Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

" A party? Here?" His aunt stared at him wide-eyed. Although she was seated, she pinched the table's edge as if to keep herself from falling.

One side of the sheet covering the enormous banquet table had been pulled back to allow room for him and Aunt Louisa to eat dinner. Brownstone Hall's kitchens were deep amid renovations. Fortunately, a woman from town had been hired to make their meals in her home and have them delivered.

Jacob chewed a savory piece of meat. He'd hoped to dine alone to allow time to recover from the shock of meeting his son, but Aunt Louisa had held supper for him.

Jacob speared a slice of tenderloin and dredged it through a flavorful gravy. He'd given up on any semblance of peace. The constant hammering, sawing, and shouting of workers were bad enough, but the clamoring of questions in his mind regarding Christian made tranquility impossible. Since he'd already relayed his harrowing escape from death, he'd decided to break the rest of the news to his aunt.

Maybe that should've waited until morning.

He pasted on his most charming smile. "I told them we'd host a party in Miss Thompson's honor, since she saved my life." Jacob rolled a detestable Brussels sprout away from the rest of his food with his fork.

Aunt Louisa paled and drew back in her seat.

"It will be good for the town to see the progress on Brownstone Hall and for you to make an appearance again in society after all these years. Consider it your second coming out."

She blanched until she tinged a bit blue.

Wrong thing to say, apparently. "There is nothing to worry about. I will take care of all the details. All you need to do that evening is to sit and eat dinner. I'll draw the conversation my way."

Her mouth opened and closed, clearly wanting to speak but unable to make her voice work.

Under normal circumstances, he'd throw out some lighthearted quip, but his heart felt too heavy. Part of him wanted to open the windows and shout for joy. He was a father who'd found his son—a healthy, happy young man. The other part was burdened with indecision. Now what? He'd planned to bring his son back to London, but now he hesitated to reveal himself. If he did, how would he answer his son's questions about his mother or where Jacob had been all this time? And the Thompson family seemed like lovely people. Could he pull Christian away from the only family he's ever known? He also couldn't bear not being part of his son's life. He must seek to know the Thompsons better for Christian's sake, then he could decide the best course of action.

With all that to consider, Jacob found himself fussing over something as trivial as a party. A celebration had been an impulsive suggestion to explain his presence in the Thompsons' drawing room other than being there to claim his son.

Aunt Louisa's gaze flicked to his and then away. Obviously, she had more to discuss. When she still stayed silent, he raised a brow.

The spark in her eyes dulled as though she was withdrawing to some place deep inside herself.

Jacob felt like a cad. A party was an immense task for someone who hadn't had company in over thirty years.

"Aunt Louisa, I must apologize. Today was a trying day, and I fear I'm terrible company. Please forgive me. Is there something more about the party you'd like to discuss?"

"I don't mean to be a veritable goose. The Thompsons are dears. Miss Thompson and her mother bring jams and fresh bread to Brownstone Hall weekly." She frowned. "I don't come to the door, but one day, Miss Thompson caught me spying from the window, and she waved." A brief smile flickered on her lips. "I waved back, and now we communicate in a way. She waves. I wave. When the weather is pleasant, Mrs. Thompson and I will speak through the open window."

The full impact of the lonely life his aunt had led hit him like a musket ball to the chest. It was time for her to make friends again.

"I know we've only been reacquainted for a little over a fortnight," she said, "but since you returned from town, you've seemed rather irritable. Is everything all right?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Am I that obvious?"

Her gaze dropped back to her plate, and she raised her shoulders in the slightest shrug.

Jacob chuckled. "You know, I can't remember the last time someone asked me how I fared." He patted his fingertips on the table. "In London, most people are only concerned for themselves. It's rare for anyone to think of someone else, unless it's to wonder what the other person thinks of them."

Aunt Louisa smiled. "I gather things have changed little since I last visited London."

"And when was that?"

"For my coming out." A tiny grin erupted as if a fond memory wavered her lips. "Seventeen eighty-one. I was still a green girl back then, awestruck by the excitement and glamour of the ton and parties." The tiny lines around her eyes and mouth softened, giving her a youthful appearance.

"You must have been a prime article, taking beaus by storm." He sobered his expression. "You still hold a classic beauty."

Two red splotches on his aunt's cheeks warmed her pale coloring.

"You are too kind." She shook her head. "I recall how mercenary the ladies of the ton could behave. I probably acted in a similar manner. I believed it was my one chance to change the direction of my life." The creases around her mouth returned. "Ultimately, my father had the final say in my future."

"He chose my uncle for your husband?"

"I'd hoped to finish the Season, but your uncle was in a hurry to marry. Bans were posted, and I was whisked away to Sylvanwood within a month." Her countenance fell as if a heavy weight rested on her shoulders. "I haven't left since."

"Not even to see relatives?"

"Your mother brought you here to visit once."

He nodded. "I remember it vaguely. I liked to yell and hear my echo through the hall."

A broad smile swept across her features. "You hooted and hollered for hours." She swallowed and fiddled with her napkin. "Athol preferred me to be here in case he decided to return home unexpectedly. He'd fly into a rage even if I had merely gone to the market. Servants ventured into town, not the mistress of the house. I was to stay here and do his bidding."

