Henry Bennett’s mouth fell open, and he stared at his daughter Rebecca with shock and indignation.

“What do you know about cotton farming?” she said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of her gown. “You’re a merchant, Papa, not a farmer!”

“Of course I’m a merchant, or rather I was a merchant,” replied Mr. Bennett. “And I was quite successful at it, too. Now I am determined to be a successful cotton farmer, and that is that.”

“But Papa,” Rebecca persisted, “why did we have to leave Savannah? Why couldn’t you have bought some land and planted your old cotton in Georgia? Savannah is home! Why did we have to leave Savannah and come half-way around the world to Natchez just to grow some stupid old cotton!”

Mr. Bennett studied his daughter’s face as she stood beside him on the dock at New Orleans, waiting to board the steamboat Sentinel that would take them upriver to Natchez, Mississippi.

She was so like her mother, same long, shiny hair the color of honey, same huge green eyes that could glitter like emeralds when she was excited, or soften the hardest heart when she was hurt. She was built like her mother, too, small of frame, dainty of figure. So like Mrs. Bennett, God rest her soul.

Activity on the docks increased as one steamboat departed and another landed. Rebecca looked up at the huge painted sign on the side of the boat that she and her father would soon be boarding: the Sentinel. It was not as large as some of the boats she had seen at New Orleans, but it was every bit as luxurious. This was the first boat that was making a stop at Natchez on which they had been able to secure passage.

Roustabouts, who made their living loading and unloading baggage and goods from the boats, picked up their pace as the great engines of the steamboat roared to life. When the boilers filled with steam, the boat would be ready to depart. Passengers began boarding, and Mr. Bennett hastily took Rebecca’s arm. “Come, my dear, let’s get aboard.”

Rebecca balked, giving her father a look that in any other circumstance would have instantly secured her heart’s desire.

“But can’t we stay in New Orleans for a few days? We only just got here yesterday. I’ve hardly seen anything of the city. Please, Papa? You know I’ve never been outside of Savannah before. I’ve never been anywhere before.” She tilted her head up to him, with pleading eyes.

“You young girls are all alike,” he teased, trying to coax back her usual good humor. “You want to go shopping, that’s it. Dresses and millinery and ball gowns, that’s all you ever think of.”

Rebecca groaned with irritation. “That’s not all I ever think of, Papa, and you know it. I’ve only been to one ball in my whole life, and that was Miss Meacham’s Christmas Charity Ball for the Orphans. I had to dance with a thirteen-year old boy who kept stepping on my toes and wiping his nose on his sleeve! And I’m not a young girl anymore, either. I’m twenty, as you well know, and how do you expect me to find a suitable husband if I’m dressed in these old rags?”

Mr. Bennett gave his daughter a longsuffering look. He wasn’t a terribly wealthy man, by most people’s standards, but he had always kept his daughter decently and fashionably clothed.

Rebecca sighed and pulled petulantly at the brim of her felt hat, attempting to shade the warm afternoon sun. The brim was too narrow to offer much protection, although Mrs. Palatino, Rebecca’s dressmaker back in Savannah, had assured her client that this was without doubt what all fashionable young ladies would be wearing by this time next year.

That might be true, Rebecca thought, but it wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the large, gossamer-like confections that she saw on the New Orleans ladies. Their hats were specially designed to match their gowns, or was it the other way around? Lovely pastels, pretty florals.

Rebecca looked down at her plain russet-brown travelling suit that was neat and proper, but so dull. Since leaving Savannah, she had been nearly overwhelmed with the newness and novelty of everything she saw, and felt very plain and common compared to the exotic women she observed in New Orleans.

She pulled on his arm. “Oh, Papa, please, while we’re here in New Orleans, please, can’t we just spend a few more days? Please?”

When his daughter looked at him like that, it was hard to say no to her, but Mr. Bennett steeled himself.

“No, my dear, I’m afraid that’s impossible. You know we are expected at Natchez. Oliver Sebastian specifically requested that we come as soon as possible, because he is anxious to get back to England, and I gave him my word that we would come without delay.”

