Mulgrave & Baintree speak seriously; 10/10 mid morning

[Hope]

The Lower Ward

The west side of the Castle is dubbed the Lower Ward, and consists of two principal parts. First and most importantly is St. George’s Chapel, on the north side of the courtyard. Second, are the buildings associated with the Order of the Garter, including the offices and residences of the deans, canons, and clerks. At the west end of the Ward sits the Horseshoe Cloister, a two-story building of red brick criss-crossed by dark wood beams, which houses the Chapel’s clergymen. Behind the Cloister rises Curfew Tower, which houses the Castle bells as well as a former dungeon. Along the south side of the Lower Ward are the lodgings of the ‘Poor Knights’, a group of eighteen military veterans who enjoy the King’s hospitality in exchange for their daily prayers on his behalf and their support of the Order and the Chapel. The Lower Ward also boasts two platforms of brass cannons as part of the Castle’s fortifications. All of this surrounds the courtyard itself, a grassy clearing delineated by a number of dirt pathways, along which the denizens of the Ward hurry from dawn til dusk as they perform their various duties.

The Lower Ward housed the barracks for the Life Guard and the gentlemen troopers could be seen frequently doing their exercises in the early morning, a new discipline having been enforced since May. It allowed spectators to watch these fine men on display, inspiring the troopers to their best effort.

Mulgrave was exiting the Order of the Garter office when he spied Baintree passing by. Richard looked the other way in pretence of not having seen John, he did not want to make a scene. But Mulgrave, with good intentions, thought to seize the moment. Altering his course, he stepped quickly and called, 'Lord Baintree, may I have a moment."

Reluctantly Richard halted and turned, the cross words between them two nights ago still tasting bitter to his mouth. "Yes?"

This was not easy, but he'd promised Mary, and written to Davina, he had to press forward for the women's sake. "I wished to apologise..." that was the worst of it over, though the more difficult part came next.

Richard had not expected an apology, the terse words from his sister had suggested that rather he owed Mulgrave an apology. Interest piqued, he gave a small smile and nod. "It had been a long day, we were all tired no doubt."

With this faint encouragement, John moved to stand near Richard. "Quite quite, and the strains of looking after the fairer sex is troubling, I can understand your concern, though I would reassure you that my eye is entirely taken with Lady Mary, whom I have asked to become my wife. Your sister, for her part, was but a gentle protector of Lady Mary's honour, and in no way entrenched in a conspiracy of an ill kind."

[Heather O`Roarke]

Heather was coming from St. George's Chapel, intending to walk towards her room in the South Tower. She froze as she saw the all too familiar form of John Sheffield blocking her way there. She would have to pass him and nod a greeting or.. quickly Heather threw a look around to see if there was a diversionary path she could take. Perhaps she could march out of the castle, but other than that.

Taking a deep breath Heather decided she was not going to let that infernal man run her off. Really! She had as much right as anyone to be here. Lifting her chin up in the air she made to pass both men while pretending not to see them.

[Hope]

The last time Mulgrave had spoken to Heather, it had not gone well. She had claimed he'd come crawling back to her, and promptly after she'd reappeared dancing brightly around the ballroom with his patron the Duke of York. Since that date, and rejoining the royal party during recess, he'd endured weeks of the Duke's ramblings about her, and then there was the ordeals of the bloody red wig. At each Inn the royal party had stayed at, York had set that damned red wig on a bar girl, before behaving terribly with her. Mulgrave was certain that York was in on this plot that Heather had against him, the plot that might have driven him insane, if not for little Mary.

Just how 'relaxed' of the situation was tested then, as from the corner of his eye he glimpsed a shock of red hair. Lord Baintree watched as Mulgrave's face flushed, a smile rose to his face in private amuse at the man's sensitivity of making such an announcement. "Well, congratulations." he expressed warmly, "I am sure that you both shall be very happy, my sister for one is elated of the match. I believe she has her eye on being the bridesmaid."

Heather might have heard the topic quite plainly, while John wished that... he didn't know what he wished. He just wished she was not right there, and tensed for the outburst, there was always an outburst when it came to women. He was learning this, though slowly.

[Heather O`Roarke]

While it had come as some surprise to Mulgrave, Heather had been building up her position with York slowly over the last season, only revealing it at the very last, only in part to spite him.

While still frightened the Duke might shy away from the things she found important in a long term lover, or grow jealous of her inability to keep her attentions from wandering, slowly the redhead was believing she had found someone that despite all his other faults, was at least true to his word. Though she would never admit it, the status of being an official mistress did wonders for her bruised pride as well. The fact York seemed positively obsessed with her hadn't fully dawned on Heather but would make her feel ecstatic. So, the Countess should be content. What should she care about an ex-lover who had none of these qualities?

