After having convinced herself not to claim a headache and stay in her room, Jessica found that dinner wasn't as bad as she had feared. Mainly because Jacob was too busy being irritated with his father to have time to rib her. She had always liked the duke, but she had never quite understood the older man's relationship with his son. There was a gap between the two the size of a smaller country, and whenever they were in the same room, one could feel the tension as if it was a tenable thing. She knew that the two had never got along, maybe because they had such contrary personalities, but there must be more to it than that. Her personality was different to the rest of her family, and she still got along with them all splendidly.
There had been a falling out some years ago between Jacob and his father, which of course hadn't made things better. She'd never found out what had caused the argument. Nathaniel probably knew, but he refused to tell her and would just call her a nosy brat whenever she asked about it.
The duke had an infuriating habit of never really speaking directly to Jacob, and it was driving the younger man crazy, and she supposed she couldn't blame him.
"I must admit that I don't know why my son suddenly decided to visit me," the duke was telling her and she could see how it was grating on Jacob. "I suppose I should be glad I see him at all though," he added dryly.
Jacob was trying to behave like a gentleman by speaking to Olivia, who Jessica had found to be very charming. Now and then his clear blue gaze fastened on her though, and it made her feel nervous and uncomfortable, but she pretended indifference since she didn't want him to know how it affected her.
"Maybe you could visit Lord Wortham in London sometimes," she suggested to the duke, trying to be polite.
He actually chuckled. She couldn't remember ever having heard the duke chuckle before. "And be turned away at the door? I think not."
"As if you've ever even considered visiting me," Jacob muttered without even looking in his father's direction.
"I'm thinking my son could have just as well spared me his visit," the duke said. "He could be in London doing something useful instead. Looking for a wife springs to mind."
"And we're back to that." Jacob groaned. It was a well-known fact that the duke wanted him to get married, while Jacob was of no such inclination.
The duke finally looked at his son. "It is your duty as the first son of a duke to ensure the continuance of the bloodline. What if you should die before you have a son? What will become of the Ashbrook title then?"
Jacob shrugged. "I'm sure there is some distant cousin or other who would inherit the title."
"I wish you would take your responsibilities more seriously," the duke remarked coldly.
"And I wish you would stop speaking to me of responsibilities," Jacob replied just as coldly, but there was anger seething underneath his chilly tone. "It's all you ever speak about. My responsibilities. But I will decide myself what I feel responsible for."
"Lady Jessica," the duke suddenly said, apparently deciding that he was getting nowhere with his son. "I found the book we were discussing the other day in the library. Perhaps you would like to join me in my study after dinner to look at it?"
She smiled, quite happy to change the subject since she feared the two men might actually come to blows if they didn't stop goading each other soon. "I would love to, Your Grace." They had been discussing some of Jessica's favourite authors on her first evening at Holcombe, and she had expressed her dismay about how her youngest sister Nick had accidentally—or so she claimed—dropped one of Jessica's best volumes into the moat surrounding their house. Throwing a quick look in Jacob's direction, it surprised her to find him looking at her rather darkly. It reminded her she'd thought he was angry with her that morning. The notion was as puzzling now as it had been then. She couldn't think of anything she could have done to cause it.
Feeling in need of a drink that evening, Jacob made his way to the library where he knew his father kept a cupboard with excellent brandy. The library took up nearly the entire length of the principal part of the manor and had windows facing the courtyard, letting in ample light during daytime for reading. Despite not being a man with much patience for reading, he had always quite liked the room and always spent a lot of time in there whenever he was visiting Holcombe. His father, who in fact did read a lot, would usually bring the books to his private chambers or his study, which had suited them both well and neither had objected to the arrangement. Upon entering the library tonight, it dismayed him to find his father sitting in a comfortable chair with a book in his hands.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered and turned back. "I didn't realise you were here. I will lea—"
"Come now," his father interrupted somewhat impatiently. "Surely we can stand spending a few moments alone in a room together."
He wasn't so sure, but he didn't want his father to think he was fleeing his company, so he ventured further into the room without comment. Finding the cupboard where the liquor was stored, he retrieved a glass and a bottle before hesitantly walking over to sit in a chair close to his father. When the duke didn't make any comment and kept reading his book, Jacob relaxed a little and filled the glass with amber liquid. Taking a sip, he almost choked when his father suddenly looked up from his book.
"You drink too much."
Swallowing with difficulty, he stared at the older man. "I beg your pardon?"
"You drink too much," the duke repeated without looking at him, now having returned his attention to the book he was reading.
"I don't see how you could comment on the issue as you are hardly around me enough to know how much I drink."
"I receive reports," the duke answered idly.
Jacob put the glass down on a nearby table and glared at his father. "Are you having people spy on me?"
"I wouldn't quite put it like that," the duke replied, still appearing immersed in his book. "However, since you do not deign to visit or write me yourself, I have to rely on others for information of your exploits in London. I'm quite appalled. Your tastes leave much to be desired."
"At least look at me when you insult me," Jacob said tersely and was gratified to see his father lower the book and lift his head to gaze at him. By then he almost regretted asking for it, because there was something in his father's eyes that he never had made out, and it always unsettled him. When he was a little boy, he had tried so hard to gain his father's attention and approval, and when it wasn't forthcoming, he'd simply stopped trying. Now he rather fancied that he didn't want it, and he did a lot of things with the satisfaction of knowing that his father would not approve.
"I must admit," his father said, his grey eyes not leaving him, "that I'm quite surprised to see you here. I would have thought you would much rather be in London where you can wreak havoc and act like the disreputable rake you fancy yourself to be."
Jacob chuckled, but there was a bitter quality to it he didn't much like. "Your image of me is very flattering, Father. You know exactly why I'm here."
When the duke only raised a mildly questioning eyebrow, it forced him to grit out, "Your letter."
"I see. You realise of course that this was not the intention when I sent it to you."
"I bloody well don't know why you sent it to me," he said tersely. "But I felt it warranted a visit."
"Well, as you can see, nothing untoward is happening. So you can safely return to London and your... amusements."
The way his father said amusements made Jacob grind his teeth, but he found enough self-control to not reply. It was rather amazing how a father and son could be so different from one another in temper and personality, and so completely unable to be civil to each other. In his moments of darker humour, he found it amusing—in an ironic sort of way—not so when he was in the face of it. He was loath to admit, but it bothered him greatly that his father found him so lacking. By some perverse need of retribution, he did his best to appear even more so, and he'd be damned if he knew why.
"I believe we've spent enough time in each other's presence as to pass it off as the bare minimum required of the civilised world to believe us a loving father and son," the duke said, drawing his attention as he stood up and put his book aside. "I trust you will not miss me as I retire for the night."
"Good night, Father." He stood and offered a mocking bow.
The duke quit the room, leaving Jacob alone with his glass and a bottle of brandy. Exactly what he needed for a pleasant evening. A derisive smile played at his lips. It was such a joy to be home.
~~~~~~