When We Meet Again by Victoria Alexander Page A

would rather travel than marry. It wasn't at all polite of me, and I did send him a very nice note of explanation; actually, I sent it to my sister, but still and all..." Her gaze slipped to the door. Pamela stared. "Surely you don't think this spurned suitor of yours is here?"
    "No, of course not," Aunt Millicent murmured. "Although stranger things have certainly happened in this world." She pulled her gaze from the door and met Pamela's. "I simply thought you should know everything before we did anything that was irrevocable."
    "I fear I am somewhat confused." Clarissa's glance darted between her cousin and her aunt. "What does any of that have to do with any of this?"
    "Nothing at all really. I just thought I should explain my reticence to return to London. Permanence, whether in regards to residing in a particular city or a specific house or marrying a certain man, should be given a great deal of consideration and is not to be embarked upon lightly. Once we step through that door and claim this house, there can be no turning back." Aunt Millicent sighed. "That's really all I meant."
    "Your point is certainly well-taken." A firm note sounded in Pamela's voice, even as she wondered precisely what the point really was. Not that it truly mattered at the moment. "Now if there's nothing else."
    "Oh, I'm sure I could think of something," Aunt Millicent said under her breath, then started, as if unaware she had said anything aloud, and favored her niece with a bright smile. Pamela once again grasped the door handle, opened the door, drew a deep breath, and stepped inside. The overagitated butler was on the far side of the room addressing two seated gentlemen and paying far too much attention to the queries of the as-yet-unseen gentlemen to note Pamela's presence until she was nearly upon him.
    She mustered an authoritative tone she hadn't known she possessed and noticed yet another surge of strength within her. "Mr. Graham, wasn't it?"
    At once, the seated gentlemen jumped to their feet. She ignored them and pinned the butler with an unyielding gaze. "Mr. Graham, I demand you explain your behavior at once." The butler's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed and opened once more. Something that might have been panic flashed through his eyes, replaced almost at once by resignation. He heaved a slight sigh.
    "It appears we have something of a problem, Miss Effington."
    "And what precisely would that problem be, Mr. Graham?" She met the butler's gaze directly.
    "The house is leased for the season, Miss Effington," Graham said reluctantly. "As it was last year and the year before that and nearly every year since Lady Gorham ceased coming to London."
    "This is absurd." Pamela's brows pulled together. "My aunt's solicitor said nothing about this."
    "I am not entirely sure Lady Gorham's solicitor was aware of the situation," Graham said under his breath.
    "I don't understand." Pamela studied the man carefully. She had the distinct impression he was not being entirely honest. "Did Lady Gorham know what you were doing with her house?"
    "Absolutely, miss." The butler's voice rang with indignation that she would suggest such a thing. A bit too much indignation perhaps. "Lady Gorham long ago permitted me to rent the residence for the season, as it proved impossible to maintain the house and staff without a steady income."
    "Be that as it may." Pamela crossed her arms over her chest. "Lady Gorham is now deceased. Indeed, she has been deceased for more than half a year's time. This house is now the property of Lady Overton, Lady Smythe-Windom, and myself. And we fully intend to occupy it."
    "Before you unpack your belongings, please allow me to introduce myself, Miss Effington. I am Count Roman Stefanovich." One of the gentlemen, tall and distinguished in appearance with a vaguely foreign lilt to his voice, stepped forward and bowed. "At the moment, and indeed for the better part of the next six months, this house has been quite properly,