Yet those that expected any woman, let alone Heather, to be reasonable in regards to past attachments was barking up the wrong tree. The redhead froze when she heard those words spoken by a man she had only seen in passing. Baintree, wasn't it? Her heart clenched, she felt the urge to lash out, her temper always quick to light, yet she kept it in check for now. Turning around Heather regarded John, forcing a smile on her face that felt fake even to herself. You are actually going to marry her. Damn you. "I couldn't help but overhearing that. Congratulations are in order, my Lord? I am heartened you took at least some of my advice then." There, Heather couldn't resist the little dig as the green viper wrestled with her heart. There was a nod to Baintree, she let John handle introductions, or not. She cared little. The man looked a bit too stiff for her liking.

"Good fortune to you and your bride," Heather wished John insincerely "This really is the season of weddings is it not? Nice to hear you are getting into the spirit of things." Tossing her curls back a bit she added for good measure, with suggestive undertone "I'm really enjoying all festivities. In fact, I must away again. There is a medieval fair in the parkland that is said to be divine and there are some bric a bracs there that beg my attention. I'm sorry to have interrupted your conversation."

"Perhaps, milord, I shall see you at some other time? We have a lot of catching up to do." No, she did not actually say that, did she? Heather had to suppress a frown. Had it sounded like she was begging him? Well, she most certainly was not. So many fish in the sea. Why would she possibly care about the one that got away. With her chin held up high she gave a pretty curtsy as a goodbye, that quite accidentally displayed her voluptuous form to those that cared to look "Milords, I bid you both farewell."

[Blackguard]

It was then that George Churchill came into view. He was dressed in mud brown velvet with a white cotton shirt. George had been looking to get Mulgrave alone so that he might lecture the man on marrying his cousin Mary, and to secure for himself the reward offered by Mary's father.

Seeing Mulgrave with Heather and Baintree, Churchill puased in his progress. It would not do to approach Mulgrave when he was occupied with others, so George milled around trying to overhear what they were discussing. He pretended to be adjusting the buckle on his shoe.

[Hope]

History, some might call it baggage, existed between Heather and Mulgrave. So it was that her well wish laced with 'you took some of my advice', brought John's face to pinch. Life was not near so simple as he desired it to be, it was times like this is missed being on the ocean warring. On one hand Mary was distressed, while on the other Heather was bitter. It was moments like this when his personal life felt like a lost battle.

"Thank you Countess." he chose a polite reply. He was certain that the entertainments she boasted of enjoying involved upper nobility's men, and was no reference to Heather again entering the state of marriage. His jaw shifted as he bit back words, eyes flat and wearied met Heathers. Her own seeming so effortlessly bright, though he was not deceived to thinking her well wish was sincere. "When in Rome do as the Romans." he added wanly. Marriage. Marriage was what he intended, although of late he'd witnessed a change in Mary too. Perhaps he was not cut out for matrimony, happiness did not follow in the path he trod.

"Lady Atherstone, may In introduce Lord Baintree." Greetings were exchanged, Baintree having not picked up on the tension beneath their polite words to each other. Naturally he restrained some of his warmth however as Heather was a fabled libertine. "My lady," he bowed quite formally, as as the exchange between John and Heather proved to be brief, bowed again in succession farewell, "A pleasure to meet you Lady Atherstone."

"Well yes, lets do that then." Good god, what did I just agree to? There were time when things just happened without thought. As awful as it was talking to Heather, he didn't actually want her to leave. "Ah, at your convenience," he echoed Baintree's bow, before she took herself away.

There was an awkward smile to Baintree then, a slight shrug and tip of head, Richard replied with a rub of his chin, and glance to look after the departing countess.

[Heather O`Roarke]

Rising from her curtsy, Heather inclined her head to hide her confusion. He had said yes, now what? "Write to me of a suitable time, milord, and I shall make myself available." She looked up again, green eyes capturing his. That sounded more saucy than she had intended but the Countess would not retract her words.

Heather quickly retreated, passing George Churchill as she did so, but barely noticing him. Her face was lightly flushed and her stride a trifle too quick for comfort, just short of running.

[Nigel Harrington]

Nigel was in a foul mood, even by his standards. His trip, bottle in hand, to the 2nd Troop barracks had not went well at all. Nigel was dismayed at the disorder there, he could not believe this was same Troop from last year. It was true that Nigel could see an officer like Whitehurst letting these men go to rot, but Sergeant Major Pickerton? So it, was that Nigel learned the fate of one of his oldest, dearest, surviving friends. The bottle of fine whiskey Nigel had brought, was forgotten. No doubt some witty wastrel in the uniform of a soldier would find use for it.

Nigel had just ran afoul of a sentry standing his post, leaning on his half pike. That man had been hung over! And shoes! Not a good solider's boots but red heeled shoes! What bloody hell was going on around here? Nigel had been quick to get the Trooper's name, it went his notebook. It seemed that his new German pencils were going to get a work out, in compiling his Adjutant's report for the Captain-General.

Such it was that Nigel too was walking briskly, even for his long stride, when he turned a corner into bustling of a determined lady. When they collided, Nigel reached out with strong arms and grab the Lady's arms and steadying her.

"I am sorry my lady..." and Nigel was at a loss for words as the flushed face looked up at him.

