The Last Heiress (19 page)

Where do they live?

Shall I have Thomas remain with the carriage until you're ready to come home?

When Amanda explained that Mr. and Mrs. Sims were free people of color and that a carriage and coachman would only be in the way on their narrow street, Abigail clutched her throat as though choking on a bone.

“Have Thomas return after he drops you off. I trust Mr. Cooper will see that you get home safely.” Abby walked away, doubtlessly regretting her decision to tell Jackson everything that happened in his household.

Thomas stopped in the middle of Castle Street with the barest glance left or right. “Send word if you need me to come back for you, Miss Dunn.”

“Thank you, Thomas, but I'm sure I will be fine.” Inhaling a deep breath, Amanda accepted his help down.

Whatever trepidation she felt vanished when Nate walked out the front door. Dressed in a dark coat and trousers, his cravat and shirt were pressed and his shoes polished. But it was his expression that dissolved the last of her misgivings. His blue eyes twinkled from his tanned, clean-shaven face as he beckoned her up the pebble walkway. How could she feel like an animal freed from its cage when the Henthornes lived in a mansion?

“Good evening, Miss Dunn. I'm delighted you could join us.” Nate stepped forward and offered an elbow.

“I would reply that wild horses couldn't keep me away, but I don't want your head to swell with pride.” Amanda fluttered her fan, a silly habit she had picked up from Abby.

“Is it Mrs. Sims's cuisine which intrigues you or my company?” he asked as they strolled up the rosebush-lined path.

“I'm curious about both.”

Blessedly the front door opened and their host and hostess appeared, curtailing their banter. “Miss Dunn, welcome to our home. I'm Odom Sims,” said a thirtyish man, his thick beard already streaked with gray. “This is my wife, Ruth, and you've already met our son, Rufus.”

A small, almond-eyed woman stepped forward, her arm encircling the boy's shoulders. “How do you do, miss?” Ruth nudged her son.

“Good evening, Miss Dunn.” Rufus bowed from the waist.

“Good evening, Rufus, Mr. and Mrs. Sims.” Amanda bobbed a tiny curtsey. And that was the final formal gesture all evening. “Rufus, I believe I owe you a dime.” She held the coin out in her palm.

Nate and the Simses led her on a short tour of the three downstairs rooms, describing how the family came by a particular piece of furniture or painting on the wall. During the tour they heard about Odom's past. His father had earned his freedom by saving the master's son from a raging river, along with the freedom of his wife and children. Growing up free, Odom's life was unlike most Negroes in the South. Amanda was hard pressed not to ask a dozen curious questions—ones that were none of her business. Throughout the delicious dinner of smoked turkey, butter beans, and sweet potatoes, the tale unfolded of Odom wooing Ruth from a distance while saving his money. He finally secured Ruth's liberty after paying an exorbitant sum to her former owner.

“That makes us appreciate what we were born with,” Nate whispered close to her ear.

His breath tickled, while the scent of his spicy shaving balm filled her nostrils like an elixir. Because Amanda had fought tears during the telling of the Simses' saga, all she could do was nod in agreement. Despite being rather silent during the dinner conversation, Amanda was acutely aware of Nate's proximity. She caught his eye more than once, his grin never failing to spike her heart rate. Nate, who seemed to be monitoring her food intake, grinned when she speared another slice of turkey from the platter. Amanda relaxed in the tidy dining room. It was the first time she'd eaten in the home of free blacks. The abolitionists' determination to abolish slavery throughout the states took on new meaning for her. Another member was added to their ranks that evening.

When it was time to take her leave, Amanda felt the flutters in
her stomach return. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sims, for the most enjoyable evening I can remember,” she said on their front stoop.

After adding his own words of gratitude, Nate peered up at the starry sky. “May I walk you home, Miss Dunn, or shall I pay Rufus a dime to summon the Henthorne carriage?”

“The way you throw your dimes around, one might get the idea you're a spendthrift, sir,” she said once they reached the sidewalk. “I prefer to walk since the evening remains mild and exercise aids digestion.”

“And my company? Do you find it remotely appealing?” Nate's dimple appeared in his cheek.

“Because you inserted the word ‘remotely,' I can answer with an unequivocal yes.” Amanda stepped off the curb onto the flagstones. Yellow streetlamps separated the dark into pools of light and shadow. The only sounds were the faraway whistles and horns on the river, yet she felt not an ounce of fear.

“And I covet your company more with each passing day, Amanda.”

“I do like the way you switch to my given name the moment we're beyond earshot of others,
Nate.
It makes me feel independent and modern simultaneously.”

And so for the four-block stroll, they exchanged friendly banter along with thinly veiled flirting. But on the front porch, the idyllic evening came to a screeching halt. When Amanda timidly applied the knocker, she fully expected to see the aged face of Amos.

Instead, Jackson opened the massive carved door. “Ah, finally you're safely home, Miss Dunn. Good of you, Cooper, not to send her down the deserted streets alone.”

“That isn't something I would do, Mr. Henthorne.” Nate offered a polite bow.

“Yes, well, I'm glad to see you. Would you like to join us for dinner on Thursday?”

