APH US/UK Fic: Jay Bird 2/3
Jay Bird
An APH US/UK story by Diane Long
Previous Chapters: 1
Chapter 2 of 3
“This way, Sir.” The butler guided Alfred through the dining room door and to the foot of a long and narrow table where he pulled out a fragile looking cherry chair for him. It barely seemed able to support the weight of its own carved curlicues.
Alfred cooperated somewhat awkwardly and allowed his seat to be pushed in. As England was seated at the head of the table, America took in the spotless white table cloth, translucent china, crystal goblets and the many silver utensils arranged around his place setting. Five dozen gorgeous, out-of-season, red and white roses filled a silver vase in the center of of the table, making it so that either diner had to lean a bit to the side to see the other. Maybe they would help hide it if he broke anything, it was all so fragile and his hands were so big and hard to control.
Alfred shifted carefully, testing to see if the confection of a chair would hold his weight - he was used to more sturdy oak furniture and the last thing he wanted at this moment was to have the chair shatter. It seemed like it would hold. He reached for his cloth napkin and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist and started to tuck it into his collar. However, he noticed beyond the screen of roses that England had instead spread his napkin over his lap.
With a wince, Alfred quickly followed suit, hoping his gaffe had not been noticed.
Two of the girls from earlier came in from the kitchen through a swinging door, each bearing a bowl of soup. As the younger of the two placed one silently in front of Alfred, he noticed that her dark curls were still damp from the rain. “Thank you, miss.”
She blushed sweetly and hurried out of the room behind what could have been her twin.
America looked down at the pale, green cream in his bowl and slid a covert eye to England before he picked up his soup spoon and very carefully spooned a mouthful away from himself, making sure not to scrape. He was doing his best to remember his manners. He took a careful sip. “Asparagus!”
England patted his mouth with his napkin and returned it to his lap. “I take it you approve?”
America accidentally scraped his spoon across the bottom of the bowl in his excitement as he ladled up another spoonful. “Yes! I haven't had this for a long time. It's a real treat!” He made a small happy sound and a little slurp with his next bite.
“Very good,” England commented, continuing to eat his soup silently.
“You remembered?” America asked softly, making every effort to not scrape this time. A lifetime ago, England had often brought him Asparagus as a treat. After he hand been coaxed into trying it, he had become an immediate devotee.
“Not intentionally.” England was completely hidden behind the roses.
“Ah.” Alfred smiled to himself as he quietly finished his soup. England might not admit to it, but it was a nice gesture. He peered into his bowl and wondered if he could get one more bite without making too much noise. Sadly giving it up as a lost cause, he carefully put down his soupspoon.
England was gazing at the soft folds of the roses, his face unreadable. He leaned over a little and his eyes flicked over to Alfred's. “How were your harvests this fall?”
Alfred wiped his hands on the napkin on his lap. How to answer that without rubbing England's face in the resources he no longer controlled? “Bountiful. The people will have a good winter, I think. And yours?”
“Sufficient. So many people are leaving the country to come work in the factories - there are less people to work the land. However, so far it hasn't been a problem.” England's broach glinted in the fluid lamp light as he angled to better see America.
“Well, if it becomes a problem, talk to me. I think we have a decent surplus.” Alfred meant it as a friendly offer of aid and a possible strengthening of their new business relationship, but didn't miss the souring of England's expression. “Though I doubt you will need it,” he added quickly.
“If I do, one of the colonies can support me... without charging me for the favor,” England said cooly.
Alfred's nostrils flared at England's casual mention of just taking from his colonies, of robbing them. He breathed slowly, trying to calm the rushing he could hear in his ears. “No doubt,” he bit out, hiding behind the flowers in case any of his anger was showing.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon them as Alfred counted the peonies painted around the gilded rim of his soup bowl. Clearly no topic was safe - they were all potential hazards, and even he could sense the approaching collapse of civility. He risked a glance at England through the roses and could only make out a tightly clenched jaw.
More servants bustled in and removed the soup bowls while others came in with platters of venison and began serving it to the nations.
“This smells great! Thank you!” Alfred winked at the young man serving him, relieved for any distraction from his current plight.
England cleared his throat. “You do realize that you are making the servants uncomfortable by speaking to them as you are.”
“I am?” Alfred asked suspiciously, watching the staff file out. It sounded more like an insult than a helpful hint.
