The requiem ceased. Banning squeezed Evelyn’s hand and let it go.
The mist grew denser, and all Evelyn could hear was the rushing of her own breath. As her gaze searched the floor she saw beyond it into the deep, emerald hills of her home in Ireland. There she stood with her face to the wind, the sound of the ocean beating against black rocks in the distance and her father’s voice carried towards her, saying Evie, my Evie…
Everybody loves my Evie.
Hot tears burned at the remembrance.
Her father had loved to sing, and she used to accompany him on the piano while Lucius played the violin. It was so long ago. Forced to share the same tutors, stumbling through lessons in Latin and French, laughing at the gulls down at the shore; she and Lucius were practically family once, until the day Lucius went to the docks with his father, the day the boy was forced to become a man.
The fog cleared ever so slightly then, enough for Evelyn to hear herself saying two words she had never wanted to say to a man she swore she would never love.
“I do.”
The words echoed as Lucius repeated them a moment later, followed by a pretty speech made by the parson. Poetic, religious, superfluous. Unity was declared between herself and the long-lost boy of her memories. She thought she saw his eyes as they had been back then, reflecting the green of the grass and the gray of the clouds, when suddenly, she realized she was looking directly into them as they were now. Intense and staring back at her.
They had said all that needed to be said. The arrangement was made, the plans drawn to completion.
“Evelyn?” Lucius spoke. His hand was extended towards her, and he looked as uncertain as she.
The witnesses watched hungrily as Evelyn stared at Lucius’ suspended fingers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew what she was meant to do, but she felt perfectly incapable of doing it.
“Take his hand, Mrs. Flynn,” Banning whispered, loud enough for all to hear. But Evelyn did not recognize her new name. It was unfamiliar and unwanted.
The night her father died, Evelyn knew she would never again return to what she once knew as home. At its core, home was not a land or a house, but a state of being. It was her identity as a daughter.
From this moment forward, she would belong to another man.
Heart racing, she shut her eyes and pressed her hand into Lucius’, fulfilling her final duty to her father.
Chapter Five
Night was falling, along with the rain, and the roads were sure to be disastrous.
Evelyn clung to Beatrice while Lucius stood before his father.
“You will be sure to report to me,” Banning told him, “and inform me honestly whether or not this will be a profitable venture.”
For a moment, Lucius was confused, and wondered if his father knew about California.
But no, no, of course not. Lucius’ head was muddled from the preparations, the wedding, the goodbyes. He was leaving New York, Flynn & Flynn, and his father. For good. And yet Banning was convinced his son was heading south to investigate the slave trade. On his honeymoon.
It was pathetic, really. Lucius almost pitied his father for the blindness he suffered on account of his ambition.
Almost.
“Yes sir,” he replied, dutifully.
New Orleans had been Lucius’ idea, and Banning must admit he was pleasantly surprised. Lucius had never shown any initiative concerning the company. He had stubbornly balked and stumbled through his apprenticeship, and now that he had taken Emmett’s place, he was resigned and ungrateful. Perhaps a little change of scenery would do him well.
Banning shook his son’s hand.
“Congratulations on your marriage, lad. She is a fine woman.”
Lucius smiled ruefully.
“Thank you,” he replied, “but this marriage was your doing, father. You made certain Miss Brennan became a part of this family.”
“I am a man of business,” Banning said. He lowered his voice and leaned into Lucius’ ear. “That girl was meant to belong to the Flynns since her birth, a merger eighteen years in the making. She’s the winning card for our company.”
It was uncanny how this reference to his wife of one hour could have such a negative effect upon Lucius. He regarded his father coldly.
“Then I congratulate you, father,” he told him, “on your great acquisition.”
“And I welcome it,” Banning replied.
Lucius took his father’s hand and said goodbye. He was resolved it should be for the last time.
Oblivious, Banning bid his son farewell, and Lucius turned to collect his new wife. He offered her his arm, and she tearfully waved to Beatrice as the two ducked through the rain and into the waiting carriage.
The inn was a small, dark place, cold and damp from the moisture of the sea. It sat in the woods a short ride from their port of call and Evelyn was doing her best not to touch anything, lest her new gloves get soiled. It was a little game she played with herself; if she paid enough attention to her appearance, she would not have to consider the ache that dwelt beneath it.
A dreadful, still silence had settled between the young couple from the start of their journey. While Evelyn sat brooding by the dark window, Lucius was sitting upon the bed, tickling his nose with a quill as he ran through the list of everything he had packed. India rubber? Check. Bowie knife? Check. Coffee grinder? Check.
This, too, was a game of avoidance.
Now and then, he cast a glance at the window to see if Evelyn had moved. Her posture was ever defiant, chin lifted and lips tightly secured. Exhaustion, however, was apparent in the way her eyelids hung low and heavy. Lucius studied her a moment while she pretended not to notice, then he sighed and sank back on the weathered mattress.
“How long were you planning not to speak to me?” he asked presently. He watched for a reaction, noted the slight rise of her chest with a sharp intake of breath.
