Kate.” Anastasia waved away the suggestion. “I’ll just tie it back. That should suffice. After all, I’m going to a meeting, not a ball.” So saying, she snatched up a satin ribbon, tugging it into place as she walked. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.” She glanced at Breanna. “Are you coming?”
Her cousin stood, a spark lighting her eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Both George and Lord Sheldrake rose to their feet when Anastasia and Breanna entered the salon. Anastasia’s gaze bypassed her uncle altogether, going straight to the man who, for the next three months, held her financial future in his hands.
The marquess was as impeccably groomed and mannered today as he had been yesterday, his commanding presence—those bold good looks and that profound self-assurance—seeming to fill the room. Alongside his chair was propped the same portfolio he’d carried to Mr. Fenshaw’s office yesterday, only this morning it was twice as thick as it had been then.
“Excellent,” George pronounced, nodding his approval at the girls’ promptness. “You’re both here.” His glance flickered from Anastasia to Breanna and back again—and Anastasia had the distinct impression he hadn’t a notion which of them was his daughter.
“Ah, Breanna.” Clearly, Lord Sheldrake didn’t suffer from the same affliction. He stepped forward and walked straight to Breanna, bowing and kissing her hand. “Good morning. You look lovely, as always.” He turned to Anastasia, his expression altering from cordial to assessing. “Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well and are ready for our meeting?”
Staring into those probing silver-gray eyes, Anastasia wondered if he was taunting her or merely making light conversation. “I slept soundly, my lord,” she assured him. “I’m quite rested and ready to discuss my inheritance.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” The marquess turned to George. “Where can your niece and I meet in private?”
The viscount’s jaw dropped. “In private? I don’t think…”
“You know very well how I do business, George,” Lord Sheldrake broke in quietly. “My discussions with my clients are confidential. As of yesterday, Lady Anastasia is my client. Now, where can she and I meet?”
George inhaled sharply, then gave a terse nod. “Why don’t you stay right here? Breanna and I will busy ourselves elsewhere and meet you in the dining room in, say, an hour.”
“Fine.” The marquess moved back to his chair, gathered up his portfolio and removed some papers, placing them on the end table alongside the sofa. That done, he drew himself up, hands clasped behind him, and shot George an expectant look.
Reluctantly, the viscount signaled Breanna, then strode out of the salon. Breanna followed suit, but hovered in the doorway for an instant, tossing Anastasia an I-can’t-wait-to-hear-the-details look. Then she followed her father into the hallway, shutting the door in her wake.
Lord Sheldrake waited until the quiet click heralded the privacy he’d sought.
“Have a seat,” he instructed Anastasia, gesturing off-handedly at the mahogany settee opposite the sofa. Brow furrowed, he resumed perusing his stack of papers. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll explain all your father’s assets to you as simply as I can, then give you my recommendations with regard to investments. Or, if you’d prefer, I can just take care of things myself, and not trouble you at all. Whatever your preference, I will, of course, keep records of all the transactions I conduct on your behalf in the event you want to see where your inheritance has been invested and how its value grows.”
“Stop.” Anastasia held up her palm, certain she’d scream if he continued for one more moment. “First, you needn’t exert yourself searching for simple words of explanation. I am very familiar with financial terms. I’m also well acquainted with the options available to me— especially
Her cousin stood, a spark lighting her eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Both George and Lord Sheldrake rose to their feet when Anastasia and Breanna entered the salon. Anastasia’s gaze bypassed her uncle altogether, going straight to the man who, for the next three months, held her financial future in his hands.
The marquess was as impeccably groomed and mannered today as he had been yesterday, his commanding presence—those bold good looks and that profound self-assurance—seeming to fill the room. Alongside his chair was propped the same portfolio he’d carried to Mr. Fenshaw’s office yesterday, only this morning it was twice as thick as it had been then.
“Excellent,” George pronounced, nodding his approval at the girls’ promptness. “You’re both here.” His glance flickered from Anastasia to Breanna and back again—and Anastasia had the distinct impression he hadn’t a notion which of them was his daughter.
“Ah, Breanna.” Clearly, Lord Sheldrake didn’t suffer from the same affliction. He stepped forward and walked straight to Breanna, bowing and kissing her hand. “Good morning. You look lovely, as always.” He turned to Anastasia, his expression altering from cordial to assessing. “Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well and are ready for our meeting?”
Staring into those probing silver-gray eyes, Anastasia wondered if he was taunting her or merely making light conversation. “I slept soundly, my lord,” she assured him. “I’m quite rested and ready to discuss my inheritance.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” The marquess turned to George. “Where can your niece and I meet in private?”
The viscount’s jaw dropped. “In private? I don’t think…”
“You know very well how I do business, George,” Lord Sheldrake broke in quietly. “My discussions with my clients are confidential. As of yesterday, Lady Anastasia is my client. Now, where can she and I meet?”
George inhaled sharply, then gave a terse nod. “Why don’t you stay right here? Breanna and I will busy ourselves elsewhere and meet you in the dining room in, say, an hour.”
“Fine.” The marquess moved back to his chair, gathered up his portfolio and removed some papers, placing them on the end table alongside the sofa. That done, he drew himself up, hands clasped behind him, and shot George an expectant look.
Reluctantly, the viscount signaled Breanna, then strode out of the salon. Breanna followed suit, but hovered in the doorway for an instant, tossing Anastasia an I-can’t-wait-to-hear-the-details look. Then she followed her father into the hallway, shutting the door in her wake.
Lord Sheldrake waited until the quiet click heralded the privacy he’d sought.
“Have a seat,” he instructed Anastasia, gesturing off-handedly at the mahogany settee opposite the sofa. Brow furrowed, he resumed perusing his stack of papers. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll explain all your father’s assets to you as simply as I can, then give you my recommendations with regard to investments. Or, if you’d prefer, I can just take care of things myself, and not trouble you at all. Whatever your preference, I will, of course, keep records of all the transactions I conduct on your behalf in the event you want to see where your inheritance has been invested and how its value grows.”
“Stop.” Anastasia held up her palm, certain she’d scream if he continued for one more moment. “First, you needn’t exert yourself searching for simple words of explanation. I am very familiar with financial terms. I’m also well acquainted with the options available to me— especially
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