Chapter Fifteen
A/N: Hii everyone :) A shout out to Guest, coffeebookchiller, Jenga0508, Sad Rose for their reviews of the last chapter.
EngLitLover, Captain Americanna, I'm missing you guys!
And the rest of you out there, reading and not reviewing, please become a name on the reviews page/followers list instead of being a mere statistic on the traffic page ;)
Reviews are appreciated and encourage the author to update!
Love,
Mango
That's all enjoy :)
P.S. Sinclair Wentworth, Duke of Abney is Niklaus' father.
Excerpt from the journal of Lieutenant Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam
I
I have never been particularly fond of expressing my feelings on paper. It is because I suffer from a surprising lack of eloquence when it comes to transforming my feelings into words and often the essence of my emotions is compromised when they are converted to a phrase on paper.
Most people I know fail to understand the reason behind my extremely concise missives-I wouldn't dare to call them letters out of fear of my frightening sister-for I am an exceptional conversationalist when it comes to social interaction and thus, should-by logic-be a good correspondent as well.
But if I have to state anything more than my location, physical health and a few commonly used empty platitudes in my letters, I find myself at a loss for words.
It also seems quite ironic that I can be so loquacious when it comes to detailing my failure at being eloquent. Life is a series of ironies in my opinion.
II
Christopher lies on the bunk across me, groaning and clutching his stomach after a particularly nasty bout of vomiting and yet he finds the strength to question me about what I'm writing. I think he feels offended that I made him write that letter to my family giving my terrible writing abilities as an excuse and yet, here I am scribbling away to glory.
I tell him that my newfound eloquence could be a result of his scintillating company. After all, if one spends fifteen days on a ship, confined to a cabin with a friend prone to sickness, the prospect of fifteen more looming large on the horizon, an occupation is necessary and thus I found myself indulging in mindless scribbling to keep myself occupied.
The pained look on Christopher's face makes me feel a bit guilty for my retort. The ship's physician has come and gone numerous times but none of his remedies have caused much improvement in Christopher's constitution. I can do nothing for him except divert his mind from his sickness by narrating anecdotes from my childhood.
If this were England, I would never dare to address Christopher by his first name: he would always be Sir or Brandon (in my inebriated moments) to me. But when a man saves your life in battle, writes letters to your family detailing your condition, then has the courage to inform them that their errant offspring isn't coming back home, and also drags you home on a ship called Wisteria, Brandon or Sir seems a bit informal for your relationship.
It is also strange that I'm able to address Christopher-a man I've known only for a year-by his first name yet I cannot referred to my brother or cousin by their given names.
I do not think that I have it in me to refer to Darcy as Fitzwilliam, especially after so much time in the army where everyone refers to me as Fitzwilliam. To do the same for Darcy would seem as if I'm talking to myself. 'Fitzee' a name coined by my lovely sister is out of the realm of possibility; a man would never be caught dead using such a name!
I despise our family's tradition of having the daughters' son named after her family. Thank the Lord that the harpy-I refer to Lady Catherine-did not have a son or we would be blessed with another Fitzwilliam. Thankfully, this tradition will die with Darcy: Alina would never consent to name her child 'Fitzwilliam.' It would be torturous for father and son to have the same name. I can imagine Alina running after the little one, screaming 'Fitzwilliam' and Darcy looking about him confusedly, unsure if she's calling him or berating the child.
Speaking of my sister, due to her incessant meddling, Robert and I have started a tentative correspondence but it is painful to respond to his extremely formal letters. Even Darcy's letters are more creative and Darcy is perhaps the most serious and prematurely aged man to walk this earth. Robert uses almost all the greetings and platitudes known to man in his letters and I'm left grasping at thin air for ideas and inspiration.
From what I observed of them in my short time spent at home the Christmas of 1805, Robert can match Alina in enthusiasm and wit, so his aloof letters do surprise me. It is perhaps because we were never close during childhood. His reserve and my lacking writing abilities do serve as an impediment to developing a more intimate relationship. I shall perhaps seek Alina's advice in this matter. She is quite resourceful when it comes to smoothing out creases in relationships. I believe my language tutor just performed a somersault in his grave.
III
Oh, to be beneath the sky again
To watch the stars twinkle merrily,
To feel the damp on my skin
And be stationary
It seems I do not have
A talent for poetry
IV
Christopher smirked upon reading my last entry. He said I can never woo a maiden with my words so I shall have to borrow someone else's. Well.
Spending my time holed up in a cabin with only a tiny pothole serving as a window has given me a new appreciation for the outdoors and French windows.
I wish it were July when I returned instead of November so I could celebrate Allie's sixteenth birthday with her and be allowed to sleep in the conservatory. Unfortunately my mother loves me a bit too much and thus, I shall be barred from sleeping outside. So, I shall have to sneak out as Allie often does.
