At her father's encouragement, Amanda Dunn leaves
Manchester, England for America. The Glorious Cause (Civil
War) is creating problems for George Dunn's textile
factories. He isn't getting enough cotton from America and
wants Amanda to negotiate with Jackson Henthorne, who also
happens to be Amanda's twin sister, Abigail's husband.
Upon
arrival in Wilmington, North Carolina, Amanda is delighted
to see her sister once again, as it's been five long years
since Jackson took Abigail away.
Determined to make her father proud, Amanda sets out on
her
business to get cotton moving across the pond once again
to
England. Little does she know about the politics of this
war and how society views a woman trying to upset the
established order of business. No one takes her seriously.
However, in town, she meets a charming shopkeeper,
Nathaniel Cooper, who owns a grocery store and takes
Amanda
very seriously. They discover they have a lot of
philosophies in common and also a penchant for
stubbornness. Amanda's business in America wanes as she
and
Nathaniel get to know each other better, and she's not in
much of a hurry to return to England.
The war heats up, and Nathaniel finally decides to join
the
Confederacy, not because he agrees with slavery, but
because he wants to protect his long-lost brother who
recently showed up at Nate's store. Will there be anything
left of Wilmington when Nate returns? Will Amanda still be
there for him?
THE LAST HEIRESS is a heartwarming historical romance that
explores some of the impact the Civil War had on business
owners in the south, as well as businesses in England. The
story also discusses various feelings about slavery,
social
status and how the rich manipulate the law to benefit
themselves. Amanda and Nathaniel are both strong
characters
who speak their mind freely, not only with each other, but
with everyone else. This keeps Amanda out of the good
graces of her brother-in-law most of the time. As the war
worsens, the plot takes some unexpected turns and keeps
you
completely engaged as it thickens. Mary Ellis has written
a
delightful romantic tale, set in an important historic
period for our country. She has certainly done her
research
on this topic.
Bestselling author Mary Ellis (A Widow's Hope) presents
The Last Heiress, a new romantic standalone that
intertwines the lives of a British manufacturing heiress
and an American merchant caught in the turbulent time of
the War Between the States.
When Amanda Dunn sets sail from England for Wilmington,
North Carolina, she hopes to somehow restore shipments of
raw materials for her family's textile mills, which have
been severely disrupted by the American Civil War. Though
there is not much one individual can do, the wealthy
young woman feels she must try, as her mother and
hundreds of employees at Dunn Textiles are dependent on
Southern cotton.
When Amanda meets Nathaniel Cooper, her desire to conduct
business and quickly return to England changes. Though
captivated by one another, neither is fully aware of the
other's true nature.
Nathanial, who on the outside appears to be a poor but
hardworking merchant, is actually a secret Yankee
sympathizer who will stop at almost nothing to bring
about freedom for those who live under subjugation, even
when that involves questionable judgment. And Amanda's
wealth is made possible by underpaid workers living in
slums around the mills, not much different than American
slavery.
Can these two earnest souls find the best in one another
rather than focus on what could tear them apart? And
though they both believe they are on God's path, how will
their decisions affect those around them?
Excerpt
Chapter One
Manchester, England
February 1864
Amanda slumped in the dressing table chair, thwarting her
maid’s efforts for the third time.
“Please stop fidgeting, Miss Amanda, or I’ll never finish
your hair. At this rate you may miss breakfast
altogether.” As she spoke she swiftly fastened the coiled
braid to the back of Amanda’s head with a half dozen long
hairpins.
“I’m sorry, Helene. I don’t know why I can’t cut it off
since it’s such a bother, or at least wear it down until
noon. After all, it’s only my family at table.” Amanda
stared at her wavy reflection in the mirror. The dreary
winter had robbed her cheeks of all color. She was as
pale as the ghost the staff insisted roamed the attic of
Dunn Manor.
“You can’t wear it down because you’re not a child
anymore. Young ladies must have fashionable coiffures
unless they are abed with the fever and their continued
earthly existence appears in doubt.” Helene winked at
Amanda’s reflection in the mirror. “And cutting it off is
advisable only if you plan to book passage to India
disguised as a man.”
Amanda chuckled at the mental picture of herself dressed
in flannel and tweed. “I’ve seen you in the garden of the
carriage house with your hair plaited down your back. And
you’re older than I.”
