In Name Only: Seeds

Author's note: Seeds is Joseph's and Myra's story. It's the final installment of the In Name Only series. Seeds is actually a prequel to the other two stories in the series, The Journal of Margret Ford being the last. I told the story of the Ellison clan backwards. Margret Ford's story was the HEA for this saga. Perhaps if you have not read them, you could give them a look. I want to thank those of you who sent feedback on the previous submissions, I appreciated your thoughts. Characters involved in sexual activity are 18 years and older. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons are purely coincidental. Enjoy!

Prologue

Myra stared down at the daguerreotype on her lap. The slightly faded picture only came to mind because of recent events. She hadn't gazed upon it since she was a child. She'd quite forgotten she owned it.

She traced a fingertip slowly over their images. Robert Ellison, a tall, smartly attired dark-haired man stood stiffly upright beside her mother, Muriel, an extremely beautiful, haughty woman. She sat in a chair next to Joseph, Myra's only brother. Joseph was a young man of fifteen, or thereabouts, when the photo was taken. He was as tall as her father and, by the looks of that roguish smile on his face, awfully proud of it. They appeared very pleased with themselves.

It was by design that Muriel had her first child at the age of twenty-nine. They'd waited until the last possible moment to produce the Ellison heir because they coveted their lives together too much to include another. Joseph was meant to be their one and only child. However, fate had other ideas for the self-centered duo.

Muriel was forty-four when she learned of Myra's pending arrival. She'd been utterly shocked to find herself in the family way again, and resented it greatly. Myra was the interloper, the unexpected intruder. She was born into an already complete family unit, one that had been planned and executed flawlessly; an additional child had not been necessary.

Robert and Muriel lived a life of leisure. They enjoyed the easy life their fortune afforded them, and they had a passion for travel. Africa, China, Australia, and the harsh icy lands of the Arctic constantly beckoned. So naturally a child— especially one of the female persuasion who'd require a gentile rearing—was undesirable. Muriel begrudged the fact that the burden of that duty would mainly rest with her.

Myra saw little of them the first five years of her life, and even less of her brother. She was left in the care of servants. On her sixth birthday, her parents came into the nursery bearing gifts. She'd been excited to see them; she'd hoped they were there to spend a little time with her, maybe read stories and share tea.

They were perfect in her young eyes, for, indeed, they were striking. Robert was a fiercely handsome man, and Muriel was a vision of perfection. She often wore her hair flowing to her hips, and she smelled like spring flowers after a rain. She also had the darkest of blue eyes; they reminded young Myra of a midnight sky lit up by twinkling stars. They were the fairy queen and king of fairytales. Had Muriel been an affectionate mother, she would have begged to play in her long golden tresses; however, experience taught her to keep her distance. Muriel would not care for her daughter to move a single curl from its place.

They presented her with gifts of a peppermint stick and a rag doll, along with her enrollment into Brier School for Girls. They disclosed her fate quite unfeelingly, stating that the institution is to become her new home as they have plans to travel. They also made it plain that Joseph, then age twenty-one, was entirely too young to have a child left in his charge. Myra had wondered at this. Had they believed she viewed her brother as an advocate, as someone she'd run to for assistance? It might have been possible had she known him just a little.

As she watched them leave that evening, she finally accepted what she'd already known very early in her life... her parents did not want her, they did not love her and now, because of her guaranteed absence from their lives, there was no chance that they ever would.

And she'd been right.

Robert and Muriel were amongst the dead listed for a luxury liner that went down in the pacific. Myra hadn't believed it at first. The Ellisons were seasoned travelers, they've visited the most remote and primitive places on earth. How is it that they would perish on a ship bearing them homeward?

She studied their beautiful faces, forever frozen in time, and grieved for them. Her parents' untimely death has deprived her of all hope of reconciliation.

Chapter One

Hartview, Connecticut, New Years Eve, 1919

Harrington's mansion was packed with jubilant revelers looking to ring in the New Year. Unfortunately, they were the same people doing the same things they've come to be known for; recycled sycophants who attended every social event in Hartview, waiting for the elite to grant special favors that are rarely forthcoming.