“Yes. In Britain, everyone has their place and is happy for it,” England explained, his green eyes glinting in the unsteady lamplight.
“I was just being polite,” America defended. He knew what England was implying about him and would not dignify it with a comment.
“No, you were being friendly, talking to them as equals, and the servants do not expect or want that from you.” England's voice hovered on the edge of civil, ready to tip into something unpleasant at any moment.
“But... that sounds so....” Classist. Exploitive. America didn't want to come out and say these things, not when he was trying to get through the evening without a fight.
“Snobbish?” England asked wryly. He leaned forward and peered around the roses. “Trust me, the servants are the worst of snobs. They do not respect you because of the weakness you are showing them.”
“Kindness isn't weakness,” America said stoutly, leaning forward as well. “I have always appreciated the kindness you have showed me.”
“And that served me so well.” England fell back behind the bounty of roses. “I've since learned my lesson,” he said bitterly, all pretense of politeness gone.
America swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and focused on using his utensils to slice up his venison into small pieces. His hopes for the evening were dashed. It was stupid to think that this would be anything but painful. He kept his eyes down and pushed the meat around on his plate.
“Would you care for some bread?” England asked from down at his end of the table, his voice back to the frosty politeness of their political negotiations earlier in the week.
America focused on his plate and spoke quietly. “No, thank you.” His disappointment showed in his voice, despite his desire to hide it. Unable to eat, he carefully laid his knife and fork down.
“Is the venison not to your liking?” England queried lifelessly. “That came from the Royal Park, you know.”
America didn't answer. He wasn't cold like England. He couldn't just pretend his heart wasn't breaking. He folded his hands in his lap and regarded the little bits of meat on his plate. He couldn't play this heartless game. Would it cause an international incident if he were to just get up and leave? He wasn't sure where his conveyance was. Without it, he would have a devil of a time finding his way back to his lodgings. That, and in out in this damned rain, he would ruin the beautiful clothing his Patriots had sacrificed to purchase for him.
His Patriots. The thought helped him rally. He was here for them, not for England. Any hopes that he and England could rebuild a friendship were foolish, and he shouldn't be sidetracked by them. At the very least he could use this time to show England that he was no fool and no coward. He would not be bullied. Right. If he couldn't do this for himself, he would do it for his people.
Alfred moved to the side and raised wry eyes to his former empire. “Pas devant les domestiques?”1 he asked in fluent French, showing off how easily it flowed from his tongue.
As expected, England's calm, king-of-the-realm mask cracked and fell at the Gallic words. His great brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I beg your pardon? Did I just hear the croaking of a frog?”
“That's what France always says, I guess he agrees with you.” America drummed his fingertips on the table top. “Looks like that is not working out so well for him at the moment. You might want to reconsider that, as you try to hold onto your Empire.”
Red was creeping up England's neck, jaw and was painting his ears. His words flew from him in a shout. “You wouldn't dare to compare my situation to the debacle going on across the channel, you upstart!” He pushed his chair back in an angry burst. “I should have known your appallingly good manners were too good to be true.”
America sniffed at his wine glass, working hard not to show that England's loss of composure was sending adrenaline coursing through his system. “I wonder what your Bastille will be? The Tower?”
“You self righteous little prig!” England frothed. “I invite you into my home, offer an olive branch, and what do you do? You snap it in half over your knee!”
A spark of anger penetrated America's false calm. He hadn't struck the first blow tonight. “Perhaps that little problem with gin you are having is the first sign of discontent?” America circled his finger over the rim of his wine glass. “Your people are so happy with their social status that they are drowning themselves in liquor. Well done, old boy.” He pulled in his R's to sound absolutely posh, just to be annoying.
England's mouth worked in wordless rage, his entire face was red. He gained his feet and shoved a shaking finger towards America. “Do not mock me. I don't need to hear anything from a nation that has existed for only two decades. You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“At least I am willing to try a different way!” America snapped, his dialect his own again. “You stubborn old fool!”
“Oh and what a grand success it has been.” England tugged on his waist coat sharply. “The Articles of Confederation were just brilliant weren't they? Each colony -oh do pardon me- 'state' gets one vote each for the entire federal government. Pure anarchy, I've been told. Each state parading around like a nation!” He cocked an eyebrow. “Dear God, don't tell me there are 13 more of YOU to deal with.”
