Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Upon a Midnight Dream (15 page)
He pulled at his shirtsleeves and managed to make himself presentable before jumping into his carriage and making haste for his own home, leaving a note that he would return to Rosalind within a few hours once he was presentable.
Nothing sounded better than a good night’s rest and a strong cup of tea. He could almost feel his bed and taste the bitter brew on his lips as he took the steps two at a time to his London townhome in Mayfair.
He lifted his hand to knock just as the door swung open.
“Stefan?” His brother James looked alarmed. “Whatever are you doing here? Have you failed in some way?”
Grinding his teeth against the urge to pummel his brother for asking so many questions at such an early hour, Stefan merely shook his head in a grunt and pushed his brother aside. His luggage was brought in hastily and somewhat clumsily. He knew he could at least sleep one hour before having to ready for the day and return to Rosalind’s before her mother got any notion to eat her young.
The course of true love never did run smooth—A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Rosalind woke at an early hour after a fitful night of sleep. It was astonishing that she felt as rested as she did. Looking in the mirror at her still swollen lips, her thoughts drifted towards Stefan, her soon to be husband. How she desperately had wanted him to take away all the doubt and fear that consumed her thoughts enough to force her to seek solitude in the library. Instead, he had done the honorable thing.
It appeared she was wrong about many things, Stefan included. Yes, he was arrogant and at times an absolute brute, but when it counted—when she really needed a shoulder to cry on, or comforting words, he was there.
Rosalind performed her morning toilette briskly and went in search of her sisters. They were as unalike as any siblings could be. The youngest, Isabelle had chestnut hair, blue eyes, and was a petite little thing. Everyone who met her immediately fell in love with her sweet disposition. Rosalind’s mother had often fought with Rosalind over the fact that she was so blunt and stubborn. Her mother’s desire was for Rosalind to be more like Isabelle. It just wasn’t in Rosalind’s character to be that way.
Gwendolyn, the middle daughter had long dark hair that fell in waves down her back. She was the envy of woman everywhere simply because her skin was so fair it gave off the illusion of a pearl. She had ice blue eyes and a dangerous smile, but often kept to herself. It was Rosalind who had been launched first. Her sisters were stowed away at the family estate until it was time for their debut. It seemed everything was put on pause since her father’s death. Rosalind couldn’t help but wonder if things would be different if he were still alive.
Hallways once filled with laughter were void of human touch. Dust floated into the air as Rosalind made her way to her sisters’ bedrooms. She stopped outside Isabelle’s door and knocked.
“Enter,” came a small voice from inside.
Rosalind pushed open the door and gasped. Isabelle, was sitting near the fireplace with Gwendolyn on one side of her brushing out the long chestnut hair.
“Sisters!” Rosalind ran to them expecting them to politely stare at her, they hadn’t spoken since her father’s death. Her mother had poisoned them against her ever since the broken betrothal contract was severed, leaving her even more estranged from her family than she ever thought possible.
“Rosalind!” Isabelle jumped from her seat and threw her arms around her waist. “You’ve come home! Isn’t it wonderful, Gwen?”
Gwendolyn smiled and walked over to the pair a tear running down her cheek. “I wished for your return every day, sister. Tell me you are well.”
Rosalind thought about telling the truth but hadn’t her sisters suffered enough? Swallowing the lie, she smiled. “I’m better than I’ve ever been! And I’m to be married!”
“Married?” They said in unison.
“To whom?” Gwen spoke up first.
Rosalind grinned as memories of Stefan’s kiss came flooding back. “To the Duke of Montmouth.”
Isabelle paled. “Does mother know then? That you intend to marry him and break the curse?”
“Yes, of course, why?” Rosalind shrugged.
Isabelle’s eyes flickered to Gwen then back to Rosalind. “She hasn’t been well since you left Rose. We fear, well we fear something is amiss. We’ve been prisoners in our own home it seems. The servants are gone. There is hardly food on the table. We were left with nothing. To make matters worse Willard won’t let us see her but a few hours a day, and after she drinks that blasted tea she sleeps for days.”
Gwen cursed. “That Dominique stole everything from us, he’s a beast!
Isabelle patted her sister’s hand. “Gwen, we don’t know for sure if he’s doing it purposefully or if he is even aware of our destitution just yet.” She turned towards Rosalind. “The only information we gain is from mother, when she feels like lamenting, that is.” Both sisters looked down at their hands as if keeping another grand secret from Rosalind.
