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Welcome to your new home; Wills/Eddie/John
Topic Started: Apr 1 2011, 10:04 PM (366 Views)
William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
He was now forever to be William...William or Dorchester...and if he lived long enough, maybe Wilmington. He did not want it. He was Guy, plain and simple. He did not understand why now, after so many years since his father had died, his grandfather had any interest in him. He would not have if it were not for Charles' death. He could be back in France, peacefully serving his uncle or his cousin as Comte of Pardiac. That was grander than Viscount Dorchester. Why could he not just claim Wilmington when it was his, when the old man died?

He had been a few times to England, when his father was alive, and his grandfather paid him nearly no mind at all. For as much as William had adored his father, his father's family was foreign to him. It was like being sent away to strangers, and he suddenly understood how many felt about such things. William had always been around his family in France, and now being at this place with family foreign to him, he finally knew what it felt like to be sent away.

Waking up the morning after his arrival, he was greeted by the impatient voice of a servant telling him he was to shortly meet Baron Denbigh and Sir John, his uncles.

He went through the rituals of dressing and eating without much thought, the sting on his face from the day before still there and the threat that loomed in the air after it. If anything, William was anything but used to feeling not wanted. As he was informed they were to go riding, William had put on a simple linen shirt and a black leather jerkin with his well-worn boots. He followed a servant down grand stairs and into a room where his uncles were looming. The man announced him, and he walked in, giving the men a bow. "My Lord...Sir," he greeted them. He looked between both of them and then asked, "Shall I need this?" He held up his swordbelt and sword in his left hand. William was used to wearing it when riding. However, he was unsure of any conventions here he might be ignorant of. Despite conventions, his accent was glaringly French, even if his words were correct English.

Sir John Spencer, a twenty-four year old guardsman at the court of King Henry VII, stared across the room at his older brother. His arms were crossed and he was leaning his bicep against the mantle of the fireplace. He was clearly rather bored. Then again, he was rather bored most of the time. Being a guardsman at court was a lot of guard duty, which was a lot of standing around.

"He's tall for just thirteen," John commented to Edward, with a nod. "At the very least, he looks a Spencer, no?" John let out a chuckle and wandered over to the window. He was itching for a hunt. Althorp was grand for hunting, and he did not get to spend as much time here as he had when he was a boy and a youth. Now he made his home, with his family, elsewhere most of the time. Today, though, they would just be going for a ride, testing the boy a bit, talking with him. Their father wanted him educated on being an Englishman, and with the sound of the boy, that was no simple task in the least.

When their father said 'educated' he meant that they were all expected to beat it into the boy like a proper man. Well, the boy would learn. John could not afford to cross his father, as he already had quite a few children, and to live the way he was used to, his father gave him a handsome allowance. Beating and bribery, two keys to raising up boys apparently.

"You know who will have to listen to him yell if the boy does not learn quickly? Both boys..." John asked, more rhetorically than anything. Both John and Edward would. It would be their fault and because the boy was arrogant like the French. They would suffer for it, and Henry's poor little French boys would suffer ten times the worse for it. Their father could not watch after the boys, as he was always at court as the Master of Horse - a grand excuse really - so it would fall to Edward and John.

Their father apparently thought that he could bring the boy with to Steward House outside London where they stayed while at court and keep an eye on the boy's continuing life and education. John bet that boy would be in a London bathhouse before their father even had a chance to realize the boy was gone! John had no delusions about who would have to keep eyes on the boy.

"Ahh, Dorchester, finally!" he greeted as the servant announced the boy. He let out a guffaw at the rather daft question. "Well yes, you are a man, are you not?" He chuckled a bit more, "What do you think, Edward?"
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
Edward Spencer paused in mid-stride and raised his head to look at his younger brother. At seven and twenty, he cut a rather impressive figure with his warrior's body, muscular and lean. And well he should be, having spent nearly all of his adult life fighting in the service of His Majesty. And he had been rewarded a scant few years ago with a Barony of his own, Castle Denbigh.

In truth, "castle" was probably stretching reality, for Denbigh was nowhere near the size of Althorp. But it was large enough for himself, his lovely wife Rose of eight years, and their two sons. And a small handful of servants, naturally, as Edward had been born into nobility. And now he was in the throes of starting his own legacy, that of breeding hunting dogs.

All in all, he was doing rather well for a man who had been born to be a soldier. Everything he had, was his, earned by use of his sword ... save for the monthly allowance that he still received from his father.

"Indeed, he is, brother," Edward smirked at John. "And I daresay that he could easily pass for one of your own sons, save for that dreadful accent of his." He allowed a small chuckle to escape him as he resumed pacing. The Baron rather despised standing still; how in hell his brother managed to do so, day after day, was entirely lost on him. Edward was sure that he would go quite mad, should he have been assigned such a dreary task.

As for the "dreadful accent" ... well, there was no denying that William sounded decidedly French. And Edward knew that he, along with his brother, was expected to "beat the French" out of the boy. Not that he especially looked forward to the task, as he had much to worry about on his own as it was, but he did not dare cross his father. At least, not until Denbigh became profitable for him.