Alfred pulled at his short pony tail in sheer aggravation. Not only was England openly mocking him him now, he had just scored a valid point. “Shut up! We realized that problem and fixed it! The Virginia plan was put into place and each state gets proportional representation.” He stood as well and leaned over the table to glare over the flowers at England. “All of my people have a voice. No matter what their status in life they get a say in their government.”
“All?” England sneered. “Male European land holders, you mean. As of old, you still speak before you think.”
Alfred frowned. Damn. Another point. “Well... at least we are allowed to talk to everyone no matter what their status.”
Arthur ignored the weak defense. “Let's not forget the slaves, whom apparently do not count as a full person in your so-called proportional representation in your legislative bodies,” England cut in viciously.
Alfred's face flushed deep red in shame. “Damn it! I know its not perfect yet. These things take time, and I can't move faster than the the minds of the men whom I represent. ” Deeply embarrassed, he sank down on his chair and held his head in a gloved hand wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.
A thick silence fell between the two, punctuated only by the slowing of their breathing. America could just feel England's eyes boring into him. “Don't look at me like that,” he grumbled, just imaging the sneer on England's face. “You're not perfect either. Neither of us treat our women very well at all. ”
“So we don't.” England's voice was calmer, a little wistful. “Look here, America... I... I find myself forgetting how young you really are.”
That certainly wasn't the impression Alfred had been hoping to leave with England. But what could he really say to that? His mouth had run away with him again and he had spoken his hopes and dreams instead of his reality. He bit his lip and held his breath. What a disaster. What a ridiculous, stupid, failure.
“Let's not fight,” England cajoled, the tone taking Alfred back a century. “Tonight was not meant for fighting. We both forgot our tempers.”
To his deep mortification, Alfred felt frustrated tears prick at the corner of his eyes. There was no way he would cry right now. He concentrated on his heart beat and breathing, willing himself to calm the hell down.
“Are you pouting?” England's voice asked with amused surprise.
Alfred jumped, blinking his eyes rapidly. “No!” He sat up from his slump, cheeks so hot he was sure to ignite at any moment. “I am not!” He met England's eyes and bowed his back so his chest looked extra broad.
For the first time that evening, the beginnings of a smile twitched up the corners of England's mouth. “Your optimism remains as strong as ever,” he noted, stepping away from the table. “You are still a very young nation, and it will take time for you to achieve your goals.”
“I'm not a kid,” America grumbled, picking his napkin off the floor where it had fallen when he had taken his feet. He folded it and placed it on the table. “I am over 200 years old.”
“Then as men, let us retire to the library for some brandy,” England offered.
Alfred nodded and rose. England wasn't apologizing, but he was trying to be nicer. He could try harder as well. “I could use a drink myself.”
Continued and concluded in chapter 3.
Notes (Most info is from wikipedia):
1. French, “Not in front of the servants.” Those familiar with Amelia Peabody should know this phrase.
Asparagus- Is native to Europe, including England. Fell out of favor in Medieval times, but was getting popular again by the 16th century. Arthur liked it an was using it as a treat to trick America into eating his veggies!
Venison- To serve this in England during this time period meant showing off. It either meant you were wealthy enough to own enough green space to allow for legal hunting or that you had an important patron who did. Of course, this is lost on America who has forests full of deer for the taking.
French Revolution- This is in full swing at the time of our story.
Gin- In this time period gin, because it was so cheap, was widely abused by the lower classes to self medicate for pain and misery. By 1740 six times more gin was being produced than beer in England. Various taxes and restrictive acts were passed to make it less affordable in an effort to stem problems with public drunkenness.
The American R Sound- In phonology, a dialect with a pronounced R sound, particularly at the end of words is called 'rhotic'. During the 17th century, British and Colonial American english were both rhotic. (Scotch and Irish english is extremely rhotic even now). Over time, prestigious British accents became non-rhotic, meaning a lessened emphasis on the R sound. This change was actively happening during the 18th century. This is why east coast American accents to this day are more non-rhotic than the rest of the United States (think Boston) given their more heavy exposure to British english speakers. In our story, since Alfred has mostly lived in the east, this means his R's aren't really so bad, but from England's POV they sound positively uncultured.
Early American Models of Government- It was really jacked up prior to the Virginia Plan which introduced the legislative model of the US which exists today.
