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There had to be a way to reap the benefits of her death without killing her.
There was, George determined abruptly. He had to stage her death, convince everyone she was dead when she'd really be very much alive, warming the bed of Rouge's client, while he'd be reaping the rewards.
Poor Anastasia. She wouldn't really be dead—but she'd sure as hell wish she was.
An ugly laugh escaped George's lips, all the effects of the brandy vanishing as the pieces of his plan fell into place.
Bates. He'd begin with Bates. From there, the rest would be easy…
Just before dawn, George emerged from his study, feeling more in control than he had in months. He went directly to the entranceway, summoning Wells with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, my lord?" the butler said politely, trying not to stare at Lord Medford's disheveled state.
"Wells, I need you to do something for me." He stuffed a note in the butler's hand. "Have this delivered to Bates immediately. I want him here in one hour. When he arrives, show him directly to my study." A meaningful pause. "No one else is to know about the magistrate's visit. In fact…" He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Arrange for Breanna and Anastasia to be at the stables, or in the far gardens, or somewhere equally remote when Bates arrives. Have their breakfast served there, if need be. I don't want them in this manor during Bates's visit. Is that clear?"
For a moment, Wells said nothing. Then, he nodded. "Quite clear, sir."
* * *
Anastasia hadn't slept a wink all night.
She and Breanna had talked until half after three, analyzing what Anastasia had found in that appointment book, trying to fit it together with Bates's visit and this mysterious Rouge. They were both frustrated by their lack of ability to do anything, although they saw the wisdom of leaving things in Damen's hands—for now. Still, they couldn't stop their minds from racing as they discussed the possibilities, the options, the dangers. Nor could they shake the feeling that they were hovering on the brink of something explosive, and that it was up to them to keep their eyes and ears open in order to prevent it. After all, Damen might be the wiser and safer choice to actively investigate matters, but they were the ones who were living here.
They'd retired to their separate chambers a few hours before dawn, agreeing to try to get some rest, then resume their discussion at dawn while taking a long walk through the gardens.
For Anastasia, sleep hadn't come.
She'd finally given up, climbing out of bed and taking her small, ornate strongbox out of the nightstand drawer. Opening it, she'd smiled fondly as she sifted through the mementos of her parents and the ten years of correspondence with Breanna, reaching beneath them to extract the precious gold coin her grandfather had bequeathed her a veritable lifetime ago.
What should I do, Grandfather? she pondered silently, leaving her bed and crossing over to the window, staring out across the grounds and clutching the coin in her hand. I know you perceived Papa and Uncle George's animosity, but did you ever have any idea it would come to this?
She glanced down at the coin, tracing the beloved imprint of Medford Manor, then flipping the coin over to caress the elegant seal that signified the Colby family name.
A name her uncle was bent on destroying.
"I see you couldn't sleep either." Breanna came up behind her cousin, sighing as she saw what Anastasia clutched in her hand. "I was cradling my coin for the longest time, too, hoping it would help supply the answers."
"And did it?" Stacie asked softly.
"I think we're going to have to do that on our own."
"I agree." Anastasia continued staring off into the distance, studying all the beloved places where she and Breanna had played as girls, then raising her eyes up to the heavens. "He's counting on us, Breanna," she murmured. "Somewhere up there, Grandfather is watching and counting on us to set things right."
"And we will." Breanna followed Anastasia's gaze. "He has faith in us, Stacie. Giving us the coins, leaving us that trust fund—those were his ways of making sure we'd always recall how deeply he believes in us. Just as he believes we'd never let him down."
"I know that," Anastasia replied. "I just wish…" She broke off, a fragment of memory from so long ago flashing through her mind.
You're extraordinarily special. I don't doubt you'll accomplish all your fathers didn't and more. Anastasia could hear her grandfather's voice as if he were standing there beside her, having just presented her and Breanna with their coins. I only wish I could make your paths home easier…
"'I only wish I could make your paths home easier,'" she repeated aloud. "That's what Grandfather said when he gave us our coins. It's as if he had a sixth sense of how complex the situation would become—even if he was spared having to live through it firsthand."
"It wouldn't surprise me if he realized how deep my father's hatred ran—and what he was capable of," Breanna murmured in agreement, as Anastasia's memory triggered her own. "Grandfather was an extraordinary man. He seemed to know us better than we knew ourselves."
"Indeed he did. Our faults, our virtues, even our dreams."
Hearing the tremor in Anastasia's voice, Breanna intentionally lightened the mood. "Speaking of our dreams, one thing I'm sure Grandfather is extremely pleased about is you and Damen. I don't think he could have picked a more perfect man for you—someone who might actually manage to keep you in line. Occasionally."
That elicited a grin. "When I'm not keeping him in line. But you're right. Grandfather would be pleased. He and Papa both had great respect for Damen. I'm sure they'd applaud the idea of us sharing our lives." Anastasia hesitated a moment, then turned to meet her cousin's gaze. "Breanna, I didn't mention this last night because of the gravity of our discussion. Still, I want you to be the first to know—Damen's asked me to marry him. Not now, of course," she added quickly. "Not until this nightmare is behind us."
