A sound at the door made her turn her head.
"Miss?" Annie's voice was cautious as she studied her. ' 'Whatever are you doing, sleeping up here?''
"I had-I had the most extraordinary dream, Annie." She found that she had to tell someone. "Do you believe the soul exists apart from the body?"
"I do."
"Well." She laughed then, still delighted to find herself back in her present life. That dream had been so vivid, for a moment upon waking she'd actually thought she'd traveled through time. "I dreamed-I was with some of the older souls of Lindsey House." Somehow, she knew Annie wouldn't make fun of her.
"Really." A pause. "Lady Jane?"
A prickle of unease worked its way up Amelia's spine. How had the girl been so quick to guess?
"Yes. And Jonathan."
Annie nodded her head. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes, those gray eyes, were decidedly animated. Filled with delight.
Strange.
"Probably because we were talking about the tragedy in the tower last night. I remembered it, came up to the tower room, and was thinking about it before I fell asleep."
Annie remained silent.
Something wasn't quite right, and Amelia didn't know what.
"I'm sure that's it, Annie."
"Of course. Now, you must come with me. We have a lot to do, getting you ready for your wedding day." Annie approached her, held out her hand.
How strange. The young maid had seemed so standoffish the night before, while serving tea. Now it was almost as if she were truly welcoming her into this great house.
"Come." Annie took her hand, pulled her to her feet. "I'm glad you slept so well, dreamed so deeply. You'll need your strength for what's to come this day."
She followed the maid back to her bedroom. Everything was as it should be: her bridal gown, her veil, her satin shoes, gloves, and wedding purse. Everything laid out, just as it had been the night before, but it didn't feel right.
Something was… different.
"I'll go get you a cup of tea, and then we'd better run your bath." And Annie was gone, as swiftly and silently as she'd arrived.
She reminds me of Emma…
She wondered where Hugh was, and was filled with an overpowering urgency to see him. But she couldn't; he was charmingly superstitious about such things, and they'd agreed not to see each other on the morning of their wedding. Where could he be at this hour?
Probably in the garden. He was passionate about the grounds surrounding Lindsey House, and would certainly want them to be immaculate for his wedding day.
She approached the window and thought about calling down to him, the maiden in the tower to her prince, when she saw… she saw…
This shock was greater than any her dream had produced. Flowers. Everywhere. Lilies, that particular lily, she'd only seen it one place before, in Jonathan Lindsey's sketchbooks… Creamy white, with the palest pink center, he'd called the flower Bride's Tears, after his Jane, after the woman he'd loved.
But he burned that part of the garden to the ground; he leveled it, would have sown salt into the earth if he'd thought of it. He couldn't bear to see the flower he 'd created. He wanted it over; he burned the garden to the ground right before he hung himself…
Before her mind even consciously realized what she was doing, she was racing out of the bedroom, across the great hall, down the curving staircase, out the double front doors, and toward the flowers…
Hugh. I have to see Hugh.
George, the gardener, was busily raking the path through that part of the garden when she approached him. If he looked a little startled to see a wild-eyed woman in her nightgown and robe at this time of the morning, he had the good grace not to show it.
"Good morning, miss."
"George." She put a hand over her heart to still its frantic racing. "George, how did this flower get here? Why is it here? Isn't it Bride's Tears?" As she spoke, she snapped a slender stem and brought one of the blooms up to her cheek. The velvety petals brushed her skin, seemed to ground her. She was here, she wasn't dreaming…
"Bride's Tears?" He stopped his raking, then leaned on the gardening tool. "No, miss., it's always been called. Your friend Miss Bickham should be here shortly to gather them for your wedding bouquet." He cleared his throat. "Unless, of course, you'd be changing your mind and wanting those red roses. Or maybe the apricot. I can let her know-"
"No. No, of course not. Penny will know what to choose, of course she will, but-that is-do you know where-where is Hugh? Have you seen him?" She knew how she had to appear to him, her hair uncombed, still in her nightgown and robe, but Amelia was confident he'd attribute her wild behavior to bridal nerves. She couldn't possibly confess what she'd really been up to.
But she had to tell Hugh.
"He's on the other side of the garden, miss, taking his morning walk."
She lifted the skirts of her long gown and robe, then raced in the direction he'd indicated.
Hugh was walking in the garden, and when she saw him, she stopped just before the path and simply filled her senses with him. He'd never looked more beautiful to her. He was here. It was enough. All would be well.
"Hugh!"
He looked up, then smiled. But it seemed a rather shaky smile to her; thus, she approached him quickly, took his hand, kissed his tanned cheek.
"Hugh, I know we agreed not to see each other before the wedding, but there's something quite extraordinary I have to tell you-"
"You've changed your mind?"
"I-no, why would I do that?"
He took both her hands in his, then turned so he was facing her. "I know you've had your fears, Amelia, and I'd hoped you'd overcome them with time." The expression in his dark blue eyes was so like Jonathan Lindsey's that it gave her another of those queer little ripples up her spine.
"But I am all right with it; it's part of what I came to tell you. Nothing could stop me from marrying you. I remember what you said. 'I'll show you every day, for the rest of my life, how much I love you. You'll come to believe it.' I do, Hugh, I do!"
His face slowly changed, lit with a cautious happiness, then all anxiety vanished. "Then that's what you came to the garden to tell me?" He looked at her and laughed, and she joined in, knowing how she had to look. "I still don't want to see you in your gown before the ceremony, darling, if that can be arranged."
"No. There's something else. The most extraordinary thing happened to me last night-"
"Master Hugh," the gardener called. "Master Hugh, your grandfather is back, along with Miss Amelia's father, and they-"
She didn't hear any more. Hugh's face swam in front of her eyes, and she, who had never fainted in her entire life, knew she was about to do just that…
"Hugh?" She gripped his arm tightly, the blood roaring in her ears, her pulse thundering. Her father? How could that be? He'd been dead for years…
"Daddy," she said shakily as she came to.
"You gave us quite a scare in the garden, Ami."
Her eyes filled at the sound of the familiar endearment. Max Jamison was sitting on the edge of the huge four-poster bed, holding her hand. She remembered the feel of it, the way he'd held on to her hand while she'd ridden her first pony, so long ago.
She couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Though she'd never forgotten how he looked, he'd been frozen in time in photos and films. Now that same dear face was in front of her, a little more weathered, a few more lines, a sprinkling of white hair at the temples. But he was still her father. Max Jamison was alive.
"I'm sorry."
"No need to be. Bridal nerves." He grinned, and Amelia felt the tears start to run down her cheeks. He had a grin just like Clark Gable's in Gone with the Wind. Cocky and self-assured. And full of such love for her.