Allie, my dear Allie, she would've made a wonderful diplomat if only she had been born a boy. But she was born a girl. When I was at the University and slowly came to the realization that I would have to seek employment in order to survive, I did resent her position quite a bit. The daughter of a wealthy earl with a hefty dowry attached to her name, all she had to do was learn a few superficial skills and then look pretty and smile to catch a rich heir. He would take care of all her needs for the rest of her life and she would never even have to lift a finger to earn a penny: it would be given to her on a silver platter without any effort of her own.
As time passed, rationality and Niklaus' passionate arguments in the defence of women prevailed and I learnt to let go of my resentment that blackened my heart. But it was not really until I saw the freedom given to women in South America (the way they cavort freely with men is positively scandalous; Christopher says I'm basing my conclusions on incomplete information as I've only seen the light skirts around the camp and not the 'real' women) did I understand my sister's precarious position. Her gender limits her opportunities to a terrifying extent. She shall always be dependent on the men in her life be it her father or her future husband.
She may have financial security but she does not have an iota of the independence that I do. She may be free to do as she pleases in our father's home but I doubt that her husband will be as accommodating of her whims and fancies as my father is. As she grows, my fears for her increase. She is perhaps only a year away from being presented at Court and being out in London Society. My sister is a good, kind girl who wants to help the world and I fear for the safety of her heart. The people that populate London's wealthiest homes pretend to be paragons of virtue and propriety but they are a licentious, immoral bunch of reprobates who can stoop to any low to achieve popularity and precedence amongst themselves.
If it were up to me and father, we would marry her to Darcy and be done with it but it is foolish for us to try and protect her from the bad, cruel world she is soon about to enter. Even if she marries Darcy and they spent half their lives in the country, she would have to deal with shameless rakes and double crossings 'ladies'. And sooner or later, she will be stripped of her childish naiveté and innocence but I'll be damned if I don't try to prevent it as long as possible.
V
Apparently, Lady Catherine and my beloved sister are not the only nosy, meddlesome people of my acquaintance: Christopher is also a very eager member of the group. I left my private papers on the desk when I went for a rare stroll on the upper deck (we are usually advised to remain below for the rain is unrelenting and the winds dangerous) and this prying pig shamelessly devoured them in an attempt to 'still his jumping stomach'. If he weren't so ill, I would've smacked his face and I told him so too. It was the first time I've heard him laugh.
Christopher is not much older than I am, I believe him to be no more than thirty, but the lines on his face and the sadness in his eyes makes him seem much older than he really is. He had his heart broken he says. He loved a woman dearly and she left him for a better prospect and yet he continued to love her and pray for her health and happiness until the news of her death reached his door with a small baby in a basket. He is a single, eligible man yet a father and my admiration and respect for him only increased after hearing his story. If I could be half the man Christopher is, it would be a life well lived.
But this doesn't excuse his grave mistake of snooping and making light of my over protective tendencies like a certain upstart acquaintance of mine, ofcourse Niklaus, is wont to do. If they had sisters, they would understand.
Oh but our dear Niklaus does have a sister: Michelle, who also holds the dubious distinction of being my sister's dearest friend. The previous Earl of Canterbury and Sinclair Wentworth were bosom friends (it seems very ridiculous to refer to two men as such but they were) and their children grew up together.
Niklaus adores Michelle and is almost as protective of her as I am of Alina, the hypocrite. I know this because our proximity to the Canterbury Estate put us in contact with Niklaus as well and I've observed his affection for her first hand. This affection has only grown as the years have passed. After all, Niklaus was barely nineteen when the former Lady Canterbury and Michelle were (I can think of no polite way to phrase this) thrown out to the hedgerows and yet he managed to set up a household for them in G. I sincerely doubt that it was old, nymphomaniac Duke of Abney who thought of that, he is becoming increasingly senile as time passes and his mistresses younger so it must be Niklaus who arranged it.
Niklaus has a very contradictory personality. I've seen him emptying his pockets to help the destitute; seen him abandon his studies to help Michelle and her mother and yet he is positively ruthless when it comes to the gentlemen and ladies of the peerage. His cutting insults to gentlemen are often disguised as compliments and he takes great pleasure in toying with the affections of the high society damsels. But I've never seen him taking advantage of shopgirls or women in service unlike many gentlemen of his acquaintance.
Niklaus is a conundrum and Lord help the poor woman who marries him. Alina speculates that Niklaus is in love with Michelle based on his solicitousness towards her but that is the parameter for declaring that Niklaus Wentworth is in love then the man is in love with half of England (the poorer half) including my sister.
