London, United Kingdom
April 1852

James was thankful to have a night to himself. His father was asleep, as was his aunt, and one of his old friends from school was hosting a party at his private residence. He had been in London for nearly three weeks now; however, this was his first real outing since his arrival. Lorraine had kept him busy for far too long, and because James fancied himself a good person, he did answer his father when he called. Of course, he did all this begrudgingly, but nonetheless, he did what needed to be done because it was what was required of him. He was beginning to see that just going along with it all was easier than trying to force his will upon people who would not listen, and besides, it kept him from thinking about her.

Though it angered him, James could hardly stop thinking of Jane and what the doctor had told him before he had left for London. He cursed himself for his carelessness with his wife. He didn't want to be a father, and judging by Jane's apparent state of depression, she didn't want to be a mother either. It puzzled him; he thought all women wanted to have children.

Frustrated by the fact that, once again, he could not help but ponder these things about his wife, James swiftly exited his carriage and went into the place that would hopefully ease his mind. All that was going on around him had begun to weigh heavily on his conscience; thus, James was looking for escape. The stress that had been put upon him had grown to be too much for him to bear without some means of release, but his friends were more than willing to give it to him.

Upon his arrival, James quickly obtained his usual drink, then joined his friends at the poker table. They were pleased by his presence, because of all of the men there, none was more liberal with their pocketbook than James Hale, especially when he was drinking. Within two hours, they were all playing for a chance to win the small fortune that James had put forward, and to no one's surprise, James was the first to strike out and lose it all.

Frustrated, James went away from the playing table in search of another drink. On his way back to the bar, he was intercepted by the evening's host, Aaron Ferguson, who had been somewhat of a mentor to James when he had been a young boy. Weary from the heat of the crowded room, James readily accepted his friend's offer to take him back to the parlour, where they would find respite from the common folk that swarmed the ballroom. When they arrived, James was apprehensive, yet still somehow pleased to see that they were joined by one of his old school friends as well.

"Look who I found wandering about." Aaron ushered James into the small room and went to the liquor cabinet by the window. "It appears as if he's been here for quite a while."

"Oh, please tell me you didn't try your hand at cards again." The other man, Sebastian, stood from his chair and came to meet James in the middle of the floor. Like James, Sebastian had a certain talent for getting on peoples' nerves, and so James was wary upon sharing too much with him. Whatever he said there that night would surely be repeated and mostly likely used to make fun of him.

"I'm afraid so," James replied irritably, embracing Sebastian as he came to meet him. "I guess I never learn."

Sebastian shook his head, laughing derisively, "That's too bad. I wish I had been there to win something from you."

"You're an ass."

"Aye, but you look like shit." Sebastian clapped James on the back and raised his glass towards where Aaron was standing. "Get this man a drink, Aaron. He's married now; he's going to need it for when he explains to the missus why they've fallen into poverty."

At the mention of his wife, James noticeably tensed but remained silent. He didn't want to speak of Jane with these men, or rather, he didn't want to speak of her with Sebastian. As delightfully reckless as Sebastian was, James most definitely did not want to be on the receiving end of his biting wit. Sebastian would surely pester him into admitting the uncivil nature of their relationship, and that was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Noticing James's unease, Sebastian added, "Perhaps a cigar as well." He walked over to where he had been sitting and took up a cigar from the box on the table, quickly lighting it and holding it out to James. "Here, have one of these. I just got them this morning."

Thankful that Sebastian hadn't pressed him on the topic of Jane, James came forward and took the cigar from Sebastian's hand, putting it to his lips and allowing the smoke to fill his lungs. He shut his eyes, exhaling several moments later and relishing in the sense of relaxation that the tobacco brought him.

"Thanks," James replied, smiling faintly.

Sebastian gave him a curt nod, then resumed his former position, gesturing for James to sit across from him. He did so silently, his watchful eyes glancing across the room and coming to fall on Aaron. He had two drinks in his hand, one of which was meant for James.

"So James, when did you get back from Derbyshire? I thought you weren't coming back until May." Aaron gave James his drink and sat across from him in the chair beside Sebastian. Both with drinks in hand, they awaited the explanation behind James's unexpected company.

Swallowing some of the whiskey in his glass, James inhaled sharply at how strong this particular make was in comparison to what was being served outside. It nearly set his already numbed chest afire, but that was exactly what James had been hoping for.

"Three weeks ago," James replied lazily, inspecting the fine crystal glass in his hand. "My father is deathly ill, apparently."

