Undoing One’s Enemy
By Camille Oster at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Camille Oster
Smashword Edition
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgements:
To my friend Moira for her help.
Camille Oster - Author
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579
@Camille Oster
Chapter 1
Mayfair, London, 1835
Lord Eldridge smiled as he stood in front of his childhood home in. The imposing white façade stretched up to the sky in front of him. To his back was the respectable square in Mayfair. It had been twenty years since he’d last been there and nothing had changed, it all looked exactly the same as the day it had been auctioned by his family’s creditors.
Peering through the large windows, he saw frantic activity inside, but he didn’t understand the need because it was all his now; he had gotten it all back. He’d informed the current occupants that he was taking possession today, but it seemed they had not been considerate enough to be clear of the place.
“You don’t have a right to my mother’s jewels.” A girl with chestnut colored curls confronted him as soon as he entered the door. “They are my property.” By the description rendered to him, he assumed he was being confronted by Miss Amelia Hessworth, the only progeny of the cur who’d destroyed his family and usurped their estate through dishonorable means. A vain and insipid girl by all accounts, who afforded herself discerning taste with regards to the suitors who had shown interest in her—or so he’d heard.
“I am not interested in your property, only my own,” he said coolly, “which includes everything in my house.”
“Do you want my dresses too?” she demanded with contempt.
“I have no use for dresses,” he said and walked past the girl with her fists on her hips. If she though he was going to be put off by an irate chit, she was sadly mistaken.
It felt good to be home. It felt like the world had been set right. He had worked with complete determination to get to a position to reclaim what his family had lost, but he had now achieved his aim and he was ready to reclaim his title.
An elderly woman approached him, her face serene as she carried flowers that had long since given up their life force.
“I must find a vase for these,” the woman said in haughty tones as she continued into the parlor without taking any note of him.
“How can you be such a complete scoundrel!?” the girl yelled at him from the stairway. “To turn us out into the street. She is completely senile,” the girl said pointing after the elderly woman. “This is our house,” she continued. “How dare you-”
“This was never your house,” he replied curtly, cutting off her tiresome tirade.
“You never had a right to this house, or to my wealth for that matter. The street is where you belong, and don’t ever forget that.”
“You deserve every contempt in the world!” she spat. “Don’t think people won’t know what a complete lout you are.”
“Don’t worry Miss Hessworth, I gave up caring what people thought of me a long time ago,” he said snidely. “Now if you would be so good as to vacate my property.” She threw something down on the staircase and marched upstairs as the elder woman returned with the dead flowers in a tea pot and placed them on the vestibule table.
“There, just divine,” she declared. “Now where has that cat gotten too? It needs its supper.” A maid came running down the stairs to turn the elderly woman away from the front door back toward the staircase. The younger Miss Hessworth marched down the stairs again with a box.
“We have nowhere to go,” she stated. “You cannot in all conscience turn us out.”
“This is my property, Miss Hessworth.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she challenged, raising her softly pointed chin. She was pretty, her complexion being that of the perfect English rose. He could see why she’d never struggled for suitors; although she’d never accepted any of them.
“You can sell that jewellery you own,” he volunteered. “That is what people do when they lose everything. It’s what my mother had to do, so I would advise you do so as well.”
“And how long will that last me?” she demanded. “I can’t take care of her on my own, she needs constant care.”
He felt the ill breeding of the girl shone through in her actions as well-bred girls didn’t highlight their troubles, they suffered in silence, taking such challenges with quiet dignity just like his mother had. They didn’t demand. Good breeding and good manners gathered sympathy, for which people rallied around.
He might have a cold heart, but he wasn’t completely heartless; although he was sorely tempted. He wasn’t going to turn them out to defend themselves against the street life; he had a modest property set aside for them until such time as they could take care of themselves. He had the means to keep them in this property for a long time if he had to, just a little expense that his solicitor would quietly take care of.
“If your extended family is unwilling to stand for you, I do have a small property you can utilize until such time as you secure yourself a husband…”
“A husband?” she spat. “Who is going to marry me now?”
“Or a position,” he continued. The notion seemed to shock the girl. “It is not unheard of that impoverished unmarried females of the ton acquire positions as governesses or companions,” he continued in a bored tone. He watched the girl fighting her pride, fighting to not tell him to go to hell or something equally unladylike. He did accept that the girl had spirit, perhaps too much for someone in her position.
“Where is this property?” she finally said through clenched teeth.
