6. Etiquette and Entropy
Though it was technically tomorrow, and the guests had all retired to their rooms hours earlier, Avi hadn”t moved an inch. She could not bring herself to do anything more than scan the intricate details of The Sistine Chapel ceiling in every last piece of the giant puzzle…every last piece except one. She knew precisely where it was, precisely what it looked like, and therefore, she knew precisely how to make certain her eyes avoided it. If she never looked at it again, it’d be just as well. After all, it wasn’t as if it were God’s finger. It wasn’t the apple in The Fall and Expulsion from Paradise or even a sliver of skin from one of the nude Ignudi. It was an insignificant portion of cracked, cream fresco dividing the Creation of Adam from the Creation of Eve in Michaelangelo’s masterpiece. So why was it so significant? Why were her eyes avoiding it? Why was that piece all her mind’s eye could see?
It must have meant nothing to Mr. MacKinnon, and it should have meant nothing to her; yet it didn’t.
”How?”
”Why?”
His secret gift had stirred up memories of her grandmother, for goodness sake; not memories of young love or a first kiss. Yet the only words she could use to describe Mr. MacKinnon”s gesture were quixotic and enchanting. She hated admitting it nearly as much as she detested her newfound feelings for the man she once abhorred. But she found some semblance of redemption in knowing her feelings did not come from a place of depthless impulse. He”d possessed the same rugged features of virile beauty the entire time she had loathed him. It was only after he exhibited some outward manifestation of inner beauty that she questioned her loathing.
But then again, if he wasn’t even aware of her and her grandmother”s puzzle-piece tradition, was his gesture even really that profound? On paper, he did nothing more than hand her a puzzle piece. Was she over-beautifying his inner beauty? If a broken clock is right twice a day, why can’t a man, broken by selfishness, stubbornness, and impropriety, display an accidental bout of decency every now and again? Needless to say, Avi’s inquiries produced far more questions than answers.
At least Mr. MacKinnon hadn’t seen her reaction to his unintentional sentimental gesture. Even better; Bonnie hadn’t seen it. She wasn’t in the room when it happened, and those who were in the drawing room were far too distracted by finding the missing puzzle piece to notice Avi’s dropped jaw and pining eyes. That is, everyone except Ethel Lancaster. Her kind smile and gleaming eyes had said it all. However, they also seemed to indicate that Avi’s reaction to what Ethel must have assumed was Mr. MacKinnon’s touch, was safe with her.
“Dude! Sissy, get to bed,” came a loud whisper from the kitchen.
Avi, somewhat startled, turned to see Josh bouncing baby Bree. She smirked with exhaustion and welcomed the interruption.
“Trouble sleeping?” she whispered.
“No trouble. Bree and I are just having our nightly morning walk. You?”
“Trouble sleeping? Not sure…haven’t tried yet.”
Josh pulled up a seat across from Avi. Bree’s tiny eyelids put up an admirable fight, but Josh”s slow, soothing descent inspired them to succumb to sleep.
“Lucky gal,” Avi whispered with a hint of tired, self-pity.
“Whatever, Sissy. Who needs sleep when you’re living the dream? Probably why you’re not even tryin’ to go to bed right now,” he said.
“I don’t know…maybe…but some dreams are so confusing.”
Josh looked at her in bewilderment.
She continued, “You ever have one of those dreams where everything changes faster than your brain can adjust? Like where all of a sudden the house you”re in becomes a plane…or the person you were talking to changes faces but remains the same person? And all the while, you drift through the dream, unable to discern the difference between what is…and what isn’t?”
Avi was quite impressed with how well she had formed such a coherent metaphor to describe her predicament; especially under such tiresome circumstances. Josh gazed into Avi’s eyes as if searching for any illumination into the deeper meaning of her nonsensical words.
“Avi…what the crap are you talking about? No. I’ve never had a dream like that. Maybe a nightmare, but…my gosh…that all sounds so…horrifying!”
Avi closed her heavy eyelids as she laughed to herself.
“I’m sorry…I’m just tired…not making a lot of sense.”
Josh scoffed, “Dude, would you just enjoy the dream you’re living? Look around, Sissy…it can’t be that hard to do!”
She nodded in agreement before he added, “You hecka need this Avi Hawthorne.”
With that, Josh stood up and took Bree back to bed. Before he left, he shook his head in playful disbelief and said, “Night, Sissy.”
“Night,” she said.
Yet again, he was right. In slightly over five months, she had gone from having a stateside studio apartment and a money-hemorrhaging bookstore to owning a twenty-two-acre European estate and a business where a bad day at the office was second-guessing her original assumptions about a very handsome man. Poor, poor, poor Avi Hawthorne. With that, she too went to bed shaking her head in playful disbelief and promising herself to find joy in whatever tomorrow had in store.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please come in and have a seat,” said Gracie as the guests began filing into the ballroom. “That’s right, come in…come in…sit wherever you’d like…there’s a seat for each of you.”
