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A hard knot of dread gripped George's gut. "Beyond?" he echoed, unable to keep the strain out of his tone. "W
hat kind of events are you referring to?"
Breanna met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Fate is a miraculous thing, Father, whether or not you believe it. It takes a hand in putting the right people together, and seeing that the right people get what they deserve."
George could hear the thundering of his own heart. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Mean?" Breanna's brows drew together, but there was an odd glint in her eyes. "It was a philosophical statement. I don't think it requires further explanation."
The rage was beginning to take over. George could feel it. "I'll ask you again," he said, unconsciously pushing away from his desk, taking a step toward Breanna. "What life-altering events are you referring to? And who is it you expect to get what he deserves?"
Like prey being cornered by a hunter, Breanna tensed, swiftly assessing her father's approach, the controlled violence of his motions. She reacted instantly, reaching behind her to twist open the door handle. "I'm going to my room," she pronounced. "Before you do something you'll regret."
"Not before you answer my question." In three strides, George was beside her, slamming his palm against the door and holding it shut, his eyes blazing as he glared down at his daughter. "What events? And what deserving people?"
Although Breanna was clearly unnerved by the vehemence of his response, she didn't cower, nor did she evade the question. "Stacie's beginning a new life with a new husband here in England, the country she loves but spent ten years away from. If those aren't life-altering events, I don't know what is. I realize you don't feel about her as I do, but I happen to think Stacie is wonderful. She and Lord Sheldrake deserve a long and happy future together." Breanna drew a slow, shaky breath. "Now please take your arm away and let me pass. I'd like to go upstairs and rest."
"In a minute," George ground out from between clenched teeth. He grabbed her arm, his stare probing hers with seething intensity. "And don't bother shouting for the servants. I don't intend to thrash you—not this time. But I do intend to get an answer. You say you were referring to your cousin's future, her right to be happy. Let's say I accept that. But I don't accept that ludicrous explanation about your comment regarding fate." His grip tightened. "What do you know that I don't?"
"Nothing." Breanna shook herself free, wearing that same determined look she'd worn when she aimed her pistol at him. "You know everything I do, and you have for far longer than I. But knowing and accepting are two different things."
"Knowing and accepting what?" George shouted, abandoning his last filaments of control.
"Just what I said." Breanna raised her chin, twin spots of color staining her cheeks. "That the right people belong together. Like Stacie and Lord Sheldrake." A pointed pause. "And Uncle Henry and Aunt Anne."
George went rigid, his air expelling in a hiss. Anne? What did his daughter know about Anne?
"I might have been a child, but even I could see how much in love she and Uncle Henry were," Breanna supplied. "Your bitterness was wasted. Aunt Anne cared only for her husband, just as Lord Sheldrake cares only for Stacie." An astute look. "Or is that repetition of history exactly what's bothering you so much?"
Fury exploded in George's skull.
"And I'm getting what I deserve?" he bellowed, grabbing Breanna's shoulders, shaking her violently, his fingers biting into her flesh until she whimpered. I'm getting what I deserve?" He flung her away from him, knowing that in another minute, he'd beat her so viciously, he'd ensure his own undoing. "Get out of here!" he thundered, wrenching open the door and shoving Breanna halfway across the hall. "Get out of my sight!"
He slammed the door in her wake, his entire body shaking with the force of his rage. That little bitch Anastasia had actually told the entire story to Breanna. It's the only way his daughter could have found out. Which meant that Anne, the faithless trollop, had confided the whole history of their lives to the child she should have had with him, but had given Henry instead.
Muttering an oath, George crossed over and sloshed a drink into his goblet. On the verge of tossing it down in a few hard gulps, he slammed it onto the sideboard and thrust it away. No, he ordered himself, eyeing his trembling hands. I'm already out of control. I can't compound it by getting drunk.
He gripped the edge of the sideboard, determined to stay, if not rational, then sober—sober enough to ponder all Breanna had just said.
And all she hadn't said.
Had she really told him all she knew? Or had that allusion to his getting what he deserved encompassed more than just her assessment of his bitterness, his solitary life? Had Anastasia confided in her cousin, told her she was close to exposing him as a culprit, a thief—or worse? Had she told her about Bates's visit to his office, wondered what urgent business a magistrate might have with Colby and Sons? Had she found something suspicious in his files—something she couldn't yet prove? Had she noticed anything out of the ordinary about his bills from Lyman and the few other shippers he had special financial arrangements with? Was it even worse than that? Had she actually managed to fit together enough pieces to deduce what was really being transported to the Continent?
And what the hell had Breanna meant about the life-altering events Anastasia had to look forward to after her wedding? Oh, she'd explained it away nicely with that drivel about her cousin becoming a bride, starting a whole new life. But George sensed there was more—a lot more.
Icy fear prickled up his spine.
Could Lyman be right? Could Anastasia be with child? Could that have been what Breanna was alluding to? Had Anastasia divulged that to her, then sworn her to secrecy? Was his wretched niece giving Sheldrake a child? Is that why she'd run off, yet remained in England?
No. Dammit, no. If she was pregnant, she'd have gone straight to Sheldrake.
Maybe she had.
Not according to Breanna.
But Breanna wouldn't admit such a truth—not if it meant betraying her cousin.
Still, Sheldrake was so bloody noble. If Anastasia had gone to him, told him she was carrying his child, it would have been Gretna Green he'd be driving to today, not Medford Manor.
