Mr. Thornton will stay - for a price.

Dear Diary, (May 23rd just before bed)

I have come to an arrangement with Mr. Thornton. He will stay on and use his influence in the community to mitigate the fallout from the revelation of my true parentage. According to the young lawyer, there is limited precedence for this. While not common, freed negros do live in the South and many of the more successful of these former slaves have adapted the customs and practices of their former masters. I will not be the first person of African descent to own slaves, nor even the first female to hold this unusual position. I will however be the first negro to own such an old and established plantation.

“That is the real issue, Miss DiFlorentini.” Mr. Thornton told me as he took another sip of the excellent coffee that had been served with our breakfast. “Legally, you now control a significant amount of land and power and there are a good number of respected citizens of Charleston who would like to get their hands on what you have.”

“Like the Mantons.” I offered a little nervously. Up until this point of the morning, Mr. Thornton had made no mention of the way he used me the night before, but I could not forget being on my hands and knees before him while he mounted me like a breeding bull covering a ripened heifer. Every time I looked at the man I felt a mixture of shame, anger and perhaps worst of all anticipation.

“I suspect Miles is already working to contest the will.” Thornton agreed, “and Priscilla will be working behind the scenes to undermine your status and reputation. They are not the only ones though, and you must be prepared to face all manner of adversity.”

“What should I do?”

“The easy answer would be to sell your claim to your cousins.” His steady eyes met mine, judging my reaction to his words, “Get as much as you can for the place and then quietly return to your life in Philadelphia wealthier and wiser than you were a week ago.”

“And if I want to stay?” I could hear the desperation and uncertainty in my voice as I looked up to hold his eyes with mine. “Are you still willing help me.” Thornton took a half step closer to me and I knew by the smug smile on his face that there would be a price to be paid for the young lawyer's services.

“Would you respect my council, Miss DiFlorentini?” Another half step put him within easy arm's reach, “Would you do as I said even if you found my recommendations morally difficult?” I remember nodding slowly wondering just how repugnant I might find his advice. “You would not have the respect you are accustomed to ... you might still be called Miss Diflorentini, but everyone would know your real background.” Mr. Thornton's hand reached for my chin and lifted my face to meet his stern gaze. “They'd call you a nigga whore ...” His grip changed so his fingers encircled my throat firmly, “They'd call you my nigga whore.” For some reason this forcefulness made my knees weaken and I was having trouble thinking. The young lawyer seemed to sense my weakness and his face got even closer to mine so I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.

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“I will not pretend it will be easy for you. Are you willing to accept these terms, Miss DiFlorentini?” Mr. Thornton's mouth was just inches from mine. “Are you willing to submit, Bianca? Here in the office when I tell you what must be done to save Havenhall.” His cheek pressed against mine and he breathed in deeply taking in the fear and excitement I could not hide from him before his lips brushed against my ear and he made it clear what he wanted. “And then also in my bed?” I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips as he waited for my submissive response.