Page 2 of Winterset

“Oh, yes, miss,” Mrs. Michaels assured her. “I have already made sure of that. Baked first thing this morning, they were, and Cook just set them out to cool.”

“Thank you. Then if you would be so good as to send a message to the stables to have the trap brought around at ten, I will take the pies to the village.”

“Of course, miss.”

Anna went back down the hall to the smaller dining room where she and her brother, Kit, normally took all their meals. Kit, always an early riser, was already seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee, a habit he had picked up on his tour of the Continent a few years ago.

“Hallo, Annie,” Kit said, rising to his feet and pulling out the chair on his left hand for her. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Very. And you?” She poured herself a cup of tea.

Theirs was a rather informal household. Their mother had died when Anna was fourteen, and she had taken over the reins of the household for her father and younger brother. It had seemed foolish to her to run their cozy manor house, with only the three of them in it, with the formality that their mother, a de Winter by birth and used to a grander lifestyle, had kept at Holcomb Manor. It had taken some sharp exchanges with the housekeeper, who regarded tradition as sacrosanct, and even a few appeals to her father for support, but Anna, strong-willed despite her seemingly placid nature, had won out in the end. As a result, their footmen did not wear livery, their meals were served by no more than two servants, and breakfast was unattended, with the food set out in chafing dishes along the sideboard, and Anna and her brother serving themselves.

As they ate, Kit and Anna chatted with the ease of people who had spent almost their entire lives in each other’s company. The only two children of their parents’ marriage and just two years apart in age, they had, since they were young, been each other’s chief companions and confidants. They had perforce seen less of each other after Kit grew old enough to go off to school and, later, when he took the tour of the Continent that was customary among young men of their class. At their father’s death two years ago, he had returned and taken up his position as the heir to Sir Edmund’s title and estate, and he and Anna had fallen easily back into their old habits.

They were much alike in temperament, both of them possessed of calm, easygoing personalities, quick to laugh and slow to flare into anger. Both loved their old home, parts of which dated from the Middle Ages, as well as the land surrounding it, and as young as they were, they had taken on uncomplainingly the responsibilities of maintaining the largest estate in this part of Gloucestershire.

In looks they were somewhat less alike. Anna had a tall, willowy build like her father, and the dark blue eyes and light brown hair, streaked with gold, of their mother, whereas Kit was built along sturdier lines, and his blond, green-eyed coloring was that of their father. Anna’s delicately heart-shaped face was unlike Kit’s square-jawed countenance, but there was no mistaking the similarity of their mouths, which tilted up slightly at either end, giving them a look as if they were secretly amused.

They talked about the day that lay ahead of them. While Anna made her calls in the village, Kit would be spending much of the day closeted with the manager of the estate. The Holcomb family, long overshadowed by the grander and showier lords and ladies de Winter, was nevertheless a family of some distinction and wealth, their family having lived here since the early Middle Ages, and since their mother and her brother had been the last of the de Winter line, Kit was necessarily involved in that much larger estate, as well.

“I don’t envy you the task,” Anna told him, smiling. “I think duty calls are infinitely preferable.”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. Not if they involve going to see the squire’s wife. Having to listen to her extol the virtues of her children is more than I can bear. Miles is all right, I suppose. A little moody—”

“Sensitive,” Anna stuck in, her eyes dancing with amusement. “His mother assures me that he is sensitive, even poetic.”

Kit gave a little snort of derision. “Well, at least he is usually quiet. His sister, on the other hand, is a blasted chatterbox. And she giggles. But to hear Mrs. Bennett tell it, you’d think she was the epitome of charm and grace.”

“That is because her mother cherishes fond hopes of your marrying Miss Bennett.”

Kit’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. Why else would she be forever hinting at what a fine wife Felicity will make?”

“But—I mean, put aside the fact that Felicity is spotty and graceless and never ceases her prattle, the girl is only seventeen years old! She isn’t even out yet.”

“Those are the veriest trifles in Mrs. Bennett’s mind, I can assure you. Fortunately, I am not visiting her today, or I would have to endure her trotting Felicity out. I think she hopes that we will become fast friends and that will recommend her to you.”

Kit let out a short bark of laughter. “Thirty minutes spent in her company would, I should think, ensure that you would never be friends.”

Anna smiled in agreement, and they finished their breakfast in a pleasant silence. Afterward, Anna spent some time on the household books, then donned her hat and gloves and went out front, where the pony and trap were waiting for her.

Two of the pot boys carefully carried out the pies and settled them in a nest of towels on the floor of the trap, and Anna climbed up into the vehicle, taking the reins from the groom. She glanced across the yard and saw their gamekeeper standing several yards down the driveway. She gave the reins a little slap, and the horse started forward. As she approached him, the gamekeeper doffed his hat in respectful greeting, and Anna reined in beside him.

“Rankin,” she said, nodding her head.

“Good day, Miss Anna.” He looked up at her. “I delivered that package.”

“Very good,” Anna responded. “And how was everything?”

The man shrugged. “As usual, miss, as usual.”

Anna nodded. “Do they need anything?”

“No’m, not so as Bradbury asked. I took ’em a pheasant, as well. He usually likes that.”

“Good. Thank you, Rankin.”