The Last Heiress (4 page)

“Hmm, I'm sure you exaggerated their fond wishes somewhat, but no matter. You came to see what's become of me, and I'm
happy to report that Jackson and I are doing splendidly,” Abigail said, smoothing her palms down the expensive fabric of her frock.

“Judging by the opulence of your carriage, I would say that's no exaggeration.” Amanda fingered the ornate brass trim. “And you look the picture of health, Abby. Marriage suits you.”

Abigail spotted the porter wheeling two huge trunks toward the back of the carriage, with a small, dark-haired woman at his heels. “Who is she? Did you bring your maid overseas?”

“Yes. It was the only way I could leave Manchester without Papa sending one of his mill managers for my chaperone. Her name is Helene. I hope she won't pose a problem.”

“Not at all.” Abigail opened the window and leaned out. “Helene, you may ride topside with my driver. Thomas, I wish to leave the moment the porter loads the trunks. These docks attract an unsavory type of worker as well as shiftless vagabonds.” Abigail closed the window and settled back. As soon as they left the docks, she turned toward her sister. “There may be another reason for my healthy glow. I believe I'm expecting a child.” She whispered even though they were alone.

“How wonderful! I'm pleased for you. When does the doctor anticipate the child's grand entrance?”

Abigail snapped open her fan. “I haven't consulted him yet. I wish to be certain first as we've suffered several disappointments thus far.”

“That sounds like a wise move.” Amanda swiveled around to peer out the side window. “Your adopted city appears quite prosperous.”

“Wilmington is small but growing by leaps and bounds.” Abigail was happy that Thomas had chosen the most flattering route through town. There would be plenty of time for her sister to learn about the unfortunate privations of war.

“Do you live very far from the river?”

“Perhaps another five minutes.” Abigail cracked open the window to let a little of the early spring air in. “I'm sure you're eager to rest in a real bed.”

“I had no idea how cramped a ship's quarters could be, especially during so long a voyage. Helene and I were the only female passengers, so other than dining at the captain's table, we mainly confined ourselves below deck. Unfortunately, reading and sewing often triggered nausea, so we had little to occupy the hours.”

“That sounds dreadful. I'm glad your ship wasn't further delayed.” Abigail smiled as the carriage stopped in front of the mansion.

“Is this where you live, Abby?” Amanda swung the door open the moment Thomas lowered the steps. “It's magnificent! A rather enormous house for a young couple, no?”

Abigail followed her onto the stone banquette, letting her gaze travel up to the soaring roofline. “The house belonged to Jackson's grandparents, but they have since passed on.”

“Do your husband's parents live here too?”

“No, they have a plantation in the country, although Jackson's father often stays with us when he conducts business in Wilmington.” Abigail turned toward Thomas. “Please see that Miss Dunn's trunks are delivered to her room.” Turning back to her sister, she said, “Would you like to rest before tea?”

“Actually, I'm eager to stretch my legs after weeks of confinement. Could you show me your garden instead?”

“Of course. Let's take the path to the left through the roses. We'll end up on the front veranda eventually.”

The twins set off at a leisurely pace, with Helene keeping a respectable distance behind them. Amanda asked many questions about the flowers of North Carolina, which were quite different from the blooms of Manchester or the western coast of England. Before long, however, it wasn't the magnolia, climbing wisteria, or flowering crepe myrtle piquing her interest.

“Who lives in there?” With a slender finger, she pointed at two cottages along the back property line.

“Our servants.” Abigail kept her answer short and to the point.

“All of them? How is that possible?”

“The single women live in that cabin. Our cook is married to our driver, and they live in that one.” She indicated the second narrow doorway. “The other men live in the loft of the carriage house.”

Amanda frowned, her lower lip protruding. “Why don't they live on the third floor of the house? There would be so much more room.”

“Because that's where the ballroom is located. Besides, as living quarters it would be suffocating during the summer months even with cross ventilation. This is the South, dear sister.” She fluttered her fan beneath her chin.

“Yes, of course. I didn't consider that, but their quarters seem rather cramped—”

“They have this entire courtyard for socializing.” Abigail spread her arms wide. “Our climate is milder than back home. We stay indoors far less often.”

At that moment one of the cook's helpers exited the cabin. Wearing a homespun shift in need of replacing, the young woman plopped down on the stoop with a bowl of peas to shell.

Amanda's eyes nearly bugged from her face. “Do you have
only
slaves here?”

“Well…yes. They came with the house. They belonged to Jackson's grandparents.” Abigail felt her forehead bead with perspiration.

Amanda stammered as though confused. “I knew you lived in the South, yet for some reason I never considered the possibility Jackson's family would embrace the loathsome practice.”

“
Loathsome
? Mama has a fleet of servants paid little beyond
room and board. And you travel with your personal maid.” She pointed at the small woman cowering behind a trellis.

“True enough, but our parents don't
own
human beings. Their domestics are free to quit their jobs and seek employment elsewhere.”

“Abigail?” A voice sounded from behind them. “Why are you and our guest standing in a dusty stable yard while refreshments are waiting on the verandah?” Jackson's arrival had gone unnoticed during the twins' tête-à-tête. “And the rest of the staff is eager to make your sister's acquaintance…as I am.” He bowed gallantly to Amanda. “Miss Dunn, it's been too long a time.”

