so? I do not mock you, either - I just wish to speak about anything that you find so offensive specifically.”

It was in that moment, when she could find no particular word or phrase that injured or so, that Beatrice discovered how to truly think for herself, and from that day on she allowed her views to drift outside that of which she was taught by her earlier tutors and members of the court. Furthermore, she felt as if she owed such intellectual liberation to George, and realized, as the stranger finished his altered rhyme, that it was him who the man must remind her of. She made a mental note to introduce the two sometime - that was, if she was to ever see the stranger again. Perhaps George could assist her in tracking him down?

“I do believe the rhyme was can’t and not won’t, Sir,” she replied, though it was obvious she was merely jesting. “We must have been taught somewhat different lines in our youth…you speak of honesty though. If I can expect you to speak truthfully now, what is it honestly that you want?”  She did not wish to clarify whether she was speaking on the topic of marriage or politics.

“Are they not one in the same?” George replied in somewhat of a whisper. For him, politics and marriage swirled in the same pool of unfortunate luck. As one was born into status which predicted expectation for marriage, one was born already placed on the political line which predicted whom one should support and the ideals one was expected to build As one would look to earn the favour of a marriage partner, one similarly looked to earn the favour of polity so that they may manoeuvre with ease within their pre-destined social sphere. “For a kings-man, as much as an interested bachelor, that which rules them will not get down from their wall because they cannot. They know not of how they got upon the wall and fear that getting down may coast them their hard shell. A woman will never stop being a woman just and a King cannot afford to stop being a King.” George signed if only to take a moment to think further on her question. What did she mean that they had learnt ‘different lines? She had tactfully told him that her stance in the matter was different, that he was breed of a different mind and to think more liberally than she was accustomed too. Yet, she phrased it hardly in a way that elevated her status nor demoted his. It was an almost political manoeuvre, one that George admired in his opposition. At a time, he recommended such slyness to his pupil, the Princess Royal who was placed under his educational wing at the bequest of his friend and present brother in law as well as at the trust of the monarch himself. It was a most honourable position, yet turthfully uncalled for. The Duke wished to have a pair of Whig eyes within the royal household whilst the monarch sought to keep the princess under close watch. George was a chess piece of two malicious plots that beguiled the entire honesty of their ‘transparent’ political system. Hence, he took the job only as serious as it entertained him. Whilst at the start he played the role of an educator-- opening the prima donna to physiologies of ancient merit and languages long dead, he realized early on she was no blank canvas to paint upon with personally chosen oils. No, she was a painting that had chosen its own accents and spoke in its own tones. It was not long before George realized they would both enjoy their times if they were to explore rather than memorize. If they were to adventure across the tracts of that which is hardly discovered, delve into the deep oceans of writers and thinkers who were not calculated by modern tutilage. Embark on quests of theory and speculation and come to conclusions that validated their intrinsic passions and place in the universe as a sapien rather than a sculpted specimen. It was only after years of this practice, mornings and afternoons in deep conversation on banned modernists like Voltaire and their contemporary Hume that the little-princess grew into a lady of wit as he grew from a pawn without side and a player on his own board. Hence, when the madam spoke as did the princess nowadays in her ripe age with a mind of worldly fascination and formed imagination the Earl was more than impressed. If the princess was not a contender to be at his side to excite worldly passion forever (expecting that their evenings of learning would eventually end) then he could see himself spending the ongoing days with a woman as such by his side. It was only a conversations prequel and yet he already could see no end to the writings of their mutual novel. 

“I mean passion, madam. No, restrain, no mercy, pure desire of the heart. Do not stop for propriety or rules of converation. Do not hold back that which one truly feels, thinks and believes. Be open in your speech and transparent in your admirations and your kings-man will return the favour. The image will be seen and the puzzle will hold no missing pieces…” 

[exrlspencer]

BEATRICE: 

For a fleeting moment, Beatrice felt as if she should immediately disagree with all that the man said, especially at the mention of the king. Before she spoke in protest however, something deep inside her tugged back her words. He obviously still didn’t know to whom he was speaking to, as no one in their right mind would speak of the king in such a way openly to the princess royal herself. When this realization hit, a wave of what might be labeled as joy swept through her - in that moment, she was no longer bound by her position to defend her father or the unfair standards of the fairer sex that the stranger had spoken upon.

Another wave flowed through her. This time, it was pure, unbridled confidence (in her wit and in herself), and, straightening her back, she began: “You lack fear, I see. I admire that. I will not say your opinions on my sex’s expectations of marriageable men are incorrect - in fact, I am rather inclined to agree with you. We are quite fickle in that matter. However, I raise you this: your lot in life gives you advantage over such decisions, even when in the same position. Perhaps you may face…trials when selecting a wife, rejections even…but one day, when you do finally settle down, you will have children, and even though we may carry them for near a year’s time, they will be yours. And then you may have your own daughter, and then you can finally bypass our unrealistic expectations and marry her off like chattel to a man twice her age.”

She hadn’t meant to be so harsh in her assessment, but looking up at her partner, she thought she could almost see more fascination in his eyes than revulsion. Still, to break the tension, she coughed and continued on. “All of this is to say though that both men and women suffer at the hands of the other and their expectations, but isn’t that what the market for marriage is? A business of lies. We lie to ourselves and to each other, and that is why I am of the opinion that only the peasants may ever find true love - they do not marry for rank or for money, but only so that they may spend the rest of their days with someone who wholly and completely understands them. Even those of this court who claim to be in love in their marriage only wed when there is something more materialistic at stake.”

