Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

  Inhale. Exhale.

  “How did it happen?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Banning’s eyes flashed with the recent memory. It was only hours ago now.

  “There was an altercation,” he replied.

  Evelyn blinked and a tear fell onto the floor. Behind her the door was open, leaving the house exposed to the bitter cold. Lamps glowed within, emanating the illusion of warmth and security. If she had been in a proper state of mind, she might have invited her guests inside. As it was, they remained shivering in the darkness of the late January hour.

  “An altercation,” she repeated, her voice small and trembling. “With whom?”

  Lucius dragged his feet up the steps behind his father, his gaze never leaving the ground.

  “A nameless scoundrel,” Banning replied. “The man provoked Lucius, and your father stepped between them.”

  Hearing his name, Lucius’ eyes flicked toward Evelyn. He could not speak, could not convey his regret over what had transpired. Emmett Brennan was a better father than his own, and Lucius had loved him.

  Lucius knew the dead man should be himself. He knew this all too well.

  For an instant, Evelyn met his gaze, felt the flicker of panic in her chest blaze into anger. She looked away, gritting her teeth against the overwhelming desire to scream.

  Her father was dead, and Lucius was alive. Her father had saved a scoundrel, had laid down his life for this foolish, temperamental boy.

  “So,” she said, as evenly as her fury allowed, “Lucius is to blame?”

  Banning’s grip tightened upon her arm.

  “No, lass. You mustn’t believe that. There is no one to blame but the bastard who provoked him, the fiend who wielded the knife.”

  At this new bit of information, Evelyn teetered backwards on her feet. The tears she withheld choked her, and she coughed.

  In barely more than a whisper, she murmured, “stabbed?”

  Her father. A tender bear of a man, with ruddy cheeks so full they eclipsed his eyes when he smiled. So soft, so kind, so upright.

  A slow death. A painful death. Blood and agony and fear. All without his daughter to soothe any of it away. All without his girl to fare him well.

  Her anger melted away, leaving behind the cool ashes of despair and loneliness.

  It really did not matter who did it. Her father was gone. And she was still here, orphaned and alone.

  Chapter Three

  New York City, 1849

  Penelope stroked the back of Lucius’ neck, smoothing his hair beneath her caramel-colored fingers.

  “I want you to tell me everything,” she insisted, her voice smooth and persuasive. “I hate it when men hide behind their secrets.”

  Lucius chuckled.

  “Well, if we’re going to be honest,” he started, lingering on the word, “I suppose I do have a secret.”

  Penelope smiled hesitantly, somewhat surprised he had given in so quickly.

  “All right,” she said slowly, “tell me everything.”

  Lucius cast a look about the room. He was huddled in a dark corner, wrapped in the silky arms of a Madrid-born beauty, a haze of smoke engulfing them. Penelope had a thing for cigars.

  She was grand. They had danced twice, and he knew she wanted more. But this was his last night as a bachelor, and there was an appetizing blonde woman sitting alone at the bar. He knew that if he didn’t get over to her soon, some other bastard would snatch her up.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked Penelope, his attention still divided. She, however, didn’t seem to notice. “After all, we’ve only just met. We have an entire lifetime to learn about one another.”

  Penelope swung her head and released a drunken squeal.

  “Tell me, Lucius Flynn!” she hollered.

  Had he given her his last name? He must have, though he could not remember when.

  “All right then,” he said, a little irritated. “You’ll have to come a little closer. I’m not about to shout back at you.”

  Penelope pouted, then abruptly leaned forward.

  Lucius cleared his throat. The following three words were not very easy for him to say. They still felt surreal, no matter how long it had been since they had become his reality.

  “I’m getting married,” he nearly choked.

  Penelope stared at him blankly.

  Married. The date was set for Evelyn’s eighteenth birthday. And that date was tomorrow.

  Lucius waited for some sort of hysterical response from Penelope, but nothing came.

  This was not going well. Penelope was supposed to comprehend that he belonged to another woman, become terribly offended, and leave him with time enough to pursue the blonde. As it was, the poor girl seemed to take an awfully long time digesting the news. He wondered if she was normally dense or if it was just the brandy. Perhaps he should repeat it in Spanish?

  “I’m not sure you heard me, Penelope. I’ve told you my grand secret. I expected a little more of a reaction after so much persuasion.”

  To Lucius’ surprise, Penelope burst into laughter.

  “Bah!” she blurted, spittle flying from her lips. “You’re not getting married! Men like you don’t settle down, Lucius Flynn. And if they do, they wait until they’re old and disgusting. Give it another thirty years! You are far from old and disgusting. Don’t play with me, love. You are not getting married.”

  Lucius wiped his face, then patted her hand. The simple truth was that Penelope did not believe him. This was remedied easily enough.

  “No, darling,” he replied, “I’m afraid it’s only too true. Tonight I am celebrating my own fall from this beloved world of debauchery.” He sighed tragically. “Now give me a kiss. I have some more flirting to do before tomorrow, when I sign my neck over to the noose of matrimony.”

  She chuckled once more, twice more, and then her mood suddenly shifted as Lucius’ meaning sunk in. Consequently, she slapped him and departed in a huff.

