Amanda 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.
He mulled this over for a few moments and then said, “Fine, Miss Dunn. I don’t see what it would hurt. I have appointments in the morning, but you may have Thomas bring you around at eleven. That should work out well. My father and I will expect you then.”
“Thank you. I’m in your debt. Now, if you would be so kind, please call me Amanda. Since we’re related by marriage, I feel it’s proper.”
Jackson studied her for a moment and then laid his hand atop Abigail’s. “I wish to grant my wife’s sister every courtesy while she’s in Wilmington.”
“Splendid,” said Abigail. “With that settled, let’s concentrate on this fine meal. I do believe Salome outdid herself.”
Amanda slept so soundly that night that not even a Chinese gong could have wakened her. Josie wanted to remain on a mat in the alcove, but Amanda insisted she sleep in the woman’s quarters and report after breakfast. One maid, in this case the bewildered Helene, would be sufficient for her evening needs. At breakfast Amanda dined alone in the grand salon. Jackson had already left the house, and Abigail usually took a tray in her room. Josie explained that Miz Henthorne seldom appeared downstairs before noon.
Amanda wished to discover her new residence for the next couple months and preferred exploring on her own. Her sister lived in a magnificent three-story mansion set on a corner lot, three blocks from the waterfront of the Cape Fear River. Built of some masonry material Amanda had never seen before, the house had tall white columns, second- and third-floor galleries, and a porte cochere. Tall privet hedges surrounded the gardens, providing an oasis within the bustling city. Although her parents’ home was the largest in their area, only the nobility owned anything this opulent in Manchester. Judging by the number of nearby mansions, she felt America must truly be the land of opportunity for enterprising souls.
The Henthorne servants kept an eye on her as she wandered through the rooms and gardens. She wasn’t sure if they wanted to be helpful or to make sure she didn’t fill her pockets with the silver.
All things considered, Abigail had married well if the house, number of servants, and quality of meals were any indication. The fact that those servants were slaves irked Amanda no small measure.
“We best be going, Miz Dunn.” The coachman materialized behind her on the garden path. “Master said your appointment was at eleven.”
Amanda tried not to cringe at his reference to Jackson as “master.”
“Thank you, Thomas. I’ll get my shawl and bag.”
Her bag was a valise filled with records of transactions between Dunn Mills and area cotton factors for the last several years, including recent contracts. She planned to be prepared for her first business meeting, especially as she had reviewed Papa’s list of instructions into the early morning hours. In her austere crepe dress and short jacket, Amanda was as ready as she ever would be.
Randolph Henthorne rose to his feet when the clerk showed her into his office. “Ah, you must be Miss Dunn. Come in and have a seat. Jackson mentioned you would be honoring me with a call today.” He flourished his hand at his son lounging on the window ledge and then the upholstered chair in front of his desk.
“Goodness, Amanda. You’re dressed like the head mistress of my old boarding school—the one who used to rap my knuckles with her ruler.” Jackson’s quip met with laughter from the elder Henthorne.
“Thank you for making time for me during your busy morning, sir.” Then to Jackson she said, “If I’m to be taken seriously as my father’s emissary, I decided to save my frilly gowns for garden parties.” Amanda lowered herself onto the edge of the chair.
“And indeed you shall be,” said Randolph. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”
“No, thank you, sir.” She clutched her valise in front of her as though it were a protective shield.
“Then let me begin by saying I remember your father well. A fine gentleman, George Dunn. He drove a hard bargain, but he was always honest and a man of his word.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s kind of you to say.” Amanda began to relax slightly in the beautifully appointed office.
“But why on earth didn’t he come himself instead of sending his daughter? I’m aware of your brother’s death and you have my sympathies, but this is a man’s domain. I don’t care how much studying you’ve done or that you’re dressed like a stern schoolmarm.” Leaning back in his chair, Randolph Henthorne chuckled merrily. “But as you’ve made the trip, I hope you enjoy your visit with my daughter-in-law. And whenever you’re ready for the peace and quiet of the countryside, my wife and I wish to invite you to our plantation, Oakdale, for a few weeks.”
Amanda’s moment of relaxation vanished. “My father isn’t well, sir, or he would have traveled himself. He thought it crucial for me to represent Dunn Mills on his behalf.”
Jackson pushed away from the windowsill and approached with a scowl. “You said nothing last night about Abigail’s father being ill.”
“Papa insists it’s only a cold he cannot shake. He’s probably better by now, but Dunn Mills cannot wait any longer.”