He smiled wryly at John's words. "Oh yes, of course. Because he will be too busy tending to horses, or some other such nonsense. And because we've nothing better to do, other than tend to our own families." Had he really spoken that out loud? Such blasphemy! How selfish of him not to want to carry out his father's expectations! He would certainly have to repent for his sin.

However, he also knew that life was likely not going to be easy for William, as demonstrated the day before when the boy had addressed him as "sir". Not that Edward had really minded much--in truth, there were days when he felt as though he were still adjusting to the title--but it had been a rather large issue for his father. Edward had felt a little sorry for the boy.

It was then that William descended the stairs, greeting them both appropriately. Ah, so the boy was a quick learner, which would likely help him remain alive, Edward noted to himself. It was no small secret that his father did not care much for Henry's French offspring. "Greetings, Lord Dorchester," he grinned at the boy, bowing dramatically.

And then the boy went and asked about his sword. Edward fought to stifle a laugh, and then gave up, even as John didn't even bother to hide his laughter. He flicked an amused glance over at his brother while he folded his arms against himself. "I, for one, rather think that would depend on whether or not you can kill anything with your bare hands, my Lord," he smirked. "Otherwise, I would say that it would be in your best interests to take along ... how would you say that? ... ah, yes ... 'ze zword'," he snickered, imitating the boy's French accent in a rather exaggerated manner.

Edward then sobered slightly as he nodded. "But yes, I should think that you would need that."
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
John snorted at Edward. Indeed, the boy could pass for one of his sons, if the boy were not only ten years his junior, basically. Not even John, who had his first child at age eighteen, was old enough to have had Henry's second son as his own child. The boy was assuredly a Spencer, and could have easily been mistaken as both of their younger brothers before being guessed as a nephew. Henry was likely almost ten years older than even Edward, and John barely remembered much of his eldest brother.

"Fuck, I am surely not old enoug.h He would easier be our younger brother than my my son, or really even your son." John chuckled, tapping his fingers along his forearm.

"He does not tend horses. I would be well surprised if he saw a horse on a daily basis. He basks in his own glory and has numerous minions to do actual work for him." John scoffed. What it would be like to be their father. What it would be like to be born to be that! Something neither John nor Edward knew. Edward's sons would at least know it. John's sons were stuck as sons to a knight of a noble family. God's Blood, even this bloody boy did not know what what it was to be born to this. He was really no better than either of them. Sir John was not the fondest of primogeniture. Nor was he really thinking the fact that this William inherited godfathership of his eldest son from his father was a grand thing.

Then his brother had to go 'Lord Dorchester'ing the boy, and John almost belted out laughing, pressing his lips together at the 'My Lord'ing.


William stared at his uncle Sir John as he let out some laughter. A small furrow appeared on his face. This was not precisely easy for him. He merely did not want to offend the men. What was wrong with that? Apparently, he had been stupid the night before, and he did not wish to be stupid again today.

"Well, yes, sir," he replied, cautiously. "I am man enough to use a sword." William then turned to his older uncle and said, "I would prefer a sword to my hands, My Lord." He was not quite sure what was so funny between these two. They were treating him like they thought he was weak. William was not so sure what these English thought of him, but he thought he did not much like it.

Without saying a word, he put his swordbelt on, only to be surprised when they mocked his accent. It was not as if it had been his choice to stay in France. "It was not my choice to stay there," he mumbled.

This boy, he could not help but feel sorry in a way. It was dreadful! He seemed to mean well enough, but he was so very French. God's Blood was he French.

"Of course you are a man," he sniggered. Sir John really did not notice the boy's comment about Edward's accent, because he was too busy trying not to peel out in laughter. Surely such a thing would get their father's attention, and really, who needed that early in the morning? Neither sons, nor grandsons.

Reaching out, he clapped the boy on the shoulder, "Come, let us get on with it." He was growing bored.


William was quite ready for this rather odd conversation to end. Why could it just not be made plain exactly what they wanted from him? He would give it to them most eagerly. This just made no sense to the boy who had been raised in France.

Then his uncle hit him in his bad shoulder and he pushed back at the man, wincing greatly and swearing in French. Why where they so cruel to him here?
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
Edward grinned widely and chuckled at his brother. "Indeed, he is certainly too old to be son to either one of us, as I was but fifteen ere I passed into manhood." Granted, once he'd crossed that threshold he'd taken advantage of it numerous times; really, it was probably a bloody miracle that he hadn't come down with the French disease.

He chuckled again, relieved that John did not rebuke him for speaking so disrespectfully of their father; in fact, the younger Spencer spoke with even less respect for the man. Perhaps it was merely because the both of them were a bit sour on the prospect of being the ones to tend to William's English education. Edward smiled a small, wry smile as he continued to pace slowly back and forth. "How fortunate for him, then, yes? And of course, we are to be counted amongst his minions whilst educating the boy." He paused, looking about for signs of their father. It would be his misfortune if the elder William was lurking about in the shadows, would it not?

Ah, poor William. He looked rather confused as they laughed at him; apparently the boy did not understand that Edward was one to jest quite often. Nor did he seem to understand that he had just asked an absolutely daft question. Apparently the French had little to no sense of humour.