“Oh, bother Mr. Sebastian! Where is he, anyway? He was supposed to meet us here and accompany us, and now he’s been detained and I don’t think it’s a good idea to go on without him, Papa. After all, it is his farm that you are going to buy.”

“I told you before, Mr. Sebastian sent word to our hotel that he would meet up with us later in Natchez. I really don’t see any purpose in waiting any longer. We might as well get on the boat. But, look . . . ” Mr. Bennett wavered under his daughter’s pleading gaze. “I promise you that as soon as everything is settled about the cotton farm, I’ll bring you back to New Orleans, and we’ll have a proper time of it, what do you say?”

She knew her father was anxious to get to Natchez, anxious to buy the farm and start the new life that they had come so far to find. If he promised to bring her back, then she could count on it. He was as good as his word.

“All right, Papa, but don’t you forget! If I’m to be the daughter of a wealthy cotton-planter, then I’ll have to have decent clothes. Look at this frumpy thing I’m wearing! And Natchez probably doesn’t have one single competent dressmaker. I just know I’ll have to buy all my gowns here in New Orleans.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, my dear. This farm is going to make more money than that blasted mercantile store ever did. You shall have the finest gowns this side of Paris.” He patted her arm, then took hold of it again. “Now, stop wasting time and get aboard.”

Two stewards carried their trunks on board the Sentinel, and Rebecca and her father followed behind. When one reached for the small brass chest that Mr. Bennett was carrying, he quickly snatched the chest away from the steward’s reach.

“No! I’ll carry this myself, thank you.”

“Do you see? Do you see, Papa? I believe you have gone quite mad! How could you be so careless as to carry every single dollar we have in the world in that one little chest? And in gold, too!” Rebecca sighed with exasperation and shook her head.

“Hush, child,” said Mr. Bennett, “do you want everyone to know about it? Keep your voice down. That’s why I’m carrying it myself, to keep it safe.”

“Safe!” she whispered. “Bank notes would have been safe, Papa!”

“That’s enough, Rebecca. We discussed this before we ever left Savannah. You know I don’t trust banks. Banks can fail. Why, Grandfather Bennett himself lost everything—”

“—everything when a bank failed,” finished Rebecca, sighing. “Yes, Papa, I know, you’ve told me that story a hundred times. But isn’t carrying gold more dangerous, Papa?”

“You may be twenty years old, but you know nothing of these matters, my dear. Leave all that to your papa. The money is quite safe, I assure you. No one knows I’m carrying almost thirty thousand dollars in gold in this one little brass chest. Why, for all they know, I might have my shaving kit in here, or my shoe polish.”

He patted the small chest and tucked it more firmly into the crook of his arm. “It’ll be quite safe, my dear. Now I’m going to my cabin and lock it up securely in the trunk, and I’ll meet you in the dining salon for supper, all right? Got a kiss for your old papa?”

Rebecca smiled ruefully, but gave him a peck on the cheek, then reluctantly followed a steward to her cabin on the second deck, the ladies’ deck.

Every cabin door opened onto a large area designed specifically for the comfort of the female passengers. Rebecca discovered with a satisfied smile that the steamboat had much finer accommodations than the ship that brought them from Savannah to New Orleans.

In her room she had a wonderful view of the Mississippi River from a small window set just above the bed. A large calendar hanging near the door showed March, 1853. Rebecca peeled off the top page to reveal the next one, then put her finger on today’s date, April 5. She pressed her fingernail firmly against the thin paper, making the impression of an X. It was a small way of leaving her mark here, on this boat that was taking them to a new life, and it was also her birthday.

“Rebecca Bennett stayed in this cabin on April 5, 1853, on her twentieth birthday,” she murmured aloud, surveying her surroundings. The small cabin, while comfortably furnished, was stifling in the afternoon heat. She tried to open the window to let in fresh air, but it was stuck. The trip from New Orleans to Natchez would be much, much shorter than the voyage from Savannah, so she unpacked only a few things from her trunk.

It was a pity that Oliver Sebastian had not met them in New Orleans as arranged, to accompany them on the last leg of their journey. As yet neither Rebecca nor her father had met the man. Now that the trip was finally nearing its end, she was as anxious as her father to find out more about Natchez and the cotton farm and the new life he had promised her.

