Decadent Deceptions

Decadent Deceptions

By

Keta Diablo

Chapter One

Spring 1856

Savannah, Georgia

Seated on the settee in her father’s study, Olivia Breedlove reached for her brother’s hand. "This isn’t a conversation we expected to have so early in our lives, is it?"

"No, dear, but this shouldn’t take long," With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Cain nodded to Graham Wilkerson, the family barrister. "Proceed if you will, Wilkerson."

The man adjusted his spectacles, his demeanor grayer than the sky outside the nine-paned window. "In the name of God, Amen. This seventeenth day of July, One Thousand, Eight Hundred and Fifty-Two, I, Thaddeus Breedlove of Savannah, in the State of Georgia, being of sound mind and in consideration of the mortality of my body, knowing that it is appointed to men once to die, do make and ordain this to be my Last Will and Testament. That is to say principally—"

"Forgive my impatience," Cain said, "but since we buried our father two weeks ago, could we dispense with the usual burial delineations?"

"Certainly, Mister Breedlove, I shall advance to the instructions pertaining to how he wanted his property divided."

A tired smile tugged at Cain’s lips as the man turned the page.

"I give and bequeath to my son, Cain, and to my daughter, Olivia, all my earthly goods, including my manor, L’Esperance, for their own personal use to be divided equally between them in full of their portion."

Cain winked at his sister. "Everything seems well and good so far."

Wilkerson looked over his glasses. "There is a codicil to the will, sir."

"A codicil?" Cain asked. "What exactly, is a codicil?"

"An appendix, if you will, pertaining to Miss Breedlove, sir."

Surprise gave way to alarm. Whatever was about to fall from the man’s lips, Olivia sensed it didn’t bode well for her. Cain pinned Wilkerson with a look of bewilderment. "I...I see. By all means, continue."

The barrister cleared his throat. "I do hereby make and ordain that my daughter, Olivia, must marry within six months of my death in order to share in her full portion thereof."

Trying to keep her voice passive, and failing, Olivia shouted. "What!"

"There is more." The barrister’s Adam’s apple bobbed once or twice as he swallowed. "Further, the husband of her choosing must be free from scandal, financially sound, and a respected member of the gentry."

Olivia pressed her lips together to contain the rage surging up her throat. "He can’t do that!" Looking from Cain to Wilkerson, she whimpered, "Can he?"

Wilkerson straightened his waistcoat. "If I may continue, Miss, he has left you an out."

Her tone belligerent, Olivia huffed through the words. "My father never left a stone unturned, so nothing would come as a surprise."

"Well, get on with it, man," Cain said with a measure of tension in his voice. "What does it say?"

"It states that if Miss Breedlove fails to live up to the codicil, she may remain at L’Esperance for the rest of her natural days and receive an annual stipend from the estate."

"An annual stipend?" She glared at the barrister. "What is the amount of the stipend, Mr. Wilkerson?"

"He did not specify an amount, Miss, but rather stipulated you would be dependent upon your brother’s benevolence."

Biting back an indignant scream, she turned to Cain. "How could he do this to me?"

"There must be some mistake." Cain glanced at Wilkerson. "My father loved Olivia with all his heart."

"I assure you, there is no mistake, sir. If I may be so bold, allow me to explain."

Cain threw up his hands. "By all means, I wish someone would."

"Your father and I engaged in several lengthy discussions on the matter. In the event of his untimely death, Miss Breedlove’s future weighed heavy on his mind, more so after your mother died." Wilkerson looked at Olivia with a benign smile, his tone softening. "While he lived, Thaddeus believed he could control your penchant for independence, your headstrong ways." A pause ensued during which Olivia fidgeted in the chair. "He thought the stipulation might be an incentive for you to settle down, raise a family of your own."

Stunned, she bounded to her feet. "He means to control me from beyond the grave?"

Rising in a blur of motion, Cain placed a hand on her forearm. "Let’s take a day or two to digest the will. In any event, you needn’t worry about my benevolence."

Sick. She was going to be sick.

Frowning, Wilkerson gathered his papers amid her contemptuous flight across the room to look out the window. "I have the original on file at my office, so I leave you with a copy, sir. Under the circumstances, I believe we should discuss your father’s financial portfolio and bank accounts at a future date."

"Yes, thank you, Wilkerson." Cain nodded and ushered him to the door. "I’ll be in touch."

Olivia studied the scenery outside while Wilkerson’s words settled over her like a dark cloud. A man of impeccable repute, her father had arrived in Savannah twenty years ago with her mother, Lizette, a French beauty, and his two children. At age seven, Cain was a handsome little boy, and she, a precocious five-year-old, the apple of her father’s eye.

In the following years, the romantic notions of Southern life flourished and Savannah prospered from the cotton trade. Merchants set up shops, warehouses expanded, manufacturing began and trade boomed. Savannah’s wealthy residents built gracious mansions on sprawling acreage outside the city proper, and in this regard, her father would not be outdone. Instead of the fashionable white-columned Greek revival style, Thaddeus and Lizette Breedlove opted for a twenty-four room Italian Renaissance Villa of mammoth proportions. Christened L’Esperance by her mother, the French word for hope, the manor was a masterpiece of its time.

Everything changed when her mother, and the premature infant she carried, died in childbirth. Her father, appointed to the District Court of Georgia, did his best to nurture and love his children, despite his long hours away from home. Various and assorted nannies and schoolmasters assisted in raising Thaddeus’s offspring, each and every one handsomely rewarded.

Judge Breedlove, throughout his long and industrious career, focused on one goal and one goal alone—to secure longstanding prosperity for Cain, Olivia, and their future offspring. Having obtained that goal, Olivia believed her father journeyed to his Maker in peace, knowing even from beyond the grave his dictums would be enforced.

The soft tread of footsteps broke her reverie. "I know it seems harsh, Liv, but I’m certain he wanted what is best for you." Cain encircled her in his arms.

"Easy for you to say, you’ve chosen a mate and you weren’t on a time limit to do so." Olivia pulled away from him and paced the room.

"I don’t like that look on your face, Liv."

She nibbled on her lower lip. "What look?"

"The one that tells me the wheels are turning in your head."

She raised her chin a notch. "Well, you don’t expect me to take this with a grain of salt, do you?"

Cain shook his head. "Wilkerson will go to the ends of the earth to see Father’s will is followed to the letter.

"Who says I won’t follow it to the letter?"

"Liv, you are overwrought at the moment. Let it go for a day or two and we’ll discuss it again."

She gave a derisive snort. "Oh, we’ll discuss it again, you can be sure. Do not think for one minute I will lie down to his demands, rush into a marriage of misery."

Heaving a long, drawn-out breath, Cain smiled. "I’d expect nothing less from you, my dear, spirited sister." He walked toward her and delivered a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll see you at dinner tonight."

She nodded.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes." She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "I’ll be in my room nursing my melancholy should you need me."

Making a quiet exit, Cain closed the door to the study, leaving Olivia alone with her dismal musings. "Six months," she muttered. "How can one choose a husband in such short time?" She didn’t want a husband, wasn’t looking for a husband—unless it was the man who sent her heart into cartwheels and left her privates aching with need. She knew all too well to even think he would look her way was pointless. To Morgan, she was still what she had always represented to him—a pesky friend from childhood.

Straightening her spine, Olivia left her father’s study and sought the comfort of her room. She couldn’t allow this to happen. She had to think of something and soon. By the time she reached the upstairs landing, a plan took root.

"It might work," she mumbled under her breath. "