Edward nearly burst out laughing again as the boy referred to him as "My Lord". Really, all this formality was simply ridiculous, regardless of what his father said. Just as it had been ridiculous when the boy had been thrashed the day before, merely for referring to Edward as "sir". "A wise decision, my Lord," he replied, on the verge of snickering again. "As I myself prefer to have my sword with me should I have need of it. Only a truly daft man would attempt to kill something with his bare hands."

And then the boy mumbled something, which Edward couldn't quite make out. "I beg your pardon, what did you say?" He raised a brow at William. Surely he had not just insulted one of them, had he? That would result in a sound thrashing, for sure.

He nodded in agreement at John. "Indeed, I grow quite restless myself." He turned to leave the room and go outside, when the boy suddenly winced and began swearing whilst pushing at John. Suddenly, Edward's temper got the better of him, and he reached out to grab the boy's left arm. "Why did you just do that?" He asked tersely, his eyes narrowing in anger at the insult shown to John. "I don't know how they do things in France, but here in England, one does not push their elders. You would do well to remember that."
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
Minions. How grand it must be. How grand it must be to be Edward, or even this William boy. John really was pleased enough with himself. He did have his own property and not one gifted to him by his father. He had his own pensions. He had a place at court. What more could a twenty-four year old want other than an inheritable title? Fortunately enough for Sir John, the Spencer surname was likely to be enough to get his offspring and their offspring easily knighted if not ennobled at some point. He did not obsess over such things. He was quite content to internally laugh at some of the courtiers (especially at those that went to the tower) and stand guard watches. Then again it was easier for John to be happy, because he had known his entire life there was almost no way he would ever be Wilmington. By the time he was only enough to understand such matters, Henry already had Charles.

"We are his offspring, Edward, we are his foremost minions," John said, quietly, raising an eyebrow at his brother conspiratorially. They both knew well that loyalty was not an ideal in the eyes of their father. It was an absolute. They were always to stand as one family, and it was for all the rest of them to obey.


William looked up as his elder uncle asked him what he had said. He contemplated his for a moment as he buckled his best and then he looked up. "You would mock my accent, My Lord, but it was not my choice that I was left there," he replied, quietly. It had not been his choice that he was now more French than English. They had left him there with his French family. How was he supposed to be English right now? Did they all think he did not want to please them?

Then the younger uncle hit him in the bad shoulder, and it was all he could do to swallow the yowl that nearly escaped him. How cruel were they? Had he done something wrong that they would hurt him? Did they now know what had happened to him when their brother died? Did they not even care?

A sharp gasp escaped him when his Uncle Edward grabbed his good arm. The anger made William wince further than just the pain in his shoulder. It was sharp enough to bring tears to his eyes. He wished so greatly to hold it with the other hand, but he could not as Uncle Edward was holding it. The man censured him, and William did not understand very well what the problem was, "Arręter." He plead the man to stop in French.

John nearly grabbed the boy and smack him of his own accord when the boy pushed at him. The arrogant little twit! That was when he registered a bit more fully what had happened as Edward grabbed the boy.

"Edward, let him go, I think I hurt him," he said, scowling. "Although if he does that again, I will be the first to show him what a whipping is in England."


William stared between the two. "Why do you treat me so meanly? My father did not treat me so meanly. Do you only care that he died? Do you not know what happened to me when he died that you hit my shoulder like that?" He leaned back against the wall, swallowing a breath, his face still pale from being drained of color.
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
Edward sighed and looked toward the fireplace. "Indeed we are, John," he smiled slightly. With Spencers, there was no question of loyalty; it was an absolute that had been taught to them since birth. There was no such thing as fighting amongst themselves. There was no such thing as a younger sibling wishing to usurp the titles bestowed to the eldest sibling.


Perhaps he had been a bit cruel to the boy, but he had thought to lesson him gently, and with humour. Edward liked to jest, and he did so quite often, as it was at times the only thing that kept him sane. Why spend all of one's life in despair? He preferred to look at the lighter side of life. But apparently William had no sense of humour, as he muttered something about not having choices. Ha! As if either Edward or John had been given many choices. Their lives had been laid out for them ere they could even walk!

"Would you have preferred a thrashing for speaking with that accent?" Edward raised a brow at William. "Because I can assure you, that is what your grandfather expects me to do, as well as my brother. We have no choice in the matter. Also, you shall one day be Lord Wilmington, and I can say with certainty that you would not be so well received in court for speaking with a French accent. However, if you so wish to be accused of treason at some point, or beaten within an inch of your life on a near daily basis, then by all means keep the accent." The smiled he gave his nephew was thin and small, with only the slightest of upturn at the corners. He glanced over at his brother. "Do you not agree, John?"

And the situation rather went downhill from there, with the boy cursing and pushing. Edward very nearly thrashed him on the spot, save that he wanted to understand what was going on first. He did, at least, have that much control over his temper. Upon hearing his brother's words, he let go of William's arm. "Perhaps you did," he grudgingly agreed, "Howbeit, if you shall be the first, then I shall be the second to show him." If the boy truly thought that he could get away with as much in England as he likely had in France, then he was in for a rude awakening, indeed.