“True enough, but I’m the widowed daughter of your papa’s
coachman. My appearance ceased to be of much interest the
day I married. But you, Miss Amanda, should make a good
impression wherever you are, no matter what time day or
night.” Helene bent to whisper close to her ear. “How
else will you catch a fine husband like a viscount or an
earl?”
Amanda emitted a rude noise that would have appalled her
mother. “Your suggestion sounds dreadfully dull. Instead,
maybe I’ll become an actress and travel the world, or
perhaps a famous opera singer and appear on the finest
stages of Rome, Vienna, and Paris.” She closed her eyes,
imagining the sound of thunderous applause.
Helene freed two tendrils to soften the severe look of
Amanda’s upswept hair. “To be a famous opera singer, one
must first be able to sing.” She tugged on a lock
playfully. “Go to breakfast before your mama sends her
maid after you.”
Without an alternative, Amanda dutifully obeyed. On her
way downstairs, she heard rain pelting the window with
chilling relentlessness. This time of year any career
someplace warm sounded preferable to winter in
Lancashire.
“There you are, my dear. I feared you’d taken ill to be
this tardy.” Agnes Dunn maintained a hawkish perusal of
her daughter while sipping her tea.
“Forgive me, Mama. My hair refused to cooperate with
Helene.” Taking her usual seat at the table, she asked
the footman for coffee instead of tea. “Where is Papa?”
she asked, noticing that her mother sat alone at the
ornate table for twelve.
“His cough is no better. He’s not coming downstairs this
morning.” Agnes signaled for the footman to serve.
Amanda’s unease increased threefold. “Papa is still in
bed? He doesn’t plan to go to the mill? I can’t remember
that ever happening—”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t
overdramatize, Amanda. Everyone gets sick, even your hale
and hearty father. You’re too young to remember a bout of
gout which laid him low for days.” She nibbled her toast.
The barest coating of lemon cheese provided a sunny glow.
Amanda refused to be put off easily. “But he never misses
breakfast. It’s his favorite meal of the day. I’ll take
him a bowl of poached eggs and some kippers. And I know
he won’t refuse porridge with fresh cream.”
“If your father is hungry, ring for the maid and she will
carry up a tray. I won’t have you doing servant work.
Everyone needs to earn their wages.” Agnes glanced at the
footmen, who pretended not to be listening. “But you
should visit your father when you finish eating. He asked
to see you this morning.”
Amanda set down her fork, her taste for food gone. “He
wishes me to come to his bedroom?” Her father never spoke
to his children except at the dinner table, at tea, or
occasionally by the parlor fire if they weren’t
entertaining that evening. And he certainly never
requested an audience while wearing his dressing gown.
“Do you know what this is about, Mama?”
“I have my suspicions but prefer not to speculate. When
did you become so apprehensive?” Agnes’s expression
softened. “I would have expected as much from your
sister, but not from my fearless girl.”
A second oddity within ten minutes was almost too much to
bear. Her mother never mentioned Abigail, as though her
twin sister hadn’t been born. Since Alfred’s death
several years ago, it felt as though she’d been born an
only child. “Will you come upstairs with me?” Amanda
asked.
“No, my dear. I’m merely relaying the message. Your
father requested only you, not the two of us. He will
impart any decisions he’s made to me when the time is
right.” Mama smiled, but the gesture fooled no one.
Amanda knew her parents hadn’t taken rooms at opposite
ends of the hall because of his snoring or Agnes’s
restless tossing and turning. She’d hoped they would
become friends, if no longer passionate about each other.
But her brother’s untimely death put an end to that
possibility. Amanda finished her toast and coffee, and
then she refilled her cup at the sideboard. “I shall go
now.”
“Allow me to carry that for you, Miss Dunn.” Joseph, the
head footman reached her side with a saucer.
Reluctant to argue in front of her mother, Amada allowed
him to precede her up the stairs to her father’s suite.
“Miss Amanda to see you, sir,” announced Joseph, stopping
in the doorway.
“Come in, daughter,” said George Dunn, his voice hoarse
and scratchy. “Why are you standing there like a statue?
Come talk to your old papa.”
She hurried then to his bedside, the sight of her robust
father under heavy quilts giving her a chill. “Mama said
you’re not feeling well, sir. I hope that’s not true.”
Amanda smiled as she said this, yet she needed little
confirmation from him as to how he was with his face
drawn and haggard.
“I’m a touch under the weather, but it’s nothing for you
to be concerned about. The way Ochs fusses over me, I’ll
either be right as rain or ready for a nanny and
perambulator before long.”