An APH US/UK story by Diane Long
Previous Chapters: 1
Chapter 2 of 3
“This way, Sir.” The butler guided Alfred through the dining room door and to the foot of a long and narrow table where he pulled out a fragile looking cherry chair for him. It barely seemed able to support the weight of its own carved curlicues.
Alfred cooperated somewhat awkwardly and allowed his seat to be pushed in. As England was seated at the head of the table, America took in the spotless white table cloth, translucent china, crystal goblets and the many silver utensils arranged around his place setting. Five dozen gorgeous, out-of-season, red and white roses filled a silver vase in the center of of the table, making it so that either diner had to lean a bit to the side to see the other. Maybe they would help hide it if he broke anything, it was all so fragile and his hands were so big and hard to control.
Alfred shifted carefully, testing to see if the confection of a chair would hold his weight - he was used to more sturdy oak furniture and the last thing he wanted at this moment was to have the chair shatter. It seemed like it would hold. He reached for his cloth napkin and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist and started to tuck it into his collar. However, he noticed beyond the screen of roses that England had instead spread his napkin over his lap.
With a wince, Alfred quickly followed suit, hoping his gaffe had not been noticed.
Two of the girls from earlier came in from the kitchen through a swinging door, each bearing a bowl of soup. As the younger of the two placed one silently in front of Alfred, he noticed that her dark curls were still damp from the rain. “Thank you, miss.”
She blushed sweetly and hurried out of the room behind what could have been her twin.
America looked down at the pale, green cream in his bowl and slid a covert eye to England before he picked up his soup spoon and very carefully spooned a mouthful away from himself, making sure not to scrape. He was doing his best to remember his manners. He took a careful sip. “Asparagus!”
England patted his mouth with his napkin and returned it to his lap. “I take it you approve?”
America accidentally scraped his spoon across the bottom of the bowl in his excitement as he ladled up another spoonful. “Yes! I haven't had this for a long time. It's a real treat!” He made a small happy sound and a little slurp with his next bite.
“Very good,” England commented, continuing to eat his soup silently.
“You remembered?” America asked softly, making every effort to not scrape this time. A lifetime ago, England had often brought him Asparagus as a treat. After he hand been coaxed into trying it, he had become an immediate devotee.
“Not intentionally.” England was completely hidden behind the roses.
“Ah.” Alfred smiled to himself as he quietly finished his soup. England might not admit to it, but it was a nice gesture. He peered into his bowl and wondered if he could get one more bite without making too much noise. Sadly giving it up as a lost cause, he carefully put down his soupspoon.
England was gazing at the soft folds of the roses, his face unreadable. He leaned over a little and his eyes flicked over to Alfred's. “How were your harvests this fall?”
Alfred wiped his hands on the napkin on his lap. How to answer that without rubbing England's face in the resources he no longer controlled? “Bountiful. The people will have a good winter, I think. And yours?”
“Sufficient. So many people are leaving the country to come work in the factories - there are less people to work the land. However, so far it hasn't been a problem.” England's broach glinted in the fluid lamp light as he angled to better see America.
“Well, if it becomes a problem, talk to me. I think we have a decent surplus.” Alfred meant it as a friendly offer of aid and a possible strengthening of their new business relationship, but didn't miss the souring of England's expression. “Though I doubt you will need it,” he added quickly.
“If I do, one of the colonies can support me... without charging me for the favor,” England said cooly.
Alfred's nostrils flared at England's casual mention of just taking from his colonies, of robbing them. He breathed slowly, trying to calm the rushing he could hear in his ears. “No doubt,” he bit out, hiding behind the flowers in case any of his anger was showing.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon them as Alfred counted the peonies painted around the gilded rim of his soup bowl. Clearly no topic was safe - they were all potential hazards, and even he could sense the approaching collapse of civility. He risked a glance at England through the roses and could only make out a tightly clenched jaw.
More servants bustled in and removed the soup bowls while others came in with platters of venison and began serving it to the nations.
“This smells great! Thank you!” Alfred winked at the young man serving him, relieved for any distraction from his current plight.
England cleared his throat. “You do realize that you are making the servants uncomfortable by speaking to them as you are.”
“I am?” Alfred asked suspiciously, watching the staff file out. It sounded more like an insult than a helpful hint.
