Letitia walked slowly from room to room, most of them sporting only a
yawning fireplace and dirty windows through which seeped in anemic
sunlight. Some were graced with the occasional ghost of a piece of
furniture under cover. She had no trouble envisioning their past
magnificence. How could she not have noticed it before?
The library, with its vast, empty shelves, was such an opposite to its
Bromsholme counterpart, where the shelves sagged under their burden
and the room was so inviting. The Wycombe Oaks library could be just as
inviting, just as beautiful. Or maybe even more beautiful. Her mind set to
work, imagining the possibilities.
Upstairs, she took off her bonnet and walked slowly through a long, empty
gallery where the ghosts of paintings were still visible on the scarl
