Free A Daughter's Inheritance by Tracie Peterson, Judith Miller

shook hands with Mortimer and walked him to the front door, thankful the house was finally quiet and the guests had departed.

5
    Thus far, being at her aunt and uncle’s home hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable as Fanny had anticipated. After Uncle Jonas’s behavior during the reading of the will, she’d expected to be the object of his anger. Surprisingly, he’d proved most amiable during supper, even inquiring if she’d taken an interest in any young men. This was a topic that had made her the recipient of much teasing from both Jefferson and George throughout the remainder of the evening—at least until she and Amanda escaped upstairs.
    The two girls curled into the comfortable chairs situated at the far end of Amanda’s bedroom. Victoria Broadmoor had objected to the easy chairs, stating they were far too masculine for a young lady’s sitting room. But Amanda had successfully argued that once upholstered in rose and beige silk damask, they would be perfect. Fanny was glad her cousin had won the argument, for the chairs were far more comfortable than the straight-back, open-arm chairs in her own rooms at Broadmoor Mansion.
    “I’m pleased you agreed to come and stay with us until we leave for the island. I find it a great comfort. It’s so terribly sad to lose the people we love,” Amanda said with a sigh.
    “I’m glad I didn’t remain at the mansion, too. I know I would have been lonely.” Fanny tucked her legs beneath her and rearranged her skirts. Aunt Victoria would certainly disapprove of the unladylike position. “I’m thankful your father was more pleasant at supper. He nearly frightened me to death when he knocked over his chair at the reading of the will this afternoon.”
    “His reaction was startling. I asked Mother about it, and she said he sometimes acts strange when he’s caught off guard. She attributed his offensive behavior to grief over Grandfather’s death and the unexpected contents of the will.”
    Fanny didn’t argue. Perhaps Aunt Victoria was correct and her uncle was suffering from grief. If so, he’d quickly recovered, for he’d been all smiles at the supper table while quizzing her about any beaus and the possibility of her grand tour. Neither topic interested Fanny in the least. “I was pleased your father at least mentioned my love of Broadmoor Island. He didn’t seem overly put off when I suggested remaining there year-round. Do you think he might agree?”
    “Oh, Fanny, don’t be silly. He didn’t argue at the supper table, but I don’t believe either of my parents would agree to such an arrangement. And why would you want to live on the island during the winter? There’s nobody there except the help. What would you do with yourself once the cold weather set in?”
    “The Atwells are there, and Michael would take me ice fishing. I could help him with the chores. I’m certain I could find plenty to keep me busy.”
    “You? Doing chores? Will you milk the cows or perhaps feed the chickens?” Amanda’s lilting laughter filled the room.
    Fanny folded her arms across her chest. “I can do those things. You forget I’ve spent much more time on the island than the rest of you. I could milk a cow years ago, and I learned to gather eggs without being pecked by the hens, too.”
    “Well, those are accomplishments all young ladies of society want to list among their credentials. Really , Fanny. I do understand that you’re not interested in the social life of the family, but milking cows is carrying the matter too far.”
    “And what do you think you’ll be required to do if you truly want to work with the less fortunate? Or have you changed your mind since traveling abroad?”
    Amanda shook her head. Fanny was mystified when her cousin’s blond tresses remained perfectly in place. Why wouldn’t her hair cooperate like Amanda’s?
    “I haven’t changed my mind in the least, but I don’t consider charitable work on the same level as milking cows and feeding