Page 113 of The Trouble with Anna

Anna waved her in. “Of course! Come look at them with Charlotte and I’ll pop down and see what this Mr. Ingram wants. Back in a moment.”

“Mr. Ingram?”

The man, sitting awkwardly on a settee, jumped to his feet and gave Anna a jerky bow. He was tall, red-haired, and whip-thin, and although he looked young for a solicitor, he already carried himself with a slight stoop, as if his round, rather owlish head was too heavy for the rest of him.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Help me? Goodness, I would never presume—I’ve come to helpyou. That is…” Mr. Ingram colored deeply and began again. “Forgive me, my lady. I’ve brought a delivery.”

The parcel was wrapped in brown paper and sealed with a sturdy red splodge of wax. He held it out with an air of expectation.

“Thank you,” Anna said. “I’m not familiar with your firm. Do you represent a stud?”

Mr. Ingram blinked. “A stud, my lady?”

“I presume you’ve come about one of my horses?”

“Oh! Why, no, my lady.”

“Then whom do you represent, if you please?”

“The deceased, of course!” Mr. Ingram paused in thought. “Though—I suppose—yes! We representyounow, my lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Perhaps if your ladyship would care to read the letter?”

Anna broke the wafer to reveal a sheaf of documents and an envelope with her name scratched across it. The familiar, spiky handwriting made her catch her breath, and her hands trembled as she slid the letter out:

My Dearest Anna,

If you are reading this, you are on the eve of your wedding. How do you like him? I picked him out myself and a fine prize he is. The Ramsays are an old family and the current earl is rich and reasonable in the saddle. It would be hard to do better and you could certainly do much worse.

I imagine you squawked when you first read my will, but it was all for your own good. Females need husbands, child! It’s the truth of the world, no matter how you try to deny it. I always aimed to get you a good one.

Still, I won’t rest easy if you believe I broke my promises. I certainly did not—I only played a small and necessary trick. Ingram & Ingram will present you with a copy of myfinalwill, which leaves you Chatham, my funds, and my racing stud. Outright, with no conditions. Had you decided against Ramsay, you would have received it at the six-month deadline anyway.

My darling girl, the horses were the delight of my life until you arrived at Chatham. I would not leave them in any other hands.

Be happy, be well, andbe good to my horses.

Your loving grandfather,

Barton

Anna read the letter once quickly, a second time more slowly, and a third and final time simply to give her something to do other than scream.

“Oh.” She sank down on the settee. “I see.”

Mr. Ingram gave an audible sigh of relief. “Yes, well… I daresay… Please know that my father and I debated whether we should even take such an odd commission. It was allmostirregular.”

Anna cracked her lips in a gruesome attempt at a smile. “My grandfather was most irregular.”

“Rather! Yes! My father—the senior Mr. Ingram, of course—asked me to make it quite clear…” Mr. Ingram paused and blinked his large eyes. “Most awkward, you know.”

Anna folded her hands in her lap and held them there. If she wasn’t vigilant, her hands might lash out and inflict injury on the Dowager’s prized row of ceramic milkmaids, staring vacant-eyed from the top of the mantel. If she wasn’t careful, she’d leap up and behead the milkmaids, or whack away their dainty feet. She’d break their tiny buckets, smash their smiling faces, and dance on their remains with hobnail boots until nothing was left but little pastel piles of milkmaid dust.

Mr. Ingram pulled his waistcoat straight. “My father, the senior Mr. Ingram, was uncomfortable with your grandfather’s final request. He asked that I make it quite clear to you… that is…”

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