“Dinner…on Thursday?” Nate stammered.

“Yes, that is two days from now.”

The gaslight revealed his flush. “It would be my pleasure. Good evening, Miss Dunn, Mr. Henthorne.” Nate offered a brief smile before turning on his heel.

Amanda moved inside and up the stairs before she was tempted to deliver a swift kick to Jackson's shin.

Eight

J
ackson paced from one end of the parlor to the other, consulted his pocket watch, and then strode to the doors leading to the garden. He spotted his wife close to the property line, instructing a slave on which flowers to cut for a bouquet. “Amos,” he called.

A few moments later the grizzled butler appeared. “Yes, Master Henthorne?”

“Where is Estelle? If she's not handy, send a kitchen slave into the garden to fetch Mrs. Henthorne.” He let the drapery fall back into place. “I would like her to join me in the parlor.”

“Yes, sir.” He shuffled off toward the back of the house.

Jackson poured a short drink, intending to keep a quick wit for tonight's festivities. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass until his wife arrived and then took a small sip.

“What is it, Jackson? Have you taken ill?” Abigail's pale face was flushed as though she'd been hurrying. “Estelle said I was needed on the double.”

“That will be all. See to your other duties.” He waved off both Amos and Estelle, who stood at attention in the doorway. Then he wrapped an arm around Abigail's slender waist. “I left my office early today to make sure preparations were well in hand for tonight's dinner party. And I find you dawdling in the garden, not even beginning to get ready.”

Offering an amused giggle, she patted his arm. “Goodness, Jackson. It's only supper with our friends, my sister, and her friend, Mr. Cooper. I usually dress for dinner at half past five. All will be well, my dear.”

“I sent word to our guests that the occasion warranted tailcoats and white tie, so I'd like you to wear your favorite gown and jewels.” Jackson grinned at the cleverness of his plan.

“A formal dinner when Amanda invited the local shopkeeper?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I doubt Mr. Cooper even owns a dinner jacket or cummerbund, let alone a tailcoat. A Sunday meeting suit is the best we can hope for considering his…financial circumstances.”

“Precisely, my dear.” He enfolded both her hands in his. “Miss Dunn feels that a rapier wit and passing knowledge of literature are sufficient to rub shoulders in polite society. Perhaps your sister believes standards and rules have been thrown out because she's far from home. I wish for her to see how inappropriate her relationship with Nathaniel Cooper truly is.”

“Won't it embarrass Mr. Cooper to be so underdressed?” Her luminous eyes widened.

“I doubt the man is capable of such shame. Besides, why should we lower our standards to accommodate a guest who has no business here in the first place?”

Abigail leaned forward conspiratorially. “But weren't you the one who invited him?”

Jackson waved off her question. “Please instruct Salome to add
oysters to our menu of escargot and soft-shelled crabs. There will be no down-home cuisine for our little country boy.” He finished his drink in a single gulp.

“Very well. I'll tell her and begin my toilette.” Abigail didn't sound very enthusiastic. “May I inform Amanda of the change in plans?”

“Of course. I have no desire to embarrass your sister.” Jackson's smile remained only until Abigail swept from the room.
But it is high time she realizes what a fool she's making of herself.

At a little before eight, Jackson joined his wife in the parlor to await their guests. Abigail looked splendid in a dark green gown, the diamond-and-emerald jewelry he purchased with Mr. Peterson's generous advance sparkling at her throat and earlobes. “You look beautiful, my dear.” He whispered the words next to her ear.

“Thank you. I've never owned anything quite so exquisite.” She fingered her necklace appreciatively.

Footsteps behind them curtailed any subsequent comment. Amanda walked into the room in a cheery pink dress with a small hoop and very modest accessories. Her ensemble was better suited for a garden party than a formal dinner. Instead of an elaborate coiffure of curls like Abigail's, Amanda's hair had been plaited and then simply coiled atop her head.

“Good evening, Jackson, Abby. I checked with Salome, and everything is ready for this evening.”

“Of course, why wouldn't it be?” he asked irritably. He was about to send his sister-in-law upstairs to change clothes, but they heard the sound of carriages on the oyster shell turnaround. “Why don't we meet our guests on the verandah,” he said instead.

The women followed him outside, and in short order he introduced Amanda to the Honorable and Mrs. Thaddeus Wilkes, the
Wilmington representative to the Confederate congress; Judge Miles Stewart and his charming wife; and Mr. and Mrs. Preston Alcott, Esquire, the attorney who had represented Henthorne and Sons for years. Although Mrs. Alcott had met Amanda previously, all three ladies fixated on the identicalness of the twins rather than on Amanda's informal attire.

Conversation remained lively on the terrace as Amos circulated with glasses of French champagne. The judge and attorney launched into a spirited discussion about eminent domain in regards to tidal flats and the coastline, while Representative Wilkes tried to interest them in pending legislation involving the barrier islands. Nathaniel nearly slipped into the group unnoticed. Almost, but not quite. Jackson spotted the tall young man at Amanda's side, whispering something into her ear. Her cheeks turned rosy with a blush as she opened her fan to cool her face.