LOOKING GLASS

PROLOGUE

Seeking a moment of solitude, Emma closed the door of the book-lined study. Leaning against the thick mahogany paneling, her eyes feasted on the warmth penetrating the masculine room. "I’m really here . . .."

Closing her eyes she thought of her boss, Mr. Bouche, and the pain she heard in his voice. Of all the times for him to break a leg. How many steps did he fall down? Emma groaned at the thought of falling down any at all, he was probably lucky he hadn’t done more damage.

Heavens, the biggest event in decades . . . and he’d just dropped the entire affair in her lap. Remembering how often she’d wished to see this glorious plantation only made her feel guilty over her mentor’s accident.

Sleeping Oaks was a curator’s dream. Hired at the onset, because of the voluminous project, the enormity of it all still astounded her. The plantation was only one part of the large trust that had been willed to the museum over a century ago. Even though she managed most of the financial holdings, Emma still found the details rather vague . . . and somewhat unorthodox. She knew her views weren’t alone, but, like her, no one would ever question the established guidelines that controlled the handling of the trust. The interest alone was the major financial pillar for the museum, one that would remain even after the illusive heir regained control.

The trust’s instructions were being carried out; all her prying hadn’t appeased her curiosity. She wondered if anyone really knew everything about the trust. Like now, Sleeping Oaks was finally restored to its original state, everything per the instructions, from the wallpaper and drapes, to the gardens and furniture. The original furniture had been stored by the museum all this time and was in perfect condition. But why now? The dates were explicit and the continuation of the museum’s financial support hung on unveiling the plantation at the Ball taking place tomorrow evening.

It was frightening to think she was the person responsible for making it happen. The week’s hectic activities hadn’t left much time to enjoy this grand old plantation. Her arrival last week proceeded the furniture by a day. Unloading and uncrating the multitude of elegant furniture and glassware was a Herculean task that demanded all her patience and energy. Never showing her nervousness over the possible destruction of one precious piece or over the fast approaching deadline of tomorrow evening left her in a frayed state of apprehension. Thankfully only a few items remained to be unpacked and placed in the rooms. Almost every beautiful room was completed. The flowers would arrive this afternoon to finish the ballroom’s decorations.

In a fanciful curtsey Emma bowed to the room. "Tomorrow you will shine once again in your glorious style, my lady."

Sleeping Oaks had come to be that to her . . . the grand lady. The costume ball initiating the historic claim of the plantation would befit the pageantry of the past. Larger than she had imagined, every room felt like a journey back to a more gracious era. A few rooms captured her romantic heart more than she’d like to admit.

This study was one of her favorite rooms. Set within the luxurious matted wallpaper were gold filigree leaves spiraling up like wild ivy. The room’s dark forestry of colors were in sharp contrast to the majority of the summery hues throughout the house. The room flooded her senses with its masculine bounty. One wall, from ceiling to floor, held precious first editions, a collection most museums would drool over. All had been individually sheathed in leather swatches and packed in airtight crates, as had the furniture, glassware and knickknacks. Looking at the thick rose pattern in the brocade chairs facing the desk, it was hard to imagine they were made in the early 1800's. The massive rosewood desk with its green shaded oil lamp, wax sealer, feather pen and brass inkwell were without a sign of age.

But it wasn’t only the condition of every antiquated article that drew her burnt-sienna brows together in consternation; Emma felt the power of the man. Somehow the illusive dark figure hovered in the sun filtered shadows, just beyond her reach.

Closing her eyes she breathed deeply, taking in his scent. It had been there, even before the furniture and his possessions arrived. A fresh, open charisma, enveloped in lush tropical earth, with a touch of pine where no pine existed, and leather, worn and rich in worked oils that clung to a man’s pants after riding his thundering steed.

Shivering, she forced her eyes open. She’d felt and sensed it all since arriving here. The study held the strongest force of its past occupant. So vital and alive were her feelings, they frightened and saddened her in the same shuddering breath.

Emma hid her growing awareness concerning Sleeping Oaks with her usual efficiency, but inside she couldn’t deny them to herself. Pretending the images and sensations were only due to the frantic state of affairs didn’t make them grow any weaker. Defying all logic, she couldn’t dismiss her increasing anguish for the cruel loneliness and sense of loss capturing her every waking and sleeping moment.

Pushing away from the door, the graceful lines of her summer skirt caressed her thighs as she wandered over to the open French door. The slight breeze from the verandah cooled the warm flush on her cheeks. Lifting the auburn mass of waves off her nape, she invited the cooling November breeze to coax away the heat. Even in winter, Louisiana’s heat penetrated her pink eyelet blouse. In the summer the heat must be oppressive. Looking up at the thick canopy of oaks, their mossy tendrils floating in endless motion, she thought their shade giving branches would keep the embracing halls in welcoming coolness.