As though on cue, her father’s trusted valet since before
Amanda was born entered the room. “I intercepted your
breakfast on the stairs, sir. Everything looks quite in
order. I’ll have more coal sent up for the fire.”
“Getting my room to tropical temperatures will not cure a
bit of the flu. Leave the tray on the table and my hearth
alone for now. I want to speak privately to my daughter.”
The valet turned as though just noticing her. “Good
morning, Miss Dunn. Shall I have a tray sent up for you
too?” He looked down his thin hooked nose at her.
“No, thank you, Ochs. I breakfasted with Mama.”
“Very good. Ring if I can be of service, sir.” He bowed
and departed with great dignity.
“My, my. The man absolutely never smiles.” Amanda perched
on the edge of her father’s massive bed.
“It’s in the valet’s rulebook not to.” Papa’s dimples
deepened as he said that, and for a moment he resembled
his normal self until a hacking cough convulsed his large
frame.
“Oh, Papa, that sounds dreadful. Did anyone send for the
doctor?” Amanda patted his arm once the coughing
subsided.
George reached for the glass of water on his nightstand
and took a tentative sip. “What would that old blighter
do? Bleed me again? I feel worse after his therapies, not
better. Stop fussing. The cough will be gone once this
damp weather breaks. Anyway, that’s not why I summoned
you. I have a favor to ask of you, one that will be no
spring stroll in the garden.”
Amanda’s spirits lifted. Seldom did her father ask
anything of his family other than impeccable manners at
social events. “Of course, Papa. What can I do?”
“Only the young and foolish say yes without hearing the
question.” He covered her hand with his larger one.
“Pelton visited yesterday afternoon.”
Papa received a mill employee at home in his bedchamber?
Amanda’s stomach tightened.
“The situation at Dunn Mills is growing critical. None of
my overpaid managers have been able to line up sufficient
cotton from Latin or South America, and certainly nothing
that compares to the quality of the cotton we had access
to before this nuisance of a war in the States. I can’t
run textile mills and continue to pay men’s wages without
raw materials.” His vehemence triggered another round of
coughing.
Amanda blinked, unsure of a suitable response. Her father
seldom discussed important matters and never his business
concerns. “What about wool from the northern counties and
silk from the Orient?”
“All well and good, but cotton is more than half the
industry of the mill. I need to restore reliable
sources.”
“How can I help? Shall I write to…Jackson?” She murmured
the name of their primary American factor—and brother-in-
law—reluctantly. He had fallen from favor with her
father, to put it mildly.
He sighed heavily. “I’ve already written to the elder
Henthorne several times. Every reply has been the same:
His hands are tied. Their new president, Jefferson Davis,
has decreed that no cotton is to be exported to the
United Kingdom until Queen Victoria takes a stand for the
Confederacy. Why would our Queen choose sides in a
dispute affecting former colonies? And I can’t fathom why
southern states would break away and form a new nation.
Could you imagine the Scottish deciding to pick their own
queen and sever ties with us?”
Amanda waited to see if he expected her opinion on a
political topic—one she would be hard pressed to give—but
then he waved off the question like a bee from the honey
pot.
“None of that concerns you, daughter. I shouldn’t
sidetrack myself from our dire circumstances.”
“How can I help?”
“Hear me out before making up your mind.” He coughed
again with alarming intensity. When he caught his breath
again, he said, “I need you to travel to North Carolina
to do whatever is necessary to restore shipping lines to
Lancashire. Speak with Randolph Henthorne first, but if
you must, call on every cotton factor in Wilmington.
There has to be someone willing to ignore Davis’s edict
and transact business with us. I’m willing to pay a
thirty-percent increase over previous contracts, although
you certainly shouldn’t open negotiations with our most
generous offer.” He hesitated and dabbed his mouth with
his linen handkerchief. Her flummoxed expression had
finally given him pause.
“You wish me to board a ship and sail to America? The
farthest I’ve traveled is across the channel to the
continent.”
“I realize I’m asking a lot, Amanda. Such a voyage may be
dangerous. Had your brother lived, he would be the one
making the journey.” Papa’s complexion faded to an
unhealthy pallor. “I need someone to represent the
interests of Dunn Mills on my behalf. I would go myself,
but the doctor insists the damp sea air would hasten my
demise.”
“Of course I’ll go,” she said without another thought.