“Yes. In Britain, everyone has their place and is happy for it,” England explained, his green eyes glinting in the unsteady lamplight.
“I was just being polite,” America defended. He knew what England was implying about him and would not dignify it with a comment.
“No, you were being friendly, talking to them as equals, and the servants do not expect or want that from you.” England's voice hovered on the edge of civil, ready to tip into something unpleasant at any moment.
“But... that sounds so....” Classist. Exploitive. America didn't want to come out and say these things, not when he was trying to get through the evening without a fight.
“Snobbish?” England asked wryly. He leaned forward and peered around the roses. “Trust me, the servants are the worst of snobs. They do not respect you because of the weakness you are showing them.”
“Kindness isn't weakness,” America said stoutly, leaning forward as well. “I have always appreciated the kindness you have showed me.”
“And that served me so well.” England fell back behind the bounty of roses. “I've since learned my lesson,” he said bitterly, all pretense of politeness gone.
America swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and focused on using his utensils to slice up his venison into small pieces. His hopes for the evening were dashed. It was stupid to think that this would be anything but painful. He kept his eyes down and pushed the meat around on his plate.
“Would you care for some bread?” England asked from down at his end of the table, his voice back to the frosty politeness of their political negotiations earlier in the week.
America focused on his plate and spoke quietly. “No, thank you.” His disappointment showed in his voice, despite his desire to hide it. Unable to eat, he carefully laid his knife and fork down.
“Is the venison not to your liking?” England queried lifelessly. “That came from the Royal Park, you know.”
America didn't answer. He wasn't cold like England. He couldn't just pretend his heart wasn't breaking. He folded his hands in his lap and regarded the little bits of meat on his plate. He couldn't play this heartless game. Would it cause an international incident if he were to just get up and leave? He wasn't sure where his conveyance was. Without it, he would have a devil of a time finding his way back to his lodgings. That, and in out in this damned rain, he would ruin the beautiful clothing his Patriots had sacrificed to purchase for him.
His Patriots. The thought helped him rally. He was here for them, not for England. Any hopes that he and England could rebuild a friendship were foolish, and he shouldn't be sidetracked by them. At the very least he could use this time to show England that he was no fool and no coward. He would not be bullied. Right. If he couldn't do this for himself, he would do it for his people.
Alfred moved to the side and raised wry eyes to his former empire. “Pas devant les domestiques?”1 he asked in fluent French, showing off how easily it flowed from his tongue.
As expected, England's calm, king-of-the-realm mask cracked and fell at the Gallic words. His great brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I beg your pardon? Did I just hear the croaking of a frog?”
“That's what France always says, I guess he agrees with you.” America drummed his fingertips on the table top. “Looks like that is not working out so well for him at the moment. You might want to reconsider that, as you try to hold onto your Empire.”
Red was creeping up England's neck, jaw and was painting his ears. His words flew from him in a shout. “You wouldn't dare to compare my situation to the debacle going on across the channel, you upstart!” He pushed his chair back in an angry burst. “I should have known your appallingly good manners were too good to be true.”
America sniffed at his wine glass, working hard not to show that England's loss of composure was sending adrenaline coursing through his system. “I wonder what your Bastille will be? The Tower?”
“You self righteous little prig!” England frothed. “I invite you into my home, offer an olive branch, and what do you do? You snap it in half over your knee!”
A spark of anger penetrated America's false calm. He hadn't struck the first blow tonight. “Perhaps that little problem with gin you are having is the first sign of discontent?” America circled his finger over the rim of his wine glass. “Your people are so happy with their social status that they are drowning themselves in liquor. Well done, old boy.” He pulled in his R's to sound absolutely posh, just to be annoying.
England's mouth worked in wordless rage, his entire face was red. He gained his feet and shoved a shaking finger towards America. “Do not mock me. I don't need to hear anything from a nation that has existed for only two decades. You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“At least I am willing to try a different way!” America snapped, his dialect his own again. “You stubborn old fool!”
“Oh and what a grand success it has been.” England tugged on his waist coat sharply. “The Articles of Confederation were just brilliant weren't they? Each colony -oh do pardon me- 'state' gets one vote each for the entire federal government. Pure anarchy, I've been told. Each state parading around like a nation!” He cocked an eyebrow. “Dear God, don't tell me there are 13 more of YOU to deal with.”