  Lucius watched after her, rubbing his cheek and straightening his jacket. She was gone, which was celebratory, but she could have left him without the sting.

  He had underestimated her. Perhaps she possessed a shred of dignity after all.

  “Trouble with women?” someone asked.

  Lucius spun to see the blonde woman from the bar, and he nearly laughed with delight. Praise be to his patron saint! He didn’t even have to chase her down.

  “Ah, yes,” he replied, taking her hand in his own. “I’m afraid Spaniards are too spicy for me.”

  She tilted her head, humoring him. God, she was gorgeous.

  “Then perhaps a German might do?” she asked.

  He smirked and kissed the hand he had taken.

  Oh, yes. A German would do quite well.

  “My dear,” Lucius said, “my mouth is watering already.”

  Hours later, night was receding as Lucius picked his way along the streets. He had decided to walk, had needed the time to think, to get his head on straight. He needed to talk to her. Not the German woman, or Penelope. They had served other purposes. But Evelyn was his betrothed, and there was something she should know about him.

  Lucius Flynn was going to run away.

  He was wasting away, dying, suffocating in this kind of life. Had been since he was a boy. Work all day, play all night to forget about working all day. He took pleasure in the things that came easy to him, but he and God knew those things were certainly not the best. They were tonics against the great evil of diminishing dreams, and Lucius had all but succumbed to this aimless existence until last summer, when a gleam of hope had stretched forth from behind his veil of despair.

  Gold.

  Gold was discovered in the West.

  A tide was rising, and it was full of dreamers, adventurers, inventors, and entrepreneurs. In the past months, they had flooded into California from across the sea, across the continent, across the world, and with every one of their exhilarating newspaper accounts, Lu
cius felt the yearning within him grow. His restlessness stirred; the fire that had died within him was rekindled. He did not have to be a slave to his father, or to this life, anymore.

  In the beginning, he had tried to talk some sense into Banning, had begged his father to send him west to start a new division of the company. Running ships out of San Francisco would take Flynn & Flynn, which was aptly renamed after Emmett Brennan’s death, to an entirely new level. Why not profit from the gold that was already dug out of the ground?

  His father, however, had refused. California gold was alluring, but it was a brief and passing phenomenon. “Flynn & Flynn does not gamble. Silk, opium, and tea are the only dependable treasures of the trade industry,” Banning decreed. “This gold is but a passing fancy. Soon there will be nothing left and California will be naught but an empty land full of abandoned towns, whiskey bottles, and ghosts. We Flynns stick to where the trade winds are always certain to blow: across the Atlantic and over the Indian Ocean.”

  Perhaps Banning was afraid of risk, but Lucius Flynn had found an alternative to becoming a bored, fat tradesman. California was his opportunity for adventure, for the pursuit of wealth under his own conditions.

  He was getting married, and along with a wife, he was acquiring the Brennan fortune. Indeed, it was enough money to double his father’s trade, which was what his father intended. But it was also enough to purchase Lucius Flynn’s independence, and it was high time he was free of his father’s rule.

  He would go west, lest he regret it for the rest of his life.

  Evelyn was shocked from sleep. At first she was not certain the sound had not come from within a dream; but she waited, and presently she heard it once more.

  Someone was rapping on the door.

  She expected her servant, Beatrice, to enter, for rarely anyone but Beatrice came to call. But it was not her servant who opened the door. It was Lucius, dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

  Candleless, his features were vaguely apparent in the dim light of dawn. The vision startled Evelyn, for she had not been alone in a room with him since they were children, and she could not imagine why he would come to her now, in this early hour. Since her father died, they had seen little of one another. Banning Flynn had taken her in as his ward, and she spent most of her time alone or with Beatrice, reading, playing piano, and taking walks, while Lucius spent his days at the docks with his father, and his evenings at various pubs and clubs, playing cards and flirting with women.

  Their schedules did not allow for one another, which was strictly intentional, so the sight of him now was unnerving, the imminence of their wedding all too uncomfortable.

  What in heaven’s name was he doing here?

  Evelyn drew her blankets closer, pulling them to her throat. With one hand she attempted to correct her nightcap, painfully aware of her disheveled appearance, for Evelyn Brennan made certain she was never seen unless she was scrupulously put together.

  “My God,” she exclaimed. “Did you just get in? It is nearly morning.”

  Lucius coughed.

  “I had some business to attend to in town,” he replied.

  He winced against his own lie, but convinced himself it was only a bit of an evasive truth. He did not see Evelyn’s eyes roll, as she was well aware of what sort of business Lucius conducted in the darkness of night. As justification for her suspicion, she took a deep breath and caught scent of Lucius’ recent activities.

  “Lord, you reek of brandy and perfume!” she declared, perhaps a bit too loudly. She was not wounded, only greatly perturbed.

  What had her father been thinking when he agreed to this betrothal? Lucius Flynn was bereft of all decency, yet Lucius Flynn was the husband her father had chosen for his only daughter. The sense of the match, if there was any at all, completely eluded her.

  Lucius stopped, unsure of how to respond. He lifted the collar of his jacket and sniffed. Penelope and the German woman- damn, what was her name?- had entered the room along with him, their smell plastered to his clothing.