Joseph pulled out his watch to look at the hour and sighed. The night seemed to be dragging on. He couldn't leave before twelve o'clock because Piers wouldn't allow it. After all, they were here to have a little fun. Unfortunately, there were very few women among the extravagantly coiffed ladies he hasn't enjoyed at one time or other. The pickings were slim, at best.

He'd been practically kidnapped tonight by his best friend. His parents death had somewhat unsettled him. The suddenness of it left him feeling incomplete and solitary. But he wasn't. He still had her, although he wasn't sure what to do about her, not yet.

Piers thought he should stop brooding about his troubles for one night, and get about the business of living; namely, pursuing pleasurable entertainments with the opposite sex as often a possible. He glanced around the room again and sighed. "Why did you bring me here, Piers?"

"Because old man Harrington invites the most impressive females, you know that." Piers returned, taking a swallow of his drink.

Joseph observed the crowd disparagingly. "They leave nothing for the imagination."

"What does that matter? If I can dip my wick inside one of these beauties without parting from my lovely money, I shall have no complaints." Pierce said, his eyes following a particularly alluring female as she glided by.

"I would gladly part with my money if only to avoid a lady's expectations after the act."

"You may have no need to empty your pockets tonight, Joseph. I believe the spoiled heiress has set her sights on you." Pierce pointed out, amused and a tad jealous.

Joseph glanced in her direction. "Has she?" Elizabeth Harrington was past the first blush of youth. She was pleasantly built, though a little thick for his tastes, but attractive, nonetheless. He had noticed Elizabeth's brazen inspection but thought little of it given that most of the women were regarding him in the same manner.

Piers licked his lips. He adored a woman with hefty breasts and nice round bottoms. "And what a sumptuous package she is. I'd wager you'll have a very spirited ride this evening, my friend." He said, his gaze on her heavy cleavage. "You won't mind if I have a go at her once you're done?"

"Be my guest." When it came to the women he wanted, Piers could care less who came before him as long as he gets in. Joseph was more discriminating; he never fucked another man's leavings—at least not in the same hour.

"Your generosity overwhelms me." Piers chuckled.

"Here she comes." Joseph said, under his breath.

"I'll leave you to it." Piers said. "Remember, I want her alive and kicking. I have plans for those mouth-watering breasts of hers."

"I'll do my best." Joseph promised before his friend moved off to join a group of tipsy women.

Elizabeth met up with him a few seconds later, a confident smile pasted on her thin red lips. "Mr. Ellison...you've come. I'm so very pleased." She said in a sexy tone.

"As am I, Miss Harrington." He replied smoothly.

She gave him seductive smile. "Elizabeth, please."

"Elizabeth..." He said, bowing over her hand.

Her measuring gaze looked him up and down suggestively; her pussy moistened imagining what he hid in his expensively tailored trousers. Matilda was right. She mused, for once pleased with the other woman's observations. He's, by far, the most desirable man in the room—sexy, rich, and unattached. Oh yes, you will do very, very nicely. She thought. She had to get him alone, immediately.

"I noticed you have a Roechurd timepiece." She removed the gold piece from his waistcoat, turning it over slowly in her hand. "It's quite beautiful."

"I like it." he replied drily, examining her bountiful cleavage.

"Father has just acquired one as well. It's come all the way from Switzerland." Her eyes gleamed seductively beneath long lashes. "Would you care to see it?"

"Of course ... I am always up for something new." He drawled, amused by her not so subtle invitation.

She crooked a finger and then turned away to lead him out of the crowd, her hips swaying invitingly. Cock stiffening in anticipation, Joseph followed. Yes, he wanted her, but he was far from enamored. He'd caught the fleeting look of smug satisfaction on her face before she turned away. No doubt she's congratulating herself on a great catch. Pity, because she's in for a rude awakening.

Town gossip's not particularly kind to Charles Harrington's daughter. Her reputation as a floozy is well known. No respectable man of fortune will settle on goods that have been so thoroughly used. Daddy is going to have to sweeten the pot drastically in order to acquire one.

Joseph shrugged, indifferently. She may be liberal with her favors, but that's not his problem. If she wanted to fuck then he was happy to be of service.

Elizabeth shot him another heated look over her shoulder, and then slipped into a room leaving the door ajar. She was thrilled to be the one to have captured his attention. Everyone else, including Matilda, had failed tonight.

