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

promise. I’m not alone in the world.
    The familiar sound of a steamboat whistle rolled up from the levee. Fannie looked toward the river just as the vessel paddled into view. She could barely make out the name. Delores. Where had she heard that . . . Minette! Minette’s Daniel had negotiated “favorable terms” with Otto Busch, the captain who would pilot the Delores to Fort Benton with Beauvais cargo aboard. Fannie glanced down at the envelope in her hand. Aunt Edith had mentioned Otto Busch in that last letter. Something about his objecting to unaccompanied women on his steamers . . . but that she wasn’t going to let that stop her. Might Captain Busch remember Edith LeClerc?
    Taking a deep breath, Fannie headed toward the landing, where a mountain of shipping crates marked Beauvais waited to be loaded on board. As laborers scurried to tie up the steamer, she peered up at the wheelhouse and the man guiding the steamboat toward shore. With clatters and clangs, bangs and shouts, the Delores nosed up to the levee. A tall roustabout thrust a gangplank toward the shore. A dozen tough-looking men marched ashore to load cargo. In spite of his size, the tall one who’d cast the gangplank into place didn’t look quite as rough as the rest. Fannie approached him and asked if she might speak with Captain Otto Busch.

    The first thing Samuel did when the blue-eyed beauty looked up at him and asked about talking to Captain Busch was to snatch his hat off his head. The abundance of black silk ruffles and the jet earbobs and gold mourning brooch spoke of money, and a good deal of it. What was she doing alone on the St. Charles levee? Before Samuel had a chance to say a word to her, the captain hollered, “Beck! Quit yer lollygagging and get to work!”
    Samuel turned around and shouted back, “She wants to speak with you, sir!” He hoped Busch would spare the pretty little thing his usual profanity. Amazingly, he did, shouting for Samuel to escort the lady on board and meet him up on the hurricane deck.
    Hearing the captain’s invitation, the lady in question scurried up the gangplank, leaving Samuel in her rose-scented wake. Her black silk skirts rustled as she lifted them enough to mount the stairs leading up from the main deck. Samuel caught a glimpse of a finely formed, leather-encased ankle, as she glided up the stairs ahead of him and crossed to where Captain Busch waited at the railing.
    To Samuel’s surprise, Busch seemed to have evolved into a gentleman between the wheelhouse and the hurricane deck. He actually bowed as he introduced himself. “Captain Otto Busch at your service, mademoiselle .”
    The lady curtsied and introduced herself. “Miss Fannie Rousseau.”
    “Rousseau . . .” the captain murmured. “Of the Rousseau Line?” Yes, Miss Rousseau said, Louis Rousseau was her father. The captain offered his condolences over her recent loss. She thanked him and reached for the leather envelope tucked beneath her arm. At which time Busch scowled at Samuel. “Is there some reason you’re standing there while the rest of the crew loads cargo?”
    “N-no, sir,” Samuel said. “Except y-you said—”
    “I said to escort the lady to the hurricane deck,” Busch groused, “and you have.”
    Samuel saluted and headed off, pausing at the stairs just long enough for one more look at the lady. In another life, he would have been thinking of how to wrangle an introduction. How to get his name on her dance card. But he’d left that life—mostly for Emma’s sake. He’d never go back to it for his own. And it was time to get back to work.

    Recognition flashed in Captain Busch’s dark eyes as he looked down at Edith LeClerc’s photograph, but his reaction was nothing like Mr. Vandekamp’s. The captain smiled as he looked back at Fannie. “Your aunt, you say?”
    “Yes, sir. But I’ve only just become aware of her. She mentions you in one of her letters. Something about talking you into taking her