At this point, Beatrice’s words were picking up in speed. She was obviously now enthralled and invested in the conversation with little regard for whether or not her partner was actually still listening. “And furthermore,” she added. “The idea of a king’s man is like marriage too. Lies. There are no king’s men, just flatterers. Those who tell the truth are rather God’s men, I think, for if such monarchs are really divinely selected than God would favor those who have their conduit’s best interest at heart.”

Courageous? George could not at that moment think of any other adjective to describe the madam’s sentiments as his bewilderment clouded momentary cognition and the conjuring of any more developed words. His usual over-analytic mind and inner monologue were silenced. He merely listened and could do little than agree. She spoke boldly, attacking, but in merit, expression vigorous, yet refrained from blasting him nor his sex. No, she merely spoke from the heart and professed a desire to be heard. Nay, she was PASSIONATE Suddenly the word came to him and eyes that first looked to reflect a stary night filled to an emerald twinkle of glee. A woman to outwardly show passion rather than restraint exemplified confidence in herself, her class, her statues, but most of all she knew what she wanted? Such a woman could not be told. “Yes, and this fickleness is what restrains us to be negligible to provide what one of your sex could truly want. You fear--what is it? Ridicule? Condemnation from your fellow ladies? Beguilement from your family? Or do you merely fear that your thoughts are not refined enough? Whether you know the reason or not, your sex hides behind expected conventions of speaking and expressing little whilst expecting to be understood. Us men must learn to read expressions and uncover mysterious signs to stitch together what it is you really want.” George spoke a matter of fact way, however, his words spilt past a neutral opinion. He thought of Dorothea. It was she who had clouded his opinion on the institution as she was perfect but I was her perfection that caused the arrangement to fall through. Even if perfection could not guarantee concession, how was he to ever be contempt with this transaction? 

“What I mean that is--- this business of which you speak lacks an equal agreement in the transaction. If a woman was to be open, to profess her innermost dreams and passions and yearnings....-no matter how unrealistic, no matter how fantastical! Honesty, madam...honestly would make the perfect marriage. From the very beginning, the game needs to revealed….. Do you not agree that one must look at the image of the puzzle before one sits down to put it together?” He asked, hoping his allegory fell true. Thinking on her mention of peasants George almost smiled. He had thought on the idea quite often. How nice it would be to exchange his estate, his title, even the shirt on his very back to live as a simple stable hand-- the only worry of admiration being the cow which one milked, hoping it would not reject a daily milking. 

He noticed a flush run through the madam. She had become even more entranced in her response. Again, fascinating. Rarely did ladies really hear him. Rarely did they reply a true retort rather than giggle at his notions and speak on a more neutral topic with a round-about way that dismissed his earlier statements. No, this lady wished to know that George’s words were not to be unaccounted for. “It is a lie, yes. Once again, because the counterpart does not reveal what it wants. The King does not show how to layout the Kingdom and so his kingsmen but guess, must court, must flirt with Bills and Acts and settle through a sub-par illustration of marriage where pieces lay missing and the image is left wanting. And yet--- Humpty dumpty still sits on the wall....” George stops and looks from the sky. The childs rhyme of Humpty Humpty only for the most learned would bring about connotations of the English Civil War, a notion most feared by his opposing Tories. He could get in trouble for continuing yet, for some reason the passionate eyes behind her mask said it was okay.

 “And if Humpty does not tell us how to get him down from the wall, once he falls... all the King’s horses, and all the King’s men, won’t put Humpty together again.

[exrlspencer]

duchess-ofdevonshire‌:

If it weren’t for the years of conditioning, for the dire dependence on such social appointments as these, Amelia would have readily been coaxed out of the overcrowded corridor from the moment she could see the moonlight in her brother’s eyes. Run with him past the confines of wrought iron gates, to stay out in the fields, and the riverbanks even if the springtime rain soaked through their skin; to prove that they were not truly withering or submitting into the constraints adulthood seemingly required of them. Wherever George tread in life, Lia certainly followed, considering him to be the one true soul who understood her. 

Though her tongue clicked against her teeth in a disproving tsk, mood brightened from his mere presence alone. Eyes closed in mock shock at such troublesome behaviour from the masked Lynx and his poor-prosed sidekick, an animated scoff slipped from her throat almost too easily.“What an elusive, mysterious cat that has so subtly crept into the hen house.’ She teased, shaking her head, “I should bet a proper sum that you’ll manage to find a worthy prey here tonight, if so only as to amuse me with stories tomorrow morning about the hunt.”

Smirk lingered just enough to wax mischief, before the mention of her husband, drooping enough to cause her fan to expand, hide a swollen pout beneath her fluttering.  The Duke of Devonshire’s political leadership and financial acclaim caused a room to part for them upon entering- Amelia once mockingly named the regular occurrence the Parting of the Red Sea. Though eyes had followed the pair since their union, the back of Amelia’s neck consistently burned as of late. Too aware of expanding backlash her little secret created. Too conscious of her husband’s hot-blooded gaze flickering to her form as she darted around the room - a searing heat radiating from it, unlike anything Amelia had ever experienced before. “Who? Ah, you mean the bull?” Words thick syrup, fan waved almost sharply. “He’s chasing the colour red this evening, I’m sure. Would you believe he suggested I shouldn’t attend tonight’s events?” She muttered to George, brow quirking. “ And do you agree with him..? Do you think my attendance is a hindrance to my dear husband?”

