A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14A | 14B | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30A | 30B | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41A | 41B | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45A | 45B | 46A | 46B
PART II
MAY, 1780
BERKELEY SQUARE
LONDON, ENGLAND
WAS HE SO DESPERATE for relief from this charade that he would rather spend the evening in the garden mindlessly lecturing the Honourable Miss Simpleton than go inside?
No. She reminded him slightly of someone he couldn’t forget—someone he couldn’t find and wouldn’t be able to until she saw fit to present herself to Mélisande Gables.
Her trump had him gnashing his teeth.
She knows who y’are, Cap’n. She’s right tart about it, too.
How tart, exactly?
Called ye the Earl of Iscariot.
Oh, damn. That’s tart.
His crewman had delivered the message verifying what the Admiralty thought—that Fury or one of her spies was amongst the ton. If he had not already expected that response, he would have had reason to believe his crewman had misunderstood, since she had also apparently told him to keep gravel in his pocket and Elliott couldn’t gravel any better than he could grovel.
So he had attended every ball, rout, masquerade, concert, salón, musicale, play, opera, ballet, and supper these past five days to see if he could solve the challenge she’d set him—prepared to grovel.
Not one person he had flirted with—women, men, servants—could he connect to Fury.
Except this one—and that only because he hadn’t had the opportunity to flirt with her at all.
True, she was as tall as Fury, provided her heels were as high as his. Too, they were of an age. And those honey eyes …
I could be right under your nose and you would never know ’tis me.
Playing the simpleton in Society would be the perfect masquerade: It would suit Fury’s puckish sense of humor, and she was angry with him enough she might allow him to be taken in by such a charade.
But if it was an act, it was certainly convincing:
Her voice held none of the color and vivacity of Fury’s, the accent was odd, and its register was far too low. However, any trained singer with an ear for languages and passing talent at mimicry should be able to accomplish this.
Her hair (brown, unpowdered) was all wrong. It could be a wig, but if it was, it was the most artful one he had ever seen.
Next was her face: Fury was well padded, her face soft and round. This woman’s face was gaunt, owing nothing to artful application of lead or rouge. He couldn’t tell much about her lower body for her hoops, but she was definitely much thinner than Fury. She wore a gown with a décolletage up to her collarbone, which was as atrocious as his own deliberate costuming. But no matter. It clung to her bosom to perfection and Miss Bancroft’s bosom was not nearly so voluptuous as Fury’s, to be sure. He could likely span this woman’s waist with his hands, but she was breathing comfortably, which meant her stays were smaller than Fury’s—and he should know.
There could be no explanation for this, as Fury ate well enough to maintain such curvature whilst being so active aboard a ship. She could not have lost such a great amount of weight being a land-locked lady of leisure with her appetite. Nay, she would have gained weight.
Not that he would object, oh no.
Additionally, if she were Fury, why in God’s name would she be living under Rathbone’s roof? The blockade had been risky enough, but living under her nemesis’s regard was risky in the extreme. She had told Elliott she had obligations in London (from which he had inferred such obligations had nothing to do with privateering), but would even she truly go so far as to sleep down the hallway from the man whose ship she had destroyed?
Unless she was spying for General Washington, which would make complete sense except for the fact that she had been at Rathbone House the two previous Seasons, when Rathbone was not. He hadn’t darkened his own doorstep in five years and had not been expected home this Season, either, so Elliott couldn’t imagine that the marquess’s residence would hold anything of value to Fury’s superiors that hadn’t been there last year or the year before.
And if Celia were Fury, and she were spying, why, Rathbone had just given her everything she could possibly want to know. She would also know Elliott was actively engaged in betraying his former Navy colleagues.
But trumping all possibilities was the incontrovertible fact that the daughter of Baron Hylton, niece to Marquess Rathbone, could not also be the daughter of James Dunham, granddaughter of the Stewart-loyal Laird of Clan Dunham, with its long history of adversarial relations to the Crown.
This had no explanation, either, else the explanation was too convoluted to be deduced without more information. He could not begin to craft a hypothesis as to why a man who may have been cuckolded by his wife would go to such lengths to claim her lover’s child when that man also claimed her.
I wanna enjoy me time ashore with me protégée.
Then again, Dunham had not claimed her as his daughter, and Elliott could not verify his supposed resemblance to Fury.