“As long as I can help it,” she responded.
He chuckled, grateful for her candor.
“Yet you have just spoken.”
“Only to acknowledge that I shan’t anymore.”
This amused him. There was a small fire in the hearth and the light of it danced upon her rigid features. She was tremendously gorgeous by firelight, with skin that glowed soft and warm and hair that shone like embers.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked, disregarding her promise not to speak.
She was quick to abandon the effort as well.
“My gloves,” she replied.
“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, unconvinced. “And what were you trying not to think about?”
She sighed.
“My da.”
He noted the sadness in her voice, and at the mention of her father, he recalled the times he and Evelyn had fought over who would be the first to challenge him to a game of chess. Emmett Brennan was a coveted opponent, for he always let the children win.
Evelyn had grown up so much since the days they had learned and played together.
“Sometimes I can hardly believe I knew you when you were young,” he told her. “You have altered a great deal.”
“Most of the time I can hardly believe you have grown to be a man,” she replied haughtily. “You were so much older as a child. Now I’m afraid all indications of maturity show signs of decay. It’s a pity. Your boyish ambition has brought all gentlemanly progression to rot.”
Lucius searched her face for any indication of jest. There was none.
“Perhaps I am taking back the years that were stolen from me as a child,” he suggested.
“You’re resentful of your father. That is all this foolishness is about.”
Lucius scowled.
“And what would you know about it?” he asked. “Your father never disappointed you in his life.”
“No, but I was very disappointed in his death. Yet you don’t see me running away from it.”
“On the contrary, you have been in hiding since the day he di
ed.”
“Out of hatred. For you, no less.”
“You believe I killed him.”
“If not your self, then your stupidity, certainly.”
Lucius’ jaw tensed.
“You are as arrogant a lass as I ever knew,” he said, restraining himself from saying any more.
“If being right makes me arrogant,” Evelyn replied, “then I say amen.”
“You know nothing of what happened that night, and you do nothing to seek the truth. I loved your father, yet you are blissfully happy in your assumptions.”
“I have not been blissful since the night he was murdered.”
“Not even as a bride?”
“There is nothing blissful about being wed to a dolt.”
“Harsh words, indeed, my darling.”
“Call me Miss Brennan, if you please, sir.”
The fire crackled loudly. Evelyn had not looked at Lucius once since the ceremony that afternoon, and although her malice was almost tangible, he could hardly take his eyes off of her.
“Indeed, Miss Brennan, you are very pretty when you’re angry.”
“Then it’s fortunate I am always angry.”
“With me, yes? Yet you barely know me. What have I done to merit such constant scorn?”
“We have known each other all our lives, Lucius.”
“You know nothing about me, Evelyn.”
“I know enough to know that to know more would be to know too much.”
“You think me so low and worthless?”
“I think you are the last human being on earth I should like to befriend.”
“I never asked you to enjoy my company.”
“No, yet I am bound to you nonetheless.”
“And I to you.” He raised his left hand, his ring catching the light of the fire. “These shackles are equally distributed.”
“Your complacency had me fooled. I thought you pleased to acquire a new slave.”
“On the contrary, it would please me to be free.”
“Then alas, we have one thing in common.”
“Alas.”
They were silent a moment. Evelyn’s eyes closed and she appeared to be drifting into sleep when Lucius roused her.
“We needn’t be married,” he said. “We can come to some other agreement, I’m sure.”
Evelyn’s eyes snapped open.
“What are you talking about?”
He slipped the ring from his finger.
“No one need know. Tomorrow marks the beginning of our new lives. Perhaps you are my servant.”
Evelyn looked displeased.
“Perhaps you are my guardian,” she countered.
“I shall not fan you on hot days,” Lucius replied.
“And I shall not launder your clothes.”
Now Lucius looked unhappy.
“Look here, Miss Brennan” he said. “Let us help one another. As your dowry is paying for this expedition-”
“A fact of which I am most displeased!”
“You are helping me fulfill my wildest dreams! I am entirely indebted to you. If you will assist me on the gold fields by washing my clothes and making my meals and-”
“Proceed, Lucius.”
“I will pay you back entirely! In addition, I shall purchase your passage back to Ireland and send a living allowance periodically.”
He had planned on this all along, but Evelyn need not know that.
“You are awfully confident in your scheme to become wealthy,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Where will you be when I am restored to Brennan House?”
Lucius adopted a dream-like countenance that reminded Evelyn of when he was a boy.
“I think I shall like California,” he mused. “In a year’s time I shall be satisfied with my store of gold and move to San Francisco, where I shall commodore my own ship and build a nautical empire to put my father’s to shame. If you can wait that long, I shall escort you to Ireland myself and name the first ship I purchase after you, in gratitude for all you have done for me.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Evelyn’s mouth.
“I suppose it sounds grand,” she said, “but you needn’t name your ship after me.”
Lucius jumped from his seat, his excitement apparent.
“Then we have an accord?”
Evelyn held up her hand as if to stop him. Then she caught sight of her own ring and removed it.