"You know, now that I think of it... why... I believe father's wearing his watch this very minute." She closed the door, and then rested against it. Her eyes trailed over him, stopping deliberately on his bulging crotch. She slowly wet her lips and lifted her eyes to his, "Would you care to see something else?"

"What do you have in mind?" Joseph was getting weary of her games.

She moved very close to him, and then with gleaming eyes and sultry smile, peeled her bodice down, releasing her enormous breasts; her dusky pink tips were large and taut. "Will this suffice, darling..." she asked, throatily. Elizabeth prided herself on her breasts; men go mad with lust when the see them. She was delighted to see Joseph was affected as well.

"They'll do." He muttered, squeezing and kneading them, pinching the stiff nubs.

Her heart pounded wildly—she tasted victory. She reached down between them to grasp his crotch, and then tucked her hand inside his pants to take his dick out. He was thick, and heavy and very lengthy, the heat of him made her tremble. "I've waited so long for you, darling...fuck me..." she whispered.

She rubbed him, squeezed him, and played with his cockhead, heightening his need to bury himself within her. Joseph backed her into the door and hiked up her skirts. She was bare-assed, wet and ready to be fucked. He squeezed her plump cheeks; she moaned and rubbed her mons against his dick. He searched inside his pockets for a lambskin, cursing silently when he found them both empty. He forgot to drop them in his pockets before he left home. But it was not a problem he couldn't overcome. He placed his cock at her moist center and thrust into her.

"Ahhhh...yes, yes, love me, darling..." Elizabeth panted as she humped enthusiastically on his dick. He was thicker than she'd expected, but she loved thick meaty men. He was magnificent.

He pressed her against the door and thrust harder. He was determined achieve some enjoyment as he rang in the New Year.

Elizabeth was in paradise. He was gorgeous, a first-rate lover, and very, very rich—a fact she deeply appreciated given those were some of the traits of her previous lover. He happened to be an excellent partner as well, but he lacked the most crucial aspect of a suitable husband. She cared not that he'd impregnated her; she refused to entertain marriage to a man with very little money.

Joseph Ellison was a prize—one she intended to snatch up quickly. "Oh, Joseph, darling...I love you...yes, yes, my love...ahhhh..." She came so hard she lost her breath.

Joseph felt the telltale tremors of her release, and was satisfied he'd done his duty by her. He set about getting his. Pumping, pumping away until he felt the need to come at which time he pulled out of her, ejecting his semen outside her body.

Shocked, Elizabeth seized his cock and tried guide it back into her pussy. "No, no, don't—put it back in—I need to feel you."

Drawing a breath, Joseph backed away, allowing Elizabeth to lower her feet to the floor. "I have no intention of leaving you with anything lasting, Elizabeth."

"Why, what ever do you mean, Joseph?" She said tightly, wanting to scream. This was may be her only chance to trap this bastard.

"I'm not in the market for a wife, and, if I were, it wouldn't be you. I hear half the men in Hartview have had a peeked beneath your skirts."

Elizabeth's face turned red with fury. She slapped him. "You bastard! How dare you speak to me in such a despicable manner? You repulsive piece of horse dung! I will have father—"

"Your father means nothing to me." He interrupted coolly, his lip curling in contempt. "And you mean even less." He stepped away from her to look in a mirror on the wall next to the door. He smoothed his hair and straightened his bow tie and jacket; he was amazed at how little he had to set to rights.

Bristling with fury, Elizabeth watched him. She forced herself to ignore what he just said and try again. Joseph Ellison is filthy rich. A man of his wealth and stature should be married, and she is in dire need of a husband. She worked hard to lure him in here, certain that once he'd had a taste of what she could give him he'd belong to her. Then she'd claim he's the father of the child she's carrying and they'd get married. "Joseph, darling, please forgive me, it's just... I thought we'd be on better terms after...after such an incredible joining."

He eyed her impassively. "Did you? It could have been a possibility, but you, I think, are seeking a more permanent union. I'm not interested."

Elizabeth face flamed again. She had enough of his insults. She slapped him again. "You--you bastard!"

"Yes, you've said that." Joseph drawled, raising an amused brow. "Elizabeth, my sweet, I thank you for a passable evening—though, with all your experience, I expected a tad more...expertise."

