The Last Heiress (3 page)

But when she held her ground, his expression changed from mirth to contemplation. “You won't abandon us and marry some fast-talking trickster?”

His question caught her off guard. “I will not, sir. I love you and Mama.”

He slumped deeper into the pillows and closed his eyes, looking older than when she had entered his bedchamber. “You have a bargain, daughter. Report to Mr. Pelton tomorrow and begin your education.”

“Oh, thank you, Papa—” She stopped speaking when she realized he was falling asleep. Creeping quietly from his room, she ran smack into her mother.

“Are you going to America?”

“You were listening?” Amanda asked in surprise.

“Of course I was. You're my only child now. What would I do without you?”

Rely on a houseful of servants the way you always do?
Amanda squashed the uncharitable thought and selected the logical reply. “You have another daughter, Mama. She resides in North Carolina.”

“Do you think I've forgotten?” Her mother wrapped an arm
around Amanda's waist and led her toward the stairs. “That's the reason I'm overjoyed you'll make the trip.”

“Not because hundreds of families depend on Dunn Mills to provide bread for their tables?”

“That is all well and good, but you must check on your sister. I may be a grandmama without my knowledge. And you must convince her to return to England.”

Amanda laughed without amusement. “Do you think she would abandon her husband and come home after five years?”

“Your father never thought much of the Henthornes. Perhaps Abigail has had enough frontier living and desires civilization again.”

“The coastal Carolinas are not the western territories. They live as civilized as we do.”

“How would you know that? And if that's the case, Abigail can bring Jackson along. Your father needs someone in the family to run the mill after he's gone.”

“I doubt Papa considers the man who eloped with his little girl as part of the family.”

“We must put that behind us, considering….”

Halfway down the grand staircase Amanda halted. “Considering what? Is there something you're not telling me? I thought Papa had a mild case of influenza.”

“Yes, of course. But neither of us grows any younger. We need to prepare for the future.” Her mother patted her back. “Shall we read in the parlor for a while? I believe Joseph built a warm fire in there.”

“No, thank you. I intend to have the carriage brought around for a tour of Dunn Mills. There's no time like the present to begin my schooling.”

“Splendid! Take the rest of the day if you like.”

If Amanda had wanted to speculate on her mother's response
to her plans, enthusiasm would have been last on the list. All of this continued divergence from Mama's typical behavior made her more than a little nervous.

April 1864

“Do you suppose I should hire another lady's maid?” Abigail Henthorne's question drifted toward the twelve-foot ceilings of the dining room without a corresponding answer. “Jackson,” she murmured in her modulated tone.

“What's that, my dear?” Her husband lowered his copy of the
Wilmington Star News
. Lately, he'd picked up the habit of reading at the breakfast table, something her father never would have tolerated.

“My sister will be arriving in a few weeks. I was wondering if I should hire another maid.” Abigail sipped her coffee, an acquired taste since coming to America.

Jackson folded his newspaper. “Five years in the Carolinas and some customs still escape your notice. If one needs additional help, the lady of the house doesn't run an advertisement in the paper for available domestics. She informs her husband, who then purchases another slave either from a broker or the auction.” He picked up his fork and began eating with great gusto.

Abigail glanced nervously at the slaves lined up by the break-front—maids, footmen, and the butler—all with faces from light cocoa to deepest ebony. It wasn't as though Dunncliff Manor hadn't an equal number of servants, but they had been paid wages along with room and board. “All right then, dear husband. I wish for another maid to assist Amanda during her visit. You know how horrible I am at sharing.”

“And why should you share? I will happily accommodate you,
but don't expect to receive someone who has been styling the latest coiffures.” Jackson gestured toward her elaborately arranged curls.

“Why not? Estelle is quite handy with a brush and comb.”

He smiled indulgently. “She was a wedding gift to you from my mother. She'd been specially trained to assist a lady. I will certainly inquire among the brokers, but house slaves aren't usually as talented as Estelle.” Jackson held out his cup, which was promptly refilled by a footman. “But enough about tiresome subjects. Do you really think your twin will step off a clipper ship here in Wilmington?”

“I do. According to her letter, Amanda should arrive by month's end.” Abigail could barely contain her excitement. “And she's sailing alone. Can you imagine my parents permitting such liberty? She must have grown adept at maneuvering Papa.”

“Apparently you're not identical in all aspects.”

“No, I suppose not. I never could stand up to him. He seldom granted me more than a few moments of his precious time.” Abigail folded her hands in her lap, her eggs and ham forgotten.

“Don't trouble yourself with that old codger, my dear. That's all behind you.” Jackson sipped his coffee without taking his focus from her.

“According to her letter, the name on her travel documents is
Mrs.
Amanda Dunn, as though she had married a cousin or some such. Papa agreed, saying that a matron wouldn't attract much untoward attention during the Atlantic crossing. Truthfully, I would be surprised if Papa didn't have her locked inside her cabin until the ship docks. He always treated Amanda as though she were a rare porcelain vase.”