She left her cabin and ventured outside to stroll the deck, watching the activity around her with interest. Her father might be mad, with his idea of buying a cotton plantation, but at least she was seeing that there was more to the world than just Savannah, Georgia, and more for him than just a mercantile store. She had never seen him so excited about a prospect as he was about buying the farm in Natchez.

Until last month, Henry Bennett was the owner and proprietor of a small mercantile store near the docks in Savannah. Bennett Mercantile had done a good business in that particular spot for many years, but now all the old businesses were gone, the buildings taken over by warehouses.

Since the sudden death of Rebecca’s mother ten years ago, Mr. Bennett was concerned more and more about providing a secure future for his daughter. A mercantile store was good enough for him, and for his father before him, but then the business was quite successful in those early days. Lately it was getting harder and harder to make ends meet. Most of the other businesses had moved farther inland, toward the center of town, and the empty buildings that were left were turned into warehouses.

Then came the offer from a group of local warehouse owners, seeking to expand their storage space near the docks. Mr. Bennett was offered a very handsome price for his building, and when he realized why they needed the extra warehouse space, his plan began to materialize.

Cotton! Bales and bales of it! Hundreds of thousands of bales of cotton arriving every year from the multitude of plantations in Georgia and the surrounding states, to be loaded onto ships bound for New England or to any number of ports in Europe.

The warehouses adjoining Mr. Bennett’s property, once thriving businesses like his own, were now literally packed with millions of dollars worth of white gold. Cotton farming was by far the most profitable enterprise in which a man could engage, and fortunes could be made almost overnight.

Mr. Bennett didn’t have to give it much thought. With his store fast becoming surrounded by cotton warehouses, and business virtually nonexistent, the money that he could raise from selling the building and contents just might enable him to purchase his own cotton farm. That might be the opportunity, at last, to offer his daughter all the comforts of wealth that the mercantile store was unable to provide.

Standing on the deck of the steamboat, Rebecca thought of her life in Savannah as very far away. When Mr. Bennett explained to her that a cotton plantation could make them very wealthy, and therefore attract a suitable husband for her, Rebecca had been mortified. If a husband had to be bought and paid for, then she wanted no part of it!

Besides, she was not in any hurry to become a wife, not after the heartbreaking and disastrous results of her one and only engagement. Betrayal and abandonment were now linked in her mind with the word “marriage.” She had taken care of her father since the age of ten, when her mother had died unexpectedly and left them to their own devices. She would be happy to live with him the rest of her life.

But Mr. Bennett had other plans. He accepted the offer made by the warehouse owners, sold the building and its contents, and began to inquire about purchasing land.

It was then that he learned about Oliver Sebastian of Liverpool, who was giving up cotton farming and returning to England, and wanted to sell a plantation that he owned in Natchez.

Mr. Bennett quickly sent word to Mr. Sebastian and asked him if he would be good enough, if the property was not yet sold, to give him next option.

Mr. Sebastian answered that the property was still available, the plantation was fully-equipped and highly successful, and he would be happy to oblige Mr. Bennett, but he was rather pressed for time, and could Mr. Bennett visit the farm as soon as possible?

So it was that they found themselves on the final leg of their journey, docked at New Orleans aboard the steamboat Sentinel, bound for Natchez, Mississippi, and a new life.

Rebecca was caught up in the excitement as she watched the final passengers boarding, some with children, most with servants or slaves. Each one had an air of importance, as if knowing that these were times of change, that they were all a part of the fabric of history in the making.

Beneath her feet the deck began to tremble slightly as the boat’s great engines roared and boilers filled with steam which would serve as the fuel to propel them upriver. Very smoothly, as if barely moving at all, the huge steamboat began to edge its way clear of the dock.

Rebecca watched as passengers on deck waved good-bye to loved ones on shore, and wished she had someone to wave to. When they left Savannah, there was only her father’s lawyer to see them off. No family waved goodbye. No young man came running up to the ship declaring his undying love for her and demanding that she stay and become his wife. There was nothing, really, to hold them in Savannah.

