Arthur Phillip Dent

My name is Arthur Phillip Dent II. My father was Sir Arthur Phillip Dent I, a gentleman landowner of West Yorkshire. I was born in in 1730 much to the consternation of my elder brother, John (more about him later). My mother died when I was young from a fever, so my brother and I were mostly raised by various governesses. My father inherited his land and small title, so we lived a comfortable life and had access to the best education England had to offer. We were even so fortunate as to be able to visit the great cities of Europe while I was in my early teens, going as far as Vienna and Rome. 

Sadly, tragedy struck our family again. My father died while on his way home from London from what the doctor suspected was a stroke. While I grieved desperately, I was also concerned about my security without the kind influence of my father. You see, my brother, John, despises everything about me and so does his wife, Lady Vogon (That's my nickname for her; her real name is Lady Tricia). Because my father died, John was to inherit my father's land and estate. I was planning on keeping out of their way by moving to our summer home in the west country, but after the funeral, I overheard my brother and his wife planning to destroy the home. I remember quite distinctly my sister-in-law saying something like the following, "I can't stand that beastly cottage standing in that dreadful spot. We need to tear it down! Put a highway there or something; anything would be better." I don't understand the reasoning for destroying my house to put a highway there (or something), but Lady Tricia comes from a long line of bureaucrats who often have no justification for their decisions. She might even be related to Cromwell now that I think of it.

Having no other family to turn to, I examined my options. My first instinct was to stay in the summer home and refuse to leave so as to discourage any destruction that might incur if I was away. I tried this for a time, trying my hand at making John Montagu's new sandwich invention, painting, reading, and writing to pass the time. One can only stay occupied inside for so long, however. So, my good valet Ford convinced me that life abroad would be much more invigorating and enlightening and allow me to avoid any confrontation with my dear brother and sister-in-law. 

Ford was born in the great Russian Empire before his parents settled in Germany. When my family visited Germany, he and his mother were part of the staff at the inn at which we stayed. My father recognized Ford's value and hired him to be my valet. He is only a few years older than me, so we get along well me at 26 years and he at 30. His actual name is Fyodor, but Ford found he got along better with an English name. He convinced me to journey to this grand empire to the east, promising me art, literature, architecture, intrigue, and most of all, delicious tea. I agreed to the excursion with a little trepidation, but after Ford promised to help me learn the language, we set out by carriage towards the channel and then beyond to the great eastern empire.