He very nearly went after the boy again, as the little twit opened his mouth. Edward clenched and then unclenched his fists, his mouth set in a straight line. "Meanly? Dear boy, you have much to learn," he finally said, after studying William for a moment. "For we have not displayed any particular cruelty to you. And as for your father ..." He trailed off, swallowing. He really hadn't known Henry at all, nor had John. "We never knew him that well, as he was already a man ere we could even walk. And then he went to France, where we were told merely that he died saving you." He tactfully left out that his father's actual words had been "saving stupid Wills", as the boy really did not need to hear that. Not right now, anyway. "Why, is there more to the tale, that you may so enlighten us?" He raised a curious brow at William.
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
William blinked at his uncle, the baron, as the man asked him if he would have like a thrashing for having the accent. William opened his mouth to answer, but the man continued on informing William that his grandfather was to have him thrashed for having an accent? He did not talk that way on purpose! His blue eyes went from one similar set to another as he tried to judge if this was overstated or truth. William, the new Dorchester, did not fancy a length of birch, but he did not fear one either; however, the thought of being thrashed daily because he had an accent seemed far crueler yet.

"I agree. I daresay a daily whipping would grow tedious, so motivate now, boyo." John's quip was half venom and half inspiration, a strange combination. "Might as well face facts now, yes? Until you are no longer a French boy, you are going to be no stranger to it by command of your grandfather."

Blue eyes shifting again, William eyed Sir John while holding his other arm. That was true?

"I do not sound like this on purpose, sir," he said, noting the unfairness, but then also knowing that he had no guarantee of fairness. That realization set in deeply. His situation was just dire and bleak. He was not going to enjoy it, and he just had to move on. It was his duty now, and what was expected of him. If God wished him miserable, he had done something to deserve it. "I do not want to be whipped or struck, My Lord..." William could not help but sound very French. He was now thirteen. His voice was fairly developed. He could sound better Italian than he could English. Even when he tried to think to sound more English, he sounded ridiculous and felt foolish.

William was not so stupid as to think these people really had a care of him, but it did feel rather bad to hear that his uncles did not even know how their brother died, and how he nearly died.

"God's Blood, I did not mean to hurt you. I do hope you grow a bit wiser than to think such foolish things." He could care less that the boy did not know him. What boy walked into someplace expecting his family to hurt him? It did not much cross John's mind that it was likely because their father had slapped the boy stupid for addressing Edward improperly the night before. John was a pragmatist in a way. His father wanted what he wanted, and Sir John would ignore any particular cruelty he saw in it, if any. It was for the boy's good. He was going to be miserable until the accent and strange mannerisms were gone, so a little length of birch (or whatever available) to encourage the speed of that along, was in little Lord Dorchester's interest.

Raising a brow at the younger uncle's swearing, William turned to Edward, who had asked for the enlightening.

"It was raining badly, and my horse's legs slid out from under him on a turn. My shoulder and head was wedged in against a stump with my leg under my horse. My right shoulder was mangled and not in place and bits broken. I nearly died, and I watched him die, and my right shoulder cannot bear much weight or much force or much movement." William had a high pain tolerance, but to have his shoulder hit with any force was very painful indeed. A good hit there, he was sure could force him to pass out. "I did not mean to push at you, Sir John; it was not out of disobedience."

"Pain does not give you an excuse to strike others. Would you do such in the presence of His Majesty and think to use that as an excuse?" John saw it as a valid comparison. One could not just push and hit at people 'accidentally' in the presence of the king, just as much as one could not do so purposefully. "Bah, you will catch on, Dorchester. I hope. Can you ride now with that," he asked, pointing to the shoulder. "Because or else this is a grand waste. We've more to see of you than if you can handle ten minutes of civilized conversation, and you cannot, so let us see if you have some other merits. What do you think, Edward?" he asked with a smirk.
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
Edward nodded, his face quite grim, adding weight to John's words. Surely the boy did not think that they were merely trying to frighten him in a cruel jest, did he? Did the French not discipline their children in a similar fashion? For Edward, thrashings had been a part of daily life for him as a youth, as they had been for John. And although there had been days when he'd been bitter about it, in the end he knew that his father loved him, just as the man had loved all six of his children.

However, recalling what had happened to William the night before (which Edward had thought to be excessive), the Baron could not help but wonder if the elder Spencer loved all his grandchildren, seeing as how the man held no love for the French. He certainly did not speak very often of the three children that Henry had sired in France, if at all.

He let out a small huff of amusement as the boy protested that he didn't sound French on purpose. Well ... Edward supposed not, but William needed to understand fully the direness of the situation. Just as the boy needed to understand that what he wanted, and what was going to happen, were two entirely different things. "I am certain that you do not wish to, just as I am certain that you do not sound French apurpose," he replied quietly, his arms folded in front of him. "But I implore you, please start trying to sound--and act--English, my Lord. Practice it every day, lest your skin peels off from the thrashings." Oh, he was certain that William's life was going to be miserable; it was as though the elder Spencer was angry that a French boy should inherit Althorp and the title of Wilmington (along with a number of other titles).

He was itching to begin pacing, but this little matter of having shoved John prevented him from doing so, at least until the situation was resolved. Thus, he was reduced to standing impatiently, with his arms folded against him once more after releasing William's arm, looking for all the world like a cat coiled and ready to spring. Nephew or no, the boy had no business pushing people, certainly not another Spencer. Edward would willingly fight to the death (though he suspected that it would be a quick fight, in this case) anyone who insulted his family. "I see," he finally said at length. "I am sorry to hear of your misfortune. Are you able to use the shoulder at all?"

