The Last Heiress (20 page)

“Mr. Cooper, I'm glad you were able to join us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henthorne, for extending the invitation.” Cooper bowed low and then straightened to perfect posture. He was scrubbed and clean shaven; his shirt was pressed and his shoes were polished. But his dark wool suit looked threadbare, and although still passable for church, it was ridiculously unsuitable for the occasion.

“Mr. Cooper is our Amanda's favorite greengrocer. He owns a small shop on Water Street.” Jackson rocked back on his heels, waiting for the gasps or mute stares to commence. But instead the other guests appeared taken by the novelty.

“Ah, an enterprising young man. That's what the new South needs more of!” Representative Wilkes slapped Nathaniel on the back. “Too many people sit around waiting for life to return to how it was. Even after we lick those Yankees, that's not going to happen.”

The judge stepped to his side. “You're in a good location to
gauge the influx of new immigrants, Mr. Cooper. I'm worried many foreigners arrive on steamers and aren't departing when the ships leave port. We need to keep track of those emigrating and demand they seek citizenship.”

Even Jackson's lawyer was eager to chat with the shopkeeper, but the ladies circumvented his attempt. “My cook insists your store has the freshest vegetables and weevil-free rice,” said Sarah Wilkes. “It's not easy to find quality food these days with the rail lines torn up so often.” She shook her blond curls with dismay, although Jackson would bet his eyeteeth she had never peeled a potato or boiled a pot of rice in her life.

“My Gertrude insists your prices are fairer than Baxter's, and everyone needs to mind their budget these days.” Rosalyn Stewart nudged in between Amanda and Nathaniel in the familiar manner of older ladies. “I want to hear how our food differs from what you're used to, Miss Dunn. It's been years since we sailed to London, and I don't remember the cuisine very well.”

“Speaking of which,” Abigail said, drawing her guests' attention, “shall we move to the dining room? Dinner is ready to be served.”

Everyone trailed the butler into the elegantly appointed room with a beautifully set table. Jackson waited at the rear, grinding down on his molars. This wasn't progressing as he'd intended. His friends were treating Nathaniel like a favored lap dog instead of the interloper that he was. He needed to take matters into his own hands. His pliable wife would be of no use. “Would you care for more champagne, Mr. Cooper?”

“No, sir. This is lemonade in my flute. Amos kindly provided my favorite beverage. Thank you.”

“May I have more lemonade, Amos?” Amanda lifted her glass.

“Of course, Miss Dunn.” The butler lingered in case others wished to change their drinks.

Jackson waited to pose his next question until the arrival of the first course. “I hope the
vichyssoise
is to your liking, Mr. Cooper.”

Nathaniel peered into his bowl with a smile. “I never cared much for potato soup until I learned it could be made with leeks, celery, and garlic and served cold. I'm sure Salome's recipe will meet with my approval.” He nodded in Jackson's direction.

Throughout the meal, Jackson kept watch on the shopkeeper from the corner of his eye. Nathaniel waited until others began eating the oysters and followed their lead. He made polite conversation with his nearby companions, while Amanda practically hung on his every word. That woman's appetite improved significantly from her normal pickiness. Abigail chatted away with Judge Stewart about nonsense, while he remained enchanted with Abigail as usual.

Jackson almost abandoned hope of relegating Nathaniel to his rightful place when Mrs. Wilkes brought up an interesting topic.

“Has anyone read any of the ramblings from those transcendentalists from Concord?” she asked. “I dismissed them out of hand at first because they were abolitionists, but some of their thinking is rather interesting.” With encouragement from around the table, she continued. “They believe in the inherent goodness of both people and nature, and that society and its institutions—particularly organized religion and political parties—ultimately corrupt the purity of the individual. They have faith that people are at their best when truly self-reliant and independent.”

Jackson seized his opportunity. “What is your opinion of these northern rabble-rousers, Mr. Cooper?”

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “I possess far less faith in the inherent goodness of mankind without a strong Christian background, but I have read several essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson and Walt Whitman. They are educated and erudite men, to be sure. History will determine the final viability of their positions.”

Jackson gripped the edge of the table. He would have to bide his time. Thwarting the efforts of the shopkeeper would be harder than he anticipated. Yet he definitely needed to bring that upstart down a peg or two, at least in the eyes of his sister-in-law.

Amanda spent the next several days at her sister's side. Abby seemed to have either caught a case of flu or one of the rich dishes served at the formal dinner hadn't agreed with her. For two days in a row, Abby spent her mornings bent over a washbasin in her room horribly nauseated. Then she spent afternoons weak from dehydration. When Amanda wasn't swabbing her forehead with a cool cloth, she was assigning tasks to the slaves to keep the house running smoothly. In England servants knew what their employers expected of them and went about their daily routines without someone constantly commanding: “Do this or now do that.” Slaves in America took little initiative. Their owners didn't encourage independent thinking or taking responsibility. No wonder slaves often floundered for a period of time when suddenly set free.

After a final check that her sister had drifted off to sleep on her balcony chaise, Amanda wandered down to the garden. Thus far she'd confined her musings about the party to the ostentation of white tie on an ordinary Thursday, or the bizarre selection of dishes served. It seemed as though Abby had purposely chosen foods that would be difficult to eat. Yet the more Amanda pondered the dinner, the more she suspected Jackson had been at the helm.