Taken together with an emaciated body that in no way resembled Fury’s voluptuous one—
His musings came to a standstill because he was presented with too many bizarre and complex possibilities to explain why Miss Simpleton might be Fury.
We consider it a good principle to explain the phenomena by the simplest hypothesis possible.
Old Ben had taught Elliott that Ptolemaic maxim when he was but a nineteen-year-old midshipman under Captain Nathan Bancroft’s command, and it had been the guiding principle throughout the entirety of his command.
Miss Simpleton and Fury had exactly three things in common: similar height, similar eye color, and similar age. Those traits together were likely shared by a fifth of the world’s women, but were not in such supply amongst the ton.
He had spent the last few days looking for Fury in every noblewoman and serving wench he met, finding the barest of evidence, and spinning out “what-ifs” at an alarming rate. It was utterly counterproductive to his purpose.
“Why are you here, my lord?”
Elliott was drawn up short at Miss Simpleton’s dully voiced question, posed right in the middle of his well-worn lecture. “’Tis a bit impertinent of you, don’t you think, Celia, to interrupt and question an earl?”
She immediately dropped a small curtsey and said, “Apologies, my lord.”
He sighed. Taking her hand and putting it back on his arm, he said, “No need. I am unused to women without guile. I can see that you are merely curious and likely bored.”
She said nothing.
Disconcerted, he blurted, “I’ve been looking for a wife.”
No reaction. He could see little in the faint light and her body had not betrayed any surprise or other emotion.
“That will not be easy for you, my lord,” she stated calmly.
Her astute observation piqued his curiosity. “Why?”
“No one wants to wed their girls to you. Except my father. And you refused to consider it.”
What was he to say to that? Was it possible the woman had feelings? “Pardon the delicate question, but did that offend you?”
“No, my lord. Conde Covarrubias is kind to me.”
“Then why did you make a point of it?”
“Because you have not returned to the ballroom. I don’t understand why you would rather tell me about … ”
“Venus.”
“Yes, Venus. It’s very nice. I would think you’d rather dance than entertain me.”
Good God, he was being flummoxed by a simpleton. “I am trying to be kind. ’Tis my only motive.”
“Oh.”
Rather, for the unintended benefit of not having to watch his persona every second. His impromptu interview with Rathbone and his musings on Miss Simpleton’s inconsistencies had put him so far out of character he feared he would not be able to get back in. Had she even noticed the drastic change?
“Let me ask you: Would you not rather wed someone eager to wed you?”
She said nothing for a moment. “Yes, my lord,” she said thoughtfully, “particularly one who is so much more handsome.”
Elliott barely kept his mouth from dropping open. “Was that an insult, Miss Bancroft?”
She looked up at him and blinked owlishly. “I am not clever enough for insults, my lord.” She pulled away from him and curtsied yet again. “If I have offended you, I apologize.”
What did he expect? Children told truths adults wouldn’t, and this woman was near enough to a child as to make no difference. He had nearly called her one to her face. And, well, he had intended to look ridiculous. “Oh, please do stop bowing and scraping. And when we are alone, I give you leave to call me Elliott.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He sighed and looked for something, anything, to talk about. “Do you read?”
“Yes, my lord.”
By this time, they were in the center of the maze, and Elliott brought them to a halt at the moonlit fountain. There were at least a half dozen trysting couples rustling the leaves in blind corners, but Celia did not seem to have noticed.
“What did you read last?”
“I am reading a most peculiar work,” she said slowly. “It was given me.”
“Its title?”
“Fanny Hill.”
Elliott choked back a laugh, but then he looked at the innocent soul beside him who had no notion that whoever had given it to her was likely playing a practical joke. If she were, in fact, the innocent soul she appeared to be.
The book was all the illicit rage at the moment, though, so it was entirely possible it was coincidence.
“Who gave you that book?” he finally demanded.
“Lady Grisham and Mrs. Aynesworth.”
Mean-spirited twats. “Do you … ” He had to be delicate. “Are you … enjoying it?”
“Nay, my lord.”
Of course she didn’t. Nothing made her happy. She had forgotten what joy was. She did not enjoy anything at all.
Except music, so he was told—another thing she shared with Fury, which brought the odds of Miss Simpleton being Fury down to …
… still too great to account for the skeleton in front of him.
