Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

  California! With her dowry! She should have known the moment he crossed the threshold that Lucius Flynn was motivated by some moronic idea or another. She had suspected he had found some cunning way out of their engagement, but she had given him far too much credit. Lucius Flynn was not that smart. Lucius Flynn just wanted to have a good time, even if it cost her inheritance.

  “You would have my father’s blood pay for your silly fool’s errand?” she spat at him. “You pompous greenhorn!”

  She set her mouth in a straight line. The room was bright enough now for Lucius to see her fury.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on here,” he countered, offended. “Today Brennan money becomes Flynn money. All the coins go into one big pot, and my father wants everything that belonged to your da, Evelyn. Everything. If we don’t take that money now, he will spend every last dollar of your inheritance on new ships. You and I will not see a penny. Not a penny! And we will live the rest of our lives answering to him. Is that what you want?”

  “You stupid arse!” she replied. “You just want to run away, and that’s the truth of it! I will have nothing to do with this. Your father has never done any wrong by me.”

  “He would have had you on the streets the night your father died!”

  Shocked, Evelyn’s mouth dropped.

  Lucius continued, wishing he didn’t have to.

  “You are nothing but a piece of property to him, Evelyn, and he has waited all these long years to hold the deed. He has wanted you for your money since before you were born. Your father was a wealthy man with a wealthy history. Much wealthier than mine. If not for your fortune, my da would have found some other way to make a profit off you. Everything my father owns is an asset to him, Evelyn. Even me.”

  He was silent a moment, as the truth of what he had said settled upon his betrothed. Evelyn recalled the morning Lucius went to the docks with his father for the first time, the way she had missed him all that day, the exhaustion he had exuded that night as he sat at her father’s supper table, spent from the day’s work.

  Lucius was immensely valuable to his father, and not only because he was his son; just as Evelyn was immensely valuable to Lucius, and not simply because she was going to be his wife. They were both of them useful, their intrinsic worth dispensable in light of their monetary merit. They were pawns; a fate Lucius could change, a fate Evelyn could not.

  “I see,” she replied presently, resignedly.

  They were silent a moment. Lucius sensed the disenchantment that had settled upon her, and he immediately grew sober. He did not wish to cause her pain. He merely wished to convince her of the benefits of his scheme.

  “This is for the best,” he said, adopting a tone of gentility. “I understand you want to go back to Ireland. It is my home as well. But we cannot go back. Not now. The people are hungry and there is unrest. If word spreads that I have returned, our lives will be in danger. I still have English blood in me, and the English are still out of favor. You and I will go to California, make a fortune of gold, wait out the potato blight, and return to Ireland when all has been put to right.”

  The mention of home gave Evelyn an idea.

  “Who’s to say I cannot return of my own accord?” she asked. “You may go on to California without me. No one need know we are not together.”

  “What, send you back to Ireland to starve? I know we’ve had our differences, Evelyn, but I’m not that heartless.”

  Evelyn was incredulous.

  “And you think the journey to California will be less dangerous than going home?” she wondered.

  Lucius smirked in reply and pulled two papers from his pocket. He smoothed them out and handed them to Evelyn.

  The name “Steam Rose” was decoratively printed on the face. “For Panama” it read. “Sails 20 March 1849”.

  Evelyn’s eyes darted to Lucius’ face, for the twentieth of March was tomorrow.

  “You cannot be serious,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I am entirely serious,” he whispered back.

  “Lucius, there must be months of preparation needed for this kind of journey.”

  “I’ve taken care of everything. We’ll make berth in Central America, then find a ship bound for San Francisco. The Panama route is the quickest to California. I’ve told my father that I am taking you to New Orleans to look into trading slaves. A Flynn’s idea for a honeymoon, I daresay. He hasn’t a clue that tomorrow morning, we’ll be sailing towards a whole new world of possibility. Stupid man, to have wasted his time in this drab city while other merchants are snatching up gold left and right in Coloma and Centerville! Men of my father’s caliber are making triple his profits in San Francisco.” He lost himself for a moment, caught up in his thoughts. Presently, he emerged from his reverie and regarded Evelyn with a mischievous grin. “I should thank you, Miss Brennan. I’ve waited long enough to find my own way in this world, and you are my ticket out of here.”