Taking one last look about the room she forgot her caution. "Who and what were you, to have lingered so strongly and why do you stay?"

Biting her trembling lip she berated her whisper to the silent walls. Ghosts didn’t exist! She never realized she had such a vivid imagination. But at the back of her mind, the nagging suspicion of remembered feelings continued to stalk her.

Turning and hurrying from the room, Emma refused to indulge in any more fantasies. She certainly had no place in her life for illusive dark images . . . no matter how real they were becoming!

Coming back from a last sweep of the rooms, Emma found Susan frowning over her inventory sheet while a frustrated group of workmen hovered nearby. Emma bemoaned the girl’s loss of humor, without her friend’s help she’d have thrown up her hands and never completed everything on time.

Controlling the fluttering in her heart. "What’s wrong Susan?" She dreaded voicing such an open question, wondering if their luck had finally run out at the last minute.

Shoving the pad at her, Susan groaned, "I can’t find it!"

"Find what?"

"That!" The girl’s bracelet laden wrist pointed indignantly at a very large mirror.

Walking over to the ornate piece, Emma’s own brow rose in speculation. The size alone made her wonder how she had missed it. The full-size mirror didn’t look at all familiar. It’s thick border of gold oak leaves made Emma believe it to be a mistake, it didn’t match any of the elegant style flowing immaculately throughout the house.

Emma didn’t have to check the sheets, she knew them by heart, and there wasn’t a mirror like this listed anywhere. Taking a closer inspection, she sucked in her breath over the image of herself . . . but it couldn’t be her, at least not what she thought she looked like.

Quickly dropping her eyes to her skirt and clutching the notepad to her breast, her eyes flew back to the reflected image. Clouds began moving in an ominous pattern about her . . . yes, it was her, but she wore a long blue chintz dress. Her hair was styled in an upsweep, displaying the elegant length of bare neck and shoulders. Her fingers lifted to verify her blouse collar. The woman in the mirror held her gaze. Emma couldn’t turn away from the devastating pain in her own large, green eyes. Everything began to spin around her at a dangerous velocity, as the glass grew dark and she watched herself falling back into the reflected abyss.

"Emma? Hey, are you alright?"

Blinking furiously, she stared first at Susan’s questioning concern and then back at her shocked expression. Feeling cold all over, Emma watched herself back away from the normal image now staring back at her. Realizing no one, but herself, had seen the strange images in the mirror, she fought to control her inner turmoil. Emma moved away as if nothing had happened.

"You’re right, it’s not on the list. Tell them to place it in the nursery."

"The nursery?" Susan glanced in disbelief at Emma and then at the mirror. "That thing?"

"Yes, against the hall wall, that is where it belongs."

Susan was right, the nursery with its white lace, blue satin crib, lovely rocker and matching dresser hardly came close to that gold leafed elephant. What was she thinking?

Walking directly outside to keep from glancing back at the men struggling to get the mirror up the stairs, Emma sought the sunlight to combat the dark coldness still holding her in its talons. Turning, her gaze went up to the nursery doors opening off the wraparound balcony. The white iron rail flowed like the thick vines of night blooming jasmine gracing the outer walls.

"Yes it belongs there!" Her strange conviction was as deeply rooted as the massive oaks standing guard over the stately mansion.

The breeze touched the dampness on her cheeks. Of all the rooms in the main house, that adorable nursery depressed her beyond belief. Only once had she entered it, drawn by the warm beauty of the room. But upon entering, her heart had cried out in despair. She’d moved through the room as if one possessed, searching, but never really understanding what she so vehemently needed to find, as the emptiness started swallowing her in its hungry depths. She ran out of there that first day and never went near the room again.

Shaking her head against the truth, every room held some undeniable feeling, always untouchable and so fleeting that she could easily have missed the sensations. Except for the study’s powerful presence and the night’s impassioned images that left her wanting.

Tomorrow it would all be over, then she could leave for Virginia. She should be relieved. Shaking her head against the traitorous thoughts, Emma knew she wasn’t. Call it curiosity, intuition, or stubbornness, regretfully she had too much of that trait, she wanted answers for what was happening to her. She couldn’t shake the conviction it meant something so dear to her, its strength was frightening. There was something else, a feeling she held to so tightly it was actually scary . . . one that said she was meant to be here.

Staring back at the columnar structure, Emma took a deep breath before heading back towards the house. There would be time enough after tomorrow night to settle her problems; nothing could interfere with the ball.

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