“Why not?”
“I do not understand it at all.”
As compared to what she had likely suffered during her captivity so much that she had gone mad, the characters in Fanny Hill presented an entirely different experience of the act—if one could parse the stilted prose.
“What about it do you not understand?”
“It seems to me the woman moves house far more than is necessary and sometimes leaves her things behind. I should not like to leave my things behind.”
He took a deep breath. “Celia, tell me. Do you understand the phrase ‘engine of love assaults’?”
“No, my lord.”
Not one giggle.
Not one snicker.
Not even so much as a hastily hidden smirk.
That was that, then.
He turned to her and took both her hands in his. “Celia,” he began, attempting to keep any sternness out of his voice lest she think him angry with her. “If you do not understand a book, or like a book, you are not obliged to continue to read it.”
She blinked, as if surprised.
“Has no one told you that?”
“No.”
“Ah, well. I am giving you permission—nay, requiring you—to cease reading books you do not find amusing.”
She said nothing for a full six seconds. “Lady Grisham and Mrs. Aynesworth have asked me to give a report of the book at a small gathering Thursday evening, my lord. What shall I say to them? I cannot disappoint, as they were so looking forward to it.”
Elliott was quite sure they were. “Though I believe book reports should be done in the schoolroom, not at an intimate gathering, if you insist upon fulfilling your promise, I will help you prepare.”
“Oh.” She paused, and then, as if she’d only just remembered her manners, “Thank you, my lord.”
“You are very welcome, Miss Bancroft,” Elliott said, feeling very proud of his goodness and humanity.
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
Keeping a straight face about that prose is no small thing. Well played Moj!
I do not care how many times I read or hear that, “engine of love assaults” makes me giggle like a hyena.
So MTG is resigning effective Jan 5.
Interesting
That whole kerfuffle baffles me.
She’s nuts, he’s a bully. I don’t know what to think.
Read her whole dissertation
https://x.com/mtgreenee/status/1992037226415554642
She’s the only sane one in the asylum
Yeah, nothing nuts there. Maybe the media got to me.
Every Congress critter pretends that they are the one true one that is representing the interests of their constituents in a broken system where everyone else is corrupt.
I remain unconvinced.
All I know for certain is the Dems are going have a field day and in perfect lockstep as always.
Me too. Fucking quitting mid term because…?
Mmmm. What do they say about the illiterate having the most wisdom? Likely nothing, as that’s largely bullshit, but much of that afoot, methinks, in a few ways.
Playing slow, I wish I were better at not reacting immediately at/to prompts. Not coincidentally, I have really quick hands. (In a drummer, juggler, ballplayer way. Those things *also* just letcha grab ’em.)
Microsoft AI sucks and lags behind the also crappy and overhyped competition.
The ridiculous part is I don’t want to “talk” to my computer and would not trust anything it “told” me.
And I’m a fucking programmer.
This bubble is going to make pets.com look like a pebble in the road.
There is most definitely a massive bubble that will burst and people who had nothing to do with the decision to go AI everything will get most fucked, per usual.
AI can do some very useful things, but it’s just become a buzzword that c-suite hacks throw around that makes investors jizz in their pants. We can fire how many employees/cut how much payroll?!! AI is undoubtedly taking jobs, but most of the crap labeled AI is just repackaged crap we’ve already seen and even the best they have to offer is hardly “intelligent.”
They don’t really know what use AI will have and are throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks along with riding a wave while people are still blinded by optimism. They can’t admit the AI won’t return the value they’ve pumped into it because then boom…bubble bursts. No one wants to be the first guy hit.
https://youtu.be/LkqiDu1BQXY?si=DwDIcuDI-9ogyRsA
How I picture Rhywun at his computer
It is a more sophisticated search engine that can phrase results in the form of sentences. It can cleverly return the results that you’re actually looking for in the same way that search engines used to be able do a couple decades ago before the industry got taken over by advertisers – yay.
It is not going to “take over jobs” in any measurable way except insofar as industry is willing to accept shit results.
Kind of like self-driving vehicles aren’t going to take over the world except insofar as the public is willing to accept the occasional “accident”.
It does, however, provide a handy scapegoat for purging known deadweight “AI took yer jobs.”