Fixing his mask, Goerge took no patience ot to survey the room and read his potential at conquering a partnering feline for the night. He had little expectation for the early part of the evening as most ladies who were light on liquid luck would be casting their nets then. It was the latter part of the evening when the small house pets were lying on the velvet entertainment sofas in the partnering cards room, exhausted from failure to catch a mouse or worse, overindulged on strawberry treats, was the time when George looked to make himself a prey. Yet, looking about, it seemed he had arrived just at that moment. Couples had partnered off behind floating candelabras and expressions of delight echoed from the nearby room as many had retreated to play cards. It was time to pounce, and with his sister by his side, it was inevitable that many would fall under the Spencer charm. 

“Red, you say? How unfortunate, and I thought he had experienced enough of a beating and spilt crimson at our last boxing match.” George jested in attempt to lift the spirits of his sister. The mention of the Duke had evidently come costly as George recognized slight retraction from his sister. He was quite annoyed at his ‘friends’ wandering eye for who could ignore the affect of a Spencer. But it seemed time and time again George needed to lift the spirits of his kin to their proper glory. In fact, Lia was the jewel of the pair. Her ability to turn heads in any setting, in any attire, and with the lightest effort was commendable. No wonder all his bachelor mates found the topic of visiting the Earl when his sister was in attendance so alluring. He often wondered whether they liked his company at all, or it was the prospect of a junior Spencer in the room that propelled their entertaining of him. In fact, there was one of them again. The Duke of Chester skipped hastily to the pair, his mask too short had lifted slightly to crush the long lashes of his dark orbs. Carrying four goblets the duke noticeably had little ability to fix his attire and so George helped is friend with pulling the velvet covering atop his nose and prying the strangely coloured drink from hand. “Teddy, I thought I had gotten rid of you.” He exclaimed honestly, but was not too disappointed of his friend's return for it would give an excuse for the Spencer duo to game. 

“Of course I can believe it. You are too bright a star for any venue, sis. Even as large as the Almack. See, even Teddy here couldn’t resist the pull and decided to return when I EVIDENTALLY POINTED HIM to the cluster of star dustings at the Viennese table.” He turned to the Duke who had fallen into abrupt silence as he came to the realization that he missed an opportunity for introductions from where he came. 

“Your attendance is a national crisis. Might even spread into the Empire if you do not compliment me on my suitable outfit this evening. No lightning bolts this time, very menial.” George took a light twirl and bowed as if finishing his ballet solo. Of course, the outfit was not as ostentatious as his last, but upon the twirl, the night-shade jewels spreading his back tinkled with excessive reflection so that even the Duke of Chester had to turn way in order to avoid a blinding. 

[exrlspencer]

beatrice-hanover‌:

My wife…The words sent a fear through Beatrice unlike any other. Despite the flattery that came just moments before, the inflection in his voice was difficult to decipher - had she already miss-stepped and failed to recognize one of her dearest friends’ husbands? Perhaps it was offensive to assume the dark stranger was married at all?

It was at this she looked back up at the man. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything, but she was entirely grateful to find that he was gazing at the stars now and not her, and allowed him to continue on uninterrupted. Of the many emotions Beatrice had been overcome by that night, the least she expected was relief. Relief at what, though? She did her best to convince herself that it was at a lack of offense to the man on her part, but in the back of her mind she knew it was for…other reasons. 

However, at the words of jumping cricket, all other thoughts were soon halted as Beatrice’s hand rose to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. But alas, it wasn’t quick enough, and a chuckle escaped from her lips. She had rarely ever heard that kind of humor in members of the ton before, much less in the male ones. Once again, a pang of familiarity shot through her, but it still fell far short of any hope of identifying who her speaking partner was.

Recovering from her laughter (and wanting to break the tension), she took the second dessert fork, cut herself a bite of pastry, and lifted it to her mouth to taste. As she savored the sweetness of the strawberry (a flavor which she herself had advised her brother to ask for), Beatrice leaned back and joined the man in looking at the stars. 

“There are few enjoyments a married woman can possess,” she commented, breathing slowly. “One of them is time alone to herself, and the other is a well-equipped dancing partner. I myself am….presently free from such restrictions of wedlock. Unfortunately my expectations are a little to ‘un-idealistic’ for some.”

The topic of marriage was quite disjointing for the Earl. It was a notion that was brought into question often by his sister, his mother and even his wedded colleagues at the parliamentary stands. For them, George’s bachelorhood painted him as an untrusting figure who could not commit to the expectations of his status therefore questionable in commitment to any other element of society. Yet, for is fellow bachelors in leisure circles, his untied existence was commendable as a form ‘independence’ which they also wished to uphold. However, for George, neither side seemed to promote nor distort the notion of marriage. He was a bachelor NOT from a lack of trying but from the lack of understanding its possibility. He had the means to marry for love but his occupation and title meant the pool was limited. It was a puzzling equation of which the two required factors for the lady in question were admiration from him and suitability to the ton. Bringing those two factors to a common denominator in one female was completely incomprehensible for George, and so he treded on pushing his luck until he assumed his age would make it no longer acceptable. 

