"Emma, stop this!"

She could. So easily. If she stopped right now, before Jonathan reached them, if she let Jane sink into the despair that made such an act possible, she might see Hugh again, and John, and her old life-

Impossible. Amelia knew she could never live with herself if she made such a decision.

We're constantly creating and molding the future all the time.

She saw Hugh in her mind's eye. That first meeting, in the garden over breakfast. Somehow, in the strangest way, Hugh had known the truth all along.

"Oh, Jane!" Something of the despair in her heart colored her tone. Their gazes locked, and Amelia knew this was her last chance to get through to her.

"Jane, to love someone like that! I used to think it was beyond me, until I let it go! I doubted it could exist and I lost it! Don't you understand-you have a chance to have something most people never get to experience! Please don't make the mistake I did!"

Jane faltered, and Amelia knew she almost had her.

"I can't. He-he won't want me when-"

"Damn you-you're so much more than your virginity! You're more than the physical body I see before me! And if you cannot believe that, then why were you praying?"

She had her. Almost.

"He loves you, Jane. Really, really loves you. And if you're selfish enough to take your life because of the shame in a foolish mistake, then I-'' A sharp pain squeezed her heart, and she grabbed her right arm. It felt decidedly odd.

She struggled on.

"If you're selfish enough to lose what most people only dream about-damn it, I want you to stop thinking about yourself and think about him!"

"How do you know all this? It's not just that vision, is it?"

Right the first time out, Jane. Smart girl, got it in one.

"No. I'm… not from here." The pain in her chest was excruciating. Like being in the grip of a giant, grinding jaw. She was starting to sweat; she felt the sick dampness along her temple.

"Where?" The green eyes were lit with a feverish glow. "Where are you from?"

Her eyes rolled up, her head lolled back as the pain claimed her. Crushed her. Pain like she'd never felt before. She steeled herself against it. From a great distance away, she heard booted feet on the tower stairs.

Help. Jonathan. Help me.

"From… a long way… far away…" Her vision started to cloud over. Dear God, her heart wasn't breaking, it was failing. She was suffering a heart attack.

"Emma!" And Jane, impetuous as ever, forgot the rope and stepped down to help her.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Amelia fought for one last surge of strength. It propelled her beneath Jane's slight body, just long enough to prevent the rope from snapping her slender neck. Her short, stubby arms grasped the slender, flailing legs, and as Jane felt her support, her struggles ceased.

"Emma, no, put me down! The noose is off, it's off I tell you! Please, please put me down, I don't want you to-''

She didn't hear the rest of the words. Her vision dimmed, then faded to black.

Hugh. Oh, Hugh. I love…

The last sound she heard was that of a woman crying.

Chapter Five

Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.

– James M. Barrie

She woke slowly, to the sound of birds chattering and singing. To the softness of the English country air. The light was diffused as it entered the tower room, and for a moment as Amelia blinked and tried to orient herself, she didn't quite know where she was.

Or who.

Hands. Her hands. Slender and pale, not a freckle in sight. She pulled at her hair as she sat up, and saw strands of the lightest blonde, not Emma's brown-

Everything stilled within her.

"What an extraordinary dream," she whispered, then touched the floor of the tower room. Carpeted. Just like before. John had been so very proud when he'd described how he'd brought the little room back from its rather dilapidated state. It was his sanctuary, his hideaway, his place of peace where he came to be renewed.

Such a powerful dream… almost real…

She sat very still in the comfortable learner chair, so happy to be back. Now, through what she'd experienced during that one wild night of her imagination, she realized she'd lost all her fears concerning her upcoming marriage. She would marry Hugh; they would have children; they would contribute to the Lindsey line and make their lives matter. She would teach their children to live each day to the fullest, to love one another, and to never, ever take anything-or anyone-for granted.

She glanced out the window. Still early in the morning. Still time. She closed her eyes and a powerful peace washed through her.

Thank you. For letting me see so much through that dream. For giving me that realization, that awakening. Thank you for letting me see how much I have, how blessed I am, and how Hugh was right. We do constantly create our own futures, through our thoughts and actions…

She finished the short prayer, then thought of her father and how much she would miss him on this day. She'd asked John if he would walk her down the aisle, and the older man had been delighted. But, still, secretly, she would miss her father's presence on this day.

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-"