  Lucius was giddy now, and he touched Evelyn’s nose with his fingertip. She flinched backward and slapped him.

  Lucius rubbed his cheek for the second time in twenty-four hours. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, but he thought Evelyn was rather over-reacting.

  “We’ll be richer than we ever dreamed,” he whispered, rising in preparation to leave. “Just imagine, Miss Brennan. No more sitting in the parlor gazing out the window. You may be my ticket, but you’re profiting from me as well. This will be an adventure for the both of us, I promise you.”

  Chapter Four

  Furious, Evelyn whipped her head towards the window, where she gazed upon a gray new world with eyes that saw only red.

  It had begun to rain.

  She took a few moments to calm her nerves and steady her breathing, listening as Lucius’ footsteps descended the hall towards his rooms. Once she could no longer hear him, she rang the bell for Beatrice to bring her breakfast. Presently, the servant joined her with a toothy smile and an aromatic tray of coffee and croissants. Lacking any appetite, Evelyn picked at the pastry before ignoring it altogether and settled on the coffee. Its rich aroma filled her senses as she closed her eyes to breathe it in.

  “Today is the day,” Beatrice whispered, watching Evelyn for any sort of reaction.

  Evelyn sighed before opening her eyes. She stared into the deep blackness of her drink and nodded her head, the conversation with Lucius replaying in her mind.

  Yes, today was the day. She had long dreaded its arrival.

  Beatrice seated herself beside her mistress, hands clasped in her lap. The women sat in silence for a moment until the servant reached over to touch her Evelyn’s arm. It had been like this between them since the beginning. Evelyn had no qualms with Beatrice’s dark skin, and Beatrice was happy to bestow compassion upon the orphaned girl. Beatrice was old enough to be her mother, and she had no children of her own. She was a free black, for slavery was outlawed in New York, and she had been in the Flynn’s employ since their arrival to America.

  “Are you frightened?” she asked, for Evelyn was slightly trembling.

  Evelyn did not eagerly dwell upon her emotions, nor was she apt to divulge them. She had learned to quiet fear and sadness by blocking the connection from her heart to her mind. It was an easy disconnection when she was reading French or drawing flowers, but her piano playing had suffered. She had sacrificed emotional intuition for practicality and even now, on the dawn of her wedding, she could barely correlate the shaking of her hands to the beginning of her loveless marriage.

  As her eyes bore into her coffee she could feel nothing but anger, but that was nothing new. Perhaps she was frightened, but not in the way most virgin brides might be frightened. After all, Evelyn was not about to allow Lucius to touch her. A ring and vows would not give him that privilege.

  If Evelyn Brennan was frightened, it was because a marriage to Lucius Flynn would prove a greater sacrifice than she was willing to give, despite the years of preparation.

  “No,
Beatrice,” Evelyn shook her head, “but I am cross. I wish this day had never come.”

  Beatrice clucked her tongue.

  “I shouldn’t blame you, ma’am,” she sympathized. “Marryin’ the young Master Flynn would put me in a fair temper, myself.”

  The servants were well acquainted with Lucius’ habits: his sneaking in and out through the kitchen door, his all-night vigils, his debt-collectors on the front steps, and his empty bottles strewn about the house. What kind of husband would he make for an innocent girl? How could he be sensible to the needs of a wife when he could scarcely care for himself?

  Beatrice knew the only answers to those questions were too terrible to be considered.

  Evelyn took another sip of her coffee and inhaled deeply.

  “Well, I daresay I may console myself,” she smiled ruefully, “for all those hussies who ran about with my fiancé shall now weep with broken hearts.”

  “God help us, ma’am!” Beatrice cried, indulging her. “Their tears shall flood the streets of this city!”

  Both women laughed.