So it was not difficult, despite her protestations to her father, to wave good-bye to the old life and to embrace the new.

Excitement began to rise in her, tempting her to raise her arm and wave, too. No one would know that she was not waving at anyone in particular, only waving because she felt like it.

She caught a glimpse of a tall man in a dark suit and hat, a very striking figure, running up to the edge of the dock. Could she wave at him? The thought made her smile.

Was it all right to flirt if the object of the flirtation was unaware of it? It was safer that way. It allowed her to have romantic notions and thoughts about men without risking being hurt or embarrassed.

She watched as the man frantically waved both arms, apparently trying to get the attention of someone on the boat. Failing that, he turned and began running down the dock as the Sentinel pulled slowly away from the wharf and began to turn her bow upriver. Rebecca quickly walked around the deck to the opposite side, curious to see what would happen.

Yes! There he was, making some expressive motions to a man in a small flatboat, gesturing toward the steamboat. He reached into a pocket and handed the boatman something, at which the boatman tipped his cap and helped him aboard.

By now the Sentinel was out into the main part of the river and moving upstream at an accelerating pace. Rebecca watched as the flatboatman began to row his boat out toward the Sentinel, and suddenly she realized that the gentleman in the dark suit was actually racing to catch the steamboat before it got away.

The crew and passengers, watching from the deck, started up a cheer to urge the man on.

But the Sentinel was fast gaining headway, and the flatboat was falling behind. In desperation the gentleman picked up another pair of oars from the bottom of the flatboat and began rowing for all he was worth, straining muscles bulging underneath his dark coat.

Even from that distance, Rebecca could see the strength in those long arms, those broad shoulders. With both of them rowing, the small boat began to come alongside the steamboat, nearer and nearer.

The crowd on deck cheered them on. Other passengers on board heard the commotion and hurried over to see what all the excitement was about.

“What’s happening?”

“That fellow appears to be trying to catch this boat!”

“He’ll never make it, we’re moving too fast.”

“Would you like to place a wager on that? I’ve got a twenty-dollar gold piece that says he’ll make it.”

“I’ll take that bet. Come on, ’Sentinel’, faster, faster!”

Two crewmen from the steamboat threw a rope to the smaller boat but missed, and had to haul it back in before they could try again.

The second time it was thrown, the man caught the rope and began to pull toward the steamboat.

Rebecca joined in as the crowd on deck started chanting “Pull! Pull!”

Several crewmen rushed to help bring the small boat alongside. Now it was close enough to see the man’s face, and she caught her breath.

He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen. A hot flush tingled through her body, and involuntarily she leaned farther out over the rail, as if to get closer to him.

His tall black hat somewhat shaded his eyes, making them appear very dark, but she could see excitement twinkling in them, and something like amusement.

His long black hair brushed in stark contrast against the crisp white of his shirt collar around his neck. A firm jawline and aquiline nose set off a strong chin and full lips to appealing advantage.

The thought that she had almost waved to him, flirted with him, brought stinging heat into Rebecca’s cheeks.

But only for an instant, because as she watched, the man suddenly jumped from the smaller boat, hanging on to the rope, and the crewmen began pulling him up.

In their excitement they forgot to pull in unison. The man dangled precariously on the rope.

A gust of wind lifted his hat from his head and threatened to carry it away over the water, but he grabbed it at the last instant and tossed it toward the steamboat.

Rebecca leaned against the rail, and was almost too shocked to react as the hat flew up right to her. But she caught the hat and held onto it, her fingers tingling as she stroked the sleek material.

Without his hat she could see his eyes: they were black, or at least a very dark brown, and they yet twinkled with something very like amusement, the same something that threatened to curve the straight line of his lips into a smile.

The crewmen yanked the rope again, and for one heart-stopping moment, the man came dangerously close to being swung into the paddlewheel on the side of the boat. The crowd on deck gasped with horror.

A fraction closer would have meant certain death. But by his own agility he managed to gain the deck safely, and a great cheer from the appreciative crowd went up for him.

He smiled brilliantly, as if the whole ordeal had been immensely entertaining.