I can never forget the Christmas at Milton when I was sixteen. Alina called Lady Catherine 'a fat patridge' under her breath at dinner for indiscreetly suggesting that George Darcy marry her so Georgiana could have a proper example for a mother and it led to a remarkable scene which ended with my father calling Lady Catherine a cruel, selfish harpy and my sister being confined to her room for three days with only bread and water for sustenance. I, of course, couldn't bear such injustice and allied with Niklaus and Michelle to steal Alina's favourite biscuits from the kitchen and Niklaus snuck into her room to deliver the goods as I stood guard and Michelle acted as distraction. She was quite horrible at it for we were discovered and Niklaus' backside soundly abused for being alone in a room with a sleeping seven year old lady. But the gentlemen that he is, he never complained. I spied Darcy thanking him for helping my sister in his stead as he had been soothing baby Georgiana. Niklaus pertly replied that he did not do it for Darcy. The expression on Darce's face was priceless.
However I was not so pleased when I upon returning from London after a particularly satisfying dalliance, I caught him sprawled upon the grass with my twelve year old sister. I had half a mind to sock his face but then I heard him speak. He was teaching Allie the constellations. They gazed at the sky together, spell bound by its beauty, a boy of eighteen and a child of twelve united despite the disparity in their ages, in their appreciation of the marvel before them.
So, if solicitousness is all Alina has as evidence that Niklaus is in love with Michelle then I can give a pretty convincing argument about how he loves her too. As far as I know, he has never climbed a tree at five in the morning to rescue Michelle's feline or jumped into a muddy pond despite his irrational fear of water to save Michelle's life. If I didn't know better, I would say that Niklaus was romantically inclined towards my sister but since I do know better, I do not give it much importance. Besides, Niklaus is too enamoured with his (disgusting) cousin, the infamous (whore) Lady Susan to spare my Allie a second thought and I thank the lord for that for she deserves much better than a mercurial man with a crazy papa.
I fail to comprehend how writers and poets find the strength to write pages upon pages of words without their wrists falling off: my hands ache worse than they do after fighting with a sword.
VI
I have a wild, un-christian desire to toss Christopher overboard. The infernal, nosy man continues to read my papers and is convinced that I lie about my family and friends for they seem more like characters out of a novel than real people. He is also pestering me about Michelle since he has discovered a thin, very thin I might add, bundle of letters from the lady in question amongst my belongings. I swear to god, the water in Latin Americas has affected his mind adversely for he seems to have lost his 'english manners and breeding.'
I was furious after he read my last entry (an attempt at a sonnet to impress a prospective mistress) and even insulted his manhood in retaliation for his transformation into a gossiping old biddy and yet he continues to tease me for corresponding with a lady not related to me and saving her letters.
The foolish man, he doesn't understand that if I must preserve Robert's pitiful attempts at a correspondence to present to my demanding harridan of a sister as proof then it is a crime to discard the beautifully worded letters sent by Michelle. They are not many in number (unlike Allie and my mother) but her thoughtfulness in choosing to write a few kind words to a lonely man thousands of miles away from home touches my heart.
I think I shall go to visit her when my mother gives me permission to leave the estate. My mother resembles the dragon guarding the princess in those stories of yore. Christopher is laughing so hard that he is crying. Well, it would be grand to converse with her in person after so many days of reading her thoughts.
VII
Christopher and I got drunk as wheelbarrows yesterday. I, a honourable, courageous soldier of his majesty's army am guilty of stealing rum from the cargo hold. It was incredibly foolish of me to ply a seasick man with unlimited alcohol and now I'm suffering the repercussions of my ill-thought decision as Christopher empties his guts in the chamber pot and my head pounds like a thousand elephants are stampeding across it.
It reminds me of the time Darcy and I stole some of the potent spirits from my father's study and proceeded to get ape drunk in one of the rarely visited portions of the garden. As luck would have it, we were discovered by my dear sister, a tiny girl of five and I panicked upon seeing her and swore. She imitated me and went round the garden giggling and squealing 'Bugger.'
Darcy's eyes looked like they would pop out of his skull and he was of no use to me as I ran behind her. I finally managed to convince her to not say the word but I do not think my persuasive speech had any effect for she squealed bugger at tea when Aunt Anne arrived home with my mother.
Needless to say, Darcy and I were given a sound hiding by our fathers. The punishment was compounded by our excessive drinking as we were violently sick when we woke up in the cellar next morning. Niklaus found it wildly amusing when he visited to invite us to play with him and still teases us about it.
Humour aside, one of the few memories I have of last night is of Christopher asking me why I never mention the war in my entries. He says that my journal will be the most uninformative war account of all time as I do not refer to it at all and I shall have nothing to refer to when I want to tell my grandchildren the stories of my bravery and courage. He doesn't know that I do not need to record my experiences in order to remember them, for the chilling nightmares and spectres in my dreams at night are memories enough.