Alfred pulled at his short pony tail in sheer aggravation. Not only was England openly mocking him him now, he had just scored a valid point. “Shut up! We realized that problem and fixed it! The Virginia plan was put into place and each state gets proportional representation.” He stood as well and leaned over the table to glare over the flowers at England. “All of my people have a voice. No matter what their status in life they get a say in their government.”
“All?” England sneered. “Male European land holders, you mean. As of old, you still speak before you think.”
Alfred frowned. Damn. Another point. “Well... at least we are allowed to talk to everyone no matter what their status.”
Arthur ignored the weak defense. “Let's not forget the slaves, whom apparently do not count as a full person in your so-called proportional representation in your legislative bodies,” England cut in viciously.
Alfred's face flushed deep red in shame. “Damn it! I know its not perfect yet. These things take time, and I can't move faster than the the minds of the men whom I represent. ” Deeply embarrassed, he sank down on his chair and held his head in a gloved hand wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.
A thick silence fell between the two, punctuated only by the slowing of their breathing. America could just feel England's eyes boring into him. “Don't look at me like that,” he grumbled, just imaging the sneer on England's face. “You're not perfect either. Neither of us treat our women very well at all. ”
“So we don't.” England's voice was calmer, a little wistful. “Look here, America... I... I find myself forgetting how young you really are.”
That certainly wasn't the impression Alfred had been hoping to leave with England. But what could he really say to that? His mouth had run away with him again and he had spoken his hopes and dreams instead of his reality. He bit his lip and held his breath. What a disaster. What a ridiculous, stupid, failure.
“Let's not fight,” England cajoled, the tone taking Alfred back a century. “Tonight was not meant for fighting. We both forgot our tempers.”
To his deep mortification, Alfred felt frustrated tears prick at the corner of his eyes. There was no way he would cry right now. He concentrated on his heart beat and breathing, willing himself to calm the hell down.
“Are you pouting?” England's voice asked with amused surprise.
Alfred jumped, blinking his eyes rapidly. “No!” He sat up from his slump, cheeks so hot he was sure to ignite at any moment. “I am not!” He met England's eyes and bowed his back so his chest looked extra broad.
For the first time that evening, the beginnings of a smile twitched up the corners of England's mouth. “Your optimism remains as strong as ever,” he noted, stepping away from the table. “You are still a very young nation, and it will take time for you to achieve your goals.”
“I'm not a kid,” America grumbled, picking his napkin off the floor where it had fallen when he had taken his feet. He folded it and placed it on the table. “I am over 200 years old.”
“Then as men, let us retire to the library for some brandy,” England offered.
Alfred nodded and rose. England wasn't apologizing, but he was trying to be nicer. He could try harder as well. “I could use a drink myself.”
Continued and concluded in chapter 3.
Notes (Most info is from wikipedia):
1. French, “Not in front of the servants.” Those familiar with Amelia Peabody should know this phrase.
Asparagus- Is native to Europe, including England. Fell out of favor in Medieval times, but was getting popular again by the 16th century. Arthur liked it an was using it as a treat to trick America into eating his veggies!
Venison- To serve this in England during this time period meant showing off. It either meant you were wealthy enough to own enough green space to allow for legal hunting or that you had an important patron who did. Of course, this is lost on America who has forests full of deer for the taking.
French Revolution- This is in full swing at the time of our story.
Gin- In this time period gin, because it was so cheap, was widely abused by the lower classes to self medicate for pain and misery. By 1740 six times more gin was being produced than beer in England. Various taxes and restrictive acts were passed to make it less affordable in an effort to stem problems with public drunkenness.
The American R Sound- In phonology, a dialect with a pronounced R sound, particularly at the end of words is called 'rhotic'. During the 17th century, British and Colonial American english were both rhotic. (Scotch and Irish english is extremely rhotic even now). Over time, prestigious British accents became non-rhotic, meaning a lessened emphasis on the R sound. This change was actively happening during the 18th century. This is why east coast American accents to this day are more non-rhotic than the rest of the United States (think Boston) given their more heavy exposure to British english speakers. In our story, since Alfred has mostly lived in the east, this means his R's aren't really so bad, but from England's POV they sound positively uncultured.
Early American Models of Government- It was really jacked up prior to the Virginia Plan which introduced the legislative model of the US which exists today.