The Silver Coin Read Free

I’m sorry.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed Wells’s lined cheek. “You, my friend, have rescued me more times than I care to count. You’re a constant source of amazement.”
    A coiner of his mouth lifted as he took her mantle, hung it away. “You and Miss Stacie keep me young. Exhausted, but young.” He turned back to her, growing sober. “However, there is one difference. Miss Stacie has found the future your grandfather prayed she’d find. She’s happy, whole. But you—I worry about you, Miss Breanna. You’re still searching. You rarely consider your own happiness. So it’s up to me to do it for you.”
    “By happiness I assume you mean properly wed,” Breanna noted dryly. She gave Wells’s arm a squeeze. “Well, stop worrying. I barely give marriage a second thought”
    “I know. That’s why I worry.”
    She chewed her lip to keep from chuckling at his forlorn tone. “I hate to shatter your dreams, Wells, but if you’ve planned this party in the hopes that I’ll meet my future husband there, you’re bound for disappointment I’m doubtless acquainted with all the guests you’ve chosen to invite. And, as I conjure up a memory of each one of them…” She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s just say it’s unlikely I’ll be making any wedding plans this coming year.” A sudden notion struck, and she arched a suspicious brow in Wells’s direction. “Idoknow all our guests, don’t I, Wells? You haven’t arranged any chance encounters with potential suitors?”
    He sighed. “Unfortunately, no. Although not for want of trying. It’s just that all the eligible gentlemen I had in mind are unavailable; either because they’re away or because they have the poor judgment to be involved with other women—women who are unquestionably less remarkable than you. However, I’m hoping that Lord Sheldrake will be able to suggest—”
    “No,” Breanna “interrupted. “I don’t want Damen playing Cupid.”
    “But—”
    “Absolutely not.” She gave a vehement shake of her head. The gesture loosened one of her smoothly coiffed auburn tresses enough to send it toppling to her neck—a condition she promptly rectified by tucking the tress back beneath its pin. “I’ll leave my future to fate. And sowill you,” she added meaningfully.
    Before Wells could further his argument, a knock sounded at the front door.
    Breanna pivoted about, eyeing the door quizzically. “Are we expecting anyone?”
    “Perhaps fate,” Wells suggested wryly.
    A grin. “Then by all means, let her in.”
    Wells complied, turning the handle and swinging the door wide.
    A uniformed messenger stood on the step, turning up his collar against the winter chill. “I have a package for Lady Breanna Colby,” he announced to Wells, gripping a box in both hands.
    “I am she.” Breanna stepped forward, accepting the package and examining it curiously.”Iwonder whoit’sfrom,” she murmured, waiting until the messenger had received his shillings and gone before investigating further.
    “One of your suitors, perhaps?”
    “I don’t have any suitors, Wells,” she corrected, wriggling the top off the box. “I merely have…” Her voice trailed off as she peeled back the paper, looked inside. “What in the name of…” She placed the box on a low table in the hallway, and lifted out two small dolls, both with red hair and green eyes. The dolls wore identical pale-blue day dresses. Each frock was torn in the same spot—on the left side of the chest— and was marred by a bright spot of what appeared to be red paint.
    Red paint that looked for all the world like blood.
    “Who sent these?” Wells demanded, scowling at the dolls.
    A cold knot of dread was beginning to form in Breanna’s stomach—a knot she couldn’t explain but that tightened more with each passing second.
    Her heart thudding faster, she reached back into the box, snatching up the small square note that had been propped against the dolls’ heads so as not to go