He listened, looking sagely and thoughtful as William recounted the tale of what had happened to him. Well, he supposed in a way he couldn't blame the boy for that ... but still. Lord Dorchester was certainly in need of better discipline if he thought to lash out at people without thinking. And that hadn't been a harsh clap that John had given him on the shoulder, either. Edward allowed John to say his piece, remaining silent the entire time and merely nodding in agreement as his brother spoke.

Out of habit, because he was restless, he began pacing slowly. Edward wasn't the sort of man who could stand to remain still for very long periods of time, and he frequently did his best thinking while pacing. Hands clasped behind his back, he moved with the fluid grace of the warrior that he was, whilst thinking like the strategist that he'd been raised to become.

"I believe it is time we moved outside," he said finally, after pondering for a moment or two. "And perhaps we should allow the boy to give us a little demonstration as to how well he uses his sword ere we set out, if he is able to ride at all." He raised a questioning brow at his nephew. "Do you think you can do that, Dorchester?"
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
William's eyes narrowed just a bit as the man asked if he could use the shoulder at all, and then the younger one asked him if he could still ride. It was rather enough for William to know he would never be a warrior, but he never liked people assuming he was weak. De Guise had worked with him to fight with his left arm. He still would not make a warrior, but he could at least carry and use a sword. It was hard on his ego to have to start over here, and they knew nothing about him. They apparently thought that he was stupid and weak. Now he would have to prove everything. He had probably heard the last of anything positive in France.

His grandfather did not think he had any potential. William could tell. That was why he had been left in France. The Spencers thought he was useless and did not want him or the responsibility for him. He remembered what it had been like six years ago when his father had been killed and the arrangements that were made (as were explained to him in terms a seven year old would understand). He was not dumb. He had been educated in words and people up until this point, being readied for a life in law and foreign policy, either as an advisor to his cousin or an ambassador for him. He understood a lot more than they gave him credit for, but he was forced to stay silent. That did not mean that he did not notice that the tone his grandfather used at him and his brother, was worse than the way the man talked to his servants. He found it hard to fathom that Lord Wilmington wanted him suddenly. I was only necessity, and he understood that.

"Yes, I can use the shoulder, but I cannot carry much weight with it or lift my arm as high as most. It just pains me much," he said, with a shrug. It did not sound like a complaint, just a reality. "And yes, sir, I can ride just fine. It would take much more to effect me that way, I assure you, regardless of what you might think of me."

He rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword and watched as the elder one started pacing around. His uncle, de Guise, paced when he was angry. William was far from a spoiled boy, and he had no idea he could be coming off as spoiled. He was simply a bit shocked at expectations coming at him haphazardly, and he was not really sure how to convey himself in words here. It would have been far simpler if they all just sat him down and told him exactly what they wanted from him. Perhaps that was yet to come, or perhaps he was just supposed to know, or get beaten until he guessed correctly.

"If you wish, My Lord," he replied with a short bow. "Please you, I must fight with my left. I cannot hold the weight or length of a sword in my right..." He raised his blue eyes and looked between them. "Who will cross blades with me? Or do you both wish to test me?"

The boy at least seemed determine not to use his shoulder to complain. That had been John's fear the first it was mentioned. A little pain never hurt any boy. He would give little french Dorchester that, he seemed to have mettle, even if he was tall and rather lithe. God's blood, for looking like a Spencer in the face, he just looked French to John.

"I think the honors fall to you first, Edward. Age and rank before beauty," Sir John joked as he made his way out into the courtyards. "I do think the both of us are far seasoned enough to fight with a left-handed man. However, if you think either will be generous and also fight with the left, you are quite wrong. You will not find much coddling here." John crossed his arms and waited to see how Edward would find the boy.


William was a no longer a small boy, and he was really rather tired of all these comments that they expected little of him. The word coddled. He was not so familiar with it, but it sounded like babying. His lips thinned a little, and he had to think of how to say it the way he wanted in English.

"Sir, I did not learn to fight with my left by being coddled or by my betters thinking I could not do it, excusing me from the effort because of the injury, or because it was not worth the time to teach me." He leveled his eyes at the man a bit defiantly. Let them beat him, then, at least they'd not think him a baby anymore. From the sounds of it, it was going to happen anyway. He doubt they would do any worse than he had gotten previously; William was more familiar to getting whipped than they thought. "So, My Lord, do what you will. I am sure it is no pain or blood that I have not seen before." William was not trying to be bad or rude, but he was not afraid, and he was not going to let them think he was afraid.
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
Edward studied the boy appraisingly, his eyes narrowed slightly in speculation and thoughtfulness. William wasn't backing down, he'd give the boy that much. And he'd stopped screaming and cursing, which spoke more for his nephew than any volume of words could ever hope to accomplish. Perhaps there was more to this boy than mere French arrogance? Edward certainly hoped so.