Will his insults never cease? Her lovers have nothing but the highest praise for her sexual talents. Who did he think he was? "GET OUT!" She screamed. "Leave my home, at once!"

Joseph bowed to her, his eyes mocking. "Thank you, darling, it's been very entertaining."

She screeched in outrage and, as soon as he crossed into the hall, she slammed the door shut.

Piers waited patiently in the shadows a few yards away. He raised laughing eyes to his friend as he approached. "Well, I assume you've had enough of lusty Liz? Shall I go smooth her feathers?"

"Smooth away, my friend." answered Joseph, indifferently. "And Happy New Year." His voice was drowned out by the loud cries of the revelers as the clock struck midnight.

Chapter Two

Brier School, Tyrone, Pennsylvania, April 1920

"Myra!"

"Yes?" Myra responded absently, scribbling "very good" at the top of an untidily written essay. She was absorbed in her task of grading English homework for one of the sixth year teachers.

"Lass, you've got to hurry."

"Hmm...?" Myra glanced up from the papers as the other woman rushed in her room. She appeared to be rather excited about something.

Molly O'Leary was the first person she met all those years ago. Her parent's delivered her to Brier school, and no sooner than she stepped over the threshold, they'd said rushed goodbyes and disappeared; taken off for god knows where, leaving their youngest child in the care of a housemaid.

The headmistress Beady had taken one look at Myra and frowned. She hadn't anticipated Robert and Muriel's hasty exit nor the responsibility of a child she believed at the time to be too young for an institution. Myra had been very small for her age and was often mistaken for a much younger child.

Molly, the school's young housemaid, had taken her under her wing, patiently drawing her out of her shell with loving kindness. Myra looked up to her. She esteemed her above all others at Brier School. "Molly, what's happened?"

"Miss Beady requires your presence in her office—quickly, lass, quickly!" She exclaimed, excitedly.

"Me? But—now?" Myra jumped up from her chair, holding her stomach to halt the nervous fluttering within. "So soon?"

"Soon?" Molly snorted, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "You waited nigh a month for those rich stuffy old peacocks to make up their minds. It was excruciating torture, and cruel to boot, if you ask me. I've never heard of such doddery? They should all be put out to pasture, is my way of thinking, brains full of cobwebs for all their worth."

Myra paid little attention to Molly's indignant chatter. She was beginning to feel slightly sick. "She wants to see me now?" Myra inquired, apprehensively. "Right at this moment?"

"Aye, lass, right now." Molly told her, smiling at the beautiful young woman.

"But I—oh my..." Myra hurried to check her appearance in a small oval mirror situated above a worn chest of drawers. "How do I look? Do I look presentable? Should I change? Perhaps my Sunday frock—"

"You look just fine, lass." Molly said, tucking Myra's stray hairs back into her chignon. "Stop fretting so, I expect Miss Beady won't be looking for you to appear in your Sunday best."

"I want to look...competent." Myra tried to iron the wrinkles from her skirt with nervous hands. "Oh...this won't do at all. I'm going to change—"

"You haven't the time, lass." Molly reminded her. "She's waiting."

Myra looked down at her outfit, doubtfully. "But my skirt is—"

"Perfectly fine." Molly assured her, soothingly. "Now pinch your cheeks, lass, you've gone of your color."

Myra stared at her pale image and was suddenly afraid. What if Miss Beady wanted to speak to her for something other than the teaching position? She graded classroom assignments for quite a few of the teachers now; perhaps Miss Beady wished to discuss the marks she's been giving to the students. Has there been a complaint of some sort?

Perhaps she should not allow herself to become overly anxious. It may be nothing more to the unexpected summons than a simple discussion of her grading practices.

Molly watched doubt spring into her young friend's unusual eyes and immediately sought to boost her courage. "The position is yours, lass. You're a natural and the headmistress knows it. You must not lose heart."

"Of course, you're right, I must remain positive." She pinched her cheeks and was happy to see that the rosy color made her eyes appear bluer. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. "Well, I-I should hurry. Miss Beady is a stickler for punctuality. I don't dare raise her ire at this crucial time." She ran out the door, but a second later her head appeared around the door jam. "Cross your fingers, Molly."