Dear Bartleby, page 4
I procrastinated the conversation until after lunch and I was in my leisure time. It was not a pleasant experience, going cap in hand to a man who is essentially my jailer. I suppose Gavin can get some of the blame on that part, but Kentworthy is the one who seems determined to make me miserable here. I found him in his study. The door was wide open, as if he was waiting for me. Although I think his door is often open. Frankly, I try to avoid his study so I can’t say that I’ve noticed one way or the other.
“Yes, Sebastian?” he said when I came in.
“I don’t know what it is you want from me,” I said.
He frowned a little, confused.
“What am I to write?”
“Was the assignment not clear enough?”
I sighed. “The assignment was clear, but this damned book is far too confusing. Nothing is written plainly. I don’t understand any of it.”
He gave a small smile. “I’d have to agree with you. Legal writing is always outrageously fustian.”
“Then why do you make me suffer through it?” I said. “Why do you insist on punishing me this way?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Well, unless I’m much mistaken, you intend to be married someday.”
“Well, yes, eventually.”
“So, it will be in your best interest to understand marriage laws. It can be quite confusing. I would hate for you to be married and find yourself unprepared for the responsibilities expected of you.”
“Is that what happened to you?” I ventured.
He chuckled. “No, not at all. I was very aware of what to expect. But Gavin was not entirely aware of what was expected of him until we were already engaged. I would like to see you more prepared. If you are not careful, you may find yourself in a predicament if you wed yourself to someone who takes advantage of your ignorance. Although,” he added, “I would certainly do my best to prevent such a thing.”
“Is that liable to happen?”
“It happens to many people,” he said. “For the most part, if a nextborn marries a firstborn, the expectations are rather straightforward. But if you were to marry another nextborn, it can be decidedly confusing. It would be to your benefit to know exactly what you’re getting into regardless of the birth order of the gentleman you marry. You may need to discuss with him the division of responsibilities and expectations. Decide whose name shall be taken. The laws can be very complex and messy. That is why I assigned that essay to you.”
I looked at the book in my hands. “Oh.”
“Now,” he continued. “If you would like my assistance, I would be happy to supply it. Do you need my help, Sebastian?”
Curse the man for making me say it.
“Yes. I’m afraid I do.”
“Very good. I shall be delighted to help you. I will join you in the library tomorrow after breakfast to talk you through the passages in question. You may take the rest of your leisure time as you will.”
That did surprise me. “Oh,” I said. “Er. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You’re quite welcome. I shall see you at tea. Unless, of course, there is anything else you wish to discuss?”
I told him there wasn’t and walked out.
12 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Today, Kentworthy sat down next to me in the library and explained marriage laws. It is odiously complicated but also, I do so hate to say it, quite fascinating. When a firstborn and a nextborn marry, you see, the firstborn is responsible for the finances and any property they might own. The nextborn is in charge of running the household, hiring and managing the household staff, hosting whenever there is company, that sort of thing.
But if two nextborns marry, it all gets rather muddled. Who controls the finances or finds an occupation? Who takes precedence? There’s even an added step to the whole marriage process where one person signs a form that they shall be assuming those responsibilities. Kentworthy explained that this means fortune hunters will try to coerce spouses into signing over all of their fortune to them. It is dreadful. I have no property, of course, so that shan’t be a problem for me. The person who has control of property is also the one in charge of finances and securing a house and that sort of thing. There is a division of labors or responsibilities and those have to be ironed out in advance, as do details like who takes the other’s name. In Gavin’s case, since he married a firstborn, he took Kentworthy’s name and, according to the law, he’s now Kentworthy’s dependent. Kentworthy is sort of the head of the house, as it were.
It’s all very particular and strange. I don’t see why it should be so very complicated. Kentworthy went on to say that this is all strictly in terms of legality and property and has nothing to do with the actual relationship dynamic. He advised that when I do get married, I take into account my own temperament, personality, strengths, and interests, as well as that of my husband. And, of course, consider such things as inheritance and property and all that.
I had dreaded the conversation all night and all morning. But Kentworthy was, surprisingly, not smug like I feared he’d be. He was very patient and explained everything very clearly. He even helped me to write the essay, which seemed like a strange thing to do since he would have to read it later. Well, he got me started on it; I wrote the rest of it myself. I’m annoyed that I cannot detest him as much as I wish to now. For I was rather glad to learn it all. I have much to think about. What a bother it is to be wrong.
13 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Who knew all it took for Kentworthy to not hate me was for me to ask him for help? The man is a complete mystery to me. Nothing has changed exactly, but I fancy he is not so cold in his manner of talking to me. I wonder if the mood is only temporary and he shall remember he dislikes me later.