If it was so complicated for him, he knew there was no way of relating such truths to his new acquaintance and so the slight diversion in conversation was welcoming. A diversion set by a sheepish laugh from the unknown madam A laugh that melodied in the softest translation was common from a particular figure in his immediate circle. But this figure would have found him out immediately and he could no further assume she would honestly have an interest in getting to know a stranger as haughty as him at an event where she herself would need to play a starring role; not hidden behind the valiant effects of a stranger such as him. 

“Are un-realistic expectations not the plague of everyone woman looking to marry?” George questioned honestly. He had yet to meet a potential companion who was not disappointed in him from lack of fulfilling an item or two on their list of qualities necessary for betrothal; complete and utter admiration being one of them. “You all look for men who are conventional and uphold principle and honour. Yet doting and set for family standards. However, atop it all, this man does not step out of line whilst possessing unique opinions compatible for intimate conversation.” Goerge began to trail off but was sure not to be too revealing in his narrative. “For example, a man of politics is commendable for marriage as long as he is a ‘man of the king’ but how can one truly be a ‘man of the King’ if he does not show the King the faults within his fule which jeopardize his power?” Goerge stopped his tongue realizing he had gone too far this time. What had made him so open? He was merely trying to speak metaphorically but his language had become quickly too literal. He hoped his partner would fail to read beyond his words and instead look to read is examples as mere allegories. 

[exrlspencer]

beatrice-hanover‌:

Beatrice took the glass from the brick and sipped it greedily, her nervousness exuding off of her like smoke from a fire. She knew the additional champagne would hurt more than help, and yet she drank it down hungrily. In her head, all she could see were the eyes of the stranger hidden behind that darkened mask. If it weren’t for her fear of what she might see, she could have very well turned to him and pulled - no, ripped - it right off. Not out of anger, no, but out of the burning sensation that rippled through her chest every time she glanced at him.

It was only a dance. 

Unable to meet his gaze once more, Beatrice stood tensely on the balcony looking straight out unto the gardens below. Her voice near shook when she spoke. “Thank you, my lord. I fear I may never dance again, lest I be disappointed in anyone who follows a performance such as yours. Surely you must have all the women of the court tripping over themselves to be your partner, do you not?”

‘Oh god. Unless he’s married,’ she thought. ‘He wouldn’t have proposed a dance then at all, would he? Or if his wife is ailing, or away, or they have some other arrangement..’

Startling herself at the thought, she did her best to recover. “Or rather, your wife must be very blessed to have such an adept dancing partner.”

“Never again?” London will weep, madam.” George jested before sinking a found fork into the strawberry pastry. Its white cream was prepared to perfection wich indulged the Earl for a moment’s silence as a dessert sprawled the interior of his mouth. “My performance was only in reaction to your mastery, but if you wish to be coy and deny that your dancing skills are much above advanced to the conventional lady then I will retract my objection and admit that, yes, I am quite good.” His mischievous smile returned, yet faded as he quickly noticed the madam was avoiding his gaze and any exhibited expression had gone unnoticed. Her words exhibited that his attempts to display a man of passion had failed. Even after exhibiting his dancing skills, it seemed was hardly of interest to anyone beyond his title and marital status. 

“My wife?” George hardly knew whether to indulge the madam in her fanciful assumptions or 

Inform her openly that he was a well-established bachelor unattached to any notions of marital life. Leaving half the pastry for the potential tasting of the lady, a courteous move he thought, the Earl turned and leaned his back against the same brick wall and slowly tilted his head to look at the stars. “I am afraid I must disappoint. There is no partner in my life who may have the honour of claiming they are blessed to have a jumping cricket as their husband. I also doubt that in this world of laid out convention, the proficiency of dance would make one a prime candidate for a good husband.” A small scoff parted his lips after George remembered how Amelia had once boasted about his dancing skills to a certain Duchess during one of her well-known attempts at setting him up with her companions. The complement had landed well as an opener to his more diplomatic qualities but hardly was able to impress any further. 

“However, if it is a quality YOU saw most permanent in your spouse, then I commend you on your un-idealistic perceptions for a worthy partner.” He finished, hoping to pry in the same manner the madams own mysterious profile.

[exrlspencer]

beatrice-hanover‌:

Beatrice felt as if she were light as a feather on air. The ease at which she twirled around her partner filled her with an intense desire to keep dancing, even if the music were to stop at that very moment. It was in that second that the Princess Royal realized she hadn’t looked down at all since the dance started, not even to watch her feet - she had simply been staring into the eyes of the masked stranger, fearful that breaking eye contact would somehow send the entire ballroom crashing down around them. She had been focusing so intently on the mossy gaze that she almost missed what he had said. “I…” she started, nearly unable to find the words. “No…just keep a hold of me.” As the lift in question came and went, she felt herself grow more and more lightheaded. With every step the buzz that came from the champagne and the glowing light of the candles up above grew stronger and stronger, until she thought she could no longer bear it. The touch of the stranger seemed so familiar and it sent her mind spiraling in a thousand different directions, all of which she found herself terrified at.  And then…the music stopped. A soft applause from the crowd around broke Beatrice’s trance and she was once more plunged into a full ballroom, the scent of perfume hot on the air and the clattering of heels rising up from the floor. She looked down at the stranger’s hands which were still interlocked with hers and pulled away sharply. What was she doing? She was still a Princess, no matter what color attire she had on, and she had let herself go. God, she had to get out of there. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispered hastily, an urgency in her hushed tone. “I do feel quite dizzy. I think I may need to excuse myself to the balcony.”

