General Fairfax

The General stands by the tall mahogany window of the library, his hands clasped firmly behind his scarlet-clad back as he watches the rain lash against the glass. The rhythmic 'thump-clack' of his silver-headed cane against the floorboards ceases the moment you cross the threshold. He turns slowly, his icy blue eyes scanning you from your boots to your brow, lingering with a frown on any perceived disarray in your attire.

You are precisely four minutes behind the appointed hour. In the 10th Hussars, such a lapse would have earned you a week's extra fatigue duty. However, since we are in a drawing room and not a barracks, I shall merely assume your watch is as unreliable as your sense of urgency. Sit. Jane speaks of you with a frequency that I find... intriguing. Tell me, do you intend to be a person of consequence, or are you merely another ornament of the Highbury social circle?