Jacob's jaw tensed. His uncle made Jacob's father seem like an angel. His temper was fierce and scathing, but as far as Jacob knew, he'd never laid a finger on Mother.

His aunt tucked a gray lock under her cap. He would like to have seen her in her prime before his uncle altered her into a wounded animal. Uncle Cyrus was a coward. How could a man abuse a woman?

A string of beautiful faces floated through his memory, women with whom Jacob had an encounter. They had been starved for attention. He gave it freely, collecting their affection as a man would collect snuff boxes.

The tenderloin turned to sawdust in his mouth.

A second musket ball of guilt tore through his chest, leaving a hole where his heart used to beat. He'd been so focused on proving to Sarah that he could replace her as easily as she had him that he'd forgotten that each woman was someone's daughter, someone's sister, or someone's niece.

Aunt Louisa laughed nervously. "And here I am, blithering on about me when I meant to ask about you."

Before he could respond, Maslow appeared at her elbow and removed their plates.

She straightened the dessert silverware in front of her. "Did your conversation with the Thompsons go well?"

Jacob inhaled. He could steer the conversation in two different directions—keep it light and circumspect, or be truthful and sobering. He'd grown tired of the former. Significant risk and judgement could come with the latter, but his aunt had been open with him. If anyone could be forgiving, it might be her.

"I met their youngest son."

"Oh? I haven't seen him yet, but Mrs. Thompson mentioned she had a young son. She'd moved here from up north." She tapped her chin. "How many years ago was that?"

"Five," Jacob said. "It was five years ago."

"What is his name?"

"Christian."

"Yes, that's right." Aunt Louisa nodded. "Christ follower."

Christian. He liked his son's name, but Jacob's actions may have turned God away. He hadn't been in a church since his brother's marriage and even longer before then. Knowing his sinful nature, Jacob was surprised lightning hadn't struck when he entered the building. Maybe there was hope for his son. Perhaps Christian could be redeemed, but Jacob's sins were far too great.

"I'm his father."

Aunt Louisa's lips parted.

Blast . Why had he blurted it out? Couldn't he have found a tactful way to soften the information for his aunt? He'd already hit her with the blow of a party and now followed by planting a facer that he had a child out of wedlock.

To her credit, she subdued her shock quickly. "I see. I wondered if there might be another reason you came to see an old aunt you'd only met once. Checking on your son makes much more sense."

"You probably think the worst of me, and you'd be correct." Jacob massaged the tight muscles in the back of his neck.

"The fact that you're here to find him tells me you feel remorse."

"I wanted to marry her—Christian's birth mother."

"Why don't you tell me the story?"

Surprisingly, her eyes held no condemnation. In their faded blue depths, he only saw concern and sympathy.

"I was home on holiday from university." He gathered his strength for the spectrum of emotions he knew was coming. "I encountered Sarah at a country dance. Her family didn't live far from mine, but I hadn't seen her since she was a child. While I was at Cambridge, she'd blossomed into a woman. Her marriage had been pre-arranged by her father, who was of the same ilk as mine." He lifted his eyebrows at Aunt Louisa. "The same ilk as his brother."

Aunt Louisa nodded her understanding.

"She was rebelling against his overbearing behavior. Who could blame her for wanting to choose her own life? Certainly not me. When she flirted with me and encouraged my advances, I was smitten. Not only was she beautiful, but she knew her own mind."

His chest tingled at the memory of young love—the palpitations of excitement, the carefree spirit of innocence, the belief that he'd always feel what he felt at that time, as if nothing could bruise such pure emotions.

How na?ve he'd been.

"She arranged for clandestine visits," he explained. "I fancied myself in love. I believed with my whole heart that the feelings were mutual. She never gave me a reason to think otherwise."

Aunt Louisa remained silent as if she knew how painful this was to reveal. Her gaze never left him, though she occasionally nodded to show she listened.

"One night, Sarah summoned me to our secret spot." Jacob swallowed against the wave of pain constricting his chest. "She was crying and admitted she was with child. I should have been ashamed by our actions, but at the idea that we'd created a life together—a part of her and a part of me—I was elated. I proposed to her immediately, excited for a life together, a child, and our prospects, but when I fell to one knee, she sobbed even harder. I thought she was concerned about any rumors and explained an early firstborn child was common. No one needed to know. I never thought… All our time together, as much as we cared for each other, it never occurred to me that she would marry the man her father had chosen. But that man was the Duke of Charlton. I'm merely a third son."

Aunt Louisa's gaze dropped to his hands, and he followed her gaze to find he'd curled them into fists. He slid them under the table, not wanting her to be alarmed by his anger.

"She wrote me a letter stating her plans to disappear until our child was born—and then marry the duke. In the end, she wanted to be a duchess more than she wanted to be a mother. More than she wanted me."

Even after all those years, he couldn't erase the bitterness in his voice.

"I'm sorry." The compassion in Aunt Louisa's eyes brought a lump to his throat.

