recognition and acceptance became an obsession. That and her hatred for Miles Randolph.
The means to achieve recognition and acceptance came about quite accidentally. She had been trying to get a tea stain out of one of her few dresses. Ruminating over the lack of clothing, her mind tracked onward to the prohibitive price of purchasing anything imported.
If one had one’s own vessel . . . An image of taking a single vessel and expanding it into a fleet took root. She knew that to become firmly entrenched with the Exclusionists it would take more than plying a single vessel for trading.
With that in mind, though, she began a campaign, a campaign that she acknowledged would take years even to implement. First, she and Tom needed land. At the present, the only land being granted to officers, other than those of age to retire, was to those members of the New South Wales Corps, known as the Rum Corps.
With money, land, and cheap labor at their disposal, the Rum Corps was making huge profits at the expense of the small businessmen. The officers were paying for labor and local products in rum and were buying whole shiploads of goods. Then they sold them at two and three times their original values. And all the while, the officers of the Rum Corps were getting richer and more arrogant.
For months, Nan pondered the situation. She could either wait for Tom to come of retirement age to begin her project—or she could finagle him a transfer into the New South Wales Corps.
Her decision against either was tipped by Miles Randolph.
The reception for the penal colony’s new governor was being held at the Government House. Overlooking Sydney Cove, it was the largest and best built building in New South Wales. However, few windows ventilated the cavernous building, and in the summer crowded receptions could make the heat unbearable. The chandelier’s hundred little flames heated the room even more.
Nan dressed carefully for that most propitious evening. Tom complimented her on the ostrich feather tucked into her hair, puffed with the aid of hair balls.
Little did her husband realize how discreetly she scavenged the settlement for clothing and food items to be had at bargained prices.
With a critical eye, she viewed her image in the looking glass. A slow smile eased the firm line of her lips. Somehow she was subtly changed from the spinster who had been shipped from England a convict. She was almost attractive.
The torrid tropical sun had given her face a healthy color. Her imaginative cooking, necessitated by the lack of staples, had filled out her sunken cheeks. Tom’s amiable attention had made her feel feminine.
Lastly, she supposed, Miles had made his own contribution to her alteration, howbeit indirectly. The effects of childbearing had resulted in her wider hips and more pronounced bosom.
Strange that she should think of him when his image rarely crossed her mind these days.
Or maybe it wasn’t so strange if she considered that her intuition, when she heeded it, was often close to presentiment. Especially, this evening, when upon entering the Government House, the first face she sighted was that of Miles.
There must have been more than fifty or sixty people mingling in the large, austere room. Yet her gaze locked instantly with his. It was as if two years had never passed. She experienced that same explosive excitement that made her weak.
Miles had proven to be a man who used people. For her, he could only mean heartache. He was dangerous and all wrong for her. That didn’t stop her from wanting him. Inside, a reflexive wall of defense that insured emotional survival went up immediately.
With Tom at her side, she picked her way among the guests with a deliberate pace, drawing ever closer to Miles.
He wore a purple velvet dress coat, a white satin waistcoat, and silk gaiter pantaloons. At the moment, he was deep in conversation with the new governor. That a man who had been accused of treason should appear
The means to achieve recognition and acceptance came about quite accidentally. She had been trying to get a tea stain out of one of her few dresses. Ruminating over the lack of clothing, her mind tracked onward to the prohibitive price of purchasing anything imported.
If one had one’s own vessel . . . An image of taking a single vessel and expanding it into a fleet took root. She knew that to become firmly entrenched with the Exclusionists it would take more than plying a single vessel for trading.
With that in mind, though, she began a campaign, a campaign that she acknowledged would take years even to implement. First, she and Tom needed land. At the present, the only land being granted to officers, other than those of age to retire, was to those members of the New South Wales Corps, known as the Rum Corps.
With money, land, and cheap labor at their disposal, the Rum Corps was making huge profits at the expense of the small businessmen. The officers were paying for labor and local products in rum and were buying whole shiploads of goods. Then they sold them at two and three times their original values. And all the while, the officers of the Rum Corps were getting richer and more arrogant.
For months, Nan pondered the situation. She could either wait for Tom to come of retirement age to begin her project—or she could finagle him a transfer into the New South Wales Corps.
Her decision against either was tipped by Miles Randolph.
The reception for the penal colony’s new governor was being held at the Government House. Overlooking Sydney Cove, it was the largest and best built building in New South Wales. However, few windows ventilated the cavernous building, and in the summer crowded receptions could make the heat unbearable. The chandelier’s hundred little flames heated the room even more.
Nan dressed carefully for that most propitious evening. Tom complimented her on the ostrich feather tucked into her hair, puffed with the aid of hair balls.
Little did her husband realize how discreetly she scavenged the settlement for clothing and food items to be had at bargained prices.
With a critical eye, she viewed her image in the looking glass. A slow smile eased the firm line of her lips. Somehow she was subtly changed from the spinster who had been shipped from England a convict. She was almost attractive.
The torrid tropical sun had given her face a healthy color. Her imaginative cooking, necessitated by the lack of staples, had filled out her sunken cheeks. Tom’s amiable attention had made her feel feminine.
Lastly, she supposed, Miles had made his own contribution to her alteration, howbeit indirectly. The effects of childbearing had resulted in her wider hips and more pronounced bosom.
Strange that she should think of him when his image rarely crossed her mind these days.
Or maybe it wasn’t so strange if she considered that her intuition, when she heeded it, was often close to presentiment. Especially, this evening, when upon entering the Government House, the first face she sighted was that of Miles.
There must have been more than fifty or sixty people mingling in the large, austere room. Yet her gaze locked instantly with his. It was as if two years had never passed. She experienced that same explosive excitement that made her weak.
Miles had proven to be a man who used people. For her, he could only mean heartache. He was dangerous and all wrong for her. That didn’t stop her from wanting him. Inside, a reflexive wall of defense that insured emotional survival went up immediately.
With Tom at her side, she picked her way among the guests with a deliberate pace, drawing ever closer to Miles.
He wore a purple velvet dress coat, a white satin waistcoat, and silk gaiter pantaloons. At the moment, he was deep in conversation with the new governor. That a man who had been accused of treason should appear
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