A Sordid Situation Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2010 Vivian Kees

  ISBN: 978-1-926950-04-4

  Cover Artist: Dara England

  Editor: BL Brown

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or

  in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Adam, you were always the one.

  A Sordid Situation

  Vivian Kees

  Copyright © 2010

  Chapter One

  London, 1890

  “You’re penniless, my dear.”

  Eugenia Wareham leaned forward in her chair, not believing the words she’d just heard. “Come again? Surely I haven’t heard you correctly. Can you repeat that?”

  Randell Botsworth handed her a paper. “It’s all right there in ink. I’ve known this for some time, but given the circumstances, we thought it was in your best interest to delay telling you.”

  Eugenia scanned the document. Debt, and so much of it. “How? When did this happen? You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Botsworth, but this is very shocking to say the least. I wasn’t aware of any of this.”

  Mr. Botsworth nodded his head. “Of course. I didn’t think you were. William was a master at keeping secrets. It appears he had a penchant for gambling and in particular, the many halls located in the west end of the city. If you put two and two together, well…you can guess the rest.”

  “And the house?”

  “Gone.”

  “The rest?” Her heart began to race.

  “It’s all gone.” Mr. Botsworth let out a sigh. “I wish I could offer you some words of comfort.”

  Comfort? There is no comfort in being penniless. What am I to do? Where will I go? So many questions bustled through her mind.

  “How much time do I have? When do I have to vacate?” She had no family to speak of and she doubted that she would be able to look to William’s side. They had strongly opposed their marriage, given the vast age difference between her and William. He was old enough to be her father.

  “That’s not for me to decide. The new owner, a Mr. Cal Hawthorne, I assume will be in touch with you. Everything is perfectly legal, and though it may not seem right, Mr. Hawthorne has every right to come collecting. You know I was fond of William, Eugenia, and I hate to speak ill of him and the dead in general, but he should have told you all of this.”

  Blame. It was too late to lay blame.

  “However, if Mr. Hawthorne is any sort of a gentleman, you should be able to make an arrangement with him, to give you time to get your affairs together. The word is he’s not an unreasonable man.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, her voice shaky.

  “My dear,” Mr. Botsworth said, grasping her hand. “If only I could do more...”

  She nodded and then bid him farewell.

  “I will leave you the papers. They are of no further use to me. Expect a visit from Mr. Hawthorne soon.”

  Eugenia saw him to the door, and when she closed it behind him, the prickle of tears overwhelmed her. Emotions rushed abound. Hurt and frustration wafted over her in one gargantuan wave. How could William have betrayed her? They’d formed a marriage built on trust, and now this? Was everything a lie? She couldn’t help but imagine what other secrets he kept during the past two years of their marriage.

  Penniless. She said the word over and over until it echoed in her mind. This was a dream, a nightmare, and at any moment she’d open her eyes. Everything would return to normal, and she could just pretend none of it ever happened.

  But this wasn’t a dream. It was reality. Her new found reality.

  Eugenia raced up the staircase, mindful of her skirts until she reached her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. She needed to be alone, needed time to think, to devise some sort of plan. Her future was precarious, and there was no way she was going back to….

  Never again. I’ll die before I let it come down to that.

  Eugenia worked hard for everything she had. William, the money, the social status, none of it came without a struggle. And no one, not even Mr. Cal Hawthorne himself would take it from her. Not now. Not ever!

  * * * *

  Cal Hawthorne smiled with pleasure. Thumbing through his ledgers, he mulled over the numbers. He did well this month, in fact, excellent. It had been the best month yet, gaining his greatest acquisition, Collingwood House.

  Of course, this meant evicting the widow of William Wareham, a man so dim-witted, he’d gambled away his entire fortune in less than two years, whilst taking out loans along the way in a half-assed attempt to cover himself. The widow, apparently, was clueless in regard to her husband's proclivities in the gambling world, or so people claimed.

  Business is business.

  He’d present her with the eviction papers, after all, one year had passed since William’s death, and he allowed that given the circumstances surrounding the whole affair. But the grace period was up, and now it was time for him to take possession of what was rightfully his by law.

  The land was worth more than the house, and being in a prime location, he figured it would sell quickly once placed on the open market. In the past couple of years, new money flooded the city, and real estate had risen with the demand.

  It was all legal and while many despised both him and his business, he was doing nothing wrong.

  Cal stood up from the desk and stretched, before opening the top drawer in the desk. He withdrew the brown folder and thumbed through the papers. Everything was in order, perfectly organized with copies not only for him but also for the Widow Wareham.

