Free The Dream by Jaycee Clark

seemed to be overcast, even when it wasn’t.
    This part of London—Mayfair she thought it was called, though maybe not, they’d taken so many turns—was quieter than the outskirts. The outer edges were dark, dreary places, full of poverty and despair. She’d seen gaunt, shoeless children, dirty faces, bedraggled women and downtrodden men. Mud and dirt caked to them as was filth from days of hard work.
    She’d quickly sat back and shut the window. Their blank stares, especially on the children, were more than she could presently stomach. She remembered that look. The one others must see when one accepted one’s lot in life would never improve, would always be as it was. Emily knew without a doubt, her eyes had often been just as vacant, her spirit just as disillusioned as those she’d passed on the street.
    A carriage, its wheels clattering on the cobbles, rolled by, the horses’ hooves clipping softly, jerked her from her thoughts back to where she was now. On the corner of the street, across from a nice town house. Dark green hedges grew tall around the gate and fence. Waiting was not making this any easier.
    Taking a deep breath, shoving her exhaustion aside, and hoping to finally see her mother after all these years, Emily tightened her hold on the bag at her side and walked up the short drive to the house.
    She tried not to think how large a house it was. And she should be used to large houses after her weeks at Ravenscrest Abbey. Besides, the way Mama described her family clearly said they were well off.
    As her shoes clipped across the street, doubts swooped down and slowed her steps. What if, for whatever reason, her mother wasn’t here? What if they didn’t believe her? What if they thought she was lying? Would they leave her on the street? Call the guard? At the top step she stared at the black door and tried to calm her rolling stomach. Wiping her hand down her skirt, she reached out and gently banged the brass knocker.
    The noise startled her and she jumped.
    These were just people like any others and if for some reason they didn’t believe her…
    No, Mama would not have told her or Anne to come here, to seek help here, if these were bad people. And…
    The door opened.
    A man, not much taller than herself, stared out at her. He must be the butler. His inquisitive glance and black garb was too reminiscent of Grims . The familiar thought made her smile.
    “May I help you?” he asked in very clipped English syllables. He looked down his nose at her, as much as he could, given he was one of the few people she could look in the eye.
    “Yes,” she murmured, the veils over her face shifting slightly. “I’m here to see…” My mother. My sister. My grandparents. My family. For some reason, she knew this was not the thing to say. What was her grandfather’s title? Lord… Lord… The Earl of Redgrave .
    “I wish to see the Earl of Redgrave . Edward or Victoria Warring.”
    His nose pinched ever so slightly on his inhale. “Who may I ask is calling?”
    Emily decided now might be a good time to show who she was. She’d always looked like her mother. With one black gloved hand, she flipped back her veils and opened her mouth, but she never got a sound out.
    “Oh my!” The dour face split into a startling gap-toothed grin, making him seem almost human. “Lady Elizabeth. Oh my. Oh this is…that is…” He stopped and cleared his throat, the mask, though not as austere, falling back into place. “Come in, come in. I will let your father know at once. Yes, at once.”
    A lead weight sat heavy on her chest. She didn’t move for a moment and he stood there, holding the door open for her. Her mother wasn’t here. She wasn’t here. Perhaps her mother just wasn’t in residence at this time. No, this man thought she was her mother. Oh God.
    With a tightened grip on her bag, she carefully asked, “Is my mother not here?”
    The black garbed man reached out and guided her into the foyer. “Why, yes,