He nodded when the boy stated his limitations on the use of the shoulder, accompanying it with a shrug. No delusions of grandeur there, nor was William trying to play on anyone's sympathy. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as William then stated that he could ride. Edward looked over at John as the smile widened slowly, and let out a short but hearty laugh. "Ha! Spoken like a true Spencer. He might make a good Englishman yet." He turned and flashed a small grin at his nephew.

He nearly laughed out loud again as William bowed to him. While Edward was aware of the importance of good manners--he'd certainly had it beaten into him often enough as a child--there were also times when he felt that the entire display of such, was little more than pompous nonsense. Not that he was going to voice it out loud, you understand. "Very well, you shall fight with your left." Whichever arm was used by the boy, was of little consequence to Edward (regardless of popular notions), as long as William knew how to fight.

They turned and left for the courtyards, Edward lifting a brow at his brother. "Then indeed, brother, I believe we are in for a long wait ere we see beauty about," he remarked dryly, even though his lips twitched slightly. "But I shall be willing enough to go first, as I fear that the boredom you must surely suffer from standing day in and day out, might have dulled your skills." He chuckled, giving his brother a manly slap on the shoulder.

However, the chuckle died away as soon as William opened his mouth again. Damnation, what was with these arrogant French? "You would do well to watch your tongue, my Lord," he ground out, "Lest you find it cut out because of your arrogance toward your elders, regardless of your rank over them." At that point, he really didn't care if he was speaking to the future Earl of Wilmington or not. All he saw at the moment was an insolent, arrogant French boy in front of him as they stood in the courtyard.

And then he grinned suddenly, his dark mood appearing to have lifted in a flash. The boy did truly have some mettle in him. "And yet, you are not a coward," he mused out loud. "There might be hope for you yet. Come, then, let us see if the French style of fighting is still as lacking as I recall." He pulled his sword out, moving into a defensive stance. "You shall make the first move."
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
John eyed his brother when he called Edward old, a half-smile on his face. He was not surprised when Edward had a dry remark for that. Of course he would.

"You know I got more fortune than you in looks," John teased, pointing a finger at his own chin and then pointing at Edward as if to say the man had an ugly chin. John loved teasing his brother about that. "God's Blood, Edward, I do not just stand around all day, not like you barons when you have no purpose not off fighting a war." His brother did not like court, John knew, but that was all well and good for Edward who had already gotten something he could pass down to his children. All John was passing down was property at this point.

Then the boy told him that he had not learned to fight with his left by being coddled. It was not in the manner that the boy said it, but he surely did not like that the boy had said it at all, regardless of how.

"Well-spoken, and if you were a man, I should say your worth would give you license for that venom. Not a coward or complainer, you have proven your point, but my brother is right. You have such presumption, Dorchester, and I will be nice to you in this moment by telling you that we do you a favor. Do not speak like that in front of your grandfather, ever, or the whipping that you have earned to prove your point, will seem like a blessing." He leveled his eyes at the boy. The sooner Dorchester learned to mind himself in front of he and Edward's father, the better for him. They did no favors by sparing him from whippings, because their father would surely do worse. Having sons of his own, John actually understood such things far better. "But Edward will do you damage with a sword ere we worry about that. If we worried about punishing you every ten minutes, we would never get on our ride. Edward, we should keep a tally and seeks our debts from his hide later. If we do not do so, I fear he will be quite wrong about being able to ride before we make it to mount our horses!" If they did not set the boy on some task, his tongue would keep running, and John would wager that with the way the boy was acting, Dorchester's arse would not comfortably see a saddle for awhile.

William was just about to pull his sword out when both of his uncles seemed to start in on him all at once. He needed to be careful how he worded his sentiments in English. Again, he certainly had not wanted to offend. Perhaps he would be better served by silence. He should say nothing unless asked. Now he would be punished for it, and he knew well enough to have known that before he said anything. Somehow, though, he had a feeling that he very much believed his Uncle John. He had just proved he was not coddled by risking a whipping (which he consequently did earn) to prove that he was not coddled, but he had no doubt that whipping was far better than what could come from his grandfather if he opened his mouth uninvited. At least they would report to his grandfather that he was not a weak, cowardly French boy. He would show them he was a man and not afraid, and that he would do what he did not wish to do because it was expected of him.

Instead of lashing like they perhaps expected, William just gave Sir John and Denbigh a gracious nod. "Forgive me, I will endeavor to make my English and understanding of you better so as to not give offense. I merely wished to convey that I am capable and willing to rise to the tasks you ask of me."

Thankfully both men seemed somewhat satisfied with him for the time being, and not intent on being cross. Not that William thought that it got him out of the punishment Sir John had promised, but at least he seemed to have accomplished some purpose for the pain he would feel later.

He pulled out his sword with the typical metallic 'zing' that it made exiting his scabbard. William indeed did make the first move, but that was nearly the last of the directing he did the entire fight. After his first thrust he nearly found himself parrying his uncle left and right and up and down, jumping around with amazing energy. That was likely the only thing that would have kept him from being instantly hacked to pieces in five minutes if this were a real fight. As it were, despite his speed and mobility with his legs, Denbigh hit him with the flat of his sword on his leg, his arm, his stomach, and even his arse...along with delivering several nicks and small cuts that drew a slight bit of blood and made his linen shirt quite a rag after today.