“In Hoxton.” He was tired of the girl now—he’d had his fun. He wasn’t normally spiteful, being on the whole too pragmatic. The Hessworths had been the one exception in this respect, due to years stewing on the injustice he’d suffered because of them. He just wanted her gone.
“Hoxton?!” she exclaimed. “That’s in the East End.”
“So it is. I am glad you haven’t been completely neglected with regards to geography, it might serve you well in the future, I’m sure.”
“I can’t live in the East End,” she stated flatly.
“If that is so, you are welcome to support yourself through your own means. You can use my carriage, it has been instructed to take you anywhere you want.”
“I can’t live in the East End,” she repeated more quietly. “Everyone will know.”
He gritted his teeth. The girl was an idiot, maybe it was finally dawning on her that things were about to drastically change for her.
“Although you are welcome to stay here, if you want, but you will be required to avail yourself as my mistress,” he said, more in spite than in seriousness.
The slap she gave him reverberated around the room.
Chapter 2
Amelia tried desperately to compose herself as the carriage conveyed them to the East End. “Are we going for a picnic?” Edna asked from the opposi
te seat.
“We’re going on a little holiday,” Amelia said with a smile. There was no point in distressing her aunt and Edna would believe any picture she was painted, so why not paint a rosy one.
The fact was that their position was anything but rosy, and their prospects were completely dashed. Ever since her father had died, things had gone from bad to worse. She knew trouble had been coming; she hadn’t known how bad it was, but she could tell that her father was in difficulties even before his death.
And now she was being carted off to the East End. She had never even been to the East End. It now being her place of residence signified her falling out of society completely.
Ever since their solicitor had told them of the sale of the estate, Amelia knew they were in trouble. She hadn’t expected mercy from Lord Eldridge; she had become disillusioned with society’s men in general, stemming from the time when she met an actual German prince—a prince, which she had been led to believe was the perfection of men, encompassing all good traits and void of all bad. However, meeting a real prince told a completely different story, he was vain, belligerent and ugly. He smelled of stale alcohol and stepped on her toes, only grunted by way of apology.
Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Lord Eldridge coming back and re-claiming her father’s failing estate. She knew full well that society could be brutal to those who were financially insecure; it was the way of it. He wasn’t strictly required to put them up in a property, but as a gentleman, he was duty bound to see to the welfare of ladies in need—not that many of the men in the ton took their duties seriously, she had learnt over her twenty five years.
She wanted to break down in great big sobs but she couldn’t distress Edna, so she would have to hold herself together and pretend that they were going on holiday—to the East End.
The rooms that Lord Eldridge has afforded them were small but well-kept if not for the dust. The wall paper had seen better days, but it was tidy—nothing like the polished circumstances of their house in Mayfair, but this was their lot now.
If she lived in these rooms, of which there turned out to be four in total on the second storey above a leather goods store, she had to accept that her life most likely was outside of society. She wasn’t even sure there as a life outside of society, most people who lost their position just faded away. Maybe there were other options. She hoped so.
These rooms had not been lived in for a while. There was dust covering every surface on closer inspection. Edna’s maid and nurse, Abigail, sighed in resignation. Amelia’s maid had stayed in her position in the house; Amelia couldn’t blame her—besides, that there wasn’t room for more than the three of them.
“This hasn’t been cleaned in years,” Abigail said in despair.
“I know it’s awful,” Amelia said to Abigail. “I do have some means by which to support you, for a short while at least.” In truth Amelia had little understanding of what they could afford, she’d never had to worry about such things, nor did she know how such things were managed.
“Lord Eldridge is paying my keep,” Abigail said surveying the layer of dust covering every surface.
“Oh,” Amelia said. It was more generous than she expected—not that she felt gratitude to the arrogant man, because he had after all thrown them out of their home. Amelia desperately wanted to turn his offer down—that she would pay Abigail’s wages—but she probably didn’t have the means. The little she did have would probably have to go toward food; although she’d never had actual confirmation, she was pretty sure that wasn’t free. As far as she knew food was presented to her at regular intervals, and Cook was always there with a smile and a chuckle if she wanted anything. How in the world would she live without her Cook?
She hated swallowing her pride, she hated having to accept that arrogant man’s support; it was too much to be borne, but the sad truth was that she could not see any other option right now.
She had no idea what tomorrow would bring. She had no idea what that evening would bring. There was nothing in the house to nourish them. If she had been practical, she chided herself, she would have prepared a bit better and lightened the pantry at ‘Lord Eldridge’s’ house, but she probably had too much pride for that even if she’d thought of it. Where did one even get food?