  “Tell me I am not to lose everything today, Beatrice,” Evelyn said when their brief mirth had subsided. “Tell me that Banning Flynn has no hold on you, and that you are to remain with me. Tell me you are my own and that you shall follow me into this strange new world of wifedom. I might lose my mind if forced to be alone with Lucius for more than a quarter hour.”

  Beatrice was silent a moment, then responded by looking pityingly upon her mistress.

  At once, Evelyn knew that Beatrice possessed no such happy news.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” her servant replied. “This evening I shall be relieved of my services to you.”

  New waves of anger flushed Evelyn’s cheeks.

  “By whose orders?”

  “Master Lucius’, ma’am.”

  Evelyn threw her arms in the air, nearly knocking her coffee from its saucer.

  “Of course! Lucius! That contemptible-”

  She was already out the door, marching with maddened feet towards Lucius’ quarters. Beatrice was quick on her heels, and Evelyn had nearly reached Lucius’ door when her servant grabbed her by the hand.

  “Release me, Beatrice! I shall have a word-”

  “You mustn’t, ma’am! He has not slept! He will be vengeful!”

  “I am vengeful! He has no right to rob me of you!”

  Lucius’ door opened and Lucius, hair askew, stepped into the hall. He regarded the women with blurry eyes, for he had only just fallen into bed, and he was meant to wake in an hour. But the sight and sound of an angry Evelyn caused him to forget his sleep altogether.

  “You blackguard!” she spat at him. “You shall not release my servant from her duty to me. You have absolutely no right!”

  At this, Lucius grabbed Evelyn by the arm, perhaps a little too tightly. She shrieked, surprised.

  “Unhand me!”

  “Lower your voice, Miss Brennan,” he commanded, at once angry. He was not accustomed to being treated thus in the presence of servants. “Leave us, Beatrice. I must have a word with Miss Brennan alone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  But Evelyn cried out, “stay, Beatrice!” and the poor servant looked terribly torn. This angered Lucius further, for Evelyn was debasing his authority.

  “If you do not depart, servant,” he growled, “you shall forfeit your station entirely.”

  With a worried glance at her mistress, Beatrice reluctantly obeyed.

  “How dare you?” Evelyn sneered at Lucius. “Do you take pleasure in removing things from me? You would take me from my home, and rob me of my inheritance. Do you intend to strip me of everything? Are you so heartless? She is my only friend!”

  “I have my reasons, Miss Brennan,” he whispered furiously. “I have spent weeks- nay, months- preparing for the journey ahead of us-”

  “For which I shall have need of a servant! It would be improper for me to travel without her.”

  “The expense of a third person is costly and completely unnecessary. You are young and strong and perfectly capable of caring for yourself.”

  “I shall be the only woman in the whole of California! Who is to protect me from all those men who have left their wives at home, hmm? They will be ravenous for female company and God knows you shall not look after me, Lucius Flynn. I shall be devoured!”

  Lucius was amused by her unabashed arrogance.

  “And you believe Beatrice could rescue you?” he wondered.

  “A lady does not travel without her maid.”

  And by God, she was spoiled.

  “There are many things you will have to learn to do without, Miss Brennan.”

  “Why not do as the other miners have done? Leave me in New York. Have Beatrice look after me.”

  “And suffer unnecessarily? Who knows,” Lucius stopped, taking a lingering glance over Evelyn’s body, “your pretty face may be useful.”

  Evelyn wrenched herself away.

  “Your lack of propriety disgusts me, Lucius.”

  “I intend to spend every waking hour digging gold from the ground,” he said. “Why should I throw my fortune away on cooks and seamstresses and launders when I have a perfectly good wife to care for me?”

  Evelyn scowled.

  “Oh, I see,” she muttered. “So I shall be your servant. How silly of me not to think of it.”

  “Indeed,” Lucius agreed. “Tis a woman’s place, of course. It’s a pity the other lads left their girls behind. They shall be green with envy when they see you on my arm.”

  “Under your heel, rather.”

  “Whichever your prefer, my lady.”