“I am not your wife,” she told him. “From this day forward, I am your equal. Not your slave, not your servant, not your inferior. I am not your sister, nor your friend. I am simply your charge and you are my guardian. I am going to the gold fields by sea to meet my cousin and his wife, who are traveling by wagon on the Oregon Trail. Do you understand? This is the story and we are not to veer from it. That is my condition.”
Lucius stared at her a moment, his eyes lingering on the exquisite fabrics which enclosed her body.
“Meeting a cousin, hm?” he asked. “Dressed like that?”
Evelyn followed his gaze. Her wardrobe had been altered to reflect her status as a married woman. The girlish pastels had been replaced with lush, womanly hues, the necklines of her evening gowns had plummeted, and she now possessed a matching hat or bonnet for every new shade of fabric.
She smoothed her skirt.
“What do miners know of fashion?” she asked rhetorically. “In the style of a maid, I shall wear my lightest colored dresses and leave my head uncovered when the sun is not too unbearable. I doubt any man should know the difference.”
Lucius shook his head and chuckled.
“Aye, that may be so. Take my hand once more, Miss Brennan. Let us seal this most favorable agreement.”
Chapter Six
Lucius’ heart pounded as he gazed upon the Steam Rose for the first time. He was no stranger to ships. Throughout his lifetime of exposure to their complexity and grandeur, he had developed a fraternal affection for them. The Steam Rose was not unlike the ships he sent to and from the Orient and India, though she represented the sort of freedom for which Lucius had always yearned. He was no longer a slave to his father’s dynasty. Today, Lucius Flynn was a free man, and the Steam Rose was the embodiment of that liberty.
He had never wanted to kiss a beautiful thing so badly in his life.
She bore two masts, each equipped with three square sails, and a steam stack rose black and looming between them. Her beam, the widest part of her body, stretched fifty feet, and from stern to stem she ran two hundred and thirty feet in length. A good size, Lucius noted with approval. He was excited to pass the following weeks sunning on her decks, drinking from her store of ale (which was hopefully stocked well enough to supply three hundred thirsty men), and gambling in her drawing room.
Contrarily, Evelyn Brennan’s heart sank as she watched the deckhands and passengers scurry about. There was not another woman in sight. Since news struck of California gold, Evelyn had heard that ships like the Steam Rose were over-maximizing their passenger capacity and she worried that she might be forced to share a stateroom with a handful of stinking, bawdy men, many of whom she noticed were drawing rectangles on the deck with chalk.
“What are they doing, Mr. Flynn?” she asked pointedly.
“Why, what does it look like, Miss Brennan? They are setting up their quarters.”
“You mean to say there are no rooms for these men?”
“The rooms are full, lass.”
“But surely…” Evelyn gulped, “you secured a room for us?”
Lucius looked away and shook his head, no, and Evelyn went rigid with indignation.
“I will not sleep in the open air!” she insisted.
Lucius, however, was thrilled.
“Thus our adventure begins!” he exclaimed, setting his bag upon the hard planks.
Evelyn stamped her foot.
“Mr. Flynn!” she cried. “You must do something to alter our situation. Look at these men! They shall rob us blind! Did you not think to acquire a sta
teroom?”
Lucius waved her off.
“Aw, chin up, lass. You can’t see the stars from a stateroom, can you?”
“The stars! We shall catch our deaths in this March air!”
“Nonsense! We shall be sailing in warmer seas soon enough. I hear we are to make berth in Havana, Cuba. Did you ever dream of seeing Havana, Cuba, Miss Brennan?”
“I dream only of Ireland, Mr. Flynn,” she replied venomously.
Lucius grandly placed his hands upon his hips and took a large, exultant breath.
“Now, if you will be so kind to watch our things, Miss Brennan, I think I shall take a turn about the ship.”
Evelyn was aghast. Lucius was just going to leave her, like this? What was she to do?
“But Lucius-”
“Thank you!”
Lucius leaped over a fellow passenger’s belongings and disappeared behind a throng of travelers. Evelyn gaped after him.
“Mr. Flynn!”
He was gone, and Evelyn stood alone amidst a sea of excited men. None seemed bothered by the prospect of sleeping on deck, though the wind was like ice and the sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of cloud. Evelyn tugged the ribbons of her bonnet and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. For a moment, she watched for Lucius, but to no avail. He did not reappear.
“Now, whom do you belong to, missy?” a gruff voice inquired.
Evelyn did not bother turning around to see to whom the voice belonged. There were hundreds of men on this ship, not one different from the other in her opinion.
This comment led to several others. Before long, it seemed as though every man in sight was gawking at her, remarking on her beauty, and inquiring into her identity. She rolled her eyes, but somehow, this seemed to encourage her admirers further. They wanted to know what she smelled like and leaned in for a sniff, then they wanted to know what she felt like and began to pinch her dress.
“Enough!” she cried, exasperated. She raised her hand and slapped the nearest onlooker in the face. It did not matter if he was the one who touched her or not. The others would get the message.
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