Luckily Abigail was more knowledgeable of such tasks and disappeared to return with a meat pie, which was absolutely revolting. She was going to starve to death if this was her future. Amelia forced her share down before returning her attention to the sparsely furnished rooms. There was an ancient dusty sofa, a table that wobbled, two chairs and two beds with dusty mattresses. They had no bed linen.
“It’ll take forever for me to scrub this on my own,” Abigail said pointedly.
“I will have a nap then,” Edna declared. “I will just have to lie on my coat. These rooms are really not up to scratch, dear—you must complain to the staff.” Amelia tried to think of something to say to her aunt, but couldn’t think of anything, so she just nodded.
“I will assist you,” Amelia said to Abigail who gave her a look of uncertainty. Abigail taught her the basics, which turned out not to be too difficult, just tiring. Her whole body ached and her hands were raw when they had finished one room.
They would have to sleep in here tonight, all of them, which meant that Amelia wouldn’t get her privacy for a good cry that night. She didn’t manage to get any sleep, the street outside was noisy all night. There were carts trundling down the street throughout the night, and there were women propositioning drunken men. Amelia could only hold her aunt even closer. This was awful, how did people live like this, she wondered.
Richard was exhausted. He had the master bedroom cleared of any possessions that alluded to the room’s former occupant; he wanted no traces of the imposter who had taken over his family’s home for so long. To his distaste, that man had installed some awful pieces of furniture, things he would get rid of the following day.
He had supper in the cavernous dining room. The alcohol was of sufficiently good quality and he enjoyed the Beef Wellington that the cook prepared. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with the staff. The fact that they had served the previous occupants didn’t please him, but neither did he want to go through the bother of replacing them—that was women’s work.
Perhaps tomorrow he would ride out to the country estate in Wiltshire to survey its condition. Then again, maybe he would just stay in town for a few days, savoring the victory and the completion of twenty years’ of planning. It had been such a singular focus he hadn’t really considered what he would do once his family estate was back in his possession.
At some point, he would have to make his re-introduction into society. He hadn’t kept in touch with any of his acquaintances from before his family was destroyed; and admittedly, few would have given him the time of day in the end. Being young, he had turned to drink and the seedier side of gentlemanly pursuits as his father’s affairs disintegrated resulting in the suicide of his father, leaving him the young master of a crumbling estate.
He’d turned into a pariah before long, to the point where even the gaming hells wouldn’t give him entry. The idea of rubbing along with the people who had mercilessly turned their backs on him then sat badly with him; however, a re-introduction into society and the re-establishment of his title and position required dealing with said society.
He was wealthy and he was titled, that counted for significant advantages in his favor. He could have his pick of potential brides. All those matrons that wouldn’t have given him any consideration would be falling over themselves to press their daughters on him. Amelia Hessworth’s contemporaries, girls that were just as vain and conceited as she.
Although she had been a little different from what he’d imagined, and he had imagined her; she had been a firm fixture in his mind for twenty years. He had only seen her once and she had been a little girl at the time, turning her nose up at something. It had set the template in his mind fo
r her character.
However, she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was grown, and along with all things unfair, she had grown into a handsome woman. Blue eyes and lush chestnut hair, that had not been restrained as it should, as it would have been had she been prepared for visitors.
It annoyed him that she had not greeted him with proper decorum; she had worn her hair and dress in a manner that was appropriate for family and servants. He certainly wasn’t family, which made her lack of attention to her appearance an insult—as if he was below regard.
Well if the chit hadn’t accepted that her fortune and prospects were literally lost, then her new accommodation would likely hit it home for her. He had triumphed and the Hessworth family had fallen. The familiar hatred flared in him, the hatred that had driven his every step for the purpose of righting the wrong that had been dealt to his family and to exact revenge on those that had gained from his stolen wealth. Unfortunately, Edward Hessworth, being the disagreeable fellow that he was, had died before the revenge was fully exacted, but Richard’s labor had restored his estate and left Edward Hessworth’s family with absolutely nothing. On one level, he knew that his triumph was complete, but on another it felt unnatural like a predator letting its prey get away.
He had achieved what he set out to do, the Hessworth girl in no position other than to accept that she had to be supported by the man who had effectively ruined her. That support came with the provision that there was no doubt about her reduced circumstances. He knew and fully expected that it would be deeply humiliating. There was just that part of him that wanted more, but he had to set that aside, it was time to be a gentleman again. His mission of revenge was complete, now the restoration work must commence. No matter what he thought of some of Society’s members, he needed to re-establish himself and the best place to start was his father’s old club.
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