Andrea Kane (20 page)

“Oh, no.” She reached out, touched the mark ever so gently.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Breanna waved away her cousin’s concern. “Honestly, Stacie. I don’t even think Father knew he was doing it. He was desperate to make his point, to push me into doing his bidding. And when I balked … well, I truly think he lost his reason.”

“You’re defending him?” Anastasia asked incredulously.

“No, of course not. All I’m saying is, he didn’t beat me. He didn’t even shout. It’s as if he’s desperate—desperate enough to be even more callous than usual.”

“But it’s
me
he’s angry at, not you.”

“Actually, it’s both of us.” Breanna smoothed a shaky hand over her upswept hair. “You, for going to Lord Sheldrake’s bank; me, for not yet wearing his wedding ring.” She dismissed Anastasia’s onslaught of questions with a firm shake of her head. “Listen to me, Stacie. You and I can discuss this in detail tonight after Father’s gone to bed and we’re alone. Right now, he’s awaiting your arrival like a hungry lion awaits its dinner. He’s angry, he’s unnerved, and he’s determined to have his say. All that’s important is for you to know what you’re in for. Father feels threatened by your relationship with Lord Sheldrake—both personally and financially. He has his own plans for the marquess’s fortune—and his future. Father wants me to marry Lord Sheldrake. You and I both know that. We also know it’s never going to happen, and why. How we get Father to accept it is another matter entirely. I tried, and failed. It’s your turn. But tread carefully. This is not going to be a pleasant meeting.”

Anastasia listened closely, appreciating Breanna’s worry, at the same time captured by her cousin’s adamant statement:
We also know it’s never going to happen, and why.

The way Breanna said that—with the certainty of one who knew rather than surmised—clearly, she was referring to something more concrete than the fact that she and Damen were mere acquaintances. And, given how finely attuned she and Anastasia were, given that they’d always been able to read each other’s thoughts, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Breanna had sensed the attraction between her cousin and Damen.

A dozen questions hovered on Anastasia’s tongue, and were silenced as she stared at the bruise on Breanna’s chin.

At the moment, none of her questions mattered; not those concerning Breanna’s underlying meaning, nor those pertaining to how much of the truth she’d guessed. What mattered was Uncle George—Uncle George and his violent determination to shape the future his way.

Anastasia clenched the folds of her gown, her resolve strengthening twofold. She knew how she must handle this impending confrontation, and it included keeping her bloody tongue in check. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be she who would suffer. It would be Breanna.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly, squeezing her cousin’s arm. “You’ve prepared me. I can handle Uncle George. Who knows? Maybe I can even mollify him a bit.”

Breanna gave her a small smile. “I wouldn’t count on it. He’s incensed. And he’ll be more incensed once you’ve spoken your piece.”

The girls’ eyes met.

“Tell him, Stacie,” Breanna said quietly. “He’ll find out anyway.”

Anastasia was still puzzling over her cousin’s words as she approached Uncle George’s study. What exactly had Breanna been urging her to disclose? That she’d opted to invest in an American bank? That she’d formed a partnership with Damen Lockewood?

Or was it more?

Sucking in her breath, Anastasia paused at the study door. She’d get her answer later. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t affect her decision.

She raised her hand, rapped on the door.

“Who is it?” her uncle barked.

“Anastasia.”

A dozen purposeful strides sounded from within, after which the door was yanked open, and her uncle stood before her, his expression taut, his eyes burning with suppressed ire.

“You wanted to see me?” Anastasia asked, as nonprovokingly as she could.

“Indeed I did. Come in.” He snapped out the words, gesturing for her to enter, then shutting the door firmly in her wake. He stared at the carpet for a moment—doubtless trying to curb his anger—then jerked up his head to meet her gaze. “You went to the House of Lockewood this morning while I was out. You traveled alone, unchaperoned, and you never mentioned to me that you had an appointment. Why is that?”

Anastasia forced what she hoped was an apologetic look on her face. “I’m not accustomed to taking a chaperon with me when I go out for a simple ride. I realize that’s inappropriate now that I’m home, and I’ll try to be mindful of that in the future. As for my appointment, I intended to tell you about it. But you’d already left. So I asked Breanna to do it for me.”

