The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Trying to ignore his anger, Anastasia focused her gaze on Mr. Fenshaw. "When I was six, I didn't fully understand Grandfather's reasons. But I think I do now. He wanted Breanna and me to hold fast to something he feared was doomed to die along with him: our family. The coins display our family crest on one side, and Medford Manor on the other. They're a symbol—one that Grandfather felt was up to us to sustain. He said nothing about trading them in; in fact, he emphasized the contrary, insisting we keep them with us always. Well, if those were his wishes, then keep them we will. Unless you can read something from that document that gives us reason to believe Grandfather changed his mind. But in all due respect, an inheritance isn't that reason."

"Your logic is ridiculous…" George began anew.

Again, Mr. Fenshaw held up his palm, never looking away from Anastasia. "You refuse to give me your coin?"

"Yes, Mr. Fenshaw, I do. Please understand. I mean you no disrespect. You're a dear family friend. But even if my own father were to have asked, I wouldn't have given him that coin. Not when Grandfather specifically told me not to."

"I see." Fenshaw averted his head, studied Breanna. "And you?"

Breanna straightened her shoulders and folded her hands rigidly in her lap—as defiant a gesture as Anastasia had ever seen her make. "I feel the same way Stacie does," she declared without hesitation. "My coin remains where it is."

"You're both mad," George exclaimed, coming to his feet. Briskly, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Fenshaw, let me talk to them. We still have several months before their birthdays. I'm certain they'll change their minds by then."

"There's no need," Fenshaw responded.

"Pardon me?"

"I said, there's no need. I've heard all I must." He set down his quill, interlacing his fingers on the desk. "Clearly, your grandfather was right about you. You have all the qualities he most prayed you would have, loyalty not being the least of them. You've more than passed his test."

"Test?" both girls asked simultaneously.

"Yes. The viscount did indeed want you to keep those coins, not only then but forever—for all the reasons Anastasia just enumerated. He wanted to be certain you couldn't be tempted to part with them, not even for a large inheritance." Fenshaw's round cheeks glowed. "A fabricated inheritance, I might add."

George seemed to wilt on his feet. "You mean, there is no inheritance?"

"Oh, there's an inheritance, just not the one I spoke of."

"You said fifty thousand pounds apiece."

"Yes. The actual inheritance is one the late viscount began amassing the day Anastasia was born, compiled from profits he made over the ensuing years. It totals over four hundred thousand pounds—two hundred thousand pounds apiece."

"Four hundred thousand…" George murmured faintly.

"Actually, it's closer to six hundred thousand pounds," Kamen supplied. "Including all the interest that's accrued aver the years."

George swallowed, his eyes a bit glazed as they shifted from Damen to Fenshaw. "You're saying my father kept that amount of money separate and apart from what he left Henry and me?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Fenshaw confirmed. "For reasons of his own, your father wanted that sum to go directly to his granddaughters, rather than by way of his sons. So he made provisions to do just that—and modified those provisions the day he gave your daughter and niece their coins. Had Breanna and Anastasia willingly turned over their coins for fifty thousand pounds apiece, the entire four—pardon me—six hundred thousand pounds would have been donated to charity. Further, if both the girls were to die childless, the remainder of the fortune would go to charity after their deaths."

Mr. Fenshaw pointed to the bottom of the document. "It's clearly stipulated here that the mon

ey is to pass only to Breanna and Anastasia, then on to their children; or, should either of them die childless, the full amount is to pass to the other cousin. Under no circumstances were either you or Lord Henry to have access to this fortune."

"He would donate it to charity," George repeated woodenly. "My own father would have given away his money rather than leave it to me."

"To you or Lord Henry," Fenshaw reminded him. "Sir, I don't think the late viscount's decision was meant as an indignity, either to you or your brother. It was simply his way of ensuring the continuity of the Colby family."

Anastasia was scarcely listening at this point, so dazed was she by the steps her grandfather had taken. The six hundred thousand pounds was staggering enough. But what it represented—his faith in her and Breanna, in their ability to preserve what their fathers could not—that was even more overwhelming.

"Stacie?" Breanna touched her sleeve, speaking in an undertone so as to keep their conversation separate and apart from her father's discussion with Mr. Fenshaw. "Are you as astounded as I am?"

"I'm reeling," Anastasia replied. She inclined her head toward her cousin. "Breanna, do you realize how sure Grandfather was that you and I could do what our fathers could not?"

Solemnly, Breanna nodded.

"We won't let him down," Anastasia said fiercely. "Not under any circumstances." She tensed as her uncle snapped out a few final words to Mr. Fenshaw, reminding herself that—on the subject of not-under-any-circumstances—her uncle's resentment was at the top of the list. Combating it was going to be a formidable challenge, indeed.

"Pardon me, my lady." Damen Lockewood's voice broke into her thoughts.