Finally, the man seemed to have had his fun toying with him, and William took in great breaths of air through his nose as he took in inventory of the damage. Nothing too bad. He just lowered his sword and looked up at Sir John, hoping he did not want a go immediately. Perhaps after the ride. A boy could hope.

"Did I satisfy, My Lord?" he asked his elder uncle.
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
And there he went, with the chin again. Edward rolled his eyes at his brother, his lips pursing themselves into a thin line save for the small upward turn at each corner. The lips twitched slightly, and then his mouth curved. "And I believe you are growing blind in your advancing age, brother. Or is that the sort of thing to expect when one has sired a horde of children?" He chuckled mirthfully, and then his expression sobered slightly. "You know as well as I, that I cannot bear to stand about all day long, speaking incessantly of imagined glories, which is why I spend as little time in court as possible. Curse it, I would find myself quite mad if I were in your position, guarding royalty!" It was no secret that Edward was known to pace almost incessantly whenever he did make an appearance at court.

But enough talk about them; it was now time to pay attention to young Dorchester, who had been quite insolent with them. If the elder Spencer had been there ... Edward nearly shuddered at the thought of what would have happened, even though he was nearly as strict with his own boys. He fell silent after speaking his piece, allowing his brother to have his say. "A sound plan, brother," he nodded in agreement. "That way, we can get it done all at once, and perhaps actually go for a ride ere the sun sets." No doubt about it, William needed to have his hide tanned. But Edward also felt that he had better things to do, than to spend all day with a birch branch in his hand.

He raised a brow at William's response, and then smiled. "Once again, spoken like a true Spencer. There may be hope for you yet." He flashed a wide grin at his nephew and then drew his sword, ready to begin the combat demonstration.

Had it not been for the fact that the Baron was a well-trained warrior, honing his sword skills every chance he got, he very likely would have had his arse handed to him on a silver platter. Dorchester was lithe and agile, leaping about with such dizzying energy, that Edward would have tired just from watching him, were he a more ordinary man. Instead, he watched carefully, striking only when necessary, easily deflecting blows that came his way and inflicting a few of his own. He moved with his typical warrior's grace, his reflexes those of a huge, prowling panther. He moved left ... right ... taking a nick here, smaking Dorchester with the flat of his sword there ... and soon decided that he'd done enough damage. One could only toy with their prey for so long, before the game got to be pointless.

He was barely out of breath as he replaced his sword in his scabbard, and grinned at his brother. "He jumps about like a little imp. I almost grew dizzy from watching him," he remarked with the grin still plastered to his face. Edward turned to William.

"You did well enough," he shrugged, "Although I would say that you've quite a way to go, before one can truly call you a warrior. You dance about too much, which will surely wear you out in the midst of combat." The easy grin returned to his face. "But at least I know now, what I must lesson you on when we begin combat training. At least you know some basics, which is surely a good start." He then turned to John. "What about you, brother? Do you wish to test your skills against the Dancing Lord Dorchester, or shall we go for our ride now?"

The grin slowly widened until it became a hearty chuckle.
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
John raised an eyebrow at his brother and then rolled his eyes, "No, Edward, blindness is what happens when you pleasure yourself too much, not when you have as many children as God would bless you with." John smirked, pleased with himself. He looked a bit evil and impish when he smirked. John always thought that Edward looked a bit angelic of the bunch, with his light brown hair. John looked more devilish.

Of course he rather enjoyed the swordplay. Dorchester was lucky he was such a boy, with such energy, and a smaller body to throw around. He was certainly diligent about trying to evade Edward's sword. It was quite amusing really. The boy hardly got to attack at all, but he actually did decently well with the defense. Not bad for a boy with a limp arm, working on a lesser left hand. Their father was not going to like this boy, he already knew. Sir John thought he was Spencer enough, and Edward seemed to agree. The elder William seemed keen to think of him as the French boy instead of as Henry's son. The boy seemed enough like he was Henry's son to John.

If he could just get rid of that accent!

"Well done, Edward, a boy half your age has not yet put you out of breath! It is a conquest, Lord Denbigh." John laughed at his brother and then looked at the boy. After a long journey and one night's sleep, Sir John would rather have a go at the boy when he was not likely dead tired. "No, let us go for our ride. I wish to have at him when he is fresh." He eyed the boy and then one side of his mouth curled up. Well, God certainly had a sense of humour, because nothing was ever boring around here for too long.


"You strike fast, My Lord. I had to move about or I would have been skewered!" He said, smiling a bit. He looked rather gratefully at Sir John. "I would prefer it as well, sir." He rest his hand on the hilt of his sword again, taking pressure off his shoulder. "Do you wish me to ride to see if I can ride very well?" he asked them as they moved toward the stables. "I do not remember walking before I remember being on a horse. My father taught me, and I had many fine tutors."

"Good, because we had them saddle you a fresh horse since yours had been on a long ride. So you will have one of our very grand studs. Do not blunder him up or your grandfather will have your head."[/b] John gave the boy a smile as if it was nothing to worry about. Well he and Edward surely were not going to give the boy a nag to test him. No, John had picked out a rather young, fresh five year old. If the boy did not get tossed, Sir John was ready to claim him as a Spencer. "Well, shall we take the way up by the hills along the water? There are always some good unexpected things turned over to jump and the like." He grinned at Edward and mounted his own dark grey stallion. He led the way out the courtyard.

