Escape To Love: Banished Saga, Book 6

by Ramona Flightner

  Escape To Love

  Banished Saga, Book Six

  Ramona Flightner

  Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Author’s Note

  Also by Ramona Flightner

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Ramona Flightner.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Ramona Flightner/Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  P.O. Box 1795

  Missoula, MT 59806

  www.ramonaflightner.com

  Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Escape to Love/ Ramona Flightner. -- 1st ed.

  EBOOK ISBN 978-1-945609-05-3

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-945609-06-0

  Chapter 1

  Boston, December 2, 1915

  Lucas Russell ran a hand through his thick brown hair while pacing, his gaze fixed on the heavy glass-paned door to the waiting room. When it creaked open to allow another passenger entrance to await the train, he sighed. Weak light entered the high arched windows of South Station on this gray afternoon in early December, while the smell of roasting chestnuts wafted in before the door closed. He ignored the glares of a nearby woman at the incessant clicking of his heels on the tile floor as he anticipated the arrival of Genevieve Tyler and the Wheelers.

  “Lucas!”

  He spun at his name and met Parthena Wheeler’s worried gaze. She strode toward him, her straw-blond hair tied back in a tight knot and her maroon coat covering her dress. He looked past Parthena, relieved to find her sister Genevieve beside her brother-in-law and Parthena’s husband, Morgan Wheeler.

  Genevieve was shorter, less lithe than her elder sister. Her curves were accented by the cut of her slate-gray wool coat with velvet cuffs. Her brown eyes shone with trepidation that she attempted and failed to mask. Morgan carried a heavy traveling bag and a violin case that he set at Lucas’s feet. He stood about Lucas’s height of five foot eight, although Lucas had a stockier build with broader shoulders.

  “Our father believes she is spending one last night with me before her wedding in two days. It’s the only ruse I could create for her to need a traveling bag.” Parthena wrung her hands as she studied her younger sister. “I wish we could have packed more for you.”

  “It will be fine,” Morgan whispered, placing an arm over his wife’s shoulder and tugging her against his side.

  “We don’t have long until the train departs,” Lucas said, his focus on Genevieve as he ignored Parthena. He frowned when Genevieve refused to meet his gaze. “If you prefer to remain here, Miss Tyler, I won’t be upset with you.”

  She met his compassionate gaze with one filled with panic.

  “I understand not wanting to leave all that is familiar.”

  Genevieve shook her head with a resolute firmness. “No. I can’t stay here. To remain here would mean marrying Mr. Carlisle.” She shuddered, then jolted as a whistle sounded.

  Lucas nodded, his gaze softening further as she fought her tears. “That’s our train.” He held out a hand to her and clasped her hand softly when she reached for him. “I’ve ensured we have a private compartment all the way to our final destination.”

  “Can’t you inform us where you are headed?” Parthena asked.

  Lucas shook his head.

  She took a step forward and hugged her sister close a moment before Genevieve stepped away to stand next to Lucas. Parthena reached backward and gripped her husband’s hand, an unconscious action that Lucas noted.

  “It’s better if you don’t know. That way, when you are confronted tomorrow by your irate father and disappointed mother, you aren’t lying.” He nodded to Morgan, then to Parthena. He slipped Genevieve’s arm through his, bolstering her spirit and strength as he eased her away from her eldest sister and the world she knew.

  Genevieve turned, clasping her sister’s hand until she had moved far enough away that their fingers no longer touched. She stifled a sob at that moment and faced Lucas.

  He whispered in her ear, “You’re being very brave, Genevieve. I hope you don’t mind my using your given name, but I think we should call each other by our first names.”

  She nodded in agreement and allowed him to usher her along. She refused to turn back and share a last look with her sister. Only as she pulled herself up the steps of the train did she glance along the long platform. She raised her hand once in her sister’s direction before rushing into the train car, tears marring her vision. Lucas gripped her elbow, preventing her from barreling into a passing steward.

  They followed the steward to their seats, a compartment on the opposite end of the train car from the smoking room and separated from the main section of seats. However, only a thick curtain granted them a small amount of privacy, and the footfalls and distant conversations of their fellow passengers were easily heard.

  They sat facing each other in their compartment. After the steward stowed their personal belongings and closed the curtain, a heavy silence enveloped them. Lucas tapped his fingers on the armrest and fought a smile as Genevieve mirrored his actions. Once the train lurched itself into motion, and Genevieve had quelled her inclination to cry, Lucas searched for a topic of conversation.

  “I’d feel most fortunate if I could hear you perform the violin one day,” Lucas said. He watched her as they left the city and entered less heavily populated areas. They passed ponds, hills browned after the fall frost, and groves of trees skeletal without their leaves.

