nodded firmly and considered exactly what that something should be. She glanced at the door on the far side of the foyer where the butler had vanished. He had obviously gone to speak with someone. "And the place to start might well be with whoever is in that room." She started toward the door.
"Is that wise?" Clarissa trailed behind her. "Perhaps we should wait here."
"Or leave," Aunt Millicent added brightly. "Florence is lovely at this time of year." Pamela cast her a reassuring smile but did not slow her step. "As is London." She reached the door, pulled a deep breath, and braced herself for whatever might be in that room.
"I really think we should wait to be announced," Clarissa said under her breath.
"To whom?" Pamela shook her head. "It seems to me there should be no one here at all to whom to be announced. Yet this house does not have an unoccupied air."
"Mr. Corby did say it was kept staffed and well maintained," Aunt Millicent offered.
"Still, there is a distinct difference between maintained and lived in. No, there is something decidedly odd here, and we should waste no further time in getting to the bottom of it." Resolve rang in Pamela's voice.
"This is our house, soon to be our home, and the beginning of entirely new chapters in our lives. I have no intention of starting this very first page with indecision and hesitation. It is time, dear ladies, to claim what belongs to us."
A groan sounded from one woman, and a sigh came from the other. Pamela had no idea which came from whom and didn't care. The very act of decision, of seizing the moment with both hands, filled her with the most invigorating sense of strength and power. The oddest thought struck her that this feeling was probably familiar to everyone else in her family. Indeed, this might well be her birthright. She grasped the door handle.
"Wait," Aunt Millicent said.
Pamela glanced at her.
"I have something of a confession to make." Aunt Millicent wrung her hands together. Pamela frowned. "Now?"
"I would prefer never to now, however..." Her aunt drew a deep breath. "I daresay the two of you are too young to remember this, but after my husband died I became quite close to a certain gentleman—"
"How close?" Pamela asked.
Clarissa raised a brow. "How soon?"
"Nearly two years." Aunt Millicent fixed Clarissa with a firm stare. "A perfectly proper amount of time. I was more aware, or rather more concerned, about such insignificant things as propriety then." She turned to Pamela. "We were, well, betrothed."
Pamela widened her eyes in surprise. "To be married you mean?"
"Yes, well, betrothed does often mean to be married," Aunt Millicent said sharply, then paused and blew a resigned breath. "Although not necessarily in this case." Pamela and Clarissa traded dances, but neither said a word.
"It was that annoying question of permanence, you see." Aunt Millicent's brows pulled together. "I simply couldn't promise permanence, for the rest of my days, until death and all that. I had promised it once, and it wasn't at all permanent as Charles had the nerve to die altogether too young. I found I couldn't do it again, so I left London."
Clarissa nodded sympathetically. "On your travels."
"Exactly." Aunt Millicent cast her niece a grateful smile. The faintest memory of whispered gossip nipped at the back of Pamela's mind. "When, exactly, did you leave?"
"Before we were to marry." Aunt Millicent's smile was entirely too innocent. Pamela narrowed her gaze. "How much before?"
Aunt Millicent glanced away as if she were idly looking for something or rather looking at anything but Pamela. Her voice was deceptively casual. "Moments, I should think."
Clarissa gasped. "Moments?"
Aunt Millicent refused to meet her nieces' eyes. "He might well have been awaiting my arrival at, oh, what is the place I'm thinking of?"
Pamela held her breath. "Church?"
"Excellent, my dear." Aunt Millicent smiled weakly. "He was waiting at the church to be wed when I decided I
"Is that wise?" Clarissa trailed behind her. "Perhaps we should wait here."
"Or leave," Aunt Millicent added brightly. "Florence is lovely at this time of year." Pamela cast her a reassuring smile but did not slow her step. "As is London." She reached the door, pulled a deep breath, and braced herself for whatever might be in that room.
"I really think we should wait to be announced," Clarissa said under her breath.
"To whom?" Pamela shook her head. "It seems to me there should be no one here at all to whom to be announced. Yet this house does not have an unoccupied air."
"Mr. Corby did say it was kept staffed and well maintained," Aunt Millicent offered.
"Still, there is a distinct difference between maintained and lived in. No, there is something decidedly odd here, and we should waste no further time in getting to the bottom of it." Resolve rang in Pamela's voice.
"This is our house, soon to be our home, and the beginning of entirely new chapters in our lives. I have no intention of starting this very first page with indecision and hesitation. It is time, dear ladies, to claim what belongs to us."
A groan sounded from one woman, and a sigh came from the other. Pamela had no idea which came from whom and didn't care. The very act of decision, of seizing the moment with both hands, filled her with the most invigorating sense of strength and power. The oddest thought struck her that this feeling was probably familiar to everyone else in her family. Indeed, this might well be her birthright. She grasped the door handle.
"Wait," Aunt Millicent said.
Pamela glanced at her.
"I have something of a confession to make." Aunt Millicent wrung her hands together. Pamela frowned. "Now?"
"I would prefer never to now, however..." Her aunt drew a deep breath. "I daresay the two of you are too young to remember this, but after my husband died I became quite close to a certain gentleman—"
"How close?" Pamela asked.
Clarissa raised a brow. "How soon?"
"Nearly two years." Aunt Millicent fixed Clarissa with a firm stare. "A perfectly proper amount of time. I was more aware, or rather more concerned, about such insignificant things as propriety then." She turned to Pamela. "We were, well, betrothed."
Pamela widened her eyes in surprise. "To be married you mean?"
"Yes, well, betrothed does often mean to be married," Aunt Millicent said sharply, then paused and blew a resigned breath. "Although not necessarily in this case." Pamela and Clarissa traded dances, but neither said a word.
"It was that annoying question of permanence, you see." Aunt Millicent's brows pulled together. "I simply couldn't promise permanence, for the rest of my days, until death and all that. I had promised it once, and it wasn't at all permanent as Charles had the nerve to die altogether too young. I found I couldn't do it again, so I left London."
Clarissa nodded sympathetically. "On your travels."
"Exactly." Aunt Millicent cast her niece a grateful smile. The faintest memory of whispered gossip nipped at the back of Pamela's mind. "When, exactly, did you leave?"
"Before we were to marry." Aunt Millicent's smile was entirely too innocent. Pamela narrowed her gaze. "How much before?"
Aunt Millicent glanced away as if she were idly looking for something or rather looking at anything but Pamela. Her voice was deceptively casual. "Moments, I should think."
Clarissa gasped. "Moments?"
Aunt Millicent refused to meet her nieces' eyes. "He might well have been awaiting my arrival at, oh, what is the place I'm thinking of?"
Pamela held her breath. "Church?"
"Excellent, my dear." Aunt Millicent smiled weakly. "He was waiting at the church to be wed when I decided I
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