The last few notes of the melody lingered between the pair. They had moved effortlessly around one another for which felt like an eternity. Every note perfectly paired with it’s flowing movement whether it was a turn, a bow, twirl or even a lift. That lift. The finale of the minuet which many pairs would choose to avoid fin favour of a mere subtle dip of their partner. However, in true fashion of the dance form George knew that the final action of the song was to lift the partner for an everlasting count. To spin the air with the strength of an entire forearm. George never truly intended to drop his partner, his joke was merely a passing comment to compliment the stranger on her aquaplanes with ever-complicated detail of the familiar dance. Yet, as she spoke...as her breath exhumed the confirming words between the pants of the previous twirl George dropped all fancies of performing a humorous jest on the last note and his torso sterned. His left arms pulled her in as the orchestra silenced for two beats and their faces were not breaths away. Masks prevailing any true reading of expression it was still obvious that George had a fox-like smile, a sign to his partner of what was to come. And so, as the finale of the tune commenced, George lifted his partner to a hight beyond the intimate sphere of the dance-floor, above the crowd and spun with the greatest grip into the intimate quietness of the elevated air. A few gasps came from around them before the following applause. Yet, George held his partner past the end of the tune. Slowly lowering her into his chest as they once more stood in unconventional proximity. His hands still tight upon the curvature of the padded dress he held on. “...So when do you think we will receive our acceptances for the travelling ballet?” A joke came once more, perhaps to disseminate the warm silence which had come too comfortable and seemed to intimate for any onlooker. 

The single dance had felt like a whole evening of wickedness. It was not for any fatigue but rather the rush which usually came only whence an evening had concluded and George would feel a fire within his loins due to the overexuberance of entertaining mixed with strong drink. This feeling often sent him to bed, whether it was his or the untidy sheets of a brothel at the Duke of Chester’s recommendation. But not tonight. This feeling was due to a fire that came from a single dance at the mercy of a single woman. A fire which begged to be eternal and continue on by demystifying the ways in which this stranger managed to ignite it. 

“The night’s air might do us both some good.” George swallowed, now realizing he had held on to the madam for far too long and took a strong step backwards. “Shall I join you with some drinks?” 

Entering the crystal-lit balcony terrace George imminently looked to the sky. It was clear, every constellation begging to be admired. Placing two glasses and a large strawberry pastry on the brick crevice beside the lady he breathed in the night air. It was quite cool but the quickness of his bloodstream had not yet subsided and the fresh rush of the night air was welcomed.

[exrlspencer]

beatrice-hanover‌:

A soft gasp managed it’s way through Beatrice’s lips. Never in her life had she been spoken to like that before, and she wondered desperately if that’s how the rest of noble society got on - with genuine conversation, a hint of mischief, and pure, unadulterated feeling. Her entire life had been a series of conversations made through gritted teeth, flattery that only ended in someone pushing their political agenda or asking for her hand. Only a few people ever spoke to her truthfully - Henrietta and George, for example - but never in her life had a man such as this seen her for more than what her position could offer. If the stranger truly had no clue as to who was behind the mask, it could only mean he thought her good enough company and at least a competent enough dancer to share more than a few choice words with, and the thought thrilled Beatrice. At that moment in time, she couldn’t have cared less about who she was about to dance with, even if the story about being late and not uninvited was false.

Unless…unless the stranger did in fact know and was merely doing the same as the rest had done. Trying to lure her in only to return at a later date and reveal themselves as the one who truly deserved her hand. Beatrice knew she had interacted with the majority of the men at the party in one way or another - though she didn’t know exactly who lay behind each mask, she knew the likes of who would be in attendance - and suddenly her dream of being unrecognized slipped away. She was the Princess Royal, for God’s sake. Her portrait hung in many a hall and she had danced with countless dukes and viscounts out of politeness before, so why would the dark stranger be any different? Did she really put so much faith into the idea that the color of her dress would fool anyone?

She was about to decline when something in her lurched forward, and before she knew it the words were near tumbling out of her mouth. Something, deep inside her, wanted to take the risk. “I would love nothing more.” And, just as if it was fate itself, another song began to float through the air and she placed her hand on his. 

      Who was Alfie Spencer? He was not George John Spencer, 2nd Duke Spencer, heir to the land and estate, member of parliament and first secretary of the Admiralty. No, Alfie did not know George, they were men who saw different goals in life. One wished to uphold duty, honour, state and family whilst the other looked to read the world...to know true desire, to experience honest passions rooted from the deepest indulgences of the soul. One was to look for a spouse accomplished enough to act as a political wife and boast his seat whilst really a blank canvas of personality that would avoid stepping out of polite character. Whilst the other either saw himself as a bachelor forever, or with a partner who not only matched wit and humour but questioned his motives and looked to shape him into a  BETTER man. Tonight, it seems the latter had come to the party. He was invited nor did he wish to attend, but the potential of disguise, the hope of ignorant sight of society assured the second man that the Earl need not come, and so Alfie Spencer mindlessly trailed onto the scene. What would Alfie do? What was his incentive? All was yet to unfold, but in the moment, all that Alfie wished was to be free, if only momentarily. Free to humour a stranger, free to drink to feel alive rather than dull social boredom, and free to dance as HE liked to dance. Not in a  stoic unattentive way, but to feel, to inspire. He wanted to become one with the music which was more than a filler for rehearsed moves but an extension of the composer’s soul meant to awaken passion, which Alfie agreed was the first and foremost purpose of the art. 