The chairs faced a large mobile whiteboard that read, “Regency Etiquette 101,” written in dark blue dry-erase marker. Underneath the class” name, a large sheet of pea-green construction paper, taped to the board, concealed most of its surface. The ballroom was conveniently located across the hall from Avi’s master bedroom where she could hear everything said without overstepping the bounds between owner and guest. The veiled proximity also allowed her to avoid Mr. MacKinnon…at least until she was prepared for the complexities of such an encounter.
Once everyone was seated, Gracie pointed to the whiteboard and said, “Welcome to Regency Etiquette 101. We have two major forthcoming events where knowing how to properly conduct oneself will be crucial. The first is tonight’s rout. The second is the Day-Eight Ball we’ll be throwing on Monday evening. I had planned on teaching this class myself, but because a handful of you have spent four years at an Ivy League university becoming scholarly authorities on such matters, I felt it best you learn from one of them. So, last night, I asked Lady Clara if she wouldn’t mind teaching this class, and she graciously accepted.”
With that, she signaled for Clara to stand and come to the front. Gracie then slipped out into the hallway to help the staff prepare for the evening’s party. Clara stood with dignity and walked to the front of the room. Her neck was extended, her smile was closed with confidence, and her eyes looked over her seated students with a spark of nobility. Her bright crimson and white empire gown and the matching fabric tying her hair held everyone’s attention.
“Good morning…”
The rest of the guests waited in anticipation.
“I said, good morning…”
“Good morning,” they all responded in unison.
“There…much better,” she said with much pretension.
“Eww,” thought Avi from her bedroom vanity, “thatwas a tad pompous.”
Clara pulled down the pea green construction paper revealing a list of rules regarding regency decorum and continued, “Behind me is a list of one dozen rules of propriety. Take a moment to read over them, and as you do, ask yourselves this question: Based on these social expectations, what might have been some of the underlying values of Regency England? Again, take a moment to ponder, then be ready to share.”
The room fell silent. Avi was curious to know which specific rules Clara was having the guests focus on. She considered standing in the back of the ballroom just long enough to read what Clara had written, but the potential for making unplanned eye contact with Mr. MacKinnon made her reconsider. The thought that she might actually enjoy making eye contact with Mr. MacKinnon made her reconsider all the more. Ultimately, she reconsidered her reconsidering and made her way to the back of the ballroom. There she read the following list on the board while fighting the urge to spot Mr. MacKinnon in her peripheries:
Vulgarity is ALWAYS unacceptable.
Treat servants with decency, but never get too close.
During formal dining, conversation should never extend beyond the person to one’s immediate right or left.
It is unbecoming to display overt emotions in public.
Ignore servants while eating, and never discuss business in their presence.
Dinner guests should be seated according to rank.
A temper is a sign of weakness.
Ladies, if you find yourselves in the presence of vulgarity or crudeness, don’t be afraid to faint.
Ladies, avoid dancing with the same man more than twice and never twice in consecutive dances.
Laugh in moderation.
Touch in EXTREME moderation.
Ladies, never appear too eager to win a man’s attention.
After finishing the list, Avi succumbed to temptation and, without moving her head, scanned the room for Mr. Mackinnon. She found him in the front row with the tails of his dress coat falling from both sides of the banister of his chair. The rest of the men looked like believable gentlemen. He, on the other hand, sat with the cuteness of an anxious toddler playing dress up on Halloween.
“Alright…let’s share…what did you notice?”
Jada raised her hand and responded, “They valued proper order. For example, the one about servants and the one about being seated according to rank both show a propensity for excessive structure… and I think such structure in society was put into place to exemplify the structure that should be implemented within one’s self.”
“I love that!” said Clara. “Yes, Mr. Morris…”
“Yes, well, to build on that…I believe they valued temperance above all else. Even though it may appear on the surface as if they were acting or maybe even hiding their true selves, I believe their pursuit of self-control was a legitimate attempt at self-betterment.”
“Great. Thank you, Mr. Morris,” said Clara.
With that, Mr. MacKinnon’s hand immediately shot up.
“Chauvinism,” he said without waiting for Clara to call on him.
Avi couldn’t see from where she was standing, but she could just tell that he said what he’d said with his signature smug grin. She wondered if everything was a joke to him, or only the things she cared about? Avi wanted to leave…but she didn’t.
“How so?” asked Clara with a tone that indicated she knew full well where his comments were leading.
“Ah see three rules up there targeting women bit none fur men.”
“This is only a dozen of the hundreds of unwritten social rules that existed. Many of those hundreds were made for men.”