Rebecca was crushed against the railing as the crowd gathered closer to the mysterious man. Then suddenly she felt warm, strong hands grasping hers as she held the hat tightly and she looked up into those same fascinating dark eyes.

For a long moment the man looked at her, smiling, then nodded a silent thank you. Taking his hat from her reluctant fingers he swept her the lowest, most elegant bow Rebecca had ever seen.

The crowd applauded his achievement as he shook hands with the crewmen in thanks for their help and waved good-bye to the flatboatman who was already far away as the steamboat gained speed and left New Orleans behind.

The man was lost to her sight as the crowd gathered around him, with much backslapping and handshaking. She craned her neck to see over their shoulders, but she was just too short. In another moment, most of the men in the group entered the bar, no doubt to buy the handsome, brave young man as many whiskeys as he could swallow.

Rebecca stood at the rail, staring at the river and listening to the slosh-slosh of the paddlewheel, feeling something that she had not felt in a very, very long time: an attraction to a man.

It frightened her, actually. Old memories that she had tried so hard to forget intruded upon her thoughts. She had believed herself to be cured of romantic inclinations after the incident with Samuel. Now this dashing figure had reawakened those long-forbidden desires.

When would she find the man who was right for her? Was there a man anywhere in the world who would love her and cherish her as she was? Her father was persuaded that a large dowry would lure the proper match, but Rebecca had serious doubts about that. Besides, even a dowry wouldn’t make amends to a husband for receiving a wife who was not as pure as she should be.

She naively expected that when she fell in love, birds would sing and rainbows would appear. That had not happened because she had not yet fallen in love. When the right man came along, the world would be perfect, and the deep yearning in her heart would be put to rest.

But where was he, this perfect man? She had waited all her life for him. As inexperienced as she was in matters of the heart, she realized just how foolish it would be to accept a marriage proposal that would provide her with security, no doubt, but not a hint of passion.

But it was passion, she reminded herself bitterly, that led to her downfall. She thought she was in love, once. Samuel was a fine young man with excellent prospects in a local Savannah bank. He was rather attractive, and easily turned Rebecca’s head to fanciful notions of marriage and a future together. Mr. Bennett had not objected to the alliance because Samuel was from a good family and was making his own way in the world. Besides, he would not have denied his daughter any happiness that she desired.

An old, unforgettable bitterness washed over Rebecca as she clutched at the railing of the steamboat, her knuckles white from the pressure. Although she talked to her father about marrying Samuel, it was never officially announced. On the night that Samuel asked her to set a date, she happily began making plans. Samuel had been so glad that he ordered a bottle of wine to celebrate.

And then ordered another bottle, and another. When Samuel insisted that she prove her love for him, to “seal the bargain” as it were, she was young and naive and intoxicated enough to go along with him. After all, he was to be her future husband. How could she deny him anything now, when marriage was just a formality?

Tears welled up in Rebecca’s eyes, but didn’t spill. She had cried all she was going to cry over Samuel. What a rogue he turned out to be! After giving in to his persuasive urging, after having intimate relations with him before marriage, after giving herself completely to him, he disappeared.

She wanted to think that he was gentleman enough to be so ashamed of his behavior that he couldn’t bear to face her. But if he were a real gentleman, she thought, he would have married her because of it. Rebecca would always believe that he ran away because he had finally gotten what he wanted. He never wanted her as his wife. All that talk of marriage was just a ruse, just a way of coercing her into giving Samuel what he really wanted. And once he had that, there was nothing left of the relationship.

She was so ashamed that she hid herself away in her room for nearly a month, ashamed to face her father’s questions, ashamed to admit that she was lying when she explained that Samuel had left to go find his fortune in the California gold mines.

The truth was that she didn’t have a clue what became of him. She never saw or heard from him again. Ruined and unfit for anything but becoming an old maid, Rebecca had decided then that she would never marry, that she would carry on as usual, and take care of her father for the rest of his life.

That was the reason why all this talk about a dowry and a proper match only increased her unease. She had never told her father what happened between Samuel and herself. She simply let him think that his daughter had changed her mind about the young man, which was certainly her right. She would rather die than to have her father know the truth.