Taking his new acquaintance by the arm, he hardly waited for an agreement as he would have found a way to persuade her nonetheless. Yet, he did notice her gesture of accordance passed mere compliance. Her eyes so perfectly batting beneath the openings of a tightened mask for some reason reminded him of the passion of the soul which he cherished. He had known her for a mere moment, but her eyes were not dull as those were of many women in the ton who saw pleasures like dance as a duty, or worse a mere tactic to fool a bachelor with conventional accomplishment. Thus, when the first few notes of the minute rang, George bowed in the most egregious way, displaying that the following pursuit would not be a mere step by step bore.

As they twirled, stepped and glided in harmony the music easily become one wth their accomplished movements. It was evident that the pair were a match in dancing proficiency and it amused George to recognize a weary from their partners to the left who seemed to be struggling to keep up with each other. “Shall I drop you at the next lift? I fear if we continue as such our neighbours my suspect we were hired from the travelling ballet…”

[exrlspencer]

henriettavillicrs‌:

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑.

       ––– AS THE ORCHESTRA GREW LOUDER, the heat in the room seemed to swell and in spite of the copious amounts of ratafia and champagne being served throughout Almack’s, the sudden swelter had reduced the Countess to little more than a blushing bride–– refusing Lord Palmerston her next dance in exchange for the ability to flee onto the balcony. Breezes from the Thames’ eased Henrietta’s reddening throat and the roseate tint to her cheeks, though within moments she found that she was not alone and turned to the newcomer, gracing them with a tight-lipped smile. 

❝ ONE WOULD BELIEVE WE WERE in the thick of summer with all the dancing and mingling ensuing inside, ❞ the Countess of Jersey remarked mildly, continuing with a more zestful, ❝ yet, perhaps the night’s success shall be a harbinger for a lucrative season to come! Tell me, have you any thought as to the potential engagements this year? I am no gambler, but I’d be willing to bet that John Temple’s daughters will be affianced before the night is through. ❞

It was swollen. Three turns around the room with The Madonna and George’s right foot had grown to the size of a pinecone due to numerous missteps and intoxicated slippages. He would give her the credit that the bottle of sparkling indulgence which had magically disappeared into their bloodstream was no help for mastery of dance, but BY GOD if merely three spins around the floor caused such injuries, his partner was no dancing cricket beforehand. 

Stepping out to rub his ligaments in the shadows of the balcony, George assumed he would be alone to panter and recover from the sport of entertaining such a Madonna. However, to his dismay, the sanctuary was already taken. Looking about to locate a more private space George recognized that the madam was looking to continue their battle of toes once more, her head peeking through the french doors. George needed an excuse, and fast. 

Yet, she was his saviour. Perhaps, she was able to read the panic on his face and think on hastily on how to assume a conversation had long commenced. But in any case, the other being on the balcony understood his predicament quite well. “ Yes, this is the most righteous start to a promising season. I heard that the Duchess had hardly tapped into her antics for upcoming engagements and I can hardly surmise how she can outdo the splendours of last year. Perchance, the Temple’s are her key. New ladies, blank canvasses to paint the rules of whom to pass a card and to whom one should avoid in all bets” He spoke, standing upright as if his foot was hardly a menace and taking a posture of a relaxed partner whom had no interest of resuming a dance with the oncoming hurricane which lingered at the doors.

[exrlspencer]

beatrice-hanover‌:

Beatrice’s signature smile rose to her face. “I’m glad we are in agreement then. You are indeed a questionable man, and I find I am rather appalled at the notion of continuing this conversation,” she jested back, rolling her eyes behind her mask. “Though I suppose you have pinned me correctly. I admit I was in dire need of an adventure, and I think you have fulfilled my desire for such. Besides…I feel as if we’ve spoken at great length before. Pray, tell me - are you inclined to give any hints as to your identity?”

Beatrice reached for the glass of champagne on the table that sat beside the window - she had placed it there when she went to pull the stranger into the ballroom - and took a long sip, almost as if to signal that her previous words had been a challenge. Her gaze flicked up to meet his and, upon seeing those mossy eyes which provoked only more familiarity and interest, she made a promise to herself that she would discover the identity of the man in black before the night was over. Though she intended to keep her own a secret for as long as she could manage, there was something thrilling about such an intellectual hunt, and she was almost fearful of a missed opportunity if he was to say no. 

       The smile given had warmed the space between them. It was a familiar radiant expression that reminded any gazer to the softness of morning light, but George’s thoughts were too pre-occupied to place the expression. Instead, he merely acknowledged how contrary the polite demeanour was the attitudes of the giver and he looked more to prove himself as a worthy partner in conversation than waste thought on pinning familiarities. “I am as questionable as the depths of space, madam. I will be studied and calculated, but never truly known or understood.” He replied systematically as if reciting a part of a philisophes inner monologue. 