  “Sorry about that,” he shrugged.

  There was nothing he could do about it now.

  Evelyn grunted in disgust.

  Lucius moved silently towards her in the dark. She tried to soothe the rapid beating of her heart, for she did not want him to know how utterly unnerved she was at his sudden, untraditional, and improper appearance.

  She sat up straight, lifting her chin to peer questioningly down her nose at him, and Lucius almost snorted at her immediate adoption of defiance.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” he whispered gently, one hand stretched out peaceably in an effort to put her at ease. “Forgive me if I have caused a disturbance.”

  He congratulated himself, for despite the overall discomfort of the situation, he thought he sounded rather debonair. Speaking with Evelyn always required an extra measure of charm, for she was never anything but cold towards him. He suspected this was on account of their years of avoidance, in addition to the rather deserved suspicion that Lucius was at fault for her father’s death. Evelyn had built up quite a case against him, and he knew if he wanted a listening ear, much less two, he needed to thaw her out a little.

  He waited stupidly for some kind of response, but she did not give him one. Instead she watched him, her eyes unblinking in the fading dark.

  Lucius’ resolve wavered. He fumbled for words, struggling to remember why he had planned this unconventional encounter in the first place. Evelyn, shocked from sleep by a man she had only known as a boy, wondered the same thing.

  “I know it isn’t proper for a man to see his bride before the wedding,” Lucius sighed, “but I wanted to speak with you before the ceremony. I imagine you are quite frightened by this whole ordeal, and I assure you I am not at all at ease, myself. The truth is I have dreaded this day since I was informed of it. Not by any fault of yours, of course. But you see, I never aimed to marry. Yet you can understand the great responsibility I bear as the only son of my most ambitious father.”

  He said this with a sliver of sarcasm, but Evelyn was not amused.

  Beneath her sharp glare, Lucius’ eyes dropped to the floor, for her gaze lacked the warmth he sought and caused him to falter. Her appearance was distracting as well. He had never seen her like this, hair a little askew and braided to one side, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from waking. For once she did not look like a mannequin. She seemed like a real woman, capable of emotion and soft to the touch.

  Lucius cleared his throat.

  “It is true that you and I haven’t known much of each other these past few years,” he continued. “But we were like brother and sister once, growing up together the way we did. And to be promised to one another just before your da passed away… well, that was a terrible thing that happened. To him, I mean. Well, to the both of you. I truly respected him, you know. He was a good man, and I want to do right by him. He would have wanted the best for you and as much as I have fought it, that responsibility has fallen to me. It means that today, of course, we must marry. He wished it, and he must have had a good reason.”

  He set his jaw firmly, as if this statement was the closing verdict of an argument he had with himself. Evelyn listened, her face flushed at the mention of her father. She recalled the day he had come to her with the news of this betrothal. She had fought hard to remain composed before him, waiting to come undone until after he had left. She had given no argument, had only nodded her head in quiet acquiescence, though fear and disappointment caused her every muscle to tremble with tension.

  She was a dutiful daughter. Obedient. She had never once lied to her father, dishonored him, or refused him; and in consequence, she was now required to surrender her independence to a reckless, wild, and frivolous prat.

  She shut her eyes against the unfortunate reality. Indeed, her father must have had a good reason, but she could not see it then, and she could not see it now.

  “I want you to know that there is no other option for you,” Lucius told h
er. “This is the way of the world, and we all must accept it. We’re fortunate, I suppose, in some sense. There are young people married off every day. Much younger than us, too. But I have to be honest and tell you I have tried to fight this. My father would hear none of it, of course. There are conditions for his blessing, and they include new ships and new goods. He has big plans for us, you know. For the company. And he’ll be damned if I screw them up.”

  The room brightened as the sun rose. Lucius’ face was washed in a pale blue, his eyes luminescent in the slowly growing light.

  “However, I do have a plan,” he said then, his voice lowering to a soft whisper. Evelyn could barely hear him and struggled to watch the movement of his lips as they formed the words.

  “And unfortunately, it goes far beyond my da’s blessing. No doubt you have heard talk of the gold discovered in California?”

  Her eyes shifted slightly, telling him she had. The servants could be heard whispering about it from time to time, and every week the papers carried stories of young aristocrats heading west to seek adventure. But what on earth would induce Lucius to bring it up on the morning of their wedding?

  He stepped closer to his bride in the pending light. “Today you will be my wife,” he murmured, growing bolder as he spoke, the excitement of his plan giving him a new burst of confidence.

  The word wife caused Evelyn’s breath to catch in her throat.

  “And as such,” Lucius continued, “all your earthly possessions become mine.”

  So. That was it. Lucius had come to her for money. She flushed, her temper rising. The audacity of his brazenness rendered her speechless.

  She sat up a little straighter and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “We will have a fortune together,” he went on, “and with fortune comes the responsibility to invest. I have decided where we should place our money, and it is not with Flynn & Flynn. I want adventure, and I won’t find it here in New York or across the sea in Ireland. No, California has what I want, and I mean to take it for my own,” he concluded with a theatrical swipe at the air.