But her father was determined that she would find the right man and be happily married and raise a family of her own. If fortune and social position would help further that conclusion, then he would do everything in his power to help her.

Although she tried to put all thoughts of romance out of her head, Rebecca still yearned in her heart for something she considered out of her reach. Time might eventually heal the wound that Samuel had inflicted on her, but she believed in her heart that only another man, the right man this time, could heal her heart completely. Hiding away from men was not the solution, was not what she truly wanted.

It would take an extraordinary man to capture her heart, however. When she said yes to a man, he must not be a milquetoast bank clerk. He must be someone daring, and brave, and a little reckless. Someone who could hold her in his arms and make her heart soar. Someone like the heroes she had read about in popular books. Someone like the handsome stranger who had very nearly missed the boat.

Yes. Someone like him.

She could not get him out of her mind. He was nearly killed in the paddlewheel but laughed about it. Was life such a grand adventure to him? How she wished she felt the same!

Maybe she did, in her heart of hearts. Her simple, sheltered existence in Savannah had offered little excitement. After Samuel’s disappearance, she had kept to herself. She had felt more excitement just watching that handsome man catch up with the boat than she had on the entire journey, and she yearned for more.

Her eyes lit up with the thought that, at any rate, he was now on board. To think that she had wanted to spend another day or two in New Orleans, waiting for Oliver Sebastian! Why, if they had, she would never have seen this man, might never have known that such men even existed.

Perhaps he would be going as far as Natchez.

Perhaps she might see him again, maybe even at supper.

Rebecca returned to her cabin, stopping in the ladies’ salon for a cool drink of water from the huge, ornate silver water cooler that stood on a marble-topped table in the center of the floor. There were silver drinking cups attached to it by chains, and she filled one of these from the spigot.

The water was slightly yellow but delightfully cool, and had a sort of sweet, nutty taste that she found to her liking. She filled the cup again and drank.

Several ladies in the salon were talking about the tall man in the dark suit who had given them all such a thrill. More than one of them remarked, with a little laugh, upon his fine form and good looks, and as Rebecca went into her cabin, she silently agreed with them.

Perhaps the possibility of seeing him again was what prompted her to put on her loveliest gown, a peach-colored confection of dainty floral print with lace at the short sleeves and a rather daring décolletage. She piled up her long honey brown hair into cascading curls decorated with peach ribbons and hoped Mrs. Palatino was right when she said the color would set off her ivory complexion and vivid green eyes.

Since leaving Savannah, she had worn nothing but plain, serviceable suits and gowns. There had been no reason to dress up, her father being her only male company on the long trip. Now, however, things might be different.

It might be time, at last, to stretch her wings, to start experiencing some of the things that up to now she had only read about, or dreamed about. She was no longer a schoolgirl. She was a woman, a woman full of passion and love and no one to bestow them upon. Samuel wasn’t the only man in the world, she reminded herself. Maybe she was ruined for ever finding a proper husband, but she was not dead yet, not by a long sight.

Secretly she wanted to live the life of one of the heroines in those popular novels, falling in love with such a man as the world had never seen. But so far the only male attention she enjoyed came, in the main, from her father.

But what if her luck should change?

What if her prayers were being answered even now? She must be ready.

When she found her father waiting for her at the entrance to the dining salon, the look of appreciation on his face was gratifying.

“My dear, you look exquisite! But, er . . . ” Mr. Bennett looked disapproving of her daring décolletage, but she squeezed his arm before he could protest, and implored him to introduce her to the men who were with him.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Patten, Mr. Greenfield, and Mr.—”

“Latimer,” supplied that one, as he swept Rebecca a short bow.

“Latimer, yes. Gentlemen, my daughter, Rebecca.”

She smiled her most charming smile. Patten and Greenfield seemed to be about her father’s age, but Latimer was younger, perhaps in his thirties. The older two seemed like friendly gentlemen, but this Mr. Latimer made her uncomfortable under his gaze, which she could only describe with a word she had read in one of those novels: lecherous.

More than once she caught his eyes glued to her bosom, and unconsciously she fluttered a hand there, clutching at the fabric that should have been there but wasn’t, and thinking that perhaps she had made a mistake. Perhaps she was not as ready to experience life as she thought.

