Once home Jacob didn't make it to the bedroom—he never slept there now since it only reminded him of Jessica's absence—but ended up in the library instead. He was sitting behind his desk when Dawson came in to tell him his father had come to call. The news surprised him so much that he told the butler to show him in, and a few minutes later his father turned up in the doorway.
Walking into the room, he gave Jacob a disapproving look, and for once he supposed he couldn't very well blame the older man. His shirt was partly unbuttoned and his cravat untied. No comb had been near his hair for at least a day, and a dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw. The stench of alcohol still clung to his clothes, even though he was more or less sober by now. The duke had always enjoyed cleanliness and perfection, so seeing his son like this would definitely not be to his liking. As usual, he took a certain grim satisfaction in disappointing his father.
The duke sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk and looked him over in silence until he couldn't help but fidget.
"What brings you here?" he asked brusquely. "You're not known to spend much time in London."
"You do."
The answer surprised him. The only time his father had ever sought him out before was when he had wanted to badger him into marrying Merilyn all those years ago. "I do? Have you come to lecture me as well? Are we missing some vast tract of land if Jessica does the unthinkable and divorces me?"
"As much as it might surprise you," his father said slowly. "I don't care about whatever land she may have brought to the estate."
"No?" He smirked. "That'd be a first."
After another moment's silence, the duke said, "I'm worried about you."
The statement made him laugh. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"
His father sighed. "I know we don't have a good relationship," he said. "And I'm to blame for this. In fact, I'm to blame for a lot of things. I know well that I have not been the best father, and no one can blame you for acting out the way you did as a child."
He watched his father in silence, uncertain how to react to this confession. Never before had the duke taken any responsibility for Jacob's behaviour, nor had he admitted to being a poor father. Where was this leading?
"When your mother died—" The duke took a deep breath before continuing. "When Mary died, I was heartbroken. I also didn't know how to behave around a child. You were the first one I'd ever been near. So I found it easier to ignore you. The first few years, it was painful to even see you, you were such a reminder of your mother. You have your mother's eyes, as well as her personality and temper. I thought more about my own pain than your well-being, and for this I am sorry. I could have been a better father, but I wasn't."
When Jacob still said nothing, his father continued. "I know that your destructive behaviour was a way to gain my attention, and I'm sorry it was the only attention I ever gave you. The more attention I gave, the more you misbehaved. And that attitude seems to have stayed with you all these years. You still do things you know I would not approve of."
He smirked. "I do enjoy some of it, you know."
"I know," the duke said. "But you do more than you probably would have done had I been a better father."
"Possibly," he allowed.
"I also want to apologise for not believing you about Merilyn when it first happened. I should never have pushed you to marry her. Later I realised she didn't speak the truth. For all your faults, you rarely lie. And had you ruined her, you most likely would have happily thrown it in my face. By the time I figured this out, it was too late, and you wouldn't listen to me, anyway." He smiled wryly. "And apologising does not come easy for me. I am a proud man. Just like you."
He looked at his father, and for the first time, he felt like he understood the older man somewhat. This was probably the most the duke had ever revealed about himself, and he wasn't even sure how to react. "Why are you telling me all of this?" he finally asked.
"You can hate me," his father said. "I'm quite used to it, and I probably deserve it. But I don't enjoy seeing you mistreat Lady Jessica. She's a wonderful girl, and she deserves better."
"Don't I know it," he muttered.
"You push her away. You push everyone away as I pushed you away. No one is allowed close because you're afraid they won't like what they see."
"That's ridiculous." He scoffed, but he knew his father was right. Deep inside he'd always felt he wasn't quite good enough, just like he hadn't been good enough to deserve his father's love and respect.
"I know you think I disapprove of all that you are and everything you do," the older man said. "But that's not entirely true. I know why you do it, and even so, I can see that you're a good man. You just don't want people to know it. After our falling out, you refused to accept money from me, and you've done well for yourself. I'm proud of you."
He could do little more than stare at his father. There had been so many revelations that he barely knew what to think.
The duke stood. "I won't trouble you anymore. But please, Jacob. Don't throw away what you have. Jessica is the best thing that ever happened to you. If you don't let her in, you will lose her, and I don't think you want that. Not if you take a moment to think about it." He sighed. "I've lost someone I loved, and I don't want you to go through that."
He had decided that he would pursue Jessica that morning when Gowthorpe had badgered him about it, but after his father's speech, he felt less like a failure. Maybe he could deserve her. She was still way too good for him, but damn it if he would let that stop him. He could make her happy if he only worked hard enough. Watching as his father made his way across the room, he finally called out when the duke reached to open the door.
"Father?"
"Yes?" The duke turned around to look at him.
"I don't hate you," he said earnestly.
His father smiled briefly and nodded towards him before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Jacob stayed in the library, thinking about everything his father had told him. It was a lot to process, but he was glad that they had finally had this conversation. And apparently, both Gowthorpe and his father had seen what he had tried to ignore for so long; that he didn't want to lose Jessica.
They were right. He would be a fool if he let her slip away. If he was any man at all, he would go to Davenhall and he would fight for her. He'd do anything necessary to make her forgive him, and then he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.
"Dawson!" he yelled.
The butler came in. "You called, my lord?"
"Yes, please have a horse readied for me."
"May I enquire where you are going, my lord?"
"Davenhall," he said. "I'm going to fetch home my wife."
A smile tugged at corners of the butler's mouth, but he remained serious. "Very good, my lord." He cleared his throat. "May I make one suggestion?"
"What, Dawson?" he asked, a little impatiently.
"You may wish to take a bath and change clothes first, my lord."
He chuckled. "You're probably right. My wife may not take me back if I smell like an entire cupboard of liquor."
"Then I shall call for a bath, my lord?"
"Yes, Dawson. And a horse for later."
"Very well." The butler bowed and left the room.
Standing up, Jacob smiled to himself. "You can run, but you can't hide, sweetheart. I'm coming to Davenhall."
~~~~~~