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Well, to her father that might have meant new beginnings and the thrill of expansion.
To Anastasia, it had meant something entirely different: that she'd never see Breanna again.
Which was why, on that foggy spring morning, she'd felt as if she were living a nightmare. She was bidding a final farewell to everything she held dear: Grandfather, England, Medford Manor—and Breanna.
She and her cousin had exchanged a tearful good-bye on the steps of Medford Manor—a brief one, given that Uncle George refused to take Breanna to see them off.
Not only didn't he share her anguish, he was also far too busy moving into his new home. He was, after all, the new Viscount Medford, a title he'd craved for years and which passed to him by right since he was older than his twin by twelve minutes.
Thus, Breanna and Anastasia had parted, hugging each other fiercely, exchanging their good-bye's amid promises to write every week.
They'd kept their word.
Throughout the years, weekly letters had sailed back and forth from England to the States, as the girls kept each other apprised of their lives. How different those lives had become—Breanna being groomed for the role of a proper English lady and Anastasia enjoying the slightly less sophisticated but more independent role afforded by life in Philadelphia. She'd never quite felt she belonged; she wasn't an American, for England was still, would always be, her home. Yet she wasn't a traditional English noblewoman either. And while she never stopped yearning for her country, she had to admit she felt a tremendous admiration for the American ideals and those who held them.
She'd also seen a thousand opportunities for expansion in the States; a great untapped world of natural resources to cultivate and trade. She'd asked her father dozens of questions, learned as much as she could about Colby and Sons: what an import and export company did, the kinds of goods her father traded, the contacts he made, even the lengths he went to to ensure neutral trade continued during the years America and Britain were at war,
Abruptly, eighteen months after the war ended, Anastasia's found
ation was snatched away. Her mother died of a fever, leaving her father grief-stricken and in shock. He never recovered. Eight months later, he passed away in his sleep, leaving Anastasia utterly, excruciatingly, alone.
Henry Colby's American solicitor, Mr. Carter, had sent for Anastasia, explaining that her father's will was held in England, given that Henry had assumed his daughter would choose to return there upon his death. However, if such was not the case, Mr. Fenshaw could forward the will to Philadelphia, where Mr. Carter would read it.
Anastasia had smiled softly, realizing how well her father had understood where her heart was. She'd thanked Mr. Carter, arranged to have him continue to oversee her father's local assets and to act as the American agent to Colby and Sons—a role he'd been groomed for—then packed her bags and booked passage on the next packet ship to Liverpool.
Breanna's letter had arrived in Philadelphia that very day, begging Anastasia to come home, to come straight to Medford Manor and move in with them. Even Father agrees this is the best thing for you, she'd added with a touch of ironic amusement.
Gratefully, Anastasia had decided to do just that. The last thing she wanted was to be totally alone. And being with Breanna again would bring great joy at a dismal time.
The ship had docked three days ago, at which time Uncle George's carriage had been ready and waiting. She'd spied the family crest instantly, and had nearly wept with happiness at the familiar sight.
She hadn't minded the length of the drive from Liverpool to Kent. She'd used the time to savor the winding country roads, the quaint villages and towns the carriage rolled through. She'd reacquainted herself with her country, reveled in the sheer joy of being back after more than a decade away.
And now, at long last, Medford Manor loomed ahead, a beacon of light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
Anastasia leaned out the carriage window, watching the manor draw closer, the gardens flowing around her like a cluster of dear friends, welcoming her home.
The front door burst open as the carriage rounded the drive, and a young woman rushed down the steps.
Anastasia didn't need to ask who it was.
It was like peering into a looking-glass, seeing a mirror image of herself gazing back at her. Even now, at almost twenty-one years old, they still looked like twins.
"Stacie!" Breanna waved frantically, and Anastasia nearly knocked over the footman in her haste to alight.
"Breanna!" She flung her arms around her cousin, alternately laughing and crying, more overwhelmed by this moment than even she'd realized.
The two girls, now women, drew back, stared at each other in joy and wonder.
"After all this time, I can't believe I'm seeing you." Anastasia grinned. "Seeing me," she corrected, taking in Breanna's delicate features and vibrant coloring.
"It is amazing," Breanna agreed, returning her cousin's scrutiny with rapt fascination. "I always wondered if we'd still look alike after all this time. Well, now I know." Her eyes sparkled. "I have a twin." She gripped Anastasia's hands. "I can't believe you're finally here."
"Nor can I. I feel as if an eternity's passed since I left. And yet, in some ways, it's like I never left at all. Never and forever all rolled into one." As she spoke, Anastasia gazed up at the manor, a knot of emotion tightening her throat. Here, after all these years, was the estate on which she and Breanna had frolicked as children. Only now their childhood was over, and she was entering Medford Manor with the maturity and self-sufficiency of an adult.
It was a sobering thought.
"Forever and never … yes, I feel the same way," Breanna agreed. "But more the former than the latter. Without your letters, I don't know what I would have done. I can't tell you how I missed you." She paused, watched the play of emotions on her cousin's face. "Stacie," she added softly. "I'm so sorry about your parents."