Shoulders fell as George decided his facade had run its humorous course and reached for a passing glass of sparking liquid to quench his throat which had run dry from the intrinsic panting resulting from climbing through a window. His brow arched before the Earl scanned the ballroom--- it was obvious, the evening needed a splash of splendour, a sprinkle of humour, and an element of charisma that would liven the party. Her sentiments agreed as she named him an adventure enough. “If you are in dire need of adventure, would it not be more compelling to continue the quest? A quest worthy of your honourable pursuit: attend to the darkness of my presence and be fulfilled with entertainment to your brim.” he assumed the lady was merely being polite by pointing out that they may already know each other and wished to assert that there was no need for such pleasantries. 

“Honour me with a dance, and I will in turn patron your crusade for adventure.”

[exrlspencer]

---- TAG DROP♦ 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖓

[exrlspencer]

As party cloistered into the venue’s corridors, thick walls housing cacophony of chatter and a battlecry of a forte’d orchestra (Amelia hadn’t seen such string performers sweat so much with their feverish performances this evening), the sweet, heated air grew thick. Plucked already blushing cheeks to flush all the more crimson. Fortunately the duchess had already managed to evade her husband’s company, considering their current predicament it was nearly as refreshing as catching her breath in solitude… and the rather crass jokes from an inebriated statesman who used his poor son to keep him standing upright; though Amelia could scarcely tell the words that came out of his mouth, sentences gurgled out like mulch.

Charming grin tugged porcelain as she excused herself, silk slid against carpet as the Little Bird withdrew her fan, waving it fast enough she could’ve sworn she took flight, fluttering towards a discreet corner window. A latch, fresh air caressing her stray curls that fell from her high-piled coiffure, budded lips gasping for air as if she’d been held under water. Peace… only wrecked by two aspiring Lotharios below.  She scoffed, hesitant to be seen aiding such tomfoolery. “I’m not so sure you both deserve a hero’s welcome into such an Olympus tonight, Sir, if you require a helping hand from within.” She called down to them in a loud whisper, nevertheless leaning out of the pane to reach for him, pausing as she noticed her brother’s smile gleaming up at her. She could spot him anywhere, after years of practice - finding him in various states, in a multitude of disguises. She choked out a scoff of a laugh, leaning out a bit further to swat him before her hand reached his. “Alfie, honestly, you fool - is that you? You’ll rip your trousers!” She hissed, reverting to the name she’d hailed for him, for as long as she could remember - after Alfred the Great. “Your very _nature _must be more accustomed to getting thrown _out _of a window than climbing into one!”

**----------------------          George’s ears rang for a second longer than desired as his sisters swat tactfully filed the entrance of his ear. It was a familiar hit which revealed the figure to be his closest sibling and he was evermore relieved that it was a knowable stranger rather than some persona who’d he have to repay the favour dutifully one day. He would expect a few blistering words and maybe another hit, but such he was used and even enjoyed on occasion coming from his sister. Her attempts to wound him worked too well in both putting him in his place and ignited a childish need to reciprocate the notion which always brightened his mood.  **

“Alfie?” The Earl fixed his mask and stood up straight with a soldiers tap of the foot. “I know no Alfie, madam. We are illusions of the sky. Beings come from the depths of the cosmos only for one night. Our purpose? Chaos. How will we achieve it? You will ask for it.” He recited the practised speak in an accent bordering some version of offensive Slavic. The silence that followed was more than uncomfortable only broken by Alfie’s elbowing of the Duke who jolted into character and repeated the same tap of the foot before continuing with the monologue. “We serve only the darkness...ugh..chaos, um. How will we achieve it? You will ask for it.” Alfie turned to his friend and gave him a similar hit to that of his sisters. “I already said that part you monkey!...Go get us a drink you’re embarrassing.” Rolling his eyes Alfie dismissed the Duke who willfully walked ran to the server dressed as a nymph passing around drinks. 

“Looks great right?” he alluded to his mask which was quite well made with black gemstones and weaving velvet to re-create the mysterious character of a black Lynx. “...I would have come earlier, but it seems the window entrance only opened at the stroke of….champagne. It seems I’m not the only one, where’s Duke of De--monstrably BAD at  taking a joke?” Alfie referred to his sister’s husband whom he half expected to be shadowing _somewhere _nearby still mad at him for jesting on the topic of his love for dogs last week.

[exrlspencer]

Beatrice took a moment to survey the area before quickly reaching down to clasp the stranger’s hand. She was nowhere near strong enough to pull anyone through a window, but luckily it seemed that the late-comer was doing most of the work, and eventually she was able to get him just inside the frame before anyone else noticed.

Wiping her hands off on her dress, she took her first good look at the stranger. A man, yes, dressed in a dark clothes with an intricately carved (and quite beautiful) mask, the same shade as the rest of the ensemble. She could have sworn she recognized who it was, but even with the familiar voice of the stranger, she simply could not place him. Perhaps it was the alcohol.

“I should hope not, my lord,” she replied, a little out of breath herself. “If it reassures you, you have yet to miss anything extraordinary. Unless I am wrong to presume you were forced to climb through a window due to the hour and not due to a lack of an invitation….if the latter is the case, I am afraid I have been an accomplice to a crime I was unwitting of.”