“Oh,” he said with a nod, as Clara surveyed her students, eager to call on the next extended hand. However, before anyone could respond, Mr. MacKinnon continued, “N” ah noticed ye conveniently left aff th” rule that women were suppose tae feign ignorance tae their husband”s extramarital affairs…”
Avi, admittedly, hated that one tiny aspect of Regency culture. But it was ingenuine to pretend like acceptable infidelity was some defining characteristic of the period or all the individuals of the era.
“I left it off the list because I thought it might distract from the purpose of this lesson,” Clara said. “It seems I was correct. But now that we’re on the topic…women were also allowed extramarital affairs…under certain conditions.”
“Mmm, well, thank goodness! How romantic,” he said through a flippant grin.
“What a skunk!” Avi thought. “What a saboteur!”
He wasn’t just poking fun at Hawthorne Hall, and by association; her…he wanted to watch its walls crumble and burn. She needed to talk to Gracie or Corey or someone. If his attempts to ruin the experience for everyone else proved to be intentional, there had to be a legal way to expel him from the grounds. Puzzle piece or no puzzle piece, deep down, Dane MacKinnon was nothing more than a selfish and arrogant little boy who probably slipped Avi the last piece only to spite the others, not to show her kindness. But the turning wheels in Avi’s head were interrupted by Clara”s next question.
“Miss Hawthorne?” she said.
“...Yes?”
“Would you mind helping? We’re going to be breaking off into pairs to practice the etiquette of introductions.”
“But there are fourteen of you…an even number, and…”
“...Yes, but I’d love to walk the room and offer advice where I see a need. Would you mind?”
Avi scanned the room conducting reconnaissance. The four other members of the Jane Gang had paired up amongst themselves. Thomas and Jack, Mick and Bonnie, Mr. and Mrs. Kensington, and Kelly and Ethel were already facing each other and conversing. That meant…the skunk!
Avi put all the “oomph!” her petite frame could muster into collapsing into the seat facing him. Her lips were pursed in disdain. Her eyes refused to look at his festering face as her jaw clenched like a pit bull’s. She stared, instead, just over his left shoulder and waited for further instruction from Clara. Just then, over said left shoulder, she saw Ethel Lancaster turn around and proceed to shoot Avi four flirtatious eyebrow flashes, as if to say, “You’re welcome…I could have partnered up with him, but he’s all yours.” Avi knew she meant well. After all, she had discerned Avi’s potential feelings for Mr. MacKinnon only yesterday. However, if Ethel knew what Avi felt about him today, her eyebrows would be begging Avi for forgiveness and mercy for allowing Avi to end up in such a preventable predicament.
“Ms. Hawthorne, ye alright?” he asked. “Ye look like yer about tae punch a hole in th” wall.”
“Not in the wall…” she thought to herself, but instead of responding, she offered him only the slightest, single nod.
“Alright,” Clara said, “now that we’re all seated, I’d like every lady… to stand up.” After the women stood, Clara waited a few moments before saying, “...and all the men have failed the class.”
The class looked collectively confused.
“Mrs. Lancaster, every time a lady enters the room or stands to excuse herself, what does a gentleman do?”
“He stands,” Ethel answered.
“Of course he does.”
At which point, every man in the room rose to his feet…even Mr. MacKinnon…eventually.
“And he waits to be seated until…” she paused to let the men answer.
“...the woman or women have all seated?” answered Jack.
“Correct, Mr. Adamson. Very good,” Clara said before turning her attention to the women in the room. “Ladies…”
The women began to sit down in their chairs. As they did, the men followed, but Avi waited until her dress was no more than an inch from touching her chair and shot back up to a standing position. Mr. MacKinnon and the rest of the men followed suit. Once Mr. MacKinnon was fully upright, she began her second slow descent. However, every so often she would make a hesitant burst up. Mr. MacKinnon shot her a surrendering smile as he tried to mirror her movements, but she still refused to look at him. After hearing the buildup of laughter in the room, Avi realized she had created a means of play rather than punishment. So, she surrenderingly sat and looked anywhere she could other than into the rarity of his turquoise irises.
“Now, gentlemen, that means you must be aware of your surroundings at all times tonight. Do not let a woman enter or leave your vicinity without showing her the proper respect. To fail to do so would be rather…chauvinistic,” said Clara, taking a playful shot at Mr. MacKinnon. “Now, everyone…stand back up.”
They did.
“Gentleman, you’ve forgotten one thing…,” said Clara as she demonstrated a proper bow.
All the men imitated Clara; including Jack and Thomas.
“Oh, no. Not you two. When two men greet each other, they do so with a firm pat on the back and sometimes one offers the other some snuff. Since you don’t have any, a firm pat will suffice. Ladies, you acknowledge a man’s bow with a proper curtsy…like so…”
The women followed Clara’s example, but Avi still refused to make eye contact.
