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Damen tensed ever so fractionally. "Because it wasn't necessary. If you recall, your guardianship doesn't extend to Anastasia's finances."
A flinch, the anger wavering a bit. "How much will each of you be investing?"
"That's not your concern either. Not unless Anastasia wants to share that information with you. The choice is hers." Damen's eyes narrowed on George's face. "Why does this bother you so much, George? It's not as if it's your money Anastasia is committing."
Sucking in his breath, George brought himself under rigid control. "You're right. It's not. But she is my niece; Henry's only child. And I worry that she'll squander the funds he provided for her future. Surely you can understand that?"
"Oh, I understand perfectly." A meaningful pause. "But don't lose a moment's sleep over Anastasia's financial security. I take my role as her administrator very seriously, just as Henry intended. I'd never allow her to compromise her inheritance."
"Of course you wouldn't." Damen's pointed tone found its mark, and George flushed, cleared his throat. "Why don't we just drop the entire matter? I spoke without thinking. Of course my concerns are unfounded. With you managing Anastasia's assets, she'll never want for anything. I'm just glad you weren't offended by her rather forthright nature."
"I wasn't."
"Then why are you out here alone?" George forced a smile to his lips. "Or is that because you're passing time waiting for my lovely daughter to awaken from her long night of dancing?"
"Actually, there are several matters at the bank weighing heavily on my mind," Damen replied, choosing his words with purposeful care. "I only wish it had been Breanna I was contemplating. Your daughter has been one of the bright spots in my week. It occurred to me last night just how drab the past Seasons' balls have been without her there to light up the room."
This time there was a genuine, if still weak, quality to George's smile. "I'm pleased to hear that." He clapped Damen on the shoulder in an awkward gesture of friendship. "Then why don't we stop talking about finances and return to the manor? I'm sure Breanna is awake by now."
"A fine idea."
* * *
Breanna and Anastasia had just finished breakfast and were descending the stairs when the two men entered the manor.
"Ah, Breanna." George took a step forward, then paused, glancing uncertainly from one girl to the other.
"Yes, Father?" Breanna gathered up her skirts and moved forward, automatically touching her smooth knot of upswept hair to ensure it was in place.
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"Lord Sheldrake was wondering where you were," George responded, totally ignoring his niece. "I assured him you'd be awake by now."
"We were experimenting with Stacie's hair," Breanna responded, glancing proudly at Anastasia, whose hair had been arranged in much the same fashion as hers. "Doesn't it look lovely?"
"H-m-m-m?" George gave his niece a perfunctory look. "Oh. Yes, yes, of course."
A grin curved Anastasia's lips. "It's stayed put for nearly ten minutes now. That's a record, at least for me." Her laughing eyes met Damen's, and instantly she averted her gaze. "If you'll excuse me, I promised Mrs. Rhodes I'd give her Mama's recipe for glazed cross-buns. They were the talk of Philadelphia."
"I'm sure they were." George gave a dismissive wave. "By all means, go." He waited until she'd complied, then turned to Damen. "I'd best check on the rest of my guests. I'll leave Breanna in your capable hands."
"My pleasure." Damen gave a half-bow, smiling at Breanna as George turned and walked off.
But once George was gone, and for the briefest of instances, Damen's gaze flickered toward the kitchen, watching as Anastasia disappeared from view.
* * *
Dammit, George thought, hovering on the threshold of the billiards room, observing his guests as they played. What else could go wrong at this bloody party? First the news about Meade and his threats, then Rouge trying to renegotiate their deal, and now Sheldrake and his unexpected affinity for Anastasia.
Bad enough that Sheldrake was actually condoning the chit's squandering away funds that by all rights should have been his—and believing in her enough to invest his own money, to actually form a partnership. But the amount of time the marquess was spending with her—the waltzes, the early morning rides—how much of that was business and how much personal interest?
George had taken steps to find out how much money was being invested in that partnership—the right steps. It had been a stupid blunder on his part to ask Sheldrake outright how much of Anastasia's inheritance she was committing. With any luck, he'd withdrawn the question in time to avoid permanent damage. He'd find out in his usual fashion, from his usual source, who'd be receiving his instructions within the hour. As for the personal aspect of Sheldrake and Anastasia's relationship, he'd take care of that himself.
He needed Sheldrake. He needed more and better quality merchandise. He needed the money both would yield. And he needed time to get them—time he didn't have.
Only ten weeks until Anastasia's twenty-first birthday. If he didn't get his hands on Henry's money by then, it would slip through his fingers. Anastasia would be an independent woman, no longer under his guardianship; free to go where she pleased, live where she pleased, marry whomever she pleased.
And take her bloody inheritance with her.
