The Last Heiress (10 page)

Randolph scratched his chin. “Bermuda is a colony of the British Empire. Wouldn't that still be disobeying Davis's request?”

“Allow me to assume the day-to-day operations. Later, if we suffer censure or reprisals from my decision, I shall plead ignorance as to the nature of Bermuda's politics. Several of my friends will attest that I paid little attention to geography in school. In the meantime, German manufacturers can get their products to us. This could be exactly what the company needs.”

“Let me think on this for a few days.”

“No, Father. Now is the time for action for Henthorne and Sons and perhaps for the Cause itself. If we hesitate, our opportunity may be lost.” Jackson straightened to his full six feet and squared his shoulders. “Give me a chance to prove myself. I won't let you down.”

For a fleeting moment, he saw relief replace resignation in the old man's eyes.

“Very well. I'll turn over the reins for a while. Your mother would like me at home more. With few men around, our people continue to disappear. The overseer cannot be everywhere at once. I'll expect reports from you each week, but I won't interfere with your decisions.” Randolph offered his hand.

“Thank you, sir. You won't be sorry.” Jackson shook, bowed deeply, and walked to his small office—an office that had contained too much daydreaming and not enough work. But those days were behind him. He'd always assumed he would take the helm once his father passed on, but what if there was nothing left to run when that time came? Considering the state of affairs in Wilmington, bold action was needed, not reminiscing about how life used to be.

For the remainder of the day, Jackson pored over recent correspondence from cotton planters, other area factors, and then studied the books and ledgers for hours. Although many notations for expenditures were gibberish, one thing became crystal clear by day's end. The economic health of Henthorne and Sons had been in steady decline for the past two years. If something wasn't done to turn the tide, they would soon need to sell assets to satisfy creditors. His father should have come to him before now, but Jackson had done little to instill faith in his abilities.

When William left to join Braxton Braggs's troops, his father had been so proud. Randolph had begged Jackson not to do the same because Wilmington had become the most important port on the eastern coast. Nevertheless, Jackson had yearned for a way to make his own mark.

This might be the best chance he would ever get.

Amanda crept down the back stairs to the garden as quiet as a mouse. She had no desire to disturb anyone at this hour, but she couldn't stay in her room any longer. Jackson had kept his word. Now that he'd taken over the day-to-day operations at Henthorne and Sons, cotton would soon leave the Wilmington wharves and head to the sprawling textile mills of Manchester and Derby. The elder Henthorne was apparently required at his country home, but Jackson assured her Dunn Mills would receive their fair share under his leadership.

She had kept her word as well. For the past week, she and her sister had gone out five afternoons out of seven. After a shaky start, Abigail appeared to thrive under the attention. Although she still wore unrelenting black, usually reserved for widows, Abigail secretly confided to Amanda her second reason for sorrow—the absence of a pregnancy.

Jackson was grateful his wife had rejoined society on a limited basis. And Amanda was grateful for an afternoon that didn't involve sipping tea, eating iced
petits fours
, and listening to gossip about people she didn't know. Today's overdue task involved a tall shopkeeper with strong hands, an easy smile, and a lock of hair that was often in his eyes despite his efforts. She had waited long enough to visit Cooper's Greengrocery. She hoped Nathaniel didn't believe her opinions matched her brother-in-law's, because nothing was further from the truth.

“Miz Dunn? You ready for your breakfast? Miz Henthorne gonna take a tray in her room.”

Amanda turned to find Salome under the arbor. “Yes, I am. Just toast and jam will be sufficient.”

The cook frowned. “I already got cheesy grits and ham. That no good?”

“It will be fine.” Amanda followed Salome into the subterranean kitchen. “I could just eat down here to save time and steps. It's cooler than one would suppose.” She wandered around the immense room, ducking under hanging pots and branches of dried herbs and spices.

“Don't know who's doing the supposin', but you go on up to the morning room. I'll have Josie fetch your breakfast shortly. That's how we do things.” There was no censure in her tone, only concern that long established rules of conduct might be broken.

“Very well, but I'll have coffee with cream and sugar instead of my usual tea.” Amanda walked up the stone steps to the courtyard but then paused in the doorway. “Do you need anything from the grocery today, Salome? I noticed the honey pot was low, and I haven't had parsnips in ever so long.”

The cook stopped stirring the grits. “Parsnips? Master Henthorne don't like parsnips. That's why I don't fix 'em. And I got a whole crock of honey on the shelf. 'Sides, I'm going to Baxter's on Wednesday.”

“Why Baxter's? I thought you liked Mr. Cooper's selection and prices.”

“Yes'm, but Miz Henthorne told me to go back to Baxter's. Ain't my place to ask questions. These grits are ready to eat. You go on up, Miz Dunn.” Pulling the pot from the heat, Salome added in a whisper, “But if you happen to buy parsnips today, I'll fix them for your lunch.”

Five minutes later, when Josie carried her breakfast tray into the morning room, she blinked and stared in disbelief. Helene was seated at the table with Amanda.

“Would you bring a second bowl and plate, Josie? I wish to speak to Helene while I eat.”

Helene hated eating downstairs in the kitchen or the courtyard. If she was present—the sole white face—all conversation ceased among the slaves. Amanda decided that as long as they were alone, Helene would share the table with her.

