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He needed passage on the next ship leaving for the Continent. He had no time to waste.
But he'd be back. Lady Breanna Colby could count on it.
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
The south gardens at Medford Manor had never looked more exquisite. Despite the fact that summer was at an end and the cooler days of September had arrived, the blossoms had never been brighter, the oaks' branches never more green.
Or perhaps it only seemed that way to Anastasia.
"My, you're looking euphoric," Breanna teased, as they strolled toward their favorite oak. "That wouldn't be because next week at this time you'll be the Marchioness of Sheldrake, now would it?"
With a glowing smile, Anastasia gazed about the gardens. "It just might. Actually, I pinch myself each morning to make sure I'm not dreaming. For weeks I wondered if the time would ever come when we all could put our fears behind us, when the nightmare we've been living would stop haunting us, and we could bid the past good-bye. I guess I'm only now starting to believe it's possible."
"Oh, it's possible, all right," Breanna assured her. "And no one deserves the resulting happiness more than you and Damen." A twinkle. "What's more, I think your betrothed agrees. In fact, judging by the way he stares at you when he thinks no one is watching, I suspect he might just drag you down that aisle to become his wife."
"He won't have to. If Wells doesn't restrain me with a firm grip, I'll probably run to the altar at breakneck speed."
Laughter bubbled up in Breanna's throat. "That might be one shock too many for our guests. Most of them still haven't recovered from your unorthodox business proposals at your coming-out ball. And now—a streak of silver and white, rushing down the aisle to accost her bridegroom—I don't think they're quite ready for that. Why, dozens of swooning guests would litter the aisle, blocking your return path."
Anastasia grinned. "Shocking the ton yet again. It sounds appealing. But for Wells's sake, I'll control myself. He's nervous enough about giving me away. But I can't think of anyone Grandfather would rather have represent him or Papa at my side."
"Nor can I. Wells is the perfect choice." Breanna glanced about them, savoring the beauty of the garden. "And this is the perfect spot for your wedding breakfast. There are so many happy memories here. It's fitting that we add one more—one extraordinarily important one."
"I agree." Anastasia reached the oak, traced its bark lovingly as she gazed up at the canopy of leaves. "Not to mention that if the guests become too tiresome, I can always scoot up here and try again to touch the sky."
A reminiscent smile touched Breanna's lips. "Don't stretch too high. You'll fall and reopen that scar of yours. And I have no intention of tending my cousin's injuries on her wedding day." Tenderness softened her features. "Besides, I think your climb will be unnecessary. The way you and Damen feel about each other, you're closer to heaven than any oak could take you."
Anastasia nodded, twisting a tumbled strand of hair about her finger, a look of wonder in her eyes. "I always knew love would be wonderful. But I never imagined how wonderful—not until Damen." Concern darted across her face, and she regarded her cousin with probing intensity. "Breanna, I want the same for you. I want you to find someone who loves you every bit as much as you deserve. I want your heart to skip a beat every time he walks into the room, and to pound furiously every time he takes you in his arms."
Breanna gave a tolerant shake of her head. "Stacie, I know what a romantic you are. And I love you for it, and for wanting me to be happy. But please try to understand. I am happy. Oh, I want all those things you just described—someday. For now, though, I'm so thrilled to be free. Free from Father's cruelty, free from the isolation he imposed on me. For the first time, I can do things like meet new people, visit their homes. I can invite other young women to tea. Why, Lady Margaret Warner and her friends aren't nearly as snobbish as I thought. These diversions may seem frivolous to you, but that's because you've been able to do them all your life. I haven't. So, I don't mind waiting a little longer to meet the man of my dreams."
A grudging sniff. "Damen said you needed time to come into your own. He likened you to a butterfly emerging from its cocoon." Anastasia rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her breasts. "The insufferable man is right again."
Breanna's eyes sparkled. "This marriage is going to be a lifetime of fireworks. Neither you nor Damen will ever be bored. Nor will I, just watching you." She gathered up her skirts and lowered herself to the grass, relishing the fact that grass stains were no longer a horrifying prospect, but a welcome result of a brush with nature. "I, in the meantime, will have the chance to flap my gossamer wings. You have no idea how excited I am."
"I think I'm beginning to." Anastasia dropped unceremoniously to the grass beside her. "Will you be all right while Damen and I are away? Three months is a long time for us to leave you alone."
"Alone?" One of Breanna's brows shot up in amusement. "I have a houseful of servants who are as elated about being released from bondage as I am. And I have Wells looking out for me—Wells, who's more of a father to me than my own ever was. I'm fine, Stacie. I promise you. There are no lingering scars from Father's actions. He and his colleagues are locked up. Cunnings is dead, and his paid assassin gone. Rouge has pulled up stakes and vanished. The ordeal is over. I want you and Damen to leave on your wedding trip as planned. Open that wonderful new bank of yours. Take long moonlight walks in Philadelphia. And try not to start another revolution—that is, during those scant hours when you're not abed." She blushed at her own comment, blurted out before she could censor it.
Anastasia dissolved into laughter. "The butterfly is already out of its cocoon," she observed. "By the time Damen and I return, you'll be soaring the skies like an eagle." She took Breanna's hand in hers. "We'll be back before Christmas. Then, as soon as we return, we'll hold a huge party at Medford Manor—to celebrate the holidays and both of our twenty-first birthdays. By that time we'll both be of age."
"Yes we will." Breanna plucked a blade of grass, an air of gravity settling over her. "I'll miss you, Stacie," she said softly. "Not so much on your wedding trip, but after. We're finally reunited after ten long years. Selfishly, I suppose I'm not ready to say good-bye. Even if you're only off to London, where you and Damen will be living. It's still not the same as having you here."
Anastasia swallowed deeply, her grip on Breanna's hand tightening. "I'll miss you, too. Terribly. And I'll miss Medford Manor." Tears blurred her eyes as she gazed, once again, across the acres and acres of beloved grounds. "Part of my heart will always be here. Because you, Wells, Mrs. Rhodes—and everyone from Mrs. Charles to Lizzy—are my family. And family is the most precious gift life has to offer. No matter where I go, Medford Manor will always be home…" She broke off, a certain conversation she and Damen had shared on a moonlit balcony resurging like the tide.
Is it possible to miss home even when you're right there in it?
Yes. When that home is no longer the same as the one you remember. And the one you remem
ber is the one you miss.
And then the second conversation, the one they'd had in bed, after their long hours of lovemaking.
I think about that money often, about what Breanna and I can do with it that would ensure Grandfather's wishes are carried out. I feel as if the answer is right here in our own backyard, only we have yet to see it. But whatever it is, it has to be something that would bind our family together, not only now but for generations—actually, forever, if I had my way … a uniting force, a means to entwine Breanna's and my futures, and the futures of our children.