“Your sister lied on the ship's manifest?”

“Those were her plans. I wonder what the village vicar would say about bearing false witness. Of course, it was probably the
best course of action. The captain might have refused passage if he knew she was single.”

Jackson sniffed. “Indeed. Just don't get too excited too soon. Storms or overly calm winds, not to mention infernal interference by Mr. Lincoln's navy, could delay her arrival considerably. If the ship is forced to seek port in Virginia, Amanda would have to make her way south overland.”

“Perhaps, but with my sister's luck she'll be here when expected and without encountering so much as a mild case of seasickness.” Abigail pushed away her breakfast plate.

“Time will tell. Now, what are your plans for today?”

Abigail tossed down her napkin. “I intend to oversee the gardeners among the roses. I wish large bouquets without thorns in every room. Then I plan to take luncheon with Carolyn Lowell. As long as there's no hint of rain, she's having eight ladies on the terrace. Then I'll probably read and nap until your return from the office.”

“That sounds delightful, but don't overtire yourself. Remember what the doctor said about resting.” Jackson reached for her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers. “I must be off.” He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “Nothing stronger at Carolyn's than lemonade.”

“Stop worrying, husband. I'm fine.”

Jackson accepted his coat and hat from a footman and strode out the door.

From the window, Abigail watched his carriage until it turned the corner. How she loved that man. He was tall and handsome, generous and kind—at least to her. Anything she asked for he graciously provided and asked for nothing in return except an heir, a son to carry on the family business, the prestigious Henthorne and Sons. Thus far she'd been unable to fulfil his one request. Two earlier pregnancies had ended abruptly within a few months.

But this baby she was carrying would be hearty and strong. Abigail just knew it. And Amanda journeying to the Carolinas was a very good omen.

“Miz Henthorne?” A child appeared in the gap in the privet hedge.

“Yes, I'm Mrs. Henthorne. Who might you be?” Abigail smiled kindly at the young boy—a slave, judging by his clothing.

“I'm Daniel from Mr. Phelps. He's the dockmaster.”

“The dockmaster?”

“Yes'm. I was sent to say the
Queen Antoinette
has come to port.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt.

“Is my sister, Miss Dunn, aboard the ship?”

“Yes'm. I was 'spose to say that too, but I forgot her name.” Daniel stole an anxious glance. “Mr. Phelps say you should send your carriage.”

Abigail rose to her feet. “I shall at once. Before you run back, Daniel, stop at the kitchen door and ask the woman there to give you a cookie.”

When the child had vanished, she moved almost as quickly. Within thirty minutes her carriage pulled into the loading area of the wharf.

“Looks to be fewer ships than usual, Miz Henthorne.” The driver shielded his eyes from the sun with his hat.

“Don't dawdle, Thomas. Find Miss Dunn and then tell the porter to bring her luggage to the carriage.”

Thomas jumped down and tied the horse to a post. “How will I know which lady is Miss Dunn, ma'am?”

Abigail giggled behind her fan, trying to stem her enthusiasm. “That's easy. She's my twin sister. She looks exactly like me.”

Thomas disappeared down the ramp toward the docks and returned with a pale waif of a woman a few minutes later. Amanda wore a somber gray suit that fell in a straight line to the ground, a drab hat with a veil, and sensible lace-up boots. Except for her face, the two women looked nothing alike.

“Amanda! At long last,” Abigail called. “I've been so worried.”

“My dear Abby! You have no idea how glad I am to be on solid land without all that swaying from side to side.”

Abby.
No one had called her that in years. Jackson abhorred nicknames. He even cringed when his brother called him Jack. “I assume it wasn't a smooth voyage?” Abigail extended her hand.

Climbing into the carriage, Amanda clasped her fingers as though too weak to walk another yard. “I refuse to begin our overdue reunion by complaining. There will be plenty of time for that later.” Amanda threw her arms around her sister's neck and hugged. “I'm overjoyed to see you.” Her dimples deepened with her grin.

Her sister's smile hadn't changed one bit. Abigail said, “And I, you, although you were expected a week ago. I've been sitting atop pins and needles.” Suddenly, an ominous thought crossed her mind. “Your dark clothes…oh, goodness. Please don't tell me something dreadful has happened to Mama or Papa.”

Amanda's gaze rotated between her charcoal wool and Abigail's aqua silk and lace. “I see why you might assume such a thing, but no. Rest easy. Our parents are fine. Papa had a cold when I left, but the doctor insisted he will be better soon.”

“What a relief, although I suppose neither gives a whit about me anymore.”

“Then you would suppose incorrectly.” Amanda leaned back against the upholstery. “They both expressed their regards, and I am to send word upon arrival to let them know how you are.”