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Obviously, he truly was the same man her father had disliked, had turned away from all those years ago. "Stacie? Aren't you going to say anything?"
"I presume you've met the marquess," Anastasia replied. "Because I haven't. He was still at Oxford when we sailed for Philadelphia."
"Yes, I've met him. Many times, right here at Medford Manor. He advises Father on all his important business matters."
"And?"
"And … what?"
"What do you think of him?"
Breanna sighed. "He's very handsome, very charming, and—as you would expect—very intelligent."
"But…?"
"But nothing. He kisses my hand when he arrives and again when he leaves. The rest of the time he spends talking with Father, except on those embarrassing occasions when Father coerces him into having dinner with us. On those nights, he sits across the table from me—doubtless feeling as uncomfortable as I—makes polite conversation, and says good night." A tiny shrug. "He's very gracious, considering how obvious Father's intentions are. Still, gracious and enamored are a far cry from each other. And the ability to exchange pleasantries is hardly a basis for a marriage. Alth
ough Father insists otherwise."
"Uncle George would insist the sky was green if that would convince you and Lord Sheldrake to marry," Anastasia stated bluntly. "What I want to know is what you think. You've spoken of the marquess's reaction to you. What about your reaction to him? Could you have feelings for this man?"
"Feelings." Breanna repeated the word as if it tasted foreign on her tongue. "I'm not sure how to answer that. Lord Sheldrake is a fine man. I like and admire him. Are those feelings?"
"No."
Breanna started at her cousin's adamant reply, the resolute lift of her chin, and burst out laughing. "Oh, Stacie, I've missed your audacity more than you can know. I'm so glad you're home." She dismissed the subject of Damen Lockewood with a wave of her hand. "Enough about me. Let's discuss you. You must have met dozens of gentlemen in Philadelphia."
Anastasia frowned, but took her cousin's cue, letting the subject drop—for now. "I did. And they were all pleasant enough. But I suppose I never thought of them as anything other than acquaintances passing through my life. Part of me always knew I'd be returning to England. Papa knew that, too, which is why he never pressed me toward a commitment. Except once in a while when he'd remember that I was no longer eighteen. Then he'd push me, ever so gently, toward a particular gentleman." A pointed look. "Only I'd push back. I won't even consider marriage unless I fall in love. Neither should you."
A tentative knock on the bedchamber door interrupted their conversation.
"Yes?" Breanna called.
A young, uniformed girl poked her head in and glanced uneasily about as if she were afraid of intruding. "Pardon me…" Spying Breanna—and then Anastasia—her eyes widened in amazement. "My goodness."
Swiftly, Breanna rose and beckoned her in. "You're not losing your mind, Lizzy. Come in and meet my cousin. Anastasia—this is Lizzy. She assists Mrs. Charles at just about everything."
"Hello, Lizzy," Anastasia greeted her.
The young girl continued to stare. "I can't believe it. You're the same. I mean, you look the same. I mean…" Blushing, she dropped a curtsy. "I'm sorry. Pleasure to meet you, my lady."
"As it is to meet you."
"Did you need something, Lizzy?" Breanna pressed gently, as the maid continued to shake her head in wonder.
"Oh, yes." Lizzy stuck her hand in her apron pocket, fumbling until she'd extracted an envelope. "This just arrived for Lady Anastasia. Mrs. Charles asked me to bring it right up."
"Thank you." Anastasia stepped forward and took the letter with a smile. "And thank Mrs. Charles. I can't wait to see her again."
Nodding, Lizzy backed away until she butted up against the door. Reluctantly, she turned and slipped out.
"I think we're going to be getting a lot of that sort of reaction," Anastasia commented in amusement. She tore open the envelope.
"I suspect you're right." Breanna watched Anastasia read her message. "What is it?"
"A letter from Mr. Fenshaw. He's arranged the reading of Father's will for tomorrow. Uncle George and I are expected at his office at one o'clock." Anastasia paused, her brows knitting together in puzzlement. "He asks that you be there as well. Not for the will reading, but for another matter. A matter of great importance to both you and me. He's instructing us to bring the confidential gifts Grandfather gave us when we were six."
Her chin shot up, and her gaze met Breanna's. "The coins."