  He tossed the folder back into the desk and locked the drawer, tucking the key into his left vest pocket. Done for the day, tomorrow would come soon enough and he needed his rest. He’d avoid the halls tonight in favor of his bed. A tinge of emotion fluttered through his heart, and something from deep within warned him, he was going to need all the rest he could get.

  * * * *

  Relaxation found Eugenia that night in the form of whiskey. After a few too many, she was ready to slip into bed.

  In the darkness, the silvery glow from the moonlight filtered in through the window, bathing her in an ethereal glow. Finally, she was able to breathe, relaxed and shamelessly intoxicated from the alcohol. It was an indescribable feeling. She wanted to laugh, just burst out with it, like some madwoman. Yet, she fought the desire and let her thoughts drift elsewhere.

  “William,” she whispered, “how could you?” Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t despise or hate him. He’d rescued her. How could she dare feel anything other than respect for him?

  “Don’t be like me, girl,” her mother had said over and over. “You don’t want this life of hardship. Do whatever you have to do to get yourself out of the gutter.” And she did, taking that advice to heart.

  At sixteen she was an orphan and soon after she’d found a way to survive, it was far from respectable, but she did what was needed to get by.

  Never again. She turned onto her right side. I’ll die first…

  It was a living, a way to earn her keep. The hall, the men, the many men…. It was just a job, nothing more.

  Eugenia closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think about that now. If she did, sleep would never find her.

  * * * *

  Imposing came to Cal’s mind as he stood on the fr
ont steps of Collingwood House.

  It was a grandiose old structure, built more with yesteryear in mind and keeping with the rich decadent style of the area.

  He rang the doorbell once, waited a minute and when no one answered, rang it once more. The loud iron bell resounded from within.

  A severe-looking creature of advanced years, which he guessed was a maid, peered at him through a minuscule crack in the door as she opened it. “Yes? Can I help you, sir?”

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Wareham. We have important business to discuss.”

  “Well, I can assure you, she isn’t expecting you or anyone else today.” She opened the door and directed him to step inside. “I’ll tell her you’re here. Do you have a name?”

  “Yes. Mr. Cal Hawthorne.”

  She raised a brow. “Just a moment. I’ll see if she’s available.”

  The chilly woman stalked off with her back so impeccably straight, he couldn’t imagine her bending for anything. A moment later, she was back. “Your coat and hat—” she held out her hand, waiting impatiently “—I will take.” Cal quickly removed the requested items and watched as she hung his coat and hat on a large rack. “And if you would, follow me.”

  Rich, he thought, walking down the hall behind the maid. He never fathomed that William had been so well off. And to think, this was all his now.

  Cal entered the parlor. A woman sat in a high back chair in front of the fireplace. She glanced up at him from her sewing and motioned for him to sit across from her in the other matching chair. Not one word was spoken between them.

  With leather satchel in hand, he sat down, gripping it tightly.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” she said, breaking the silence. “I knew it was just a matter of time.”

  She was a lovely dark haired creature, young, petite and not at all what he had expected. William Wareham was a man of advanced years. His death notice had listed him as being fifty-two years of age. But this woman, she couldn’t have been a day over twenty-one.

  “Your maid says differently.” He was lost for words; his mind had raced for those four.

  “Let’s cut with the formalities, shall we? I know who you are, and you know me. We both know why you’re here.”

  Indeed. He reached into his satchel and retrieved the documents. “You’ll find everything is in perfect order and legal.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought otherwise. I’m guessing evictions have to be done by the book. I assume, not being your first, that you know what you’re doing.”

  He detected a certain iciness in her voice. But, considering the circumstance of their meeting, it was to be expected. This wasn’t a social call.

  “You’ve itemized everything.” He watched her scan over each page, as she scrutinized every word and number. “Very organized I must say.”

  “I figured it was best to itemize everything individually.”

  She nodded. “Well, it’s safe to say, sir, you’ve left me destitute.”

  * * * *

  Eugenia had seen enough. She handed back the documents. “I’ll need time to sort my affairs and to make alternate living arrangements. There are things that need attending to before I leave. I trust you can and will accommodate my request? Three months would be sufficient.”

  “That’s not a problem and if need be, it can be extended. All you need do is ask.”

  Handsome and refined, not what she had expected. It was hard to dislike a man so polite. Even if he was kicking her out of her very own house. House, past tense, she reminded herself.

  “If I may be sold bold as to ask, why did you marry him?” He leaned forward, his voice low, just a few octaves above a whisper.

  “You, sir, are out of line. But if you must know, it was love. Why else would two people marry?” Of course, she wasn’t naïve. People married for many reasons, often, love being the least of them.