Jackson crossed his arms. “Then he should have—”
The elder Henthorne raised his hand, silencing his son. “It’s immaterial what Mr. Dunn should or shouldn’t have done. Abigail’s sister is here now, and we shall make sure her visit is memorable. But regarding the supply of cotton to Manchester?” Randolph’s light blue gaze pinned her much like a butterfly to a display board. “Our hands are tied. The president of the Confederacy has ordered that no shipments shall go to Great Britain, and you’ll not find a factor in Wilmington who will go against his decree. Not one who plans to show his face at any social event this season.” Then he smiled patiently, like a grandfather forced to dispense disappointing news. “There’s a war on in your former colonies, Miss Dunn. Life is nothing like it used to be.” With that, Randolph stood, summarily dismissing her. “But I will inquire with my contacts in Richmond. Maybe progress has been made between our emissaries and Queen Victoria.”
“Allow me to see you out, Miss Dunn.” Jackson bowed and offered his elbow.
Amanda took his arm because her knees had gone weak. What had she been thinking? That she would be able to produce her charts and price lists and come to terms before lunch? The elder Henthorne had treated her like a child.
Jackson walked her to the carriage, bid her a good afternoon, and turned on his heel. For a long minute she stood on the street while the coachman waited, perplexed. “You ’bout ready to go home, Miz Dunn?”
“No, thank you. I’ve decided to walk back to Third Street.”
“But why, miss? I got the carriage right here.”
“Because I wish to tour your lovely city, and what better way than on foot? I remember the route from yesterday.”
“I don’t know, ma’am. Miz Henthorne might not like you walking alone.”
“Why not? I’m a grown woman. Please tell my sister I will be home shortly.” To curtail further discussion, Amanda set off at a brisk pace down the street. Once she turned the corner, away from the office of Henthorne and Sons and her sister’s slave coachman, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’m not going back to England until I do my job. With her silent promise made, Amanda’s spirits lifted. She scoured the area, studying the different kinds of merchandise in shop after shop until hunger pangs demanded her attention. However, she had no desire to return to the mansion. In the coming days she would share plenty of luncheons with her sister.
Spying a sign for Cooper’s Greengrocery, Amanda marched down Water Street and entered the store with a spring in her step.
“Hullo, Mr. Cooper?” She sang out a greeting when she found the shop empty.
“Hold your horses. There’s only one of me.” A deep voice echoed from the back room. When the man appeared, he remained hidden behind the stack of crates he was carrying.
“Excuse me for shouting. I didn’t know if someone was here or not.”
The shopkeeper placed his crates near the door and turned, his jaw dropping open. “Excuse me, madam. I thought you were one of my regular customers playing sport with me with a phony accent.” Mr. Cooper mimicked a British inflection on his last six words. He pulled off his cap, revealing a head of thick, sandy-brown hair.
Amanda took no offence at his pluck, perhaps because the man was rather handsome in a rugged sort of way. “I’m not a regular customer—at least not yet—but I assure you my accent is quite real. Amanda Dunn, sir, new to your fair city from Manchester, England.”
“I humbly beg your pardon, Mrs. Dunn. Now you’ll believe the rumors true that all Americans are hopeless boors.” He bowed, with less polish than Jackson but with more sincerity.
“I shall reserve my opinion in that regard, and it’s Miss Dunn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” With the spunk her father insisted she possessed, Amanda extended her hand.
Mr. Cooper shook hands as though her fingers might crumble into dozens of pieces. “Nathaniel Cooper, but my friends call me Nate.” He immediately flushed to a bright shade of scarlet.
Amanda smiled. “I will remember that in case we become friends someday.”
Nate couldn’t control the dull words issuing from his mouth or his schoolboy blush. “Of course, Miss Dunn. How can I be of service today?” He wiped suddenly damp palms down his apron.
“I’m visiting America for the first time. Today I’m finding my way around town.” She tugged on the hem of her odd jacket, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Yet despite the fact she was attired in somber gray from neck to ankle, the woman was breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.
The longer Nate stared, the larger the boulder in his throat grew. “Do you find our country alien to your tastes?” he asked.
“As I only arrived yesterday, it’s too soon to tell. I wouldn’t use the term ‘alien’ but instead merely ‘different.’” She smiled as she withdrew a small purse from inside her valise.
“How so?” Nate asked, wiping down his spotlessly clean counter with a rag.
“Everything is newer and grander, at least in my sister’s neighborhood. You serve a delicious cup of tea here, but most take it without cream. And your names for things—one would think we spoke two different languages: taxes instead of duties, pickles instead of gherkins, cookies instead of biscuits, privy or water closet instead of loo.” Miss Dunn’s gloved hand flew to her mouth. “Forgive me. That was indiscreet. I don’t know why I’m babbling so much.”
“This lovely spring day has set both our tongues free.” Nate grinned at her embarrassment. “Think no more about it.”
