Page 53 of Winterset

“Someone who envisioned great things ahead of them?” Anna ventured.

“No. I’ll tell you who—the same person who named the other set of twins, my older brother and sister, Theodosius and Thisbe.”

“Oh, my.”

He flashed a smile at her, and she felt her insides melt. “You see? My father thinks little of importance happened after the fall of Rome.”

“And did not your mother object?”

“My mother, I believe, proposed my name and my sister Olivia’s. Kyria was something of a compromise, being Greek for Father and pleasant-sounding for Mother. But she is inclined to give in to my father on such issues as names, because her mind is concerned with more important things—social reforms, the vote for women, child labor laws.”

“I think your mother sounds like a very good person.”

“Oh, she is. So good, in fact, that one can sometimes find it difficult to live up to her expectations.”

“Surely you have not failed her expectations.”

“Of course I have. We all live in fear of her.”

Anna laughed. “What a piece of flummery! I don’t believe you for an instant. I have never met people who are less afraid of anything than you and your brothers and sister.”

“Ah, but you have never met my mother,” he retorted with a smile.

They continued with such banter as they rode back to Winterset, but once there, they set about looking diligently for the old household records.

First they searched the small locked room where the household silver had always been kept, but there was no sign of records there. They moved on to the study, then the library, but found no household accounts, new or old.

“The estate manager’s office!” Anna exclaimed after a moment. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. He had a small house on the grounds—it’s beyond the stables, and when my father took over the estate, he transferred everything to our own estate manager. The cottage has been closed up ever since, but I wonder if maybe they left all the old records there in his office.”

“It’s worth a try,” Reed agreed.

It took some time to find the appropriate key, and in the end, they came up with four that might open the office. Taking them all in hand, Reed and Anna strode across the yard and past the stables, walking the path that led past a copse of trees to a small house. There was a door on the side of the house that opened directly into the estate office.

One of the keys worked, although the lock turned with the creak of age and disuse, and Reed pushed the door open, revealing a small room containing a desk and some cabinets, as well as a few open bookcases. There were also two large trunks lying behind and beside the desk, and smaller boxes stacked up in every available space. A layer of dust coated every surface in the room.

Leaving the door open for the light and air, they stepped into the room. Anna looped up the trailing train of her riding habit and tucked it through her belt so that it would not drag across the dusty floor. She made her way through the maze of boxes to the single window and pushed the curtains aside, letting in more of the summer sunlight.

Reed sighed, looking around him. “This could take us hours. I should have brought a lamp.”

“Let’s start, anyway. If it grows dark before we find it, we can go back for light.”

“You’re right. Where do you suggest we begin?”

“Are there labels on any of the boxes?”

“I think so.” Reed brushed off the top of one. “‘Farm Accounts’ and a date. That’s not it.”

They ruled out several other boxes, but the trunks did not have labels attached to them, so they simply opened one and began to dig through it. It was impossible to avoid the dust, and their clothes were soon liberally smeared with it. Once they had reached the bottom of the first trunk, they opened the second. A cloud of dust rose from the surface as they lifted the lid. Anna let out a low cry of dismay.

“Oh! Look at this!” She gazed down at the dust that coated the front of her skirt. “Penny will never get this clean. She will think I have been out rolling in the dirt.” She wiped ineffectually at the dust, succeeding only in furthering the damage. “Oh, dear.” She sighed and raised a hand to brush back a strand of hair from her forehead.

Reed chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Wait. You are only making things worse. Now you have a streak of dirt across your forehead. No, don’t touch it. Here.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief. Taking her hand in his, he turned it palm up and wiped the handkerchief over it.

Anna watched his hands at work on hers. His fingers were long and nimble, dusted with a sprinkling of black hair. She had always loved the look of his hands, she thought, strong and masculine, but not blunt or square. They were very capable hands, yet they could move with great gentleness and tenderness. A quiver of sensation ran through her, startling her, and she drew in a sharp breath.

Reed’s hands froze on hers, and he looked up at her. They stood that way for a moment, their gazes locked, his hands still around hers. Then he looked back down and continued to wipe away the dirt, his fingers moving slowly, gently on hers. Anna felt each stroke of his hand, his skin separated from hers by the silken cloth of his handkerchief.