14 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Typically during the evenings I walk to the lake and back. Kentworthy wants me to do something outside before dinner, you may recall. Anyway, last night I walked around the house before dinner instead and strode past the chicken coop. It was my first time passing the chicken coop since the last time I pranked it. And do you know, Bartleby, I was struck with guilt for the whole thing. I have never felt guilty for a prank before. I’ve been thinking about it all day and about how the servants here probably all hate me for the whole ghost thing.
I almost brought it up to Kentworthy, but didn’t quite have the nerve.
I suppose I may owe him an apology for frightening his servants. And perhaps Gavin as well. Curses.
15 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Worked up the nerve to apologize to Gavin. He was easier. He came into the library while I was working on memorizing Gerry’s list—yes, I’m still working through the blasted thing—and went to grab a book from the shelves. I cleared my throat to get his attention, for I had myself all worked up.
He turned and looked at me. “Something the matter?”
I stared down at my pen as I rolled it around in my hand. “I…er…I’m sorry about the pranks earlier. The coop and the ghost trap,” I added, glancing up at him, lest he think I had done more. “I didn’t intend to be cruel.”
“Oh,” Gavin said. “Thank you. I’m glad to hear it.” He looked at the book in his hand for a moment and then said, “How did you get into all those pranks, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Something to do, I suppose.”
He hummed in a noncommittal way that suggested it was not the answer he was hoping for, but he didn’t push. That is one thing I like about Gavin. He isn’t one to push.
I suppose I ought to say the same thing to Kentworthy tomorrow. After all, it is his house and everything.
16 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
I worked up the nerve to apologize to Kentworthy. I did it on our ride this morning. Typically, we don’t talk much on our rides. It’s a quick canter around the estate. But I thought it was the best time to talk to him. If he spurned the apology, I’d have the whole ride back to get over it. When we got to the glen where we usually turn left and start making our way back, I reined in and looked across at the morning mist, hoping he’d slow down too.
Fortunately, he did, and guided his horse back to where I was.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
I felt nervous to look him in the face while I said it, just as when I talked to Gavin, so I kept my eyes ahead on the mist and said, “I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“Oh?” he said.
I sighed. “I’m sorry about the whole mess with the chicken coop and the ghost trap.”
“Ah,” he said.
“You see, I never really considered it from their point of view. The chickens, I mean. And the servants. I didn’t mean to be cruel. I was just...”
I glanced at him and he was looking at me with an unreadable expression.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ve just made a habit of doing it and I never stopped to think. I’m truly not a cruel person, or a bully or anything, whatever you may think.”
“I don’t think of you as cruel, Sebastian.”
“I suppose your servants do,” I said. “I daresay they all quite despise me.”
“No, dear boy,” he said. “They don’t. They weren’t pleased, of course, when it was explained to them. But Gavin assured them that we would keep you from doing anything too terrible in the future.”
I was so startled by the term of endearment that I stared at him, dumbfounded.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I…er…rather thought you despised me, too,” I said.
“Of course I don’t,” he said. “I believe you still have a great deal to learn. But I never consider anyone a lost cause, least of all someone related to Gavin.”
“Then you haven’t met John, I suppose.”
He chuckled. “I actually have.”
“You mean you don’t think he’s a lost cause?”
He laughed louder and some birds flew up in alarm. “I think John means well but is clumsy about it.”
I didn’t quite agree with that, but I didn’t say anything.
We sat in silence for a few moments while I digested the fact that my brother-in-law did not entirely hate me and was realizing I didn’t entirely hate him.
“Now, the chickens,” he said. “They might not be so fond of you now. Dashed difficult to talk sense to, chickens, you know.”
I laughed. “Well, I suppose I can steer clear of the coop then.”
“Thank you, darling. Very wise. Are you ready to go back?”
I nodded and we returned home.
And now I’m digesting the fact that Kentworthy made a joke about chickens.
17 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
At breakfast, Gerry asked me how I was getting on with the list of Constitutional Properties and I explained to her that it was far too long and damn near impossible to memorize. She told me not to be a twit and that if I really needed help, all I had to do was ask. She has even, apparently, taken a leaf out of Kentworthy’s book and told me that I must have the list memorized by Friday. Not sure I shall have any time for leisure at all now. Drat the girl.
Stole a glance at Kentworthy who was, dash it all, looking at me with amusement. I refuse to ask for help two weeks in a row, Bartleby. Absolutely refuse.