  It was not really Lucius’ intention to enslave his new wife, but it was impossible not to torment her with the idea when she was being so preposterous.

  Flabbergasted, Evelyn returned to her room in a rage. Lucius watched after her, one hand pulling at his hair. It was a light, reddish-brown and tended to shoot off in every direction unless he greased it. He had thick, unruly curls of which he was quite proud, for they had made many a woman swoon. Evelyn, however, had never been one for swooning.

  Not that Lucius cared.

  Besides, it was never his intention to make Evelyn like him. He knew he hardly stood a chance of that. But if their marriage was to be composed of senseless squalls, Lucius might as well have a bit of fun now and again. He had nearly forgotten how amusing it was to tease Evelyn Brennan, a fact he would do well to remember from now on.

  Beatrice helped Evelyn into the many folds of fabric that composed her wedding gown by smoothing and frilling the yards of silk and lace, fastening the corset, and slipping the buttons into their corresponding holes. When the young bride was fully dressed, Beatrice worked her hair into a perfect arrangement of curls, and a little rouge was applied to her cheeks and lips, with a stitch of black paint to line the tips of her eyelids.

  Despite the weight of the gown, Evelyn could feel her back straighten, her shoulders roll back, her chin lift, her arms drift regally to her sides. Her fingertips tingled. Her belly tightened.

  She forced every visible part of her body into an adaptation of grace, while each hidden muscle remained tight as a wire.

  As she peered into the looking glass, she searched for any sign of Emmett Brennan, yet she only saw a lady, an image of a mother she had never known.

  It was her wedding day, and her beloved father remained nowhere to be found.

  She steeled herself against a tide of tears and turned away from her reflection.

  The ceremony was a quiet affair located in the downstairs parlor. Someone played a concerto on the piano, and Evelyn wished that that someone were her. For one thing, she could have played the piece better; and for another, if she were the one performing, she would not be the one getting married. And in her opinion, music was far preferable to marriage.

  A servant had strewn rose petals about and there was a pungent white garland of lilies hanging overhead. The Sunday parson was present
and smiling, eager to perform the charade.

  Evelyn wanted to slap him.

  Don’t you smile. Don’t you dare smile, she thought towards the clergyman.

  But then, something like nothing washed over her, a numbness that crept from her head down to her heart and beyond, spreading like a disease to each and every cell.

  Survival. That’s what it was. The instinctive ability to operate outside herself.

  She faintly heard Beatrice say it was time, faintly felt her feet moving beneath her, faintly recalled catching a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror.

  If beauty was an appearance, she was the very definition. If it was a feeling, it eluded her. She was white and perfect and lovely, but inside she was utterly empty.

  All seemed lost in some gray mist, as if she were tucked away in a dream. Only the music of the piano reached her, somehow piercing into the haze of her thoughts. Her last sense of consciousness took hold and she followed the steady stream of notes until she had successfully descended the staircase into the parlor, where Banning was waiting to take her hand.

  As if he was her father.

  He smiled as he leaned in and whispered into the folds of her veil, “it would honor me greatly to stand in for your da, lass.”

  Whatever his personal intentions for this marriage, Evelyn hungrily gave Banning her arm. As he led her towards his son, she clutched him more aggressively than she was aware, her subconscious desperate to cling to what she knew, to where she was safe. Was it true what Lucius had said about his father? If it were not for this wedding, would Evelyn be turned out on the street? Would Banning have no mercy on the orphaned daughter of his late and closest friend?

  Did it matter? He was not Lucius, and Lucius was the one she wished to avoid, yet Lucius was also the one towards whom she was walking.

  The music played on, and she was certain this mirthless melody was a dirge. It progressed until she stood before the groom and parson, where Banning announced his intent to release her. Her fingers dug further into the sleeve of his waistcoat. Could she not protest? She searched her throat for any capacity to speak, but she found nothing but a sputter and a cough. Somewhere deep in her lungs, a cry struggled to break free. She looked longingly at her future father-in-law, but through the veil he could not read the resistance in her eyes.