The possibility of losing her father negated her personal
misgivings. As soon as she agreed, a small seed took root
and began to grow—a seed that might break the ennui that
had consumed her all winter.
“You won’t be traveling alone. I will send Pelton with
you.”
Amanda’s spine arched at the mention of the pompous man’s
name. Their few instances of acquaintance had left her
with a sour taste in her mouth. Charles Pelton believed a
woman’s place was in the home, and that they shouldn’t
speak on subjects other than drapery fabrics or scone
choices for tea. “Why him, Papa? You have several capable
managers in your mills. Surely you could select one more
amenable for a travel companion.”
Papa’s brow furrowed. “I understand your reservations,
but no one knows the textile trade better. He could
answer any question you or the Carolina factors may
present.”
Amanda lifted her chin. “If you hold Mr. Pelton in such
high esteem, why do you wish me to go at all? Perhaps he
should represent Dunn Mills while I embroider samplers in
the parlor with Mama.”
Her father’s weary face brightened. “That’s what I’ve
always admired—your spirit. Those American aristocrats
will expect me to negotiate contracts. They might take
offense if I send an employee in my stead.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “They would prefer
someone who knows little about running a mill and even
less about grades and qualities of cotton?”
“You’re a Dunn, daughter, besides my heir. You will
attend the meetings primarily as my emissary—a
figurehead, if you will. Pelton will discuss specifics
and negotiate the final terms of contract.” Papa reached
out to pinch her cheek as though she were still nine
years old.
“I wish to visit Abigail if I’m traveling to Wilmington.
I won’t cross the sea without laying eyes on my sister.”
His ebullience faded but he nodded agreement. “Your
sister’s move to the States is one reason I broached the
subject. Because she married a wealthy man, your mother
and I won’t have to worry you’ll land among a rough sort.
But that’s the only positive thing I can say about
Jackson Henthorne.” He turned his face into the pillow as
another convulsive cough robbed him of breath.
Amanda left his bedside and walked to the window. The
rain continued to fall, turning the cobblestones below
slick underfoot for both man and beast. She stared
blindly into the mist while her mind whirred with ideas.
After five long years, she would be able to see Abigail?
She could visit America—a brand-new land teeming with
opportunity—if that’s what North Carolina still
considered itself part of. But that arrogant Charles
Pelton would doubtlessly prevent her from experiencing
any adventure.
By the time her father’s coughing spell passed, Amanda
had made up her mind. “I would be happy to represent Dunn
Mills with one condition, Papa. Mr. Pelton remains here
in Manchester while I sail solely with my maid.”
For a moment her father’s lips opened and closed like a
trout floundering on the riverbank. “A young woman
traveling alone? That is unheard of. Your mother would
never permit such recklessness.”
“How could it be possibly be reckless? I assume you would
book first-class passage. If necessary I could remain in
my cabin until we reach the Carolina coast. At that
point, I would be the guest of Mrs. Jackson Henthorne and
under her husband’s protection.” Amanda offered a wry
smile.
“Nevertheless.” He dragged out the word for emphasis. “By
your own admission, you know nothing about textiles. How
can you be useful in convincing the brokers to restore
the cotton trade?”
“The fact I’ve been little help to you since Alfred’s
death troubles me. I’m of little use…period.”
He shifted against the pillows and waved his hand in
dismissal. “That doesn’t alter the fact—”
“Please, Papa, I’ve listened patiently to you. I would
appreciate it if you would afford me the same courtesy.”
His eyes grew round. “Go on.”
“Because we wouldn’t set sail before March, I plan to
study the textile business until then, night and day if
need be. I have a month to learn all about cotton so I
can represent Dunn Mills adequately.”
He laughed, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids. “I’ve
spent thirty years learning the business. You think you
can fill my shoes within thirty days? And a woman, no
less.”
“Certainly not. I’m not interested in producing garments
or managing employees. I merely intend to determine what
constitutes quality material and what does not. You and
Mr. Pelton can run things here while I deal with those
American factors.”
“Amanda, my darling girl—”
“May I suggest you book my passage along with Helene’s
for four weeks from now? If you’re not satisfied by then
that I can represent you, I will accompany Mr. Pelton
merely as a figurehead. After all, I am a woman as you
pointed out. Would that be agreeable to you, Papa?”
Stretching out her hand, Amanda held it steady while he
laughed again at her.
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.
© 2003-2025 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy