Miss George clapped her hands. “Oh, thank you so much, Lady Pamela. That is wonderful news.” She took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “I feel so much better.” She tapped her lips. “I will have Mother send around a note to Lady March when I return home. Mother told me we would be leaving at eight o’clock, so can you be ready at that time?”
“Y-y-yes. I shall b-b-be ready.” Pamela shifted in her seat. “Now we m-must pr-pr-practice.”
“Mrs. O’Leary, do y-you have a m-m-minute?” Pamela walked into the kitchen where Mrs. O’Leary was chopping vegetables for the evening dinner.
“Yes, dear. Of course.” She wiped her hands on a towel close by and smiled at her. A forced smile, it seemed to Pamela. But then, she had begun to suspect everything and everybody today.
“Last n-n-night I thought there was s-s-someone in my room.”
Mrs. O’Leary gasped and placed her hand on her chest. “Oh, my dear. That could never be.” Why did that sentence seem practiced to Pamela? “Why Mr. Andrews at the door would never allow anyone to enter the house.”
Pamela frowned. Although she suspected whoever had been in her room—if someone had indeed been in there—she never indicated to Mrs. O’Leary that’s what she thought. “I d-didn’t necessarily m—m
-mean someone fr-from outside.”
“Don’t you lock your door each night?” Her smug question threw doubts into Pamela’s concerns once again.
“Yes, I d-do, but when I ch-checked the d-d-door It was unlocked.”
“Well, I can’t imagine how your door would be open if you locked it. And if there was someone in the house who didn’t belong here, Mr. Andrews would know about it. When did this happen, dear?”
Pamela was beginning to feel a bit on the stupid side. This whole thing did seem preposterous now that she thought about it in the light of day. “I would g-g-guess sometime around m-m-midnight. Perhaps a bit l-l-later.”
“Why did you not wake me?” Mrs. O’Leary returned to chopping vegetables.
That question, of course, stopped her cold. Why hadn’t she awakened Mrs. O’Leary? “B-b-because everything was q-quiet when I ch-ch-checked the corridor.”
Mrs. O’Leary smiled. “There. You see? You must have been dreaming. There would certainly have been a ruckus if your room had been entered.” She waved at the teapot in its special place on the shelf above the fireplace mantel. “Why don’t you make yourself a nice cup of tea. I find that always calms me when something is amiss.”
Pamela nodded, more confused than ever. Could she have imagined the entire thing? As she retrieved the teapot and filled it with water from the sink pump and placed it on the large iron stove, she went over the whole thing in her mind again.
And what of the loud whispered words: wrong room, you idiots? If she was going to imagine someone being in her room, why those particular words?
At that point she felt it best to put the entire matter from her mind. She made her tea and enjoyed a cup while conversing with Mrs. O’Leary about the musicale she was attending that night.
On her way up to her room to change for dinner and then the musicale, she stopped at Mr. Andrews at the door. “Mr. Andrews, were you on duty last night?”
He looked at her with raised brows. “Of course, my lady. I am here every night, without fail.”
“There weren’t any strangers that came in last night were there?”
Looking even more confused, he said, “No. Of course not. Is everything all right, Lady Pamela?”
Now she did feel very foolish. She nodded. “Yes. Everything is fine. Have a good evening.”
He bowed his head and returned to the book he was reading when she interrupted him. Pamela decided the best thing to do was to forget the entire matter. But she would be sure to make doubly sure she secured her lock from now on.
Nick wandered the gaming room, restless. Usually the entertainment he provided to his guests and watching his money grow with everyone losing theirs generally kept him content, but not so lately. Day or night, awake or asleep, Lady Pamela consumed him. All he could think about was her.
Not only did he hate how much she allowed herself to be thought of as in some way inferior and an embarrassment merely because of her stuttering, but it stung at how many times she’d rejected him when it was obvious to him she felt the same attraction between them that he did.
If he could only get her in his arms again and give her a proper kiss, he knew he could convince her that they were meant to be together. He’d waited all his life for the perfect woman for him and finally found her. He wasn’t about to give her up, either. He had to give it another try to spend some time alone with her.
“Nick, do you have a minute?” Peter Turner stopped Nick as he walked past a card table.
Turner was not one of Nick’s favorite people, something about the man made the hair rise on the back of Nick’s neck. He’d spent years with criminals and Turner had the way about him that brought back memories Nick would like to forget. “What do you want?”
Peter looked around. “Is there somewhere we can have a private conversation?”