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

small lock held the flap firmly closed. Glancing toward the hall, Fannie hesitated. Silly as she knew it was, she felt guilty. As if Mother would appear in the doorway at any moment. With a little frown, she retrieved the key from the locket. Her hands trembled as she inserted it into the lock. It didn’t work. She tried again. Finally, with a faint scritch-scratch , the lock gave way.
    Had the intruder’s heart beat like this as he opened these very drawers? Had his forehead grown damp when he heard footsteps in the hall? Surely he’d heard Hannah coming down from the attic. Why else would he have left without the rest of Mother’s jewelry? The idea that a stranger had lingered in this very spot while she went past on her way downstairs made Fannie tremble with new terror.
    With a last glance toward the hall, she opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers wrapped in a yellow ribbon. Atop the papers lay a cabinet portrait of Mother, dressed in a stunning evening gown. Fannie recognized the amethyst necklace, but nothing else about the portrait made any sense at all. The form-fitting sweep of the gown, the dangerously low décolletage, the bare arms, the tiara-studded coiffure. And the pose. She was flirting with that painted fan. Flirting . This was not the woman Fannie knew. She turned the portrait over. Someone had written a name on the back. Edie . When had Mother ever been called Edie?
    Setting the portrait aside, Fannie untied the ribbon. Letters —each one addressed to Mrs. Eleanor Rousseau. With another glance around the room, Fannie opened the envelope, removed the letter, and read.
Dearest Eleanor,
I know you long ago stopped hoping to hear news from me in which you could honestly rejoice, and I do understand how that would be. I understand, as well, how it is that you haven’t seen fit to answer my correspondence these past years. And yet, while you do your best to forget me, I remain stubborn as always. Be angry if you must, but know that I cannot let any of you go. As far as I have traveled, part of my heart has always remained in St. Charles. With you all.
There is news. Good news. Can you imagine? I, who have bowed before kings and known the favor of princes, am about to embark upon a journey into the Montana wilderness aboard the Bertrand. I believe you know it. I am told that the captain, Otto Busch, has quite the reputation. I have also been warned that he will try to refuse passage to a lady traveling alone. Of course the Otto Busches of this world have never stopped me from getting my way, and that will never change.
If God smiles on me, dear Eleanor, I will soon be in a position to show my devotion to you all. Do not fear. I know that any chance I had to repay you in person is gone forever. With all there is to regret, it is good to know at least one man in St. Charles upon whom a lady can rely. Hubert will inform you when the promise of gold has been fulfilled. While I am far from his favorite person, I still trust him to act in your best interest. He will be the conduit through whom I prove my devotion. Until then, I send greetings to Louis and Fannie.
Likely, you won’t forward those greetings. And yet . . . I hope.
Ever your sister, Edith
    Dumbfounded, Fannie sat immobile, staring down at the signature. Mother had a sister. A twin sister who knew Papa . . . who knew she had a niece named Fannie . . . and who also seemed to know that Fannie had never heard of her. Aunt Edith had journeyed on the very steamboat whose sinking was mentioned in that pile of papers downstairs on Papa’s desk. Papa had been heavily invested in the Bertrand ’s cargo when it sank back in ’65. Had Otto Busch been the captain when the Bertrand sank? Had he met Aunt Edith? With a little frown, Fannie looked toward the doorway. What did Hannah know about any of this? She glanced down at the letter in her hand. And was the Hubert Aunt Edith wrote about Hubert Vandekamp? She couldn’t think of another