Free The Dream by Jaycee Clark Page A

she’s in the conservatory. This will be quite a shock, quite a shock, Lady Elizabeth.”
    Emily halted and he stopped. She pushed her veils back completely and said, “I’m not Elizabeth. My name is Emmaline Merryweather Smith. Elizabeth is my mother. She’s supposed to be here,” she finished on a whisper.
    Gray and white tiles shined up at her.
    Her mother wasn’t here?
    Ice skittered along her nerves and heat rushed over her skin. Blowing out a careful breath, she suddenly wished she were still at Ravenscrest Abbey. Still blissful and hopeful in her ignorance. Her head and shoulder were starting to throb.
    The man cleared his throat. “Miss Emmaline , did you say?” He steered her down a hallway and into a drawing room.
    “Yes. No. It’s actually Mrs. Smith. I’m a widow you see. And was finally able to travel here.” Emily looked to the butler. “My mother is supposed to be here. She has to be here.”
    Emily heard the desperation in her own voice, saw in the butler’s face he caught the edged plea. She licked her lips and wiped a hand over her forehead, noting it was beaded with perspiration.
    “Please have a seat. I will have tea sent in while I inform Lord Redgrave you are here.” Something in his eyes sparked and what might have been a smile flitted at the corners of his mouth. Then again, perhaps she was mistaken.
    She heard his shoes click across the floor. Emily stared at the deep plush Persian carpet, the grays and greens swirling and mixing together. No fire was lit, but then it was August after all. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Her shoulder ached and she really didn’t feel at all well. The euphoria of being here shattered into.
    What was she to do now?
    The mantle clock ticked ceaselessly, timing against her frayed nerves.
    Maybe she should have stayed at the Abbey. What if these people didn’t believe her? If her mother wasn’t here… If she’d never been here… No. Maybe her mother had, but was traveling also. Or maybe…
    Footsteps echoed down the hallway and her stomach tightened.
    Emily licked her lips and stood, wondering, hoping, fearing.
    A man with gray hair, fine chiseled features, intense dark eyes and an imposing aura stepped into the room.
    “ Cranely tells me we have a visitor,” he stated as he came toward her. “A widow, clearly not from these parts. Blasted butler could never talk straight.”
    Emily stepped to the side, and as she did so, out of the window’s backdrop.
    “I’m Lord Redgrave , M—” His voice fell into silence. His eyes widened. “Elizabeth?” he whispered, faltering.
    Oh, God. She took a deep breath and automatically stepped back as he moved toward her. Emily shook her head, the lead weighing heavier, her breath coming faster.
    She was not going to faint. She never, never fainted.
    Taking a deep breath, she shook her head again. “No, my lord. My name is Emmaline . Elizabeth is my mother. She’s supposed to be here. She’s supposed to…”
    “Edward? Cranely said we have guests?”
    A woman in a gown of emerald green and ivory stripes, glided into the room. Her hair was more white than auburn, though some strands reddened the coif.
    This was her grandmother.
    Edward…Lord Redgrave …her grandfather looked from his wife to her and back again.
    Finally, he cleared his throat, once twice. A frown creased his brow.
    “Who have we here?” she asked, coming closer. “We weren’t expecting anyone today, unless my mind is slipping and at my age, unfortunately, that is too much of…” She stopped her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my, God. Oh my, God. Can it be?” Tears filled the woman’s eyes even as a hand reached out. “Elizabeth.”
    Emily sighed and shook her head. This was a dream, had to be a dream. “My name is Emmaline . Elizabeth is my mother.”
    Silence sat hard and fast in the elegantly furnished room. A parlor. No, Grims had told her they were called drawing rooms here. Drawing room, parlor, neither matter. Her