White's, Late Afternoon
The hum of aristocratic gossip drifted through White's like pipe smoke, curling lazily through the polished room as Ian Beaumont surveyed the assembled chaos otherwise known as their friend group.
He looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted only a birthday-ball host and childhood handler of Lady Sophia Fiennes could be.
He turned first to Jeremy, who sat in his chair like a schoolboy waiting for punishment.
"So," Ian began slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "you mean to tell me—while I was preoccupied with hosting preparations—that you marched into Fiennes Estate, used your calling card, and instead of courting Sophia, you gossiped about dragging her, myself, and Earnest to Alexandria, Egypt? And that the Marchioness promptly threw you out?"
Jeremy tried for dignity, failed miserably, and nodded. "She… may have escorted me to the door herself."
A rumble of laughter rolled through nearby tables. Lord Collingwood actually snorted into his brandy.