She stepped back to peruse the contents of several shelves. “You display a fine selection of goods, sir. I will remember your shop for future necessities. Do you work here for your father?” Her warm brown eyes sought his.
“No. My father has passed on.”
“For your mother, then?” She pursed her rosy lips.
“My mother is at rest, awaiting the Second Coming as well.” Nate draped the rag over his shoulder. “They are buried side by side under a fir tree. My ma took sick one winter and died before Christmas.”
“Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Cooper, but you appear too young to own a market by yourself.”
“I was twenty-five on my last birthday, in robust health and usually sound of mind. Don’t forget this is America—the land of opportunity for those with ambition. Even a nobody from the Blue Ridge Mountains can move to the seaboard for a fresh start if they’re willing to work long hours. I have few requirements other than keeping my customers happy.”
Miss Dunn stared at the floor. “Now I’m the one being boorish. I hope you won’t judge all English people by my rudeness.”
“I haven’t met many Brits. Your countrymen usually send their servants to town to shop. And I don’t find your curiosity inappropriate. If we don’t ask questions, how can we learn? Now let me ask you one. What brought you into my store today? A bolt of fabric, a bottle of tonic, perhaps candy for your sweet tooth?”
For several moments she appeared perplexed. Then her lips pulled into a smile. “I almost forgot why I’m here. I have been walking all morning and I’m famished. Could I purchase a tin of soup or a potted pie for lunch? Chicken, beef, mutton—the type doesn’t matter—but I don’t wish to return to my sister’s until I finish exploring. Who knows when I’ll have another opportunity to escape?” As she ended her explanation, she dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Excuse me just for a minute, Miss Dunn.” Nate marched into the stockroom without the slightest idea as to how to fulfill her request. He sold linens, powders, sacks of grain, and canned goods, not meals for those out for the day without a lunch hamper. He scanned burlap sacks of barley, flour, and rice; stacks of foolscap for penning letters; and kegs of apple cider and maple syrup. But he had no cookstove even if he found enough ingredients to prepare a simple meal. Nate reentered the store carrying his only solution.
He spotted Miss Dunn by the front door, assessing tins of salt and spices. “You’ll find a basin behind the counter should you like to wash.” He rolled out a clean linen cloth and poured a cup of cider. “Here you are, miss. I hope my special-of-the-day meets with your approval.”
She washed and dried her hands and then climbed onto a tall stool at the counter. “My, this looks delicious.” Miss Dunn lifted the top piece of grainy oatmeal bread and peered at a thick slice of farmer’s cheese covered with spicy tomato relish. Holding the sandwich in both hands, she took a bite. “It’s wonderful! While I eat, why don’t you explain how merchandise finds its way onto your shelves?”
Nate perched on the opposite stool. “Vegetables and sacks of grain arrive in wagons from outlying farms, along with pickled meats and canned goods. I carry smoked hams, dressed turkeys and pheasants, and fresh venison whenever available. Fabric, notions, and cooking implements come by train from the west. Lately, those deliveries have been haphazard. Coffee, sugar, vanilla, and spices from abroad are becoming scarce because of the blockade, while pineapples, oranges, and bananas from the tropics are rare as snowstorms. Many residents are drinking more tea since the plantations around Charleston increased production.”
“Splendid. Colonists are returning to the favored beverage of their mother country.”
“It’s been a long time since Carolinians thought of themselves as colonists. That war is past history. We’re smack dab in the middle of another conflict now.” Nate tried not to stare as she ate, but her creamy complexion and curvy figure beneath the dark dress drew him like a bee to nectar.
“Weren’t you compelled to run off and enlist for the Glorious Cause? Our newspapers made it sound as though men were fighting for noble reasons, but taking someone’s life is killing, plain and simple.” Miss Dunn dabbed her mouth with the napkin.
Nate felt the tiny hairs lift on his neck. “I’m no coward, if that’s what you’re implying. I thought about signing up, but Wilmington is the center of trade for the Confederacy. If every man took up arms against the Yankees, who would be left to run the port?” He busied himself cleaning up bread crumbs. “Besides, I’m not from around here. No one back home owned slaves—they were too poor. I can’t see the point of dying to maintain slavery. That evil practice only helps the rich get richer.” Nate locked gazes with her.
“Forgive me, Mr. Cooper. It wasn’t my intention to question your bravery or loyalties. In my attempt to understand the Southern culture, I have insulted you for the second time today.”
“I’ve become quite adept at explaining myself.” Nate ran a hand through his hair. “And there isn’t one Southern culture. Quality of life depends on whether you’re rich or poor, black or white. I suppose the same can be said in…”
“Village of Wycleft, outside of Manchester. And indeed that is the case.”
