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A bitter laugh. "All the more reason why I've got to get my hands on the rest of that inheritance. Before my bloody niece squanders away every last pence." He leaned forward, glared at his companion. "Did you get that message off to the Continent?"
"The very night I got it."
"Good. Now keep your eyes on Sheldrake. And make sure he keeps his eyes off Anastasia."
* * *
Chapter 10
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By half after nine that morning, the girls were—even to the most discerning observer—each other.
The transformation took a surprisingly short time to complete: a swap of gowns, a few quick pointers on how to keep Anastasia's hair from tumbling free, some powder on Breanna's bruise, and a few practice sessions—Anastasia on the proper articulation of words, and Breanna on the fundamental points underlying Anastasia and Damen's partnership.
"I'd forgotten how much I enjoy being assertive," Breanna teased, parading around the bedchamber in Anastasia's bolder, more confident stride. "I'll be sure to voice all my opinions between mouthfuls."
"I wouldn't," Anastasia cautioned dryly, holding her perfectly coiffed head at just the right angle. "Uncle George made it clear to me he doesn't welcome honesty. He's also not too thrilled with me right now. So I would curb my forthrightness, if I were you."
"But you are me." Breanna grinned. "Remember?"
Anastasia couldn't stifle a smile. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely. I'll enjoy it even more when I see you and Lord Sheldrake go off for a private stroll. I wonder what he'll say when you tell him who he's really strolling with."
That brought an impish spark to Anastasia's eyes. "When I tell him who he's really strolling with. I plan to savor my secret, wait until the right moment to disclose it. I'm looking forward to outwitting Damen Lockewood. So far, I've managed only to equal him—in intelligence, in inventiveness, even on horseback. It's time I won at something."
Breanna rolled her eyes. "You're impossible. I hope the marquess is up for the challenge he's about to face. He might be a financial genius, but no transaction he's concluded has prepared him for you. Of that, I'm certain."
A knock at the door interrupted their chatter.
"Yes?" Anastasia called out, given that it was Breanna's room—supposedly her room—in which they were dressing.
Lizzy poked her head in. "Pardon me, m'lady," she said, her gaze fixed on Anastasia. "But your father asked me to tell you that the marquess has arrived. They're awaiting you and Lady Anastasia in the dining room."
"Thank you, Lizzy," Anastasia replied serenely. "We'll be down in a moment."
"Very good, m'lady." The door shut behind her.
"Now that
was a good start," Anastasia commented.
She gathered up her skirts in Breanna's customary graceful manner.
"Indeed," Breanna agreed. She tied her hair back with a ribbon, making sure to let one or two burnished strands tumble onto her cheeks. "Come, Breanna," she urged with a twinkle. "Your suitor awaits."
* * *
Damen rose the minute the girls entered the room, his keen silver gaze shifting from Breanna to Anastasia and back again. "Good morning, ladies. It's a pleasure to see you both."
"And you, my lord," Breanna returned immediately. She smiled, then walked over to Anastasia's seat, giving her father a measured look. "Good morning, Uncle George."
George's nod was customarily aloof. "Anastasia." He turned to the girl he presumed to be his daughter. "Breanna." With that, he reseated himself, signaling for the footmen to serve their meal.
"Anastasia, I was just telling your uncle about our meeting yesterday," Damen said, sipping at his tea. "But it seems you'd already spoken to him about it."
"Yes, I did," Breanna replied, choosing the strawberry jelly rather than her customary apple, just as Anastasia would have. "Right after I returned. Actually, I should have told him about my plans before I left Medford Manor. As it was, he was terribly worried about me. I'm going to have to learn to curb my independent streak. As Uncle George rightfully pointed out, this is England, not the States."