William looked up at Sir John, "I am thankful, sir, because I would rather a fresh horse. I will not blunder. And I like to jump very much. You will not find cause to bring complaint about that."

His blue eyes raised at the grand black stallion a groom was holding for him with his uncle's horses. He reached up and took hold of the reins, waving off a leg up. He easily swung up into the saddle, gathered his reins and started off after Sir John, easily keeping the horse's energy reined in and under control.
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Edward Spencer
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Earl of Berkshire/Baron Denbigh
"In which case, I shan't ever go blind." Edward smiled sweetly at his brother. The two brothers did make quite a striking contrast, Edward more fair in looks than John. Almost like darkness and lightness, heaven and hell, opposites of each other.

It was rather amusing, the way the boy moved about. William got very little attacking done, spending much of his time defending. Actually, Edward was rather pleased; even with a bad arm, the boy fought admirably. Perhaps the training would go better than he'd originally imagined, as the Baron had every intention of working with his nephew to bring him up to par. By God, the boy would be a true Spencer yet!

What a shame that the elder Spencer would never think so.

He turned, looking at his brother with a raised brow. "Conquest? I found this to be child's play," he grinned at John. "Indeed, had I lost my breath for this, I should deserve to be flogged in public and hung from the nearest post!" He chuckled at his jest; he did not see that happening any time soon. Hopefully, never. "Oh, so I have worn down the boy too much? Very well, a ride it is, then." In truth, had he been in John's position, he would have wanted to wait until the boy was fresh, too. There was no fun in striking at a weary opponent, not even on the battlefield.

He chuckled slightly at William, and began to move toward the stables. "Fear not, Dorchester, for I shall teach you to fight like an Englishman. Right now, you fight too much like a Frenchman." He let out another chuckle at his nephew's show of gratitude toward John, for not putting him through another round of fighting.

Edward moved gracefully, his hands clasped behind his back as they strode toward the horses. "Indeed, we would like to see if your father retained his English ways with horses," he replied to the boy. "And whilst it is good to hear that you've experience with horses, we would prefer to see with our own eyes what you are capable of." Hopefully, the boy would be able to back his words.

He nodded whilst John told William about the horse. Yes, they had picked out a rather grand stud for their nephew; having him ride a nag would have been insulting to all.

He swung easily into the saddle atop a chestnut-coloured stallion of his own. "Sounds like a good path to take," he grinned at his brother. "By all means, lead the way, brother."

Edward had to admit, William swung into the saddle with the practiced ease of a Spencer. "Good, because we will be watching closely," he said to his nephew. "I should like to hope that I shan't find cause for complaining about your riding."

Gathering his reins, he brought up the rear as he took off after the others.
[align=center]Bio :: Plot

Edward is now Jure Uxoris ("By right of his wife") Earl of Berkshire, or Lord Berkshire
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
"Fear not, Dorchester, Denbigh will have you cursing him before too long. We have both been eagerly awaiting our own sons to be old enough to torment, I mean teach, more seriously," John said with a sly grin, before giving Edward a pleased and conspiratorial look. Mind, John was not set on hating the boy on principle like his father was, so he was not set on punishing the boy for existing. Not that it was going to be sunshine and daisies. That was no way to create a man. As it was Sir John was leery enough about the fact the boy had been left with his mother and Frenchmen. God's Blood if the boy was dainty and soft, he might not survive.

"And I would also suggest not touting skills you do not have." He pointed at the boy, as if to say this was particularly important. Their father banged into them that excessive arrogance was the fastest way to failure. It was very important to be able to realize your uses and when you could be most useful and to not be afraid to act.

John cantered off heading down a slightly wooded path and was soon joined by the other two. "He'd best wish we have no cause to complain about his riding, because there is enough to lay comment on already." Poor Dorchester. Well at least the boy would have to endure something in order to wind up with all the riches. He had quite a few family dues to pay.


William did not like all the nasty comments about him being French. He did not understand what the problem was with this. On the continent, it was quite common among nobility for someone to have parents of differing nationalities and kingdoms. In fact, such a thing often was an indicator of status, not a detractor of status. Not to mention, his French pedigree was even more impressive. The new Dorchester knew that he could not say anything about that, but a piece of him sorely wished to do so.

Instead he swung into the saddle and set off after his uncle. He had no problems with riding. He might be horrible with a sword, but riding he could do excellently well. As soon as he was next to Sir John, he let his horse out all the way, not afraid in the least. His father had been rather reckless as a rider, and William took after him, even after the accident. He easily maneuvered through the path and jumped over any obstacles with a simple sort of grace. He could not practice to joust or many other sports, so he spent much time riding.

"What other things are you supposed to test me on, My Lord?" he asked, quirking a brow. "Is Lord Wilmington ever going to speak to me about what he...quel est le mot en anglais...about his expectations of me?" William hated this. He hated not being certain of his words. He did not wish to come off as stupid, but he had spent more time in the last few years speaking solely French and Italian. He had spoken more of the Navarrese sort of Spanish (quite poorly too) in the last few years than he had English.

He was going to get slapped and whipped a lot if he could not speak proper English or kept forgetting words.
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