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Whenever you wish to hear it, you need but ask.”

  “Who is your favorite composer?”

  She shrugged. “I’d play whatever you’d most enjoy listening to.”

  Lucas frowned at her response. “That’s not what I’m asking, Vivie.”

  Her eyes flared for a moment at his nickname before quelling any sign of response.

  “We all have nicknames in my family.” He tilted his head ruefully. “Well, most of us. I never seemed to pick one up.”

  “Only those close to me call me anything other than Genevieve.” She flicked at her long skirt and crossed her ankles.

  Lucas laughed, not bothering to hide his amusement, even though she frowned at his reaction. “You chose to come on this journey with me, Vivie. Believe me, we’ll be close.” His amusement faded when she paled.

  “We aren’t married yet,” she whispered.
/>
  “Something to be remedied as soon as possible. I can only hope your father and Mr. Carlisle are less persistent than my cousin Clarissa’s thwarted beau.” He stretched out his legs, kicking them to one side so as not to crowd her. He smiled when curiosity sparked in her gaze. “I’ll tell you that story at some point. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. However, I want you to do one thing for me.”

  He reached forward and grasped her gloved hand. He held it a moment, tracing her palm in an attempt to ease the stiffness from it. “I want you to tell me what you truly feel. What you truly like. I don’t need you to parrot what you believe I will approve of or appreciate.”

  A soft flush rose on her cheeks, enhancing her subtle beauty.

  “I’m not like the men you’ve met in Boston ballrooms.”

  She bit her lip as she fought a smile. “I … I know I owe you …” She jerked back as his finger on her lips silenced her.

  “I don’t want any sense of duty, of owing, between us. That makes us unequal.” He met her confused gaze and nodded in encouragement for her to speak.

  “But we are inherently unequal. You will be my husband. You will have control over everything in our household. Including me.” She broke eye contact and looked at her hands now fisted in her lap. At his long sigh, she glanced up, her mutinous gaze challenging him.

  His expression softened as he beheld the first evidence of her true nature. “That’s what I want, Genevieve. For you to tell me what you feel. Tell me what’s in your heart. Your mind. I won’t always agree.” He smiled. “I don’t know you, so I might rarely agree. But I want honesty between us.”

  “I’m not …” She bit her lip again and looked out the window.

  Night had begun to fall, and the early evening moonlight cast a soft glow on the trees and fields. A dusky pink tinge heralded sunset. Lucas tapped her foot with his to urge her to finish her statement.

  She met his inquisitive stare with a defiant one. “I’m not Parthena.”

  He choked and reared back before chuckling. “I am well aware you aren’t.”

  She glowered at him. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  He sighed. “Your sister is my past, Genevieve. She is in my past.” He frowned as he slowly peeled away her glove. When her hand was bare, he played with her fingers. “I’m troubled by something you said earlier. Just as I don’t like the thought of you believing you owe me something, I despise that you believe I control you. You are your own woman. You have the right to your own thoughts, ideas, passions.”

  She shook her head. “You say that now, but I know how men are. You speak sweet platitudes in the hopes of concealing your true nature. For it is always in your nature to control.”

  Lucas ran his thumb over her palm, massaging the tenseness there. “If you equate the desire to protect those I love with control, then I would agree with you. However, I do not believe wanting to see you safe, to see my family safe, is a desire to control anyone.” He frowned at her grunt of disbelief.

  “You’d use the excuse of keeping me safe as a reason to curtail what I enjoy.”

  “Is that what you father did? Your mother?” He studied her expression as she fought to hide her disenchantment.

  “It’s what everyone has done. Including Parthena.”

  Lucas continued to caress her hand. “She gave you an option, with her husband’s help. They found a different future for you. The decision was entirely your own.”

  She flushed at his words.

  “The control over what you chose was yours. Just as your sister’s decision to marry Mr. Wheeler was hers.”

  Genevieve’s head jolted up at his words. “My parents forced her to marry him. She had as little control as I did.”

  “No, Vivie, she chose as you did. She chose to act to protect you and your sisters from Mr. Carlisle. Imagine her disillusionment when your father decided to wed you to him even after Parthena’s great sacrifice.”

  Genevieve paled as she focused on Lucas. “She … you …” she breathed out. She paused, looked to him.

  He remained silent. He hoped his eyes gave no hint of the truth, of the well-hidden desolation, as he refused to elaborate.

  “What have I agreed to?” she whispered.

  He smiled, his mask of the carefree artist reappearing and hiding any depth of emotion. “You’ve acted to save yourself from a letch. I only hope you come to believe I am the better choice.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

  Her hand trembled at the contact.

  When he released it, they settled into an awkward silence.