“I'm going shopping in town today, Helene. Would you like to join me?”

The maid exhaled with relief when Josie wordlessly complied. “Of course, Miss Amanda. If you purchase black silk or crepe at the dry goods store, I will start on another mourning dress for you.”

“We won't be stopping there. I fear the selection hasn't improved much since my last visit.” Amanda divided the ample food on the tray between two plates.

“To the dressmaker shop, then? Your kid gloves need to be replaced.”

“No, I prefer to make do for now. I thought we would stop at the greengrocers on Water Street.” Amanda flashed her a grin.

Helene had nothing to say to that. Instead, she concentrated on her food, keeping whatever opinion she had to herself.

Amanda hated to drag her maid along, but otherwise Abigail
would insist she ride in the carriage with Thomas. Within the hour the two of them entered Cooper's Greengrocery—Helene with curiosity; she with nervous apprehension. They found the proprietor on a ladder stocking shelves.

“Good morning, Mr. Cooper. It's a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

“Good morning, Miss Dunn. If it is such a pleasure, why have you stayed away for a month?” Nathaniel continued lining up cans of peas without turning around.

Helene gasped at his rude comment, finally drawing his full attention to the women.

Nathaniel nearly lost his balance on the rung. “Excuse me, Miss Dunn! I assumed incorrectly that you were alone.”

“I see. So my being alone is a prerequisite for your insults?”

He climbed down the ladder and brushed his hands across his apron. “My words weren't intended to insult, only to ascertain the reason for your visit. Has Baxter's burned to the ground or been hit by a tornado?” A smile pulled at his lips.

“I don't believe so. Salome plans to shop there on Wednesday. But I prefer establishments that treat customers in unexpected ways.”

“I see. Then how may I assist you?” He walked behind the counter and reached for his order pad and pencil.

Amanda addressed Helene, who appeared fascinated with small packages of thread. “Would you mind visiting the dressmaker's shop on Front Street? I have changed my mind about new gloves.” She dug in her purse for money.

Helene stepped closer. “Don't you wish to select them yourself, ma'am?”

“I do not. You're familiar with my tastes, and our hands are the same size.”

“Very well, Miss Amanda.” The maid cast the shopkeeper an anxious glance before turning toward the door.

Amanda waited until Helene was on her way before giving Nathaniel her full attention. The counter separating them seemed an inadequate barrier. “First of all, I came because I wanted to apologize for my brother-in-law's behavior.”

Nathaniel squinted and cocked his head as though unsure he'd heard correctly. “That dinner party was more than a month ago. Your apology for someone else's actions is wholly unnecessary and decidedly tardy.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

She duplicated his defensive posture. “Why on earth would it be unnecessary? We'll deal with the tardy aspect later.”

“Unnecessary because you're not responsible for his behavior. Besides, Mr. Henthorne did us both a favor.”

“Is there no limit to your opacity? Please be more specific.”

“In our mutual desire for friendship or due to physical attraction, we overlooked factors obvious to everyone else.”

“May I conclude then that you find me physically attractive?”

Nathaniel blinked several times. “All those words and
that's
what you heard?”

“I heard everything but chose to respond to my attractiveness. With that out of the way, what factors are we ignoring?” Amanda felt rusty at verbal sparring, which she hadn't engaged in since her brother's death, but she wanted to rise to the occasion quickly.

“That we have nothing in common. You and I live in separate worlds, so different that never the twain shall meet.”

“Forgive my slow wit and clarify.”

“Your brother-in-law is a rich aristocrat from a long line of planters. They created their vast wealth by using slaves. On the other hand, I am a poor man from the western hills. Not one of my ancestors ever accomplished much in terms of society's expectations. Although a Southerner born and bred, I'm not an advocate for slavery, which puts me at odds with central and coastal North Carolinians.” His voice lifted a notch as he shifted his weight to the other hip.

“You assume I share Jackson's ethical code because I'm not poor? I take offense to your misguided notion. Although my parents are as wealthy as the Henthornes, they and I abhor slavery. Don't forget we're British, and England abolished the heinous practice in 1833.”

Nathaniel yanked his apron over his head. “You're correct. I'm sorry I judged you falsely, Miss Dunn. But it doesn't change the fact your family loves you and would prefer you didn't take up with a mere shopkeeper.” Something sad lay just beneath his words.

“You haven't met the rest of my family, only the sister who eloped at seventeen to marry an American cotton factor. Jackson spirited her away to a magistrate for a hasty wedding and then onto the next ship leaving port. Knowing he would be refused, he didn't approach my father for her hand in marriage. He simply took what he wanted and has never allowed Abigail to visit her home since.”

Tension filled the shop until a boat whistle on the river broke the silence. “Is that the moral behavior you feel you could never aspire to match?”

Pulling off his cap, he slapped it against his leg. “Confound it, Miss Dunn. If you wanted to salvage the worst night of my life, why did you wait so long?”

She clasped her hands together, willing herself not to cry. “I waited because the very next day my sister and I learned that our father had…had died. He passed in March, but we didn't receive word until then. Ever since the failure of the transatlantic cable, messages are at the mercy of the high seas.” She gestured toward her black dress, shawl, and shoes. “I am in mourning, but I chose to come to town today expressly to see you.”