“And what was your business at the bank?”

He’s testing me,
Anastasia thought.
He’s trying to catch me in the act of lying; or rather, of hiding the truth. Well, I’m about to surprise him.

“I had business with the marquess,” she answered, looking her uncle squarely in the eye. “Regarding an investment I’m about to make. I want to use a portion of Papa’s inheritance to invest in an American bank.”

A flicker of surprise—one that was quickly replaced by a dark scowl. “An American bank,” he repeated icily. “I heard that you approached a number of my guests about financing that ludicrous venture. But I assumed that, once you saw their aversion to the notion—and to the notion of even discussing business with a woman—you’d been wise enough to abandon the idea. Really, Anastasia, isn’t it enough that you offended a roomful of prominent noblemen with your unprecedented audacity? Did you then have to force your ideas on Lord Sheldrake?”

“I didn’t force my ideas on Lord Sheldrake,” Anastasia replied, fighting to keep her temper in check. “I merely presented them.”

“Call it what you will.” Her uncle’s steely tone told her he was unwilling to be deterred. “It still adds up to one thing: you’ve forgotten who and where you are. You’re my niece. You’re also no longer in America. Perhaps there it’s common for women to take an active role in financial matters, but…”

“It’s not,” Anastasia interrupted. “I was bolder than American women, too.”

George’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “I don’t find your cheekiness amusing. Need I remind you that this is my home? Therefore, you will abide by my rules. And one thing I will not permit is impertinence.”

Silently, Anastasia counted to ten. “I didn’t intend to be impertinent,” she said at last. “Just honest.”

“I don’t require honesty, not unless I specifically demand it by way of a direct question. What I do require is obedience. Further, I won’t tolerate having my guests insulted.”

This was becoming more difficult by the minute.

“Insulting your guests was never my intention, Uncle George. My intention was to gain support for my bank.” Anastasia made a wide sweep with her hands. “In any event, I was unsuccessful. Obviously, your guests feel as you do about women in business. So I won’t try that tactic again.” She literally forced out her next words. “I apologize for any embarrassment I caused you.”

“Fine.” A terse nod. “Then, let’s return to today’s meeting at the bank. What is it you hoped to accomplish?”

You already know, Uncle George,
she reflected.
What you
don’t
know is that I’m aware of that. Very well. There’s no harm in reiterating what Damen already told you.

“As that was a direct question, I have to assume you’re expecting honesty,” she responded, rubbing her skirts between her fingers in a seemingly nervous gesture. “Therefore, I’ll provide it. The purpose for my meeting this morning was to sign a partnership agreement with Lord Sheldrake. He’s joining me in this banking venture—not as a backer, but as an equal partner.”

George started—his surprise prompted not by her news, she fully recognized, but by her unanticipated frankness. It was plain that this was one time he
had
expected her to lie, after which he’d planned to throw that lie in her face.

“I see.” He scowled, clasping his hands behind his back and regrouping his thoughts. “I’m astounded that Lord Sheldrake would agree to involve himself in this pointless endeavor.”

“He doesn’t expect it to be pointless. He expects it to be profitable. As do I.” Anastasia raised her chin a notch. “I realize you and I have differing opinions on this subject, Uncle George. However, with all due respect, you’re not my financial guardian. Lord Sheldrake is. So while I’ll abide by your rules of behavior, I won’t seek your approval on how I invest my money. Fortunately, Lord Sheldrake and I are of the same mind with regard to that.”

“You and Sheldrake seem to be of the same mind with regard to many things,” George bit out, a vein throbbing at his temple.

Anastasia’s brows lifted. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you do. Especially given the amount of time you and he spent together at your coming-out party.”

“He’s the administrator of my inheritance, and now my business partner. Of course we spent time together.”

“And that’s all there is to it?”

“What else could there be?”

Thunderclouds erupted on George’s face, and he sliced the air with his palm. “Don’t be coy with me, Anastasia. I’m not stupid. Nor are you. So I’ll spell out the situation for you. I intend for Lord Sheldrake to marry Breanna. In fact, I expect to be announcing their betrothal any day now. Your cousin will have a wonderful life with the marquess. He’ll give her everything she could ever want or need. And I don’t plan to let anything, or any
one,
stand between them. Am I making myself clear?”

