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"Um-hum. And on the back of each coin is the Colby family crest." The viscount caressed each veneer lovingly, then slipped the gold coin into Anastasia's hand, the silver one into Breanna's. "They remind me of you two: very much alike and yet so very different, each unique and rare, both worth far more than any bank's holdings." He squeezed their little fingers, closing them around their respective coins. "I want you both to promise me something."
"Of course." Breanna's eyes were wide.
"Each of you hold on to your coin. They're special gifts, from me to you. Keep them safe, somewhere you'll always be able to find them. Don't tell anyone else about the coins, or about your hiding places. We'll make the whole thing our secret. All right?"
Solemnly, the girls nodded.
The viscount gazed intently from one girl to the other. "The day may come when you're asked to give up your coins, for what might seem to be a very good reason, even one that's offered by someone you trust. Don't do it. Don't ever, under any circumstances, give the coins to anyone else, not even to your fathers." His mouth thinned into a grim line. "They wouldn't understand the coins' significance, anyway. But you will—perhaps not now, not entirely, for you're too young. Someday, however, you will. These coins represent each of you, and your commitment to our family. Wherever your lives take you, let them remind you of this moment and bring you back together again, to renew our family name and sustain it, knowing that you yourselves are the riches that bequeath it its value. Do that for me—and for each other."
Somehow both girls understood the importance, if not the full meaning, of what they were being asked. Together, they murmured, "We will, Grandfather."
"Good." With that, he rose, kissing the tops of each of their heads. "I'll leave you now, so you can exchange clothes. Remember what I said: you're extraordinarily special. I don't doubt you'll accomplish all your fathers didn't and more." He straightened, regarding them for a long, thoughtful moment. "I only wish I could make your paths home easier," he murmured half to himself.
Crossing the room, he stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him to ensure the girls' privacy and protect them from discovery. Then he veered toward the entranceway, determined to complete one crucial task before returning to the library to assume his role as peacemaker.
"Wells," he summoned, beckoning to his butler.
"Yes, sir?"
The viscount withdrew a sealed envelope from his coat pocket. "Have this delivered to my solicitor at once. It's imperative that he receive it—and that I receive written confirmation of that fact."
"I'll see to it immediately, my lord," Wells replied.
Nodding, the viscount handed over the envelope, fully aware of how drastic an action he was taking, how explosive the results might be.
He only prayed the rewards would outweigh the consequences.
* * *
Chapter 1
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Kent, England
July 1817
She was home.
Glancing out the carriage window, Anastasia drank in the sprawling countryside and the lovingly familiar roads of Kent, the winding path of oak trees and lush, colorful gardens that led to Medford Manor.
More than ten years had passed since she'd last been here. And yet she remembered that final day as if it were yesterday—a foggy, drizzly March morning when she and her parents had left England.
It had been the worst day of her life.
No, actually it had been a culmination of worst days, beginning a fortnight earlier when her beloved grandfather had died. Then had come the funeral—where she'd wept and wept—and the reading of the will, a formality that did nothing to ease her hollow sense of loss. She and Breanna had huddled together in the back of Mr. Fenshaw's office, alternately crying and comforting each other as the solicitor summarized the provisions their grandfather had made—something about dividing his assets in half and passing ownership of Colby and Sons to their fathers, to be shared equally.
Those are only things, Anastasia had wanted to scream. None of them can bring Grandfather back.
But she'd bitten her lip, swallowed her grief, and said nothing.
The next day, the unthinkable had happened.
Her father had taken her aside, explained that he, Mama, and she were about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. They were sailing for the States, opening an American branch of Colby and Sons in the thriving city of Philadelphia, starting a whole new life in a whole new country.
Anastasia had understood—far more than he'd realized.
With Grandfather's passing, the Colby family had ceased to exist. The final vestiges of it had died along with him, been dispensed along with his possessions. Uncle George and her father no longer had a reason to strive for the mutual tolerance they'd exerted during their father's lifetime. In fact, they wanted nothing more than to put an ocean between them.
