“Your lifestyle killed Mother.” Damn, but he hadn’t meant to mention that, but he might as well air out all the laundry.
“Your mother was weak!” He slammed a hand down on the desk. The glass rattled against the bottle of brandy. “Never marry beneath your position, boy. The ton will tear those types to shreds, and we are better than that.”
“She died from a broken heart. Status and titles can’t prevent that.” John rubbed a hand along the side of his face. It was good he hadn’t taken a seat in one of the leather chairs that faced the desk, for he despised being in the same room as this man. “But take heart. I don’t intend to marry, for one reason only. I refuse to follow in your footsteps.”
For a few seconds, he thought his father would hurl the brandy bottle at him, but the baron merely downed the glass he’d poured and repeated the action. “You know nothing about the tolls the title takes, about how much blunt keeping up the Surrey manor house costs. The coffers are running bare, not due to my drinking, but because there are no rents coming in. The estate can’t be turned about.” His father tossed the ledger his way. It bounced off John’s chest and thudded to the floor.
No doubt they could if his father had been a better manager. “I’ll wager it would be a lot less stressful if you gave up the vices. I’m told mistresses don’t come cheap.” He didn’t care any longer if he angered this man. “At least attempt to reconcile with me and Mark.”
“Why? When your mother died, you took off for the Navy. You left your brother behind. There’s no love between any of us, and you know it.”
“True, but I don’t want guilt when you pass.” And that’s what would happen. That emotion would cripple him, for it was his fault that he’d left his younger brother behind to bear more abuse at their father’s hand. But he’d had to get out, to move on, to survive. He’d hoped Mark would have done the same.
“That is your problem, not mine. True Englishmen don’t let emotions rule their lives.” He cackled and reached for the bottle again. “You’re weak, just like her.”
“And it’s glad I am, for that means I’m not like you.” John curled a hand into a fist at his side. “You’re impossible. I should never have come.”
“Agreed, and I have every right to be that. You’ve been too noble, lording your naval career over me.” His father glared, his eyes even more bloodshot. “Yet you come swaggering in here with lectures on your lips, and why should I care?” He was nearly yelling now. “You’ve not made a name for yourself. No wife with a large dowry to help turn the estate solvent, no brats to carry on the name. No fortune, just carousing and drinking with your mates.” His grin was cold. “Just like me after all.”
The heat of embarrassment and anger swept through John. Perhaps that was partially true, but he had the chance to do well for himself now with the shipping outfit. “I’m turning my life around. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Bah.” The baron waved a hand. “Come back when you have something to be proud of.”
It was like all the other times he’d ever tried to talk with his father. Here he stood, annoyed and irritated yet still wanting this man’s damn approval. He shook his head. “I’ve wasted my time coming here.”
“Agreed. When you have something worth saying, I’ll see you then.” He lifted the brandy bottle to his lips, clearly dismissing John.
“I’ll be the first person to dance on your grave.” Without another word, he turned and strode from the room. Nothing he did would be good enough for his father.
And, by God, he refused to sink to that man’s level. Even slow progress forward was progress just the same. He was proud of the man he’d become over the years.
I am not like him.