Anastasia swallowed—hard—keeping her expression as nondescript as possible. “Perfectly clear.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that. One, because I know how much Breanna’s happiness means to you, and two, because I know you’d never purposely undermine me. Not when you know how dire the consequences could be. And I
do
mean dire.”

A chill ran up Anastasia’s spine at the biting intensity of her uncle’s words. She stared at him, trying to decipher his precise state of mind. She saw bitterness and anger in his eyes, as well as a dislike and resentment that was far older than she. But she also saw desperation—a desperation she couldn’t quite fathom.

What was prompting it? Was it simply a grasping desire for Damen’s money and power—greed combined with a need for retribution? Or was it more? Just how depleted were Uncle George’s personal funds? Colby and Sons might be flourishing, but that told her nothing about what her uncle did with his portion of the profits, nor about how he handled any of his personal investments. Damen himself had bluntly told her he didn’t have much faith in her uncle’s business acumen, adding that he suspected her uncle might be struggling financially. Just how badly
was
he struggling? Enough to breed this level of desperation?

A sixth sense told Anastasia there was more here than met the eye.

“I take your silence to signify agreement.” Her uncle interrupted her thoughts, his gaze narrowed on her face. “Am I correct?”

Careful, Anastasia. Don’t provoke him. Not until you have all the facts. He’ll only take it out on Breanna.

“You know how deeply I care for Breanna.” She lowered her chin in a gesture of compliance. “I’d never do anything to stand in the way of her happiness. Never.”

“Fine. Then we understand each other.”

Anastasia nodded, still staring at the carpet. “Yes, Uncle George. We understand each other very well.”

“Was it as bad as I expected?” Breanna asked the minute Stacie slipped into her room that night. Anxiously, she scrutinized her cousin, returning the porcelain figurine she’d been holding to the top of her nightstand.

Anastasia shrugged, tying her wrapper more firmly about her waist and pacing restlessly about. “Let’s say there were no surprises.”

She headed toward a chair, pausing to glance at her cousin’s nightstand. A reminiscent smile touched her lips, and she walked over, gingerly touching the porcelain horse that had always been Breanna’s favorite. “Every one of them, just as I remembered,” she murmured, her gaze shifting to the bureau where rows of delicate figurines stood—tiny statues depicting everything from children to animals to vases with flowers. “The entire collection, as if time stood still. Then again, I suppose for these beautiful statues, it does.”

“There are a few you haven’t seen. I added them over the years.” Breanna pointed out the new additions, including one of two little girls, laughing and picking flowers. “This one reminded me of us,” she said, lifting it up and cradling it tenderly in her hands. “I first saw it about a year after you left England. I admired it in the shop window for months. I fully intended to save my pence, one at a time, until I could buy it. But Wells—dear man that he is—surprised me instead. He bought it for me that Christmas. It’s the most precious figure in my collection. If you look closely, you’ll see why.”

Quizzically, Anastasia inclined her head, taking the porcelain object and inspecting it up close. Two little girls, their bright heads bent over the row of flowers they were picking.

A glistening object caught Anastasia s eye, and she peered closer, spotting the sliver of metal wedged between the flowers and the children.

The silver coin.

She reached out, touched it ever so gently. “So this is where you kept it. I thought it was under the base of your porcelain horse.”

“It was. Until Wells bought me this. It reminded me so much of us, I couldn’t help but feel the coin belonged here.”

A tender nod. “The gold coin is still in my jewel box— the one Mama got me when I was four. It was supposed to hold my hairpins and ribbons, so I’d find them in time to make my hair look presentable when need be. Of course, I lost every ribbon and hairpin I ever owned, so the box was never used for that. Instead, I kept my treasures in it: that wonderful multicolored stone you and I found near Medford Manor’s pond, that odd-shaped leaf I plucked off our oak—things like that. Years later, I added new, equally precious treasures: every letter I received from you when I was in America, special mementos of Mama and Papa. The gold coin has never left that box. Except when I needed to see it, touch it, hold it to feel closer to Grandfather—and to believe that you and I really would be reunited one day.”