“Mr. Henthorne, I'm pleased to see you again and grateful for your kind hospitality.” Amanda extended her hand.

While Jackson kissed her hand with great flourish, two slaves stepped forward. “How do, ma'am? Name's Estelle. I'm maid to Miz Abigail. This here's Josie. She's a fast learner and will catch on before you know it.” Both women dropped into the curtsies Abigail had painstakingly taught them.

“How do you do, Estelle, Josie,” Amanda murmured.

“Estelle is my maid and Josie shall be yours. She's a gift to you from Jackson.” Abigail smiled fondly at her husband.

“Thank you, sir, but that won't be necessary. My maid, Helene, traveled with me from home.”

“Then you'll have two attendants, Miss Dunn. Buying a slave is much like ordering a
couture
gown—you can't very well send it back.” Jackson peered down his nose at his guest, his lip curling. “You ladies can work out the details in a more comfortable spot than this. Shall we?” He pointed at the stone path leading around the house.

“A wonderful idea, I'm dying for something cool to drink.” Hooking her arm through her sister's, Abigail led the way. “Will you join us, Jackson?”

“I'm afraid I must return to the office. I'll see you both at dinner. The dockmaster sent word that the
Queen Antoinette
had arrived. I wanted to make sure Miss Dunn had a smooth transition into our household.”

“Thank you for your attention to detail.” Amanda bobbed her head politely, yet she maintained an expression of seasickness that should have abated the moment her feet touched solid ground.

Two

A
manda couldn't nap that afternoon despite being weary to the bone. How could she rest when so many problems demanded her attention? And how could she fall asleep when not one, but two maids watched her every move? There was no place for Helene in the house, and staying in the slave quarters was out of the question. Abigail was correct about the third floor not being an option. One quick jaunt up the back stairs quashed the idea of partitioning off an area in the big entertainment room. The top floor of the mansion was stiflingly hot and airless, even in April. She would have to screen off her sitting room and have a cot brought in.

The question of Josie presented its own conundrum, but after some thought it was decided that the girl would take care of the washing and ironing, along with cleaning the suite. Helene would feel those tasks beneath her station anyway. America had a different social structure for domestics, not the least of which was
purchasing
servants.

Amanda hurried downstairs the moment she heard the bell to signal dinner. After instructing Helene to eat in the kitchen, she entered the dining room and found Jackson and Abigail at the bank of windows.

“There you are, sister. We thought we would enjoy an aperitif while we waited. Shall we be seated?” Abigail was dressed in yet another elegant gown. “It'll just be the three of us on your first night, although I must say my friends and Jackson's family are eager to meet you. We've had few visitors from Britain since the war began.”

Amanda took the chair on Abigail's right. “I appreciate a quiet evening tonight, but I am eager to meet the elder Mr. Henthorne,” she said, waving off the butler's offer of champagne.

“My parents will come to town and dine with us later in the week, but I'm curious as to why you're anxious to meet my father,” Jackson said as he opened his linen napkin with a sharp snap.

“I was sent by our father to speak with Mr. Henthorne. Papa appointed me his emissary of sorts—a distinction I hope he won't live to regret.” Amanda directed her explanation to her sister.

“But I thought you came to visit me, to see how I'm faring in the new world.” Abigail's lip protruded in a childlike pout.

“I did come to see you, Abby, but Papa never would have permitted the journey if he didn't have an ulterior motive.” Judging by their expressions, the explanation provided little mollification.

“What ulterior motive did he have in sending you?” Jackson downed his glass of bubbly wine and motioned for a refill.

Amanda prayed she would find the correct words. She didn't want to start off her relationship with her brother-in-law on the wrong foot. There had already been a misunderstanding with the maid. “He wishes for me to restore shipping between Wilmington and Manchester. Dunn Mills is desperate for American cotton. There is none better in the world, and Papa's mills cannot
make garments solely out of wool, linen, or silk.” She gratefully sipped the cup of tea a footman provided.

She had not anticipated Jackson's reaction. He burst into loud guffaws. “Papa Dunn sent you to transact business on his behalf? Preposterous. Just because you wear cotton garments doesn't mean you know anything about the material.”

Abigail leaned forward in her chair. “I know what you're up to, you sly imp. This was a ruse to get Papa to agree to the trip. What a clever fox you are.”

Amanda couldn't help but laugh. “Papa declared I had spunk, and now you deem me a sly fox. I hope I can live up to both appraisals.”

“Whatever device you used to garner permission is fine by me. I'm overjoyed to see you.” Abigail smiled warmly at her sister as she motioned for dinner to be served.

Amanda turned to face Jackson. “Please understand that I've done more than wear the fabric for the last two months. I trained ten hours a day with the mill's chief supervisor. Mr. Pelton tutored me on everything having to do with the acquisition of raw materials. He supplied charts on correct pricing in regards to quality and several books on the diseases that affect cotton plants.”

Jackson's skepticism didn't wane. “Perhaps you can speak to my father at some point while you're here.”

“With your permission, Jackson, I would like to call at the offices of Henthorne and Sons tomorrow. I wouldn't want to muddle the weekend dinner with your parents by discussing business.” Amanda fixed a glorious smile on her face in hopes of persuading him.