A Most Unsuitable Match by Stephanie Whitson Read Free Book Online Page A

framed with gilt carved wood, its painted china drawer pulls, its array of cut-glass bottles and silver-rimmed jars.
    Perching on the striped cushioned seat, she looked into the mirror, then down at the daguerreotype of Papa that lay to one side. He looked young and brave in his blue uniform. Fannie looked around, taking stock of the exquisite oil paintings hanging from velvet ribbons. Papa’s image was the only one in the room.
    Lifting the faceted glass stopper out of one of the bottles, she inhaled, the aroma bathing her in a surprising amount of sorrow and longing. She replaced the stopper and gazed about the room again. Why did Mother like these colors so much? Why did Fannie never feel . . . relaxed in this place?
    With a sigh, she opened the center drawer. Calling cards . . . a button hook . . . a ladies’ mending kit . . . a small basket of buttons . . . a bit of silk ribbon . . . and, tucked in the far back corner, a ring box. Opening it, Fannie gasped with surprise at the size of the amethyst stone surrounded by tiny diamonds. She slipped it on her ring finger and, extending her hand, watched as light danced across the surface of the jewels. She couldn’t remember Mother ever wearing it, and yet it was a perfect match to the earrings and necklace the thief had tried to steal.
    The rest of Mother’s best jewelry was kept in the compartments of a box in the lower right-hand drawer. Fannie lifted it out and opened it, taking note of the empty top compartment. Odd, that the thief had put the jewelry box back in the drawer. Odd, but smart. If she hadn’t come home and startled him into hurrying, if Hannah hadn’t heard him, this room might have remained undisturbed until Fannie married or decided to sell the house. The missing amethysts could have gone unnoticed for years.
    Relief coursed through her when she lifted out the empty tray and saw the garnet necklace and earbobs right where they belonged. The intruder must have heard Hannah coming down the back stairs and decided to be happy with what he already had in his pocket. Mother’s cameo brooch lay nestled in its compartment, as did the pearl bracelet with the porcelain disk boasting a hand-painted scene that Mother said was somewhere in France. Fannie couldn’t remember where. Mother had promised to tell her a story about that bracelet someday. I wonder if Hannah knows it.
    Finally, she took up her mother’s locket. Opening it and expecting to see Papa’s image again, she blinked back unexpected tears as she stared down at the image of herself, dressed in the elaborate christening gown she knew to be stored away in the attic along with her dolls and the china tea set Papa had brought from Paris. Knowing Mother kept a photo of her as a baby somehow eased the hurt over Papa’s being the only one visible in the room.
    She closed the locket, but the latch didn’t quite catch. As she fiddled with it, a second compartment opened and a small key fell out. She wondered at the wisdom of keeping the jewelry box key inside the jewelry box. As she reached over to try the key in the lock, the amethyst ring slid from her finger. It hit the carpet with barely a sound but must have bounced, for Fannie heard the clatter of metal on wood as the ring encountered the floorboards along the wall. With a sigh, she got down on her knees to duck beneath the dressing table. Retrieving the ring, she slipped it back on her finger, grimacing when she bumped her head against a bottom corner of the dressing table.
    Frustrated, she stood up and reached for both ring and jewelry boxes, intending to take them to her own room, where she could return the stolen amethysts to their compartment. She paused. If Mother kept a valuable ring stowed away in an odd place, she’d better be thorough.
    Sitting back down, Fannie opened another drawer. This one held an assortment of elegant handkerchiefs . . . and a dark brown, almost black envelope made of some kind of leather. A