Author's note.
Although this stands alone as a bawdy romp through Victorian America, it might be advisable to read the earlier parts first to gain an understanding of the story and characters.
***
Amanda smiled sweetly. Her foresight in telling Oliver Strand the Deputy Lieutenant Governor of Georgia and by some margin the most influential man in the State that she and her brother Adam were considering selling the plantation was paying off. He had already advised her that disposing of such a prestigious and historic plantation as Selby Bluff required considerable thought and planning.
"Particularly, my dear, in times like these," he continued, with a hint of a sneer in his gruff voice. Amanda was not excused the patronising manner he took to most people, particularly women, when discussing business matters. After all, 'What could women know of such things?' he was thinking as he took hold of Amanda's elbow.
Amanda ignored his superior look and allowed him to steer her out onto the terrace. "Why is that? What planning?" she asked, watching a plume of blue smoke hit the night air as he lit his pipe.
"Nothing for someone as beautiful as you to worry about," he condescendingly told her. "Merely the fact that there are some new laws going through the State Legislature concerning such sales and, of course, cotton prices are not increasing as much as they have in the past due to this ridiculous recession. It's merely a short-term aberration of course, for once we put real pressure on the Yankees they will resolve the recession, but it does complicate things, especially plantation sales."
Although no economist Amanda knew that Strand's reasoning about coming out of the recession was as weak as his argument that the South could pressure the North to end it. From her many heated discussions when she was married and lived in London she knew that recessions although man made were not ended solely by the actions of man.
He finished with the look of someone lecturing a child, though the way he edged closer to press the sides of their bodies together suggested he thought of her as anything but a child.
"Yes, I have been hearing rumours," she nervously replied, averting her eyes from him and looking out across the magnificent gardens to the distant river.
"It's mainly due to the Yankees ridiculous obsession with the labour market," he drawled, using the South's euphemism for slavery as he slipped his hand around her waist. "It's to protect our way of life,"
"Oh, really," Amanda mumbled, feeling Strand's fingers tighten through her clothes just above her waist.
"Oh, yes," he smugly responded, sending another plume of smoke skywards. "Look, why don't you come and see me in the New Year and we can go through the rigmarole and such stuff?" His hand inched along her waist and up a little as he spoke. Turning to face him, there was no way for Amanda to escape the legs that pressed against her skirt, pushing the hoop backwards. "Thank you," she replied with a smile, knowing that this man's guidance would be invaluable, but wondering if she could get it without compromising herself?
"I will send you some available dates tomorrow," he told her, waving his pipe in the air. "You are staying in town tonight aren't you?"
"Yes, I am."
"Where, may I ask?"
"The Eliza Thompson place, she told him, attempting to edge a step backwards."
"Yes, I know it. Will you be staying all day tomorrow?"
"Yes," she confirmed, hoping her flashing smile hid her distaste. "My brother Adam will be meeting me later for dinner, and then we will ride to Meldrim the following morning."
"Well let's hope we can get our business done during the day," he told her, following her movement so that their shoulders brushed against each other. "It really isn't something that such a pretty head as yours should have to worry about," he continued reaching up and rather indiscreetly given the short time they had known each other and the public nature of where they were, brushing a lock of her chestnut coloured hair away from her forehead.
Amanda smiled sweetly, her face showing him that she was grateful for the compliment. Inside, rage seethed. How dare this pompous man talk to her in such a way, and press his body so close to hers when his wife could come onto the terrace at any moment? But her instincts told her to hide her annoyance.
She knew how powerful he was and how useful he could be to her: pretty, delicate and female she might be, but at heart she was and always had been an opportunist.
Besides, his earlier offer was very attractive and if he could deliver as he claimed his assistance would be invaluable: perhaps their only chance of escape from what was looking more and more like a living hell. Could he really help her organise things so that the estate could be available for sale to as wide a range of potential buyers as the State law permitted, she wondered using her business instincts? Or was that just a ploy to bed her, she wondered, letting her female intuition come into play.
"So," she asked, wanting to fully understand what he'd told her. She needed to explain this to Adam later. "Exactly who would fall into the category as a potential buyer?"
He smiled condescendingly again, knowing only too well that this 'English' beauty needed him. He could use that to his advantage.
"That means all residents in all states beneath, but not above the Mason Dixon line or outside the Union," he explained. "And French, of course, but not British individuals and companies. It's to stop people who oppose us buying up the cotton estates and freeing the slaves that way."
"But, pray, Mister Strand, does that not restrict the buyers who might purchase Selby Bluff"
"Yes of course it does."
She smiled again, wanting him to explain. "So what exactly are you proposing?"
He took a silent puff on his pipe before answering. "Well that is what the new State laws are there for and that is where I come in, Amanda," he told her confidently, resting his palm on the back of her hand. "I may call you by your first name, I hope my dear?"
