Read Online The Last Heiress by Mary Ellis - Free Book Online

have gained a devoted customer.”
    Nate shook the gloved fingers before realizing she’d expected her hand to be kissed. “A pleasure, madam. These are for you.” He handed her the massive bouquet before facing his host. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir.”
    â€œNot at all. Abigail and I have been eager to meet you. Despite my wife introducing Miss Dunn to her entire circle of friends, only the owner of the local mercantile has captured her attention.” Henthorne grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth and a deep cleft in his chin.
    â€œOh, Jackson,” said Mrs. Henthorne. “Don’t embarrass the man. Amanda simply loves American mercantiles. They contain such a vastly superior selection of goods than in Manchester. Would you care for an aperitif, Mr. Cooper?”
    â€œNo, thank you, ma’am.” Nate didn’t know much about spirits. His father drank only moonshine whiskey made by a neighbor during his declining years. Viewing firsthand the whiskey’s effect ensured a lifetime of sobriety.
    â€œWould you join me in a glass of lemonade?” asked Amanda. “I believe it will complement the cuisine.” Taking his arm, she steered him away from the Henthornes into the hall. “Pay them no mind,” she murmured. “Remember, you’re my guest, not theirs.”
    Nate winked to acknowledge he’d heard. But once seated in the dining room, any confidence he had abandoned him. Never had he seen a table so grand—faceted crystal glasses, gold-banded plates, gleaming silver candelabras with dozens of tapers. He counted four forks and an equal number of spoons at each place setting. And the assortments of dishes served had no rhyme or reason: oysters, pâtés, an odd-tasting fish, veal in a sauce that left the meat unrecognizable, and a cold plate of cheeses and smoked meats. Nate had no choice but to watch Amanda select a utensil and then mimic her. If she declined a particular dish, so did he.
    Throughout the meal, Jackson’s thinly veiled attempts to discern his background left his head pounding to match his churning gut. He would have cut the man short and escaped the ostentatious room if not for Amanda. Throughout the meal she deflected Henthorne’s more obvious inquires while smiling pleasantly. Nate would do nothing to cause her shame or regret over the invitation.
    Miss Dunn may be an angel sent from the gates of heaven, but the interminable dinner made one fact crystal clear: They could have no future together. It would be like a box turtle attempting to run with a spotted fawn. And that realization saddened him more than the slippery poached pear that fell into his lap, or the cadre of slaves standing against the wall, or the fact Henthorne dismissed him after dessert as though a poorly behaved child. Nate thanked his two hostesses and fled from the house, confident nothing in life would ever equal his mortification.

    The next morning Amanda went down to breakfast eager to leave her airless suite of rooms. Josie offered to fan her half the night, but Amanda had declined. Helene filled the tub with cool water, but the bath’s effects didn’t last very long. Perhapspart of her restlessness stemmed from the disastrous dinner party. Why had she thought Jackson would welcome Nathaniel? Her brother-in-law was a man who judged people by the cut of their clothes, their deportment and manners, and ultimately their bank accounts. He cared naught for social issues unless they directly affected Henthorne and Sons’ interests. And literature or poetry? He’d actually bragged that he hadn’t opened a book since leaving the boys’ academy.
    But Jackson couldn’t be blamed solely for the meal’s failure. She’d sat there like a toadstool, utterly helpless to alleviate Nathaniel’s discomfort, as though she’d succumbed to the same lethargy infecting her sister. So she had no one to blame but