"Eventually, I realized my love had been nothing more than mere infatuation, but I never forgot she'd borne a child, my child."

"Of course, you didn't. How could a caring father forget his own son?"

Jacob struggled to find his voice to continue. "Sarah had mentioned, after refusing my proposal plans, that she would visit a distant cousin, but she never said who kept our child or where I could find him. I was in shock over her denial, not thinking she'd never let me see the baby. I hired a private investigator to research her family. I even called upon Sarah after she married. She received me into her personal drawing room and voiced her desire to continue our past relationship, but I pushed her away. She had a husband." His voice dripped with disdain. "We stood in his house."

Jacob shook his head. "I'll never forget the way her nostrils flared and the ugly set of her jaw when she discovered I was there to gather information regarding our child." A harsh laugh erupted from his throat. "The only instruction I received was from her butler as he tossed me out on my ear. ‘Don't come back.'"

"And you're certain that Christian is your son?"

He nodded. "Christian has my coloring." He could also claim the child's eyes, smile, and stature. "Seeing him today was like looking at myself when I was a boy."

While his heart leapt with joy, trepidation raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

I have a son.

He exhaled a deep breath and rubbed his hands down his face.

"What do you plan to do now that you've met him?" Aunt Louisa asked in a soft tone, the same question that had filled Jacob's mind since he'd laid eyes on Christian.

"I came here intending to bring him back with me and set things right, but now I'm not so sure." He met his aunt's gaze, hoping she'd have the answers. "Am I fit to be a father? My reputation is black—dark gray at best."

One of his talents, other than the art of disguise that the Home Office often asked of him, was to charm the wives, sisters, or daughters of various persons of interest to extract information. He flattered, flirted, and enticed them through seduction—but never bedded them. He'd learned his lesson. One son to locate was enough.

How could he be a father while leading a libertine's life surrounded by debauchery? He was the furthest thing from a role model for a young boy.

Aunt Louisa reached out and squeezed his hand. "It doesn't matter how you got that reputation. What matters is that you don't have to keep it."

He couldn't move beyond his doubts. "I'm also my father's son, and you know how he is, filled with rage and dipping deep in his cups. What if I turn out the same way?"

"You've chosen to keep your anger at bay." She harrumphed. "If holding you captive in a chair and flinging tea in your face didn't fly you into the boughs, then you've a good grasp on your emotions."

Aunt Louisa was right. He didn't have to continue this destructive path. He could change direction, maybe even stay here and not return to London. He could start a new life.

His eldest brother had changed. Perhaps he could too. Robert had chosen a wife and settled down. He'd been fortunate in discovering Nora. A good-natured, respectable woman was rare among London's ton, especially the fast set in which circles Jacob ran. He could never abide living a life with the women of his acquaintance—a fickle lot, the entire bunch, seeking to marry the fortune, not the man, so they could be lavished in jewels and furs.

The meager holdings of a third-born son weren't enough to turn the heads of the elite.

His charm worked to his advantage. Married women, widows with their own means, and genteel ladies wishing to improve their rank sought him out with a fervor that—frankly—scared him. His reputation as a rake horrified chaperones but seemed to increase the young ladies' ardor. Not one of the numerous women who sought his affections took the time to know him. None of them knew he awoke each morning and watched the sunrise alone, that he enjoyed fixing things, or that he hated the taste of Brussels sprouts. From what he'd experienced from his interactions with Sarah and other women, he'd decided women were a capricious gender who sought to benefit themselves. So he played their games but only to his advantage.

But now he'd met his son. Christian was real, not merely a thought that occupied the back of his mind every minute of every day.

He put his napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how a bachelor's life could compare with the good upbringing Christian is receiving at the Thompsons' household."

Aunt Louisa remained silent, nodding for him to continue.

"But now that I've seen him, how can I stand by and watch the boy grow from a distance?" He stood and paced the length of the table. "Then there's the issue of his illegitimacy. If I stay with the Thompsons, people might speculate about me and my past. Some will assume Christian was baseborn even though the Thompsons did a bang-up job, making Christian appear to society that he's their legitimate son." He turned and faced Aunt Louisa. "But if I bring Christian into my home without a wife, there will be no question about the child's by-blow status."

"These are all good questions to bring before God," Aunt Louisa said.

Jacob snorted. "God doesn't want to hear from the likes of me."

She frowned. "When Jesus was alive, with whom did He spend most of His time?"

How did they get on this subject? "I guess His disciples."

"Who else?"

Jacob should've paid more attention during church. "There was that Samaritan woman."

His aunt nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"And that tax collector chap, Zack something…"

"Zacchaeus."

"Yes, the tax collector that everyone despised." Jacob snapped his fingers. "And then there were those people from whom he cast out demons. And the woman caught in adultery."

He was on a roll.

"They were all sinners." Aunt Louisa nodded as if she'd made some important point. "If there is one thing I've learned, it's that God cares for all His children, especially the brokenhearted. He came to redeem us through His blood and offer forgiveness for our sins. Jesus came to give people like you and me a new life." She leaned in closer, the intensity in her faded blue eyes reaching into the darkness of his soul. "You are exactly who He wants to hear from."