Sebastian smirked, knowing of James's poor relationship with his father and hoping to tease him. "Apparently? Aren't you supposed to be sad?"

James scoffed, the bitterness from his earlier poker loss doing a great deal to inspire his sour attitude. "I'm sad he isn't dead yet."

"Oh, what a dutiful son you are. You would rather ease his suffering than for him to remain with you in pain." Sebastian looked to Aaron with a cruel, yet playful gleam in his eye. "Isn't he selfless? I've always told you so."

"I don't know if selfless is the word I would use to describe James." Aaron shrugged, not meaning his words to be unkind. "But if it were, I doubt he would be our friend at all. Wouldn't you agree?"

"You two are terrible," James replied, shaking his head in mocking disapproval. He knew they were right. Of all his friends, none were more accepting nor encouraging of the pursuit of satisfying one's passions than they were, and so James, like the two of them, was a selfish man. But what did it matter? No one depended on him, not really.

"Aye, I may be terrible," Sebastian laughed. "But at least I don't wish death upon my own father."

At this, James lifted his eyes to Sebastian's mocking face, no longer amused by he and his friend's conversation. Perhaps he shouldn't have said what he did about wanting his father to die, but still, that did not give Sebastian the right to slander him for it. He, of all people, knew best as to why James and his father did not get along, and quite frankly, his disapproving tone offended James greatly.

"Watch your tongue," James said lowly, successfully intimidating his friend into silence. Too often, Sebastian would forget himself in his childish attempts to rouse a stimulating conversation, going too far at the expense of others. James had forgotten how much it irritated him.

Immediately coming to grasp his mistake, Sebastian shamefully lowered his eyes and mumbled a quick apology, to which James replied with a disinterested nod and another sip of his drink. Aaron, uncomfortable with the intensity between them, then quickly sought to ease the tensions in the room by inquiring after James's well-being.

"Alright, I suppose." James took another swig of his whiskey, making sure to keep his responses vague. He didn't want to speak of his troubles even if Aaron seemed to wish to hear of them. "I forgot how boring it is in Derbyshire."

"Surely Jane enjoys it, though? It's a beautiful estate."

James couldn't help but laugh bitterly, "If she does, she doesn't show it." After speaking, he realized he had already done what he was trying not to do. He cursed the manner in which his alcohol consumption had rendered him so careless. He had meant to keep Jane's discontentment a secret, but now in the face of his idiotic admittance, it appeared that he had all but invited his two friends to see the truth of his marriage. He prayed that he could make an escape before that happened.

Aaron frowned and glanced over at Sebastian as if to confirm that he had heard James correctly. Sebastian looked confused as well. "What do you mean?"

James set his half-full glass on the table in front of him and took a puff from his cigar to appear at ease, despite the fact that he was the furthest thing from it. "She's just very quiet, that's all."

Sebastian laughed teasingly, forgetting about his error from only moments before, "Oh, she won't do for you at all. You need a woman that will keep you on your toes."

Annoyed that Sebastian would comment again, James rolled his eyes, "Well, I suppose it's a bit too late to find another one. And besides, I doubt Henry would take her back after the things I've done to her."

Both Aaron and Sebastian laughed upon hearing James's boastful comment, encouraging him to say more. And James, though he had initially intended not to speak of his wife, could not help but oblige them. Above all things, James liked to brag, and he knew very well that he could stretch the truth far enough to inspire jealousy within the two men sitting across from him. What harm could that do anyone?

"Ah, so married life isn't so bad then?" Aaron grinned. "I hoped you would make the best of it, and it appears that you have."

"Oh, I think so. She's probably longing for my return."

"You mean she's not here with you?"

"No, she stayed behind."

"Why?"

Upon this inquiry, James felt his anxiety begin to return. He shouldn't have said that, because he knew very well why Jane hadn't come with him to London, but given his present intoxication, James wasn't so sure that he could avoid revealing the reason behind her absence.

"She wasn't well, that's all. My aunt insisted she stay behind."

Sebastian laughed, "So you left your sick wife behind to care for a man you hate?"

"Her illness won't kill her." James shot his friend a warning glare, but it appeared to only encourage him further. Sebastian, always willing to embarrass himself for the sake of getting on someone's nerves, smirked at James's mounting frustration and did his best to help it along.

"Do I sense some animosity in your tone? I wonder, is it meant for me or for her?"

Irritated by that teasing gleam in Sebastian's eyes, James clenched his teeth and looked away from him in hopes of reigning in his anger. He knew the effort was futile, but still, James tried to suppress himself for the sake of his pride.

