The worst part is that, later, Jacob can’t even remember what was said. He knows they hugged and he wished them luck and waved them off but he can’t for the life of him think of what words were spoken, and that makes it more painful.
And now he needs to rebuild the London brotherhood on his own, or at least until Crawley gets its shit together and sends some people up. And he needs to figure out what he’s doing with the mansion, and the train, and Henry’s shop… Why couldn’t they stay a bit longer, help him sort everything out?
Then again, Jacob figured he could use some time alone. He knew he had a lot to figure out with himself. His whole life he’d lived with Evie, compared himself to her or had himself compared to her by their father. And the whole fiasco with Roth made him wonder how far he would go for the approval of someone who would compliment him, someone who would tell him he’s brave, someone to call him “darling” or “my dear.”
He had so much to do, so much to think about…
That could wait. All of this could wait. He needed a drink first. He needed a break, some time to settle into his new life alone.
A few days later, Jacob invested money a pub. Had his sister been in town, she would have made sure that he’d done his research on it first before just throwing money at the next pub he saw. Maybe actually go to the place and check it out. But Evie was off in India, and Jacob was an impulsive idiot. It’s a pub! Why would that possibly be an issue?
Jacob didn’t see anything strange or different about The Nuttery. At the bar was Ned, who smiled upon seeing Jacob enter.
“I hear you’ve invested in this fine establishment, Frye. Interesting.”
“Good evening to you too,” Jacob said, taking a seat next to Ned.
“I mean, I always had my suspicions you were a ‘confirmed bachelor,’ or at least that you’d be a bit more open-minded than most men, but to buy this place? Certainly not what I’d expect.”
Jacob furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Ned, what are you implying?”
“Do you not know what kind of pub you put your money into, Jacob?” Ned laughed.
The bartender, a tall and handsome thirty-year-old man with black hair and muscular arms, came around to the two. “Anything I can get you?” he asked in an American accent.
“An explanation would be a good start, what’s my friend here going on about?” Jacob asked.
“You’re the new investor? Frye?”
“Yes…”
“Son, this is a molly house. Men come here to meet other men with… similar interests.”