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Anastasia and Damen's home was well under way.
It hadn't been an easy feat to accomplish—not given the speed with which they wanted everything done. For starters, Breanna had sped up the process by doing a few quick sketches—based on what she knew of her cousin's tastes and what she suspected of Damen's—the week before their wedding. She'd showed the sketches to the soon-to-be newlyweds— and gotten their instant and unconditional approval.
Then again, Breanna had reflected with a smile, the
y were so absorbed in each other, she doubted they'd even studied her sketches. In fact, they'd probably have made a fuss over them even if she'd flourished pictures of a giant chamber pot and enthusiastically heralded them as sketches of their new manor—a manor that was destined to be the most exquisite home in all of England.
Ah, love.
Well, Stacie and Damen were more than entitled to that love. Lord knows, they'd been to hell and back waiting for the day they could wed. And it had come—a perfect day that united a perfect couple. As for the sketches—it didn't matter whether they'd truly seen them or not. Breanna's instincts told her they'd be pleased.
That very day, she'd taken action. The best architects had been hired, as well as the finest craftsmen, with the understanding that the Marquess and Marchioness of Sheldrake's home was to be completed as quickly as possible without compromising quality.
Everyone had taken that order to heart and, within days, plans had been drawn up. Those plans were approved on the day before the wedding—by Breanna. That she'd only agreed to do after Stacie had all but begged her. It seemed the bride-to-be was far too excited to sit still and look at drawings, and besides, she'd added brightly, Breanna was the artistic one in the family. So didn't it make sense for her to look over the plans? Finally, Breanna had relented, and taken over the task herself. As a result, everything proceeded on schedule and, on the day Stacie and Damen left for their wedding trip, a work crew arrived at the site and construction began.
The way things looked now, the manor would be finished before the Season began in March.
And not a minute too soon, Breanna thought, smoothing her hair as she strolled through the gardens, watching the structure take shape. Damen had made it abundantly clear that he intended to fill that house with children—as soon as nature permitted. Knowing Damen and Stacie... well, Breanna wanted this house ready.
She fingered the folds of her mantle, nodding her approval as she angled her head this way and that, watching the manor take on detail and dimension. Nothing too elaborate. Just a room y, air y, lovely home, filled with light and love.
Especially love.
She smiled, thinking with more than a little excitement that Stacie and Damen should be returning from the States any time now. They'd been away nearly three months, and Stacie had promised they'd be back for Christmas.
The wedding trip had been an exciting one, according to the letters Breanna had received. Fidelity Union and Trust—Stacie and Damen's bank—had opened its doors in October and was already thriving. Judging from the newspaper clippings Stacie had included with her letters, the bank was the financial triumph of Philadelphia, a perfect merging of the Lockewoods and the Colbys. Enough so that the new Mr. and Mrs. Lockewood weren't needed at all, and could spend loomed ahead—filled with house parties and laughter—and she herself had a full life to lead. One she'd tentatively but successfully initiated as soon as the trauma—and the scandal—of her father's arrest had begun to die down.
She'd been prepared to be ostracized. Most especially by the ton. But, to her surprise, people were more sympathetic to her plight than she'd realized, somehow coming to the conclusion that her only offense was being George Colby's daughter—a bitter twist of fate rather than a character flaw. One by one, callers began coming by; first, matrons whose kind hearts compelled them to soothe and comfort her. Then, their daughters—young women she'd met at the few parties she'd attended two Seasons ago.
And then the major turning point had occurred. Lady Margaret Warner, who'd been affable toward Breanna since Anastasia's coming-out last summer, had come to call. Lady Margaret's visit was a signal to the inner circle of young noblewomen who followed her example—a signal that it was socially acceptable to associate with Breanna Colby. Tacitly, she instructed them to follow suit. They began visiting Medford Manor in a steady trickle—to gossip, yes, but eventually, upon learning of Breanna's artistic talents, to show her their needlepoints, to ask her opinion of their sketching. And, when she responded with warmth and encouragement, they began inviting her to their homes as well.
Breanna was amazed at her own transformation. In fact, she discovered she was not at all the loner she'd believed herself to be. Instead, she was hungry for companionship—companionship she could receive and reciprocate, now that her oppressive father was gone
In no time at all, she had friends, homes to visit, events to attend. Her days were no longer spent in lonely isolation—arranging and rearranging her porcelain figures, sketching, and reading. Guests arrived several times a day, including even an occasional gentleman or two. No one particularly enthralling. Then again, she wasn't looking to be enthralled. All she wanted was a bit of youthful merriment: some conversation, a stroll, perhaps even a little flirtation; the very things she'd been denied.
So what if the gentlemen were a trifle bland, acceptable rather than exhilarating? Exhilarating had never been a trait she was attracted to, anyway. Stable, even tempered, well-mannered—that was what she felt comfortable with.
Still, she was becoming a bit bored, feeling oddly restless these past few weeks.
Well, all that would vanish the instant Stacie returned.
Our house party, she thought suddenly, her foot poised on the first entranceway step. The one Stacie proposed before she left.
Excitement flared inside her. How could I have missed this opportunity? she mused, recalling her cousin's idea to celebrate both their comings-of-age with a gala party at Medford Manor. Stacie hadn't specified a date. Well, now was the perfect time. Stacie's twenty first birthday had arrived in October, and her own had occurred just last week. Plus, the celebration could be not only in honor of their birthdays, but in honor of Stacie and Damen's homecoming. And it would herald the holiday season.
It was ideal. The more she thought about it, the more enthused she became. In fact, she'd sit down with Wells right now, begin a guest list. Invitations could be sent out in a matter of days. But would that be enough time, with Christmas a mere fortnight away?
Gathering up her mantle, Breanna scooted up the steps, bursting through the front door and colliding with Wells at his post.
“Oh, Wells, I'm sorry.”
The butler straightened, smoothing his uniform and tossing her a look that was more amused than it was bothered. “It's quite all right, Miss Breanna. Although I must admit that, for a moment, I thought Miss Stacie had returned.”
Breanna's eyes sparkled, and she laughed aloud. “Not yet. But any day now. That's why I was in such a hurry. Do you remember that house party Stacie and I toyed with having when she returned? What would you think about planning it now, and making it a homecoming, holiday, and birthday celebration all rolled into one? I know, I know,” she rushed on, as Wells opened his mouth to reply. “It's not enough notice to give our guests. I should have done this sooner. But it completely slipped my mind. Perhaps if I hand-delivered the invitations myself, it would soothe enough feathers to make the party possible?” She shot Wells a hopeful look.
“I doubt it,” he replied.
Her entire face fell. “Very well then. We'll host the party after the holidays.”