“Very good,” said Clara. “After the bow and curtsy comes the kiss on the hand if the gentleman is either close friends or family with the lady.”
Mr. Kensington, with an adoring gaze, took his wife’s hand and kissed it. Jack jokingly reached for Thomas’ hand as Thomas pushed his friend away. The only other partnership that consisted of both sexes was Bonnie and Mick. She, more friendly than flirtatiously, stuck out her hand as Mick obliged in a gesture of gallant, English chivalry. Avi let out an irritated sigh before begrudgingly offering Mr. MacKinnon her limp wrist. However, to her surprise, he did not take it.
“Family ‘n’ close friends, Ms. Hawthorne.” He said, as he looked to Clara for further instruction.
The sheer shock caused her to finally look at him and survey his face. She wasn’t sure if her surprise stemmed more from his rudeness for not accepting her hand or his propriety in declining it. But when he looked back in her direction, she forced herself to look away.
“Wonderful. You may all be seated.”
Mr. MacKinnon, succumbing to proper protocol, waited until Avi was seated before sitting. She feigned obliviousness but could not help but take note.
“Now that we understand how to navigate a non-verbal introduction,” Clara continued, “it is time to master the verbal component. Gentlemen will initiate the conversation. If you are partnered with a member of the same sex, the oldest partner will initiate the conversation. Are you ready? Alright, your first introduction should sound something like this… ‘Good evening, insert title here…followed by last name. How do you do?’ Now, you try. Go ahead…”
Mr. MacKinnon cleared his throat, sat up straight, and with a boyish grin said, “Good evenin,’ Ms. Hawthorne. Howfur dae ye dae?”
Avi paused for a moment before responding, “Terrible.”
“Terrible?” he asked.
“Terrible. Do you not hear yourself? You sounded nothing like her. I would never assume you were attempting to speak English.”
“Ah’m not,” he said with a laugh. “Ah’m speaking Scots.”
“You don”t say...”
“Whit…ye want me tae change who ah am?”
Avi thought for a moment before responding, “Indeed. That would actually be quite lovely.”
The grin he held did a decent enough job concealing the sting her words had purposefully yet accidentally caused him, but the evidence of pain in his pause was a dead giveaway. Not even the previous day’s social shunning had convinced her he even had pain receptors. But his pause did. To her unfortunate surprise, Avi found no enjoyment in triggering his response.
Displaying a brave front and a previously unseen shape to his eyes, he gave the line a second try. He couldn’t hide every echo of a Scottish underlay, but he hid most of it.
“Good evening, Ms. Hawthorne,” he said with quiet exactness. “How d’you do?”
It was as if she no longer knew who he was; if she ever did. His previously unseen humility shook her to her deepest depths and left her needing to know more; not just about who he was but about his capability to make her feel such things. Avi had no idea how he could so regularly register on both extremes of her passion spectrum. How could his breakup and attack on Regency culture send her spiraling into an internal rage? How could a puzzle piece and a silly, submissive, accent change pluck her swoon strings with such precision?
After giving up trying to process Avi nodded, and with sincerity she only half hoped he mistook for sarcasm, she said, “I think I liked your first attempt better.”
Mr. MacKinnon snickered, but she couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t. She couldn’t help but wish he knew she meant it.
“Very good,” said Clara. “Once introductions are in order, you are free to discuss any appropriate subject. I would have you practice, but I believe our time would be better served practicing the waltz. Would you all mind standing up?”
Clara then summoned the servants and had them remove the fourteen chairs from the ballroom. Avi stood there paralyzed by dichotomy. The thought of locking eyes…the thought of their bodies coming into contact and his hand pressed against her back holding her ever closer…her heart flooded with both fluttering butterflies and swarms of stinging hornets.
“Thank you,” Clara said to the servants before turning her attention back to her students. “Now, not all routs featured dancing, but some did, and tonight’s does, so let’s practice.”
With that, Mr. MacKinnon took a confident step towards Avi. But before he could extend either arm to initiate the waltz’s closed position, Clara interrupted.
“Oh...Dane...I think we’re going to need you over here. Women were not permitted to dance together, and since we have nearly twice as many women than men in the group, we’re going to need you to help the other ladies practice.”
“Oh…right,” he said with a delayed smile.
“Avi,” she said, “thank you for your help. Dane, don’t forget…”
As Avi curtsied to Mr. Mackinnon’s bow, they each snuck one last look at each other before she departed. Upon leaving, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d see if she turned around. She wondered if he would be trying but failing to not watch her leave. She wondered if he’d be asked to dance with Bonnie, and she wondered if such a dance would rekindle a fiery spark between the former couple. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered what she was thinking; thinking about him that way. She wondered, and she wondered, and then she wondered some more before wondering why every moment with him only seemed to stir up more unanswerable questions. Unfortunately, that night’s rout would prove even less elucidating.