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Jacob finds it remarkably easy to disappear at parties. Although he is Crawford Starrick's son, with all the power and importance that comes with that fact, most people glance over the short eight year old without much other thought. It's relieving more than it is isolating - the other children do talk to him, on occasions, but being more plain means that the group of Father's friends that always want to talk to him leave him alone.
It does have its downsides, though.
Jacob stands in a slowly emptying ballroom, in a manor that is not his home. He can't find Father anywhere, even though he never left the room that Father told him to stay in. He hovers at the edge of the room, watching as people say goodbye to the hosts, who both look more and more relieved as the guests file out. He can't find his father.
Jacob is a big boy. He's eight years old! He's smart and he's old enough to travel to school now, but he can't hold back the tears that start to spill down his cheeks. His Father has left him behind. His Father forgot him.
Jacob crawls under one of the tables, sobbing quietly to himself.
He isn't sure just how long he sits under the table, tired but unable to stop crying. He doesn't know how long it takes for the servants to start to pack away the table that he was hiding under, but he does know when the staff notice him, sobbing tearlessly under the table.
Because they scream.
Jacob is quickly wrapped up in blankets, given some food and sent with a maid to a room. Two maids frantically make up a bed for him, talking quickly to each other in low, panicked voices. They don't speak to him, though the younger lady does give him a few concerned, curious looks.
Suddenly, the lady of the house appears, still in her dress from the party. The maids both snap to attention, moving to the wall while the lady kneels down besides him.
"Hello, Jacob, was it?" She says softly, her eyes tired but kind.
"Yes, Ma'am." Jacob squeaks.
"You're a polite young man." She smiles at him. "Unlike your father. You'll have to spend the night here, and we'll send a carriage to your manor to drop you home tomorrow morning, after breakfast. If you have any issues, a footman and a maid will be just outside your door. Ring the bell on your nightstand to summon them. My husband will bring one of his shirts for you to wear as a nightshirt, alright?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Jacob ducks his head, and the lady coos softly at him. "Thank you."
"It's no issue." She waves off, stand up. "How anyone could just forget such a polite young man is beyond me. I shall have a letter to give to your father."
Jacob fidgets with the edge of his shirt as the lady leaves the room, the maids following her out. Everything is so big compared to him.
He just wants his Father.