  Genevieve sat across from Lucas in the dining car, relieved he had arranged a private table for two just for them. She slid a hand over her skirt, smoothing a few creases from her wrinkled gray wool travel dress. Soft lights above each table provided lighting but also gave a sense of intimacy as long shadows spread between the tables. Dark mahogany paneling created a sense of luxury, as did the fine table settings, the white linen tablecloth, and the silver flatware.

  After they had ordered, Lucas stared out the window. Little was visible, but he focused on any beacon of light. “My cousin Zylphia loves train travel. She’s a painter,” he said in an offhand manner. “I think it inspires her. All the new landscapes.”

  “Does it inspire you?” Genevieve asked. “You seem riveted by it.”

  He faced her, grimacing at her subtle chastisement. “I beg your pardon. I should never ignore my dining companion.” He forced a smile and cleared his throat. “I hope our travel has been acceptable to you so far.”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine. We’ve only been away a few hours.”

  He reached a hand across the table, and she raised her right hand from her lap to clasp his. “Let us hope we have a good head start,” he whispered, his soothing smile genuine.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. He gripped her hand, and they sat in companionable silence a few moments.

  The train unexpectedly lurched, and a man bumped into her as he walked down the aisle. When Genevieve scanned the dining car, she found every table was occupied, with many couples sharing a four-person table. “I wish there was some sort of music,” Genevieve murmured.

  Lucas nodded. “It would help drown out the din of conversation. And grant us more privacy as we talked.”

  She watched a gregarious couple a few tables down from them. The husband had a booming voice and did not seem to mind that everyone in the car could listen to his conversation.

  “I’ve heard there’s a famous pianist on this train.” He drug out the middle part of the word “pianist” to make it sound like it had four syllables. “In fact, I’ve been told he’s dining with us on this car. Why don’t we ask the servers to point him out to us?”

  Lucas’s hand clenched hers, and she frowned as he stiffened for a moment. He took a deep breath before he transformed from the relaxed man of a few moments ago to one of forced charm with a false smile pasted on his face.

  She leaned forward and whispered, “They don’t know it’s you yet.”

  He shook his head in resignation, letting go of her hand. He sat and waited, as though anticipating the inevitable.

  After a few moments, where the two couples at the nearby table spoke with a server, Genevieve caught speculative glances thrown in their direction. She frowned when the man rose in the middle of his dinner and approached them.

  “Hello there!” he boomed, slapping a hand on Lucas’s shoulder as though they were long-lost friends. “I’ve always wanted to meet a famous musician. Well, anyone famous really.” He turned an inquisitive look in Genevieve’s direction and laughed lasciviously. “Seems you have the rights of it. Although I thought musicians got all the pretty girls. You must just like them young.”

  Lucas’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were lit with ire. His smile went feral as he spoke in a low voice. “I’d thank you not to insult my wife.”

  “Oh, of course not! Beg your pardon. Any chance you wo
uld perform something for us?” the man asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Lucas said. “I’m taking a hiatus from performing.” He nodded at the man as though honored by his request. “Thank you for your interest in my music.”

  “You are Lucas Russell,” the man’s wife crooned in obsequious tones as she nudged her husband aside. “I just purchased the wedding music you performed last month. For our daughter’s wedding this spring.”

  “I hope you enjoy it.” He nodded and attempted another smile.

  “I read you wrote it as a special favor for your cousin’s wedding. Isn’t that romantic?” she asked no one in particular. She prattled on, cutting off her husband. “Oh, to have such talent! I’m sure your parents are most proud of you. I can only imagine what your mother must say. And to think, you had no formal training.” She leaned forward as though imparting a great secret. “I read everything I can about you in all the ladies’ magazines. You are quite the darling in our eyes.”

  At her husband’s snort, she elbowed him in his ribs. “We never believed those lunacy rumors.” She smiled. “And to see you here, hale and hearty, with your … your …” She raised an eyebrow as she looked from Genevieve to Lucas.

  “With my wife,” Lucas said.

  “Oh, my!” the woman gasped, raising a hand to her lips. “How marvelous. I must be behind in my magazines as I’ve yet to read about your grand wedding. Who composed the music for you? For it must have been magnificent. Or did you compose it yourself?” She waited for him to respond, yet barreled on when he gave her an impersonal smile. “Oh, I can see it now. The swirling couples in all their finery, the jewelry, the flowers. How marvelous it must have been.” She brushed at her cheek.

  Genevieve frowned to realize the woman had shed a tear over her imaginings.

  “I thank you, on our behalf, for your congratulations,” Lucas said. He looked behind them with a pointed nod to where a waiter stood with food for Genevieve and him. The couple looked only remotely chagrined before moving away.