#margaret harcourt;; thread 001

[lordpembroke]

@margaretmulgrave​​​

Ernest’s London residence had a slight remodel last season, namely, the addition of a library in his study. He already had a magnitude of books there but naturally, with the months spent at home in Salisbury, it needed some refreshing. There were new publications of note, and Hatchard’s was the only acceptable place to find well bound books as far as Ernest was concerned.

“It couldn’t possibly have come out way back in April, really?” Ernest dismayed as he held onto the novella of his choosing, Atala by François-René de Chateaubriand. He’d heard mixed reviews and thought he might as well read it for himself (although reading about a 73 year old did sound quite dull). He sighed, already feeling antsy in that small book shop and made his way through the rows of shelves. He did not get far before he spotted Lady Mulgrave.

“Ah!” He said, tucking the novella under his arms. “The writer, you must have something good to recommend. You remember your directionless, not yet an earl, don’t you?” Ernest smirked at her and then nodded towards the shelves. “What are you looking at there?” 

Perhaps it was a bit too bold, considering the footing they left off on, but Ernest was curious and drunk as usual. She was Richard’s wife so he’d at least try to behave. “I must say, has there been no worthy publications in the off season? Tell me you have something to recommend, I can’t be seen walking around with this from. . .” He sighed and held up the book. “From April last year.”

[misterdowding]

@margaretmulgrave​

As much as Thomas traveled, he always managed to make it back to London to participate in the season. It was a good time to reunite with friends, to find a new fling, maybe even to get caught in the throws of passion for a new collection of poems. Presently, he found the ladder unlikely, already being in somewhat of a throw after departing Rome. Still, he enjoyed seeing familiar faces.

Fortnum & Mason’s was an old haunt of Thomas’s. It was a relaxing atmosphere to drink tea and people watch, an activity that often inspired a verse. If it wouldn’t inspire, it wasn’t worth doing, Thomas would argue. He leaned back in his chair, studying an older man sitting with his daughter, who was glancing about the room with wide, sparkling eyes. Thomas pursed his lips, trying to think of a metaphor, the right word to capture that startled, excited look upon her face when the door opened and in walked Margaret Mulgrave. Or, he recalled, Lady Harcourt.

A grin spread across his features and he rose from his seat, raised a hand to wave her over. “Lady Harcourt,” he greeted, all smiles and charm and etiquette to start. He walked over to her, looked behind her to see if she was accompanied by her husband, for he knew better than to banter in their usual way among him. 

"Care to sit with me?” He tipped his head to the side with a grin. “I’m sure you have nothing interesting to tell me, married life is dull, I’ve heard. Still, I have adventures of my own.”