"It's always meant for you, Sebastian," James spat hatefully. "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish by accosting me, but I suggest you lay it to rest before you regret it."

Aaron leaned towards Sebastian and whispered something under his breath, encouraging him to adopt an attitude of silence. However, Sebastian did not appear to want to cater James's ill temper, nor was he inclined to follow Aaron's advice. He protested quietly, thinking that James could not hear.

But James did hear, and the whispering that passed between his two friends was pushing him further and further towards a mental breakdown. His head pounded, and the room before him seemed to be moving up and down like the hull of a ship traversing through a stormy sea. James shut his eyes in attempt to force the dizziness away, but in doing so, the irritating voices of his friends were only amplified in his wearied mind. They grew louder and louder, grating against his skull until at last, James could take it no longer. He shouldn't have come there.

"It's fine," he said suddenly. "I need to be going anyway."

James, ignoring the protests of his friends and telling them that he would be in touch soon, stood from his seat and left the room. Crossly, James weaved his way through the crowds of people, his headache intensifying with each step he took. Cursing to himself as he stumbled outside, James gripped the door frame to maintain his balance. He breathed heavily and leant his head against his arm, standing there for several moments before proceeding into the night.

It was a long walk home, but James didn't mind. Aggravated by everything that he had experienced in the previous hours, James welcomed the chilled air coming to ensnare his entire being. The cold did a great deal to contrast with the alcohol-induced heat that had risen to his cheeks, sobering him just enough to navigate his way through London. However, no matter how much the cool air surrounding him acted to lower his body temperature, nothing could silence his anger nor his distress.

In going out that night, James had hoped to escape the ailments of his mind; however, as he wandered the streets of London on his own, James came to see that his efforts had been utterly useless. Neither the alcohol nor his old friends had served him in the ways that he had hoped they would, and that realization somewhat disoriented him as he made his way home. Why couldn't he find solace there as he had before? What had changed?

After some time, James at last returned to his home, even more exhausted and mentally taxed than before. The walk had somewhat sobered him, and in doing so, allowed him to think more clearly in regards to why he had been unable to find peace amongst his usual crowd. He couldn't admit it to himself, but marriage had changed him in ways that he had rather not acknowledge, mostly because if he did, he would need to face the reality of Jane's impact on his life. For the first time maybe ever, James's pride had been shattered by a woman, which indicated that he cared far more about what Jane thought of him than he wanted to. Realizing that was like a punch to the gut, and so, in an effort to salvage what was left of who he had been prior to meeting Jane Pelham, James blocked her from his mind.

By the time he returned to his father's house, James was mad with frustration. Not thinking of Jane had proven to be far more difficult than he had hoped, and so he was angry with himself for being so weak-minded. He told himself that it was the alcohol that kept him from exhibiting self-control, but deep down he knew that something much more powerful was gnawing at his heart to keep her in his thoughts. It unnerved him.

As James proceeded through the great halls of his London residence, he was surprised to see that many of the corridors were still fairly well-lit. He frowned, thinking that it was a waste of resources to keep the place lit while everyone was asleep. He would have to speak to someone about that.

It wasn't until James reached the second floor that he realized that he wasn't the only one awake. A maid he had never seen before came into view, her face paling as she laid eyes upon him approaching her. She froze, frantically looking around herself as if to find an escape, but upon finding none, continued in James's direction, her face turned towards the floor.

Puzzled by the girl's apprehension, James addressed her pointedly, not making an effort to ease her apparent stress. It was clear that something was amiss within his home, but he was hesitant to imagine just what it was. For the first time that evening, he genuinely did have control over his mind, keeping him from jumping to conclusions.

"What's going on?" She stopped in front of him, still not looking him in the eye. Her reluctance to approach him sparked a sense of dread within him, though still, he did not allow the feeling in his gut to develop fully into a thought. "Why are all the lights on?"

Stuttering, the girl replied, "I–It's your father, my lo–" She paused, correcting herself and addressing him with a tone that reflected reverence. "Your Grace, Your father is–"

"Look at me." Falling silent, the girl would not raise her eyes to meet his, and so James reached out and tipped her chin up with his thumb. Her pupils shrunk as they came into the light, quivering as she suffered James's icy stare.

It was then that James knew exactly what had happened.