Ugh. I hate it and want a Butlerian Jihad, now. No, I don’t want your shit Copilot plastered on everything Microsoft. No, I don’t want the Google AI to write my emails, etc. I hope annoyance alone pops the ‘bubble’ since they’re not really letting people choose it, but just trying to force it in everything.
I have a funny story about an AI fuckup. A good friend of mine is a pathologist and one of the projects for their department was to ‘teach’ an AI about various cancers as seen on the samples they take in biopsies. So the project diligently fed the AI a whole bunch of images, with the cancer neatly pointed out with a little arrow, and presto it’s ready to identify the cancer cells by pattern recognition. That’s something AI does well after all. So then they feed it new samples but all of them come back: no cancers. Even really obvious images don’t come back as cancer. So the project looks again and realize – the AI ‘learned” the ARROWS indicated cancer. The new images didn’t have the arrows, so there was no cancer.
Were the arrows Fletcher’s Disease, or Skyrim Knee?
lol
Very much so. Nothing good can come of the current trajectory.
I used to enjoy learning new programming languages, paradigms, and their applications and shit. That’s all gone now – the entire focus of the industry is on AI. And I mean entire.
It’s so smart it’s stupid. More seriously, it feels like we are being fed a product not ready for beta testing and being told it’s great.
Rhy – have you thought about Retro Computing? Lots of stuff to learn, no AI, a lot of variety since standards were still being decided.
@Unciv
A cursory search seems to reveal an interest in hardware that I am completely lacking.
I don’t want to build or touch anything physical LOL
Does not compute.
/snark.
All hardware needs software, but I get it if something isn’t someone’s jam in terms of digging into tech.
PS. I wish my job offered more learning opportunities that weren’t blocked by “ACCESS TO THIS SITE IS RESTRICTED”.
I need to work around a project that my boss who got fired said was complete but is actually still being fucked around with and the deadline is during Thanksgiving and I can’t find an alternative that works with the tools I am allowed to use.
Whee!
Yeah, I had my fill of farting around with hardware and building Linux boxes and shit a couple decades ago. Not my bag at all.
The beauty is that there is SO much to interest anyone.
My employer’s Senior VP over IT, who I blame for implementing too many ways for coworkers to communicate with one another (we have phone AND email AND messaging within Teams AND messaging within our PC-based phone/fax/text application…) recently suggested that we try allowing the AI now embedded within Zoom to write up the minutes of our Board and committee meetings, which has long been part of my job. It’s very tempting because that’s one of my least favorite job functions, but I really wonder how long it would take the AI to learn NOT to include Elderly Curmudgeon’s long-winded tangent ranting about his favorite hobbyhorse/pet peeve. 🙄
My company is pretty good here… we have all seemed to settled on Teams messages. If I get a phone call to my genuine office number in the office I haven’t visited in three years I am pretty sure it is spam lol.
But this only works because I don’t deal with clients any more the way I used to when my company was smaller. It’s all internal now. I have people to talk to clients lol.
I had a boss years ago who was big on phone calls, to the exclusion of everything else – and it didn’t matter if you knew better. If he found out you sent an email when he wanted a phone call, he made sure sure to let you know you fucked up.
He was an abrasive prick and I almost threw out my career because of that asshole. At the last minute I retracted my resignation and he was gone a couple months later. Everyone hated him.
On minutes
https://youtu.be/85fx0LrSMsE?t=115s
I forwarded my office number to teams several years ago. It’s almost all spam or mistakes.
There’s a few people I work with who still use texting instead of teams, when they’re out. Dunno if they just like txts or if they’re unaware that there’s a teams app for their phone.
The algorithm bestows its bounty on me once more.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKQ2bj6oM8c
Orange Turd would rather hang out with Zelenskyyyy and Mayor Curry Commie than Massie or MTG. Principals over principles.
https://youtu.be/7xxgRUyzgs0
Ted S. – goddamnit you bastard you gave me a earworm with that stupid song 2 days later it still pops in my head.
Which song?
The shaddapyourface one
And you’re welcome.
Happy morning boys and girls.
🙋♂️🙋♀️☕️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tIQTpNpZBU
🎶🎶
It is a happy morning, I’m finally back to my regular coffee.
suh’ fam
whats goody yo
TALL WEEKEND CANS!