She should have had a coming out. It was her own fault that she hadn’t. Her father wanted to give her one, of course, a great, wonderful party when she turned eighteen, to announce her arrival into the adult world. It was Rebecca who insisted that she really didn’t feel comfortable having a debut, especially after the disaster with Samuel.

Her mother was not there to help, and although her father was as kind and generous as one could wish in a father, she didn’t want to put that burden on him. Boots and yard goods he knew, but young ladies and their debuts were beyond his expertise.

So she had missed that important event in every young girl’s life. Even harboring her horrible secret, if she had had a debut, perhaps she might be a bit more socially astute, more confident, more outgoing. She might be a young woman of twenty, who had experienced more than most unmarried girls of her age, but Latimer’s unsavory glances brought home to her all the more sharply just how unsophisticated she was.

Mr. Bennett suggested that they all go in to supper, and to her dismay Mr. Latimer offered her his arm. There was no way around it. They must all dine together.

She accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her to an empty table, where he seated her between her father and himself.

Immediately whiskeys were ordered, and from her father’s rather flushed face, Rebecca guessed that this was not the first whiskey for him since he had come on board.

“Tea for me, please,” she told the steward.

Mr. Bennett and his companions talked amiably, and Rebecca was glad for his sake that he was making some new friends.

But Latimer, she noticed, seemed more interested in her than in cotton farming.

He kept asking her silly questions and “accidentally” touching her whenever possible in a way that repulsed her. Latimer’s blue eyes seemed cold as they raked over her. Somehow she had taken an immediate and irreversible dislike to him, and avoided his talk and his touch as much as possible.

Rebecca looked around, pretending to be interested in her fellow passengers. Really she was avoiding Latimer, and also trying to catch a glimpse of that handsome man in the dark suit for whom she had so carefully dressed. It was wasted on Latimer, that was certain.

Suddenly her attention was drawn, captured, and held by a force that seemed almost physical.

He stood in the doorway, tall and handsome, surveying the crowd. Rebecca’s heart leaped again as it had done at first sight of him. She could not have explained it if her life depended on it, but she was drawn to him almost magnetically.

The boat’s purser stood at his side, and they both appeared to be searching the crowd. The other passengers noticed him, too, for suddenly a great cheer went up, in obvious appreciation for his daring stunt and the entertainment it had provided for them.

The man smiled and gave them a short but elegant bow.

“Eh?” muttered Mr. Bennett as he turned to see. “Is that the fellow, there?”

When her father turned to look, Rebecca saw the purser point directly to him and say something in the man’s ear. The man nodded his thanks, and to her amazement began to walk in their direction.

Her heart began to pound. Surely he would walk on by. What possible reason could he have for stopping at their table?

But he kept coming, and when he saw her she noticed something change in his eyes. A spark leaped between them when first their eyes met. He held her gaze as he came up to the table, and she could not have looked away if she had tried.

“Bravo!” said Patten and Greenfield in unison.

“That was quite some excitement you gave us!” said Mr. Patten.

“Yes, quite!” said Mr. Greenfield.

The man finally tore his eyes away from Rebecca’s to give them a short bow.

“So this is the fellow who caught the boat, then. My dear sir,” said Mr. Bennett, rising from his seat, “I did not witness the event myself, but my friends here tell me it was extraordinary. I wish I had seen it, ’t’would have been a keen story to tell over a brandy, eh? Won’t you join us for a drink so that we might toast your success?”

“Hear! Hear!” said Patten and Greenfield. Latimer sulked. Rebecca held her breath.

“It would be an honor, Mr. Bennett,” the man replied.

An uncomfortable lump leaped into her throat. She stared into her empty teacup. The man had spoken in a deep voice with what was unmistakably an English accent. Her head began to spin.

“Eh? What—You know me, sir?” sputtered Mr. Bennett.

“You are Mr. Henry Bennett of Savannah, are you not?”

“Well, yes . . . ”

“Then this must be your lovely daughter, Rebecca.”

The blood pounded in her ears. She could not look up. She could not even breathe.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

“I beg your pardon. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oliver Sebastian.”