-----------------------------

Georges mask had gone slightly askew as he brushed the remnants of the wall-side dust from his ensemble. The delicately sewn black velvet was durable enough to resist any true damage but its delicate colouring made any sign of dirt quite visible. Whilst putting himself together the gentle voice of the stranger seemed too sober for the lateness of the hour and he began to truly question the success of the evening. Finally standing upright he realized the softness was not due to lack of intoxication but rather the inherent gentle nature of the stranger. Her poised figure spoke of class, attention of personal demenour-- yet, her conventional attire revealed an attempt to disguise through plainness. George’s keen perception read it as mysterious and purposefully deceptive. It was intriguing, and George wanted to know more, and what he could gain from knowing. 

“I have only just arrived, the obvious dullness is thus excusable.” He jested, stepping closer into the light to reveal the mossy eyes beneath the veil of a midnight lynx-- unknown of it’s existence to the common man. “...You are an accomplice, in any case, madam. Even with the lateness of the hour, it is not suitable to pull in questionable men in masks through purposefully latched windows. You wanted to be part of this crime, hence you were a culprit long before my arrival…”

[exrlspencer]

"𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐋𝐢𝐚"                      𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞

@duchess-ofdevonshire

[exrlspencer]

The two earls rushed down the apartment steps with overcoats half dragging on the floor and masks tangling in their hair. Had they been playing cards for this long? It was not eleven of night and yet they had witnessed the sun set fifteen minutes prior. Or so it felt. The carriage stood waiting conveniently at their doorstep although the look the coachman gave a look that this inconvenience would need to be paid in extra. What a waste. Considering all they had gambled away that evening. 

Goerge enjoyed balls as much as he enjoyed promenading his charm amongst his equals. His presence was not only expected but always warmly welcomed as the golden Spencer boy was a gifted bag of entertainment. His love of parlour games and skill at the gambling table ensured that any friend to his right would have a memorable evening---that is of course, if they managed to avoid bullying from one of George’s dares. Yet, this night was different, everyone was to be masked and George’s attendance would go relatively unnoticed until the latter half of the evening when guests who knew of his ability to conjure a pleasant drinking game would go searching for him. Hence, George spent the earlier part of the night with the Duke of Chester, his close companion and fellow bachelor who accompanied the Earl whenever he felt disinterested in presenting a new lady to his societies criticisms. The pair, however, were to closely engaged in their own leisurely activities at the Duke’s Mayfair apartments and only whence he had won the last of his friends pocket money did George remember he had promised his sister he would make an appearance in a mask not too annoying. In such, referring to the last time George showed up as Zeus to a mask with a pair of swords for lighting strikes. 

The bachelor pair were already far too late to enter through the main hall and opted to pass through the back, pretending as if their absence was only momentary. To their dismay, the back veranda seemed to be locked to avoid miscreants looking to indulge without an invitation. Yet, a lucky figure seemed to read the pairs misfortune through a latched window. Their mask hiding familiarity but a smile confirming that they would have luck sneaking in with their guidance. 

“I’ll have you know, I do not often make a habit of entering this way…” George’s panting voice assured as he reached to the stranger’s hand for guidance through the window.

[exrlspencer]

–––   𝐇𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐮𝐬'𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐲𝐧𝐱  

 George Spencer wears the mask of the Hevelius's Boast, the new constellation found by  Johannes Hevelius' the polish astronomer. The constellation symbolizes the “Black” or “Dark” Lynx  because it is so dark that one, like Hevelius, needs the superb eyesight of the nocturnal European lynx to see objects in it. It is about seeing beyond the original night sky, beyond that which we already know or seem to know and peer into the darkest depths even if one is scared. To Hevelius, the lynx had three delightful qualities: it seeks, it sees and it cannot be seen. Lynx's darkness represented his renowned eyesight and the thrill of hunting for, stalking and descrying new wonders in Space or Nature. This hunt is symbolic of the quintessential quest for truth. 

𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞, 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝, 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 of the ballroom 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐛 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫.

[exrlspencer]

The scent of fresh blooms rang thick though the air. Spring had arrived early and George had only wished he had spent he earlier days of dewful April at his estate to take in the early mellowness of the countryside. He had boasted a pretty penny on the upkeep of the scenery and if only his mother knew how rarely really promenaded the space, she would be appalled. As a child George and his sister would be forced to recite prose while circling the serpentine paths. It was an afternoon ritual now forgotten as he was a lone bachelor and his siblings left for their familial lives. Nowadays, he only had opportunity to truly marvel at what his money once patroned when country parties visited his lands for a leisurely getaway. Fortunately, The Ton  had decided, through the grace of Lady Hesworth to hold the weened soiree at Anthrop where he was to host a number of activities to entertain the Season’s participants. The task was long prepared for by his servants and George merely needed to be present at his own estate. 

The house bustled with people. Here and there were women in increasingly beautiful – and some most excessively extravagant – dress, and men equally as well attired too. His show was yet to start, and this portion of the evening was mostly used for his friends to peacock and socialise in the drawing room. George, uninterested in the peacocking, but an unfortunate victim of attention nonetheless managed to slip away into the fountain of greenery. 

However, it seemed someone had bested him to his destination. No person to be seen but a left behind sketch-book. Its middle page open to a rough drawing of a too familiar face. Picking it up a rough laugh parted his lips. They were his features. Someone dared to copy his likeness. His laugh was thus overheard and a rustling from behind forced George to turn, sketchbook in hand he placed it near he cheek. 

“Are my eyes really SO close together?”“

[exrlspencer]

Introducing: the REAL George John Spencer....2nd Duke of Spencer