“Where does your sister live, if I may inquire?”
“Abigail and Jackson Henthorne live on Third Street at the corner of Orange. Are you acquainted with them?”
“I’ve walked past homes in that area. Most assuredly I don’t belong to the same social circle as your family.” Nate tried unsuccessfully to keep scorn from his voice.
“Like you, I am opposed to slavery. Perhaps I will have little in common with their social circle too.” Finished with the sandwich, she rose and walked to the window overlooking Water Street and the wharves beyond. “You mentioned you’re from the Blue Ridge Mountains. Is there a high point in town where I might catch a glimpse of these peaks?” She smiled prettily over her shoulder.
He chuckled. “I’m afraid they are four hundred miles to the west. It would take a week to reach them by coach, probably the same by train since the armies keep tearing up the tracks.”
“Four hundred miles? Yet we would still be in North Carolina?”
“Yes, ma’am. America is huge, not like that little island you call an empire.” He winked impishly.
“I will allow you that insult and permit one more before we’re even. But I’m keeping you from your noon meal. I should have insisted we dine together. Why don’t you eat while I entertain you with tales about my home?”
Nate shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “As delightful as that sounds, I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
“Why? Since you own this mercantile, you have no one to answer to and can eat a meal when you wish.” She cocked her head to one side. “Are you too shy to eat in front of a stranger? I thought we were halfway to becoming friends.”
“It’s impossible, Miss Dunn, because you ate my lunch.” He leaned back against the counter.
Her amused expression changed to abject horror. “I did? Why would you permit such a thing?”
Nate shrugged. “Because you were hungry and I wasn’t at the moment. I enjoyed your company and didn’t wish to cut our conversation short. Besides, if I sent a starving woman down the street to the hotel, what would that say about American hospitality?”
Miss Dunn fumbled in her purse with trembling fingers. “I have gobbled up a man’s sole meal until sundown while insulting him at every turn.” She placed several coins on the counter. “My sister left these for me on the hall table, but I’m not familiar with American currency. Please take whatever is fair for the meal.”
“Absolutely not. The sandwich was a gift.”
“My embarrassment will only increase if you refuse my money. I entered your store with the express purpose of buying something to eat.” She pushed the coins across the glass top.
“Your embarrassment is baseless. I wouldn’t have given you the sandwich if I didn’t want you to have it. And gifts don’t require payment.” Nate shoved the coins back.
“You are a very stubborn man, Mr. Cooper,” she said, returning the money to her purse. “Is that a Wilmington trait or something you brought from the impossible-to-see Blue Ridge Mountains?”
“It’s a trait which bodes well for our potential friendship because we have it in common. Is yours an English tendency or perhaps a genetic disposition inherited from a Dunn ancestor?” He selected a shiny red apple from a bin and took a bite.
She paused to consider. “It must be the latter because my twin sister isn’t the least bit stubborn. Impulsive, yes. Maybe even flighty, but Abigail is as amenable and pliable as they come.”
Nate’s apple stopped inches from his mouth. “Are you saying you have a twin? That there are two of you?”
“I am. We are identical in size and feature, but Abby is now a Carolina belle with hoops and frills and ostentatious hats. I compare poorly in my taste for clothes.”
Nate studied her while eating the apple. “In my opinion, much of ladies’ fashion seems better suited to a theater stage. But the notion that an identical copy of you lives mere blocks away has me stymied.”
Miss Dunn stopped fiddling with her change purse and met his eye. “Why is that, Mr. Cooper?”
“Because you’re the prettiest woman to ever walk into my store.”
For several moments she didn’t speak. Then she burst out laughing. “I shall accept that as high compliment, even though not one soul has entered your shop since I arrived. Which reminds me, I should leave and finish my explorations of your lovely town before my sister alerts the authorities. She must be worried that I’m either lost or have fallen in with a bad lot.” Miss Dunn headed for the door with a sprightly step.
“Wait. When can I see you again?”
She turned around. “Would tomorrow be soon enough? I could bring a hamper around noon if you’re willing to share lunch this time. After all, what’s fair is fair.”
“Little in life would please me more. But as I have no employees, I have no one to watch the store if we go off on a picnic.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Is this counter spoken for tomorrow afternoon, or perhaps your front stoop if it’s sunny and mild?”
“No one has reserved them thus far.” He felt a frisson of excitement begin to build inside him.
“Then it is settled. Good day, Mr. Cooper.”
A good day to you, Miss Dunn. Nate didn’t voice his words because the enchanting woman was already quickly walking up the street. But as he watched her he felt a whisper of unease. He was so out of his league. Amanda Dunn may as well be the Queen of England herself.