18 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Finlington came over for dinner last night. Asked me how I was getting on with my studies and everything. I realized partway through dinner that the viscount is quite an eligible bachelor. And from the way he flirts, it’s easy to guess his persuasion. Ordinarily, I’d use that to my advantage. But he’s considerably older than I am, about Kentworthy’s age. It’s funny because when Gavin first met Kentworthy, I had it in my head that I might be able to fall in love with him. But he’s at least ten years older than I am. That seems a bit much, don’t you think? I’m sure I should much prefer someone who sees me as his equal, rather than a child or something. As much as Finlington does flirt, I cannot help but think he sees me as a schoolboy, or at best, Gavin’s baby brother. I’m well aware that I am, but I don’t think that’s a good dynamic for a relationship.
I’m blaming this entire entry on Kentworthy’s blasted marriage laws lesson. I declare I’ve never thought this carefully about marriage before. Not sure I enjoy it.
19 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
I don’t know how I’m going to get Gerry’s list down by memory by tomorrow. I suppose I shall have to go to her for help. That seems to be the modus operandi lately (You see, Bartleby? I did learn things in Oxford). What a bother it all is.
20 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Asked Gerry for help with the list and she looked so absurdly pleased by it. Why does everyone enjoy being asked for help? So very bizarre. She extended the deadline for the assignment and evenings after dinner will be spent working through the list together. I’m not sure I am pleased with this solution, but at least I can move on from this blasted assignment at last.
21 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
First in-person lesson with Gerry went fairly well. She mentioned that memorizing the list is something I ought to have been told to do ages ago and she seemed rather unimpressed with my education at Oxford. Frankly, Bartleby, it is a little unsettling that I am learning more living with my brother in the country than I learned at university. I imagine it is because I am the only student here.
Received a letter from Father today. He told me that Gavin has assured him I am showing some marked improvement. However, he is using this as an argument for my staying here indefinitely. It is a bit of a wrench, for it seems as though I won’t go back to Oxford at all now. But I’m not sure I hate it here quite as much as I did before. Except that it’s a little isolating.
Speaking of which, this letter is the first one I have received since arriving. Can you countenance it, Bartleby? I should think my friends would have learned of my change of address by now. Parks definitely has my new direction as I have sent him two letters. Father would at least forward the letters on if they were sent home. At least I’d hope he would. I rather hate to ask Gavin about it because if there are no letters to forward, he will look at me with pity. About the only thing worse than a stern older brother is a sympathetic one.
22 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Aunt Lily and Uncle Gregory came to tea today. Aunt Lily fusses just as much as Mama does. Quite glad I’m living here and not there. At one point, Charles critiqued my posture, which Aunt Lily took as permission to also interject with her opinion. They just returned from taking one of my cousins to London for the Season, so she was full of talk about the latest fashions and seemed to feel she was an expert on society in general. Uncle Gregory was pleasant enough, although his resemblance to Father is uncanny and, frankly, unnerving. I’m sure I shouldn’t be surprised since he is his younger brother. Still, it was strange because he looks and sounds a great deal like Father, but he’s softer in tone and more inclined to smile and make jokes about things. Aunt Lily told me to be sure I come and visit now that they were at home. I must confess, I was pleased for once that I am restricted to Kentworthy’s property. Thank heavens I managed to dodge that obligation. I have no desire to have another set of adults tell me what I’m doing wrong, particularly when one of them looks like my father.
Decided to swallow some of my pride and wrote a few letters today. I feel that it is very low of my friends to make me write to them first when I am the one who was sent away. Nevertheless, here we are. Since it seems unlikely that I shall be returning, at least anytime soon, I suppose I had better take some responsibility in maintaining the friendships I made at Oxford. Wrote to Warrow and Forrester, sent another letter to Parks, and told them all where they might find me should they care to write. Gave each an account of how I’m getting on and said that I’m unlikely to return. Asked how things are going with them and if there is any gossip I’ve missed since I’ve been away.
God, my hand is cramping something awful now.
23 June 1817
Dear Bartleby,
Working through the list with Gerry still. You know, she’s actually very smart. She had some marvelous suggestions for memorizing things. We’re clipping along at a decent pace now. When I asked her why memorizing the list was so frightfully important, she said that strong magical abilities seem to run in our family and it would be a good idea for me to get the best grounding possible. It is, honestly, the closest thing I’ve had to a compliment in quite some time. So then I didn’t mind the prospect as much.
I was not best pleased when she turned the conversation to a more personal one.
“Are you missing your friends?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, shrugging. “I wrote them all letters yesterday.”
“Yes, I saw them on the stack to go out.”
Then she looked so blasted contemplative that I had to ask what she was thinking.
“Well,” she said at last. “I’m sorry you miss them, but I can’t help but be glad you’re not around people who talk to you the way your friends and lovers do.”
I sighed. Gerry has said this sort of thing every time I wrote to her about my friends or my time at Oxford. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that this is how friends talk. My friends are always teasing me. It’s perfectly normal. And calling Warrow my lover makes the whole thing sound decidedly more serious than it really was. It was all a lark, you know.”