[Heather O`Roarke]

Heather wasn't watching where she was going as she hurried away. Turning into a corner she ran into somebody tall. If it wasn't for his steadying hands she would have fallen firmly on her behind. Instead her voluptuous form now pressed against a well muscled lord. Feeling clumsy the redhead managed "Odd's Fish! I am sorry Milord, I don't usual..." The last syllable got stuck in her throat as she looked up into a familiar scarred visage.

For a moment Heather thought something dreadful must have happened. A cannon misfired. Lightening struck. A fire ball came down from the heavens. Obviously she had died on the spot and had gone straight to Hell (for she could not imagine ever being in Heaven) to be taunted by demons that wore the mask of good friends long gone. Had she not been pale already she would have been now. The colour on her cheeks deepened though to a deep crimson. "Nigel? " she gasped struggling for breath "Is that you? How.. when?"

Only then did the redhead realize she was still in the man's arms, the bones of her corset pressing against him. Trying to appear more collected than she actually felt, Heather took a step back to give the poor Earl some breathing space.

[Nigel Harrington]

Nigel steadied the lady in his arms.Ughh, another silly, vapid woman at Court, without a bloody clue what they are...Heather?

Heather looked upon at Nigel's angry face with such a look of...what the bloody hell was THAT look supposed to mean?

"Is that you? How.. when?" Nigel knew what was coming next and snapped, perhaps a bit more harshly than he intended, " I am NOT DEAD, DAMN IT!" Hearing that echo around the courtyard, Nigel paused and composed himself and continued with, "What I mean't was, it is pleasure to see you again Countess and there seems to be a state of general confusion regarding my current state of disposition."

[Heather O`Roarke]

That just did it. The brusqueness of Karoline treating her like some kind of daft person. Mulgrave's audacity to marry that blond ditz (never mind that she had told him to propose). And now Nigel yelling at her for her moment of confusion seeing him appear from beyond the grave. It was that kind of morning.

Perhaps a proper lady should have fainted, or burst out into tears after so much exertion and excitement. She had no doubt most did both. Heather however straightened her back, stamped her foot in indignation and snapped "You big OAF! Do not dare to yell at me. You have no idea how worried I've been." She slapped his chest for emphasize, not at all intimidated by his looks or size. The Countess had five grown brothers after all.

Then realization came flooding over her and Heather threw her arms around his neck, oblivious to everybody else on what was a busy morning in the lower Ward section as she hugged the living daylights out of him, while at the same time attempting to jump up and down. "Lud love you! I can't believe it is really you, you scurvy villain. Now tell me properly what happened."

The redhead let go of his neck with a sudden look of embarrassment and took his arm, guiding him towards the Upper Ward "Come, you can spare some time over morning coffee can't you, in the lobby of the Southern Tower? Where have they put you up? The Castle is filled to overflow."

[Nigel Harrington]

Nigel saw Heather's expression start changing and all he could think was: Fabulous, I've made her cry.Why don't I finish off the morning by kicking one of the King's puppies., but instead of tears Nigel got a surprisingly solid thump to his sternum. Which really was a vastly better alternative.

"You big OAF! Do not dare to yell at me. You have no idea how worried I've been."
Nigel tried to deflect Heather's anger, with all the vast wittiness he was always was known for at Court, "Well, I tried to pin a letter to shark but it didn't end well..." and "Oofffhh" Heather had her arms around his neck and was jumping up and down on his toes. ...And THAT is why a real man doesn't wear a silly pair of French shoes, Court or no Court!"

"Lud love you! I can't believe it is really you, you scurvy villain. Now tell me properly what happened."
With Heather's joyful antics back under control, Nigel let her have the arm she wanted. "Honestly Heather...Moors...kill me?" Nigel said teasing, laughing off how close to death he had come, in a second battle where the Moors had ambushed English forces with them ridiculously outnumbering the English.

Actually, Nigel had quite a lot to do that morning but he was sure that telling Heather that would result in another thump delivered upon his person. "I am on the second floor of the Octagonal Tower or I will be soon. My man is settle my gear in...I think I might have displaced someone and there was a fuss made over it." Nigel let himself be led to the lobby by Heather, it was safer that way.

[Heather O`Roarke]

Heather was quick to forgive the wayward Earl, especially as he proved so pliable to her wishes. "There shall be something to warm us in the reception room," she promised airily. A Merry Gang member, as she was these days, was never far without drink. If anything there was a more mature, confident manner to the lady compared to last winter when she had been beside herself. Despite the huge amount of trouble she still regularly found herself in, she no longer screamed Damsel in Distress. A certain calm had settled on her, unbeknownst to herself.

"Now, come, all the details, leave nothing out. I have a professional interest. I"ll have you know I've written a serious book on veteran soldiers. It was published this summer," Heather enticed him "How many enemies did you have to slay before your return to England? Tell me there was a Frenchman among them. My cousin, Lady Oakham, she doesn't like Frenchmen, on account of them having killed her erstwhile fiancée." From nerves Heather turned into a bit of a chatterbox, but she paused enough for Nigel to get a word in edgewise.

OOC: continued here.