With his breath shaky and his shoulders tense, James looked beyond the maid's terror-stricken expression and down the corridor. Slowly, as he let his hand fall to his side, James tried to swallow, only to find that his tongue thickly kept him from doing so. His throat tightening as he tried to speak, James scarcely managed the words to dismiss the maid still standing before him, though his weakened tone did little to deter her from following his orders. She hurried away, not looking back as she left James standing speechless in the hallway.

She had called him, Your Grace.

Unaware of how long he had been standing there, James forced his leaden feet to press onwards towards what he was certain would be a scene of pathetic, undeserved grief. His head still spinning from his night out, James pressed through the haze that clouded his thoughts, walking purposefully towards his father's bedroom. He passed several servants, all of whom were quick to acknowledge him with a reverent bow followed by the same title the maid had used to address him. He didn't want to hear it.

Ignoring those who tried to pay their respects, James at last came upon his father's open door, though for the life of him, he could not force himself to go inside. Lorraine stood just by the window, speaking with a man who looked as if he should be waiting at the gates of hell to deliver the newly deceased to his eternal resting place. The man's face was drawn, and even from several feet away, James could see the bleakness of his eyes. This, surely, was the undertaker.

The man saw James standing in the doorway, still and silent, and so quickly, he moved to acknowledge him. Of all the people that greeted him that night, none made James more uncomfortable than this one.

"Your Grace." The man bowed, interrupting whatever Lorraine had been saying to him. Rising, he stepped carelessly past her and met James by the door. "Your aunt has given me instructions for the funeral, but I–"

James held his hand up to silence him, at which the cursed man immediately ceased speaking and awaited his command.

"Go." James looked into the man's cold eyes. "Now. You may wait for someone to fetch you."

The undertaker bowed stiffly, further aggravating James with his many pardons as he backed away. James, however, paid the haunting man no attention as he stepped inside the dark room before him, never willing his eyes to go past the window where the bed began. He didn't want to go nearer.

His aunt, as soon as they were alone, released a heavy breath and shakily asked him where he had been.

"Out," James replied flatly, then turning his face to look upon Lorraine's tear-stained cheeks. "What, um, when did it happen?"

"Not even an hour ago." Lorraine's voice was just about as cold and biting at the undertaker's depthless eyes. "He was asking for you... in the end."

"Don't tell me that." James's voice nearly cracked as he spoke.

Lorraine apparently felt no sympathy for her nephew. She spat harshly, "Well, he was, and you should have been here!"

Lorraine's raised voice momentarily surprised James, but as soon as he saw the tears gleaming in her eyes, he understood. She had been holding herself together for the sake of speaking with that dreadful man, but now that she was alone with him, there was no use in concealing the true nature of her grief. Though he himself felt nothing in the face of his father's death, James knew that it was not the case for Lorraine. She had lost her brother that night, and so, he should comfort her in what little ways he knew how.

"I'm sorry," James whispered, stepping towards his aunt and taking her gently in his arms. At first, Lorraine resisted his embrace, pushing against his chest and cursing him for his selfish absence. She beat his shoulders and reprimanded him for his drunkenness, but as she tired, Lorraine relaxed into his hold on her and wept freely. She trembled against his chest, her sobs muffled by the thick fabric of his coat, and despite his efforts, she did not show any signs of improving. James didn't know what to do.

Forgetting himself, James stayed by his aunt's side through the night, though he was quick to leave that dreadful room and return her to her own chambers. He offered her tea and sat with her near the fire, listening to her speak of her brother and the good things he had done throughout his life. Lorraine and his father had been closer than James had known, but her praises did little to change his opinion of the man who had mistreated his mother until her death. Hardening his heart against Lorraine's words, James sat silently with his aunt and let her say what it was she wanted to say to him, then making his leave once she drifted to sleep.

It was an odd several hours, because for the first time in years, James felt something change within him. He wasn't sad as his aunt longed for him to be, nor was he bitter as he had been prior to his father's death. Now, he was angry. Angry at what, James did not know, but he knew the feeling well, and it was licking at his every cell like a consuming fire and casting a crimson veil down over his eyes. His anger devoured him so that it was all he could see, and as the fire took hold of him, James felt fear. Again, he didn't know why he was afraid, but he could recognize the unsettling pressure gathering just behind his ribcage to be that fear.

Thus, with fear masked by anger, James stormed out of his father's– nay, his house– and found the nearest pub in hopes of drowning out his thoughts. Despite his failure to find solace in his drink earlier that night, James began his search once more, only this time, he would not return home until he found success.

•••

Heyyyyy y'all, I hope y'all liked this chapter! :) let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading my loves💖
-kate💖