CHAPTER 1

Cincinnati, Ohio
May 1853

The yawn threatening to stretch Hallie Deacon's mouth nearly cracked her jaw, but she managed to hold it back. Jonathan had twice already inquired snidely if she found his company tiresome, and if she yawned again he might become sulky. The last thing Hallie wanted after their long, arduous journey was to quarrel with her fiancé. The way she was feeling, she'd probably say something she would regret.

Finally, she couldn't hold back the yawn any longer. With one eye on Jonathan, making certain his attention was elsewhere, Hallie covered her gaping mouth with one gloved hand and shifted her feet back and forth on the wooden dock. Her entire body ached from the bouncing it had taken the past few weeks, and she was exhausted. Though Jonathan's landau was the best money could buy, the carriage had never been meant for a journey as long as the one from Pittsburgh to Cincinnati.

"But we'll be making several stops," Jonathan had said when Hallie suggested they procure a more comfortable mode of travel. "I want to show you my offices, muffin. No commercial coach line would accommodate that. You do want to see my business, don't you?"

How could she say no? Jonathan had every right to be proud of the string of law offices he and his partners, Joel Frank and K.C. Garreis, had created. Picard, Frank and Garreis was one of the most highly regarded firms outside of New York. At least that was what Jonathan had told her.

So they had seen his office in Columbus. And Dayton. And finally in Cincinnati. What might have been a trip of a little more than two weeks had become nearly a month-and-a-half. If Hallie never again had to sit in a confined space with Jonathan Picard for more than an hour, it would be too soon.

Jonathan was taller than most men, with broad shoulders and long legs. His blonde hair was perfectly wavy, and his eyes a flawless shade of blue. His nose was neither too long nor too short; his mouth neither too plump nor too thin. His mustache never held anything it shouldn't, and he was always impeccably attired in the latest gentleman's fashion. He was generous, a good conversationalist, and successful.

He simply was not a good traveling companion, Hallie decided, watching Jonathan direct the porters unloading the baggage. Then, again, perhaps neither was she. When she wanted to write in her journal, Jonathan wanted to talk about the scenery. When Hallie wanted to talk, he wanted to read the newspaper.

While sleeping in a moving carriage nauseated her, Jonathan could drop off practically in the middle of a sentence. What was worse, he snored. And drooled. If that was any indication of how he slept in a bed, Hallie was not looking forward to sharing it.

She was being churlish, she scolded herself. Jonathan meant well. He always meant well. It was not his fault that traveling made her irritable, which surely was the only reason he had come to wear so fiercely on her nerves. She did love him after all. She would not have agreed to marry him otherwise.

"Marilee, go on ahead to the cabin," Jonathan said to Hallie's maid. "You're in stateroom Pennsylvania. Follow that porter. He'll show you the way and give you a key. We'll be along shortly."

Bobbing her head, the maid cast a glance at Hallie who nodded her assent. Assured, the petite brunette gathered her carpetbag and headed up the gangplank onto the waiting boat. Suddenly, Hallie wished she could change places with Marilee. Unpacking, though a tedious chore, would at least mean she had some much-needed solitude. She was tired and her nerves were frayed. She felt dangerously close to losing her temper, something she didn't wish to risk. Snapping at Jonathan would only earn her a wounded sigh and a full-lipped pout that would not end until she apologized.

To distract her mind from her short temper, Hallie focused her attention on the sight in front of her. The massive steamboat was four decks high and painted an eye blinding white. The two middle decks sported ornately carved verandahs, one apiece for each outside stateroom. The raven-black smokestacks rose high above even the pilothouse, the highest point on the boat. The enormous paddlewheel that would power the vessel gleamed fiery red against the boat's white exterior.

Altogether it was an impressive sight. Though Hallie had heard of such glorious crafts, she had never seen one before. She wished her mood were better so she could more fully enjoy it.

"Why the glum face, kitten?"

Hallie winced. If there was one thing worse than her given name, it was the plethora of pet names with which Jonathan saw fit to label her. If he was not comparing her to a dessert of some sort, he was calling her names usually reserved for small, furry animals. During their four-year courtship, he'd probably called her Hallie perhaps a dozen times.

She swallowed her irritated retort. "It's been a long trip, Jonathan."

He bent to plant a wet kiss on her cheek. "I know, crumbcake, but it'll be over soon. I'm as eager for you to meet Maman as you are."

He pronounced it the French way. Marie Picard, Jonathan's mother, was one of the premier ladies of the French Quarter. Hallie was not eager to meet his precious Maman–was frankly dreading the introduction–but she kept her thoughts to herself. She had read a few of Maman's letters to her darling son. Hallie had a feeling the woman who supplanted Jonathan's mother in his life would have to be an angel to impress Madame Picard. Hallie had never aspired to be an angel.

Hallie decided to turn her attention to the positives of the journey. She had never traveled by paddlewheel before, though she had heard their luxury rivaled even the finest ocean-going ships. She was hoping she'd have some time to write in her journal. Traveling on the river was sure to give her some inspiration. Perhaps she would even be able to complete some new poems before they arrived in New Orleans.

Brightening at the thought of her writing, Hallie pointed at the Ogontz. "It's beautiful."

"She, muffin," Jonathan corrected with a smug smile. "Boats are called 'she.'"

Hallie sighed. Another lesson. She was just thankful he hadn't gone into a long-winded discourse on the exact nautical reasons why one should always refer to a boat in the feminine gender.

Copyright © 2003 by Megan Hart