Freedom in Marriage: A Southern Historical Romance ✅

Chapter Two

**This has not been edited or proofread.

Easton

I smoothed my hand down my vest, nervous about my outing with Catherine. I really liked her from the little bit of time I'd gotten to spend with her a few nights ago at her father's gathering. I honestly wasn't sure if Henry would give me his blessing to court his daughter when I'd asked, but surprisingly, he had without a fuss. I was guessing it was because I was Clyde's son.

Muted conversation that sounded a bit like arguing reached my ears as I passed my father's office. A woman's voice filtered through the door, sounding damn near hysterical, and she certainly wasn't my mother.

My father had lost his damn mind bringing another woman into this house.

Gritting my teeth, I shoved open the door and stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind me. My father and a woman I didn't recognize both turned to look at me. My father's face was red with rage, his eyes bloodshot from the liquor he'd already spent the morning consuming. The woman's face was pale, tears on her cheeks, her red curls a mess. Her dress was almost indecent, and immediately, I knew she had to be from one of the brothels here in Atlanta.

"What is going on?" I demanded to know as I looked from her to my father.

"Nothing. She was just leaving," he bit out before he turned and grabbed a cigar from the box on his desk. The woman began to cry all over again as he carelessly lit it, shooting her a disgusted glare as he inhaled the tobacco.

"No one is leaving until I find out what the hell is going on in my house," I bit out, glaring at him.

"Your house?" Father seethed, straightening up. I was sure he was trying to be threatening—intimidating—but it wasn't working. Not on me. He'd stopped putting his hands on me when I was fourteen because I fought back. He knew touching me would only embarrass him in front of the stranger sitting here in his office.

"Yes, my house," I snapped. "I signed the papers. They're filed, naming me the owner of everything you once I had. So, again, no one is leaving until I find out what in the hell is going on." I looked at the redheaded woman silently crying in one of my father's chairs. "Will you be more cooperative than my father is currently being?"

She sniffled. "I'm pregnant," she cried. "And your father has kept me on a sort of retainer for the past three years, so it can only be his."

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, my hands clenching into fists at my sides before I forced my body to relax again. My father scoffed, and I opened my eyes to glare at him. "She's fucking lying," he told me harshly. "And even if she isn't, that child is a bastard, and I will not claim it."

"You've got to be kidding me!" I shouted at him. "You would throw away your child because you decided to stray from your wife? From the family you already have?"

"This is no concern of yours, boy."

"This is every concern of mine!" I barked at him. "This affects my house. This family that I am now responsible for!" I shoved my hand through my hair, ruining the dark tresses I'd worked to get perfectly into place. It was too late for it now. I'd just been blindsided by yet another sibling. Someone else I inevitably had to take care of.

All because my father couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

I held my hand out to the woman, and she shakily placed her palm against mine, allowing me to help her up from the chair. "I will take you back into town," I gently told her. God, this was not her fault. She was doing her job, and while I knew prostitution was a sin, not all women were born privileged. I knew nothing about her, and I wouldn't pass judgment. "Come. We can talk on the way."

"Easton, you will not bring shame on this family," Pa sneered as I pulled open his study door. My mother was sitting in the open sitting area, and while I was sure she'd overheard just about everything, or at least enough to understand her husband had produced a bastard child, her face did not change. She just continued to idly read her book of poems as if this was an everyday occurrence.

"You already did," I bitterly reminded him. "Now, I'm cleaning up your mess."

I led the woman out of the house and onto the carriage I'd had pulled around a little while ago. I would be late picking up Catherine, but there was nothing I could do about that. I could only hope she forgave me and gave me a second chance. As the man of the house now, it was my responsibility to take care of everything and everything.

Including unexpected women with their even more unexpected babies.

"What's your name?" I asked her after I climbed into the seat and grabbed the reins for the horses. With a click of my tongue, they slowly began to move forward.

"Lottie," she quietly told me. "I'm sorry for barging into your home like I did. I thought—" She broke off on a sob.

I sighed. "My father will not take responsibility for this baby, Lottie," I told her, hating to have to be the one to tell her. "But I will make sure my little brother or sister is well cared for. You will never have to worry about that."

"I have nothing right now," she told me, her breath hitching from her tears. "I live in the brothel, and no one with rooms will take me on because of my profession."

I clenched my jaw and gently steered the horses to take the turn further into town. "I'll put you up in the hotel for now until I figure out a more permanent solution for you. Will that work?"

She nodded and swiped at her cheeks. "You're too kind, Mr. Abernathy."

I snorted. "I'm just trying to be decent, Lottie." I reached over and gently squeezed her hand as I came to a stop in front of the hotel, which was only two businesses down from the brothel. I stepped down before walking around and helping her down as well. "Go on and get your things while I get you a room set up." I gripped her wrist before she could slip away, and she turned to look up at me again. "But Lottie, if I'm going to do this, the brothel stops. No Abernathy child, bastard or not, will grow up around it. Understand?"

She nodded. "Very clearly, Mr. Abernathy."

I released her and walked into the inn, smiling at Mr. Clarks. "Hi, Mr. Clarks. I need to book a room. Let's start with a week."

He nodded and grabbed his book. I filled in my name, paid, and he handed me a room key. I tapped the counter, dragging his attention back to me as Lottie walked in, carrying a small bag that contained her things. "Miss Lottie will be treated as if she is an Abernathy, am I clear?"

Mr. Clarks glanced over my shoulder at Lottie before roughly clearing his throat and nodding at me. "Yes, sir."

I smiled, patted the countertop again, and then turned to face Lottie, holding the key out to her. "I will be in touch. If you need me, please send a message. Do not make that trek again by yourself in your condition."

"Of course, Mr. Abernathy."

I tipped my hat at her before quickly walking out of the hotel and getting back in the carriage, quickly steering the horses in the direction of the Garner plantation.

Hopefully, Catherine wouldn't be too upset with me for being too late.