  “But he was so much older than you. Forgive my boldness. You could have had your pick of any man.”

  Wrong. You don’t know the full story.

  She blushed at his impertinence. “This isn’t proper. I hardly know you, sir, and you offend me with your words.”

  “Then I offer my sincerest apologies. I’m a curious man by nature. I should have held my tongue.”

  “Thank you. But since you asked…I was taken with William, our ages were irreverent within our relationship.”

  “Perhaps we could make an arrangement between the two of us. I’d hate to see you homeless. It could be very beneficial, under the right terms.”

  His hand slid over hers. Frozen, she didn’t dare move an inch.

  “I’m a married woman!”

  “Widowed,” he corrected. “For a year and some now.”

  “I’m still faithful to his memory.”

  “I’m not asking you to be otherwise. No decent man would have left his wife in such a predicament. You’re young, attractive, and have needs. Needs that I can help take care of.”

  Rake!

  “I would not have you speaking ill of him,” she snapped, her temper rising. “Not in his own house.” She felt his hand tighten over hers, yet she couldn’t muster the strength or nerve to pull away from his grip.

  His eyes reminded her of the sky on a cloudy day. Grey with tiny specks of amber. How unusual. She was entranced in his gaze.

  Barring instinct…instinct that told her she should know better, she reached out with her free hand and caressed his cheek ignoring the urge to pull her hand away. His dark stubble tickled her fingertips.

  “Your house,” she corrected, hating to admit those words.

  Cocking his head to the side, he kissed the tip of her index finger and then slipped it into his mouth, nibbling gently.

  Pulling her hand away in surprise, Eugenia abruptly stood, and Mr. Hawthorne immediately followed.

  They faced each other.

  “This isn’t right. I don’t know you from Adam. It isn’t proper.”

  “To hell with propriety,” he growled, pulling her to him.

  His lips descended on hers, demanding her response. And for that one brief moment, she’d have given him anything. His tongue toyed with hers, playing, demanding….

  She liked it. Maybe too much.

  * * * *

  He felt her melt under his touch, her lips tender and beguiling.

  Cal pressed one hand against the small of her back, drawing her closer to his person, while the other came to rest on her right breast.

  “We can’t,” she said, gasping. “If someone should walk in—”

  “Then he or she will get one hell of an eyeful. It’ll teach them to never enter a room unannounced.”

  “That’s enough.” She pushed him away as he tried to steal another kiss. “My sensibilities are telling me this isn’t right.”

  With a groan, Cal readjusted himself. Her effect on him was more than obvious. He smirked when she glanced down, and in turn, placed a hand over her mouth.

  “Yes my dear, you caused that. Are you shocked? Horrified? Surely you’re not that innocent having been married to a man much older than yourself.”

  She blushed. “We must forget this ever happened. It was a mistake. Chalk it up to a high state of emotions on both our behalves. In three months, I shall vacate Collingwood. That will be the last time you’ll hear from me. I won’t cause you any further trouble.”

  Was this trouble?

  “And what if I refuse? What if I choose to see you again?” he questioned. “Will you refute me?”

  “It can’t and won’t happen, not under any circumstances. Tongues would wag. I can only imagine the stories that would fly, if it were discovered that you and I were linked in any way, other than business. They already think I drove William to his death…that it was me who caused him to….” She turned towards the fireplace and braced one hand against the mantle. “If only they knew.”

  “Then tell them. To hell with his memory!” Unrepentant anger rose inside of him, anger for a man he barely knew. How
could any man do this to his wife? William Wareham knew what he was doing. He had chosen to gamble away his entire fortune and like a coward in the end, he took his own life to avoid the consequences. And he left this lovely young woman behind to heft the weight of his indiscretions, alone.

  “There wouldn’t be any point. They’d simply find another way to blame me. And I don’t need that additional drama, not at this time.”

  He bowed slightly. “Then for now, I shall bid you adieu.”

  She turned away from him, now facing the flickering flames in the fireplace. “You know the way out.”

  * * * *

  Left in an utter state of confusion and arousal, Eugenia, at any moment expected to be overcome with the vapors.

  He’d mentioned an agreement. And while the very idea was insulting, she was intrigued. Especially since there was an undeniable chemistry between them.

  When the maid appeared with her afternoon tea, Eugenia nodded briefly to thank her. But once again, her thoughts drifted back to him, the dashing Mr. Hawthorne.

  Rid him from your mind. No good can possibly come from it. She had much to think about. Yet, a vision of his handsome face lingered at the forefront of her mind. The feel of his lips remained branded on hers, and the sound of his voice reminded her of smooth, rich brandy.

  Good lord, what was she to do if she saw him again?