The man had done everything possible to embarrass Nathaniel. Yet despite his Herculean efforts, Jackson had failed. Nate asked polite questions about unfamiliar dishes as anyone would without
displaying the slightest amount of discomfort. He mimicked her use of the claw-cracker and correct oyster etiquette without mishap. And the fact that he wasn't formally attired didn't seem to be an issue with anyone but Jackson. His comments about “needing to find you a reputable haberdasher should your friendship with Miss Dunn continue” had made her blood boil. But the more Jackson tried to drive a wedge between them, the more she yearned to pack Nate Cooper into her steamer trunk and book the next passage home—not that Mama would find him any more acceptable than her brother-in-law did.

Nothing tastes sweeter than the fruit just beyond reach
. And if she needed a second adage to embroider on a sampler, she would choose:
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
By the third day, she was ready to invent any excuse to escape the house and walk to the shops along Water Street.

The next day, after assuring herself that Abigail was resting comfortably in her darkened bedroom, Amanda skipped down to the river oblivious of the fact it was ninety degrees in the sunshine.

Nate glanced up from his ledger when she entered his store. “Good day, Mr. Cooper. I trust you recovered from the hemlock tea and belladonna sweet cakes served at the Henthornes'.”

Her jest took him a moment to comprehend; then a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Fortunately, I slipped an antidote for poison into my coat pocket that I concocted from herbal remedies. One never knows when you'll encounter a sworn enemy at a formal dinner.” He slapped his ledger closed. “I'm surprised to see you here, Miss Dunn. Pleasantly, but surprised nonetheless.”

Amanda tugged off her sunbonnet as she advanced up the narrow aisle toward the back. “Why is that? You know I prefer you infinitely more than that sour old Mr. Baxter.”

Nate took his time to sweep pencils and notepads off the counter, put the teakettle on the stove, and pull off his apron. “Because
it's fatiguing to constantly battle on someone's behalf—fatiguing and disheartening. Eventually all champions of the downtrodden grow weary and must pass the torch to another advocate.”

Climbing onto a stool, she smoothed her skirt with a gloved hand. “I'm not your champion; I'm your friend. And you're certainly not downtrodden. I thought you handled yourself splendidly despite Jackson's every attempt to see you fail.”

Astonishment registered in his blue eyes. “I didn't think you would so readily admit to Henthorne's objective.”

“Why wouldn't I?” she asked, shrugging. “His rudeness was apparent to everyone, I daresay. But his guests didn't appear to share his low opinion of you.”

Nate set out two cups, a tin of milk, and the sugar bowl. “I found the Wilkeses and Stewarts to be delightful people. Even Preston Alcott struck me as a fair-minded man.”

“What of Mrs. Sarah Wilkes's fondness for the writings of Henry David Thoreau? Did that not run counter to everything you believed about wealthy coastal aristocrats?”

“Tell me honestly, Amanda. Did you send your personal copy of
Walden
to Mrs. Wilkes with some tantalizing bribe if she read the volume?”

“I own few books by American writers. I prefer the work of Lord Byron, Jane Austen, or Charles Dickens. So no, I did not bribe Mrs. Wilkes for my own purposes. Not everyone is as narrow minded and snobbish as Jackson.”

Nate smiled, yet his face contained little warmth. “His guests were kinder and more gracious than I gave them credit for. Thus my snap conclusion had been unwarranted. Yet Jackson did convince the principal target of his message.”

Amanda pursed her lips, confused. “Who would that be?”

“Me. He aimed to illustrate my unsuitability as a candidate to court you. And in that he succeeded.”

She gasped, shocked by his straightforwardness. “Goodness, I doubt no one ever accused you of being overly subtle.”

His eyes softened. “No, they have not. I'm twenty-five years old and didn't achieve my success—however limited that might be—without taking chances and, in many cases, risking everything. I must take one of those chances now.” He sucked in a halting breath. “I like you, Miss Dunn, more than I've ever liked a woman before. But Thursday's dinner brought me face-to-face with an undeniable truth: I will never achieve the success of Jackson Henthorne—or your parents, for that matter. Not with the economic reality in North Carolina these days and my questionable background from the mountains. Family ties and ancestral blood still matter to these old families just as much as it does where you live. My grandparents were illiterate and squatted on ground that no one wanted until investors decided to put a railroad through. No land grant from King Charles with fancy seals guaranteed their claim to the homestead. My birthright will never allow me to be good enough for you.” His words floated on the warm air wafting in through the open window and echoed in her ears for several seconds.

“You seem to have given the matter serious thought while I've been nursing my sister. And you have arrived at conclusions which involve
two
people all by yourself.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I listened patiently while you elucidated your deficiencies. Now I insist on the same privilege.”

Nate crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Fair enough.”

“I thought the dinner went well despite Jackson's boorish behavior. I saw admirable traits in your personality that had nothing to do with your upbringing or heritage. But now you're acting like my brother-in-law, telling me what I should or shouldn't do,
what's best for me, and how I should think. Are you just another male eager to boss me around, perhaps because you feel women are incapable of making rational decisions in life?”

“Absolutely not. My mother spoke her mind and stood up to my father when she disagreed with him. I always respected her for that.”

“At least your parents passed on a useful ability to you and no doubt, to many others. You're choosing to dismiss them because they were uncultured.”