“What would you have me do?” Rosalind asked weakly. “Once I marry Stefan, we’ll sort things out. We can move to his country seat.”
Isabelle grabbed Rosalind’s hand. “I just hope it is all in time, dear sister. For I can’t help the feeling of foreboding I receive every time mother looks at me. It’s as if she plans something horrible.”
Rosalind squeezed her hand back. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There is to be a winter ball tonight. Shall we plan for that with excitement?”
The girls looked at her with sadness in their eyes. “Rose,” Gwen started. “We don’t have the funds to obtain gowns nice enough to—“
“—There you are.” Stefan stepped into the room, followed by a very put out butler who seemed about ready to pull pistols on the intrusive duke. His large presence stole the breath straight from Rosalind’s lungs. “Your Grace.” She did a little curtsy and nodded to her sisters who merely stood ramrod straight, mouths gaping. It wasn’t at all proper for him to be in their chambers, but nothing about Stefan was proper. Duke or no duke, she imagined that if he decided he suddenly wanted to become king he would find a way to do it.
Glancing at her sisters and their shocked expressions, she tried to imagine what Stefan would look like through new eyes. Tall, broad, and graced with more elegance than any man she had ever met. It was no wonder her two sisters stared at him as if a Norse god had just walked into their chambers. His Hessians were shined to perfection, a tailored jacket around his broad shoulders and a perfectly tied cravat. His blond hair was tucked behind his ears and a cane in hand. He was the epitome of masculine beauty.
Rosalind bit back a smile. A sort of protectiveness washed over her as she realized how proud she was to be a part of his life. He did a short bow to both her sisters and approached Rosalind. Her heart beat wildly as her eyes locked onto his lips.
Leaning down, he grabbed her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers but not before she felt the hot intrusion of his tongue against her skin. Flushing, she pulled back in time to see him wink before wrapping a possessive arm around her.
“Now, what’s this I hear about dresses and a ball?”
Fuming, the butler mumbled something to himself and marched out of the room. Stefan glanced in his direction as if he were an annoying fly needing to be shuffled out of the room and shrugged. His full attention was now back on the three women.
“It’s nothing, Your Grace, really—” Isabelle was shaking her head.
“Don’t be absurd. I believe a shopping trip is in order, is it not? I have a carriage waiting to take you three girls wherever your heart desires. An early wedding gift for Rose. Find some suitable dresses that can be hastily made, and we will all attend the ball tonight.”
Rosalind was without words. She closed her eyes against the intrusion of confusing feelings hammering in her heart. This courtship was much easier when she was in her country estate telling the infuriating man to woo her while he had split pea soup on his chin. Now, his generosity and kisses were enough to make her dizzy.
“We could not possibly accept.” Gwen gave Rosalind a questioning look. And it seemed that Rosalind saw her sister’s apparel for the first time. Both wore simple muslin dresses, a little frayed around the bottom edges and not the current style that was en vogue. She looked down at her own dress and flushed. How could she have forgotten about such a thing as their current state of dress? If things were truly as her sisters said, then there was no possible way they could attend a ball with current gowns they owned, regardless of the season being over.
Isabelle’s hopeful eyes trained on Rosalind, and she found she was too weak to do anything except nod her head and squeeze Stefan’s hand. His brisk squeeze back sent butterflies from her stomach to her toes.
“I’ll just leave you ladies to it then. I’ll be avoiding your mother and that awful valet by waiting in the carriage. It seems Samson needs some attention considering he kicked open the gate to his stable last night and made his way to the large feeder containing oats." He shook his head. “Surprised the blasted horse hasn’t died from over indulgence.”
Rosalind laughed and felt the need to explain. “His horse is…temperamental, to say the least.”
Isabelle smiled. “Is he at all like Felipe?”
Rosalind had forgotten all about her sister’s giant horse. “Yes, too much like Felipe. My only hope is that they don’t join forces.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Stefan muttered. “Ladies, I’ll be waiting.”
He quit the room in long even strides and shut the door behind him. Rosalind’s eyes were still trained on the closed door as memories of his touch came flooding back.
“Dear sister, I believe you’re blushing,” Gwen teased.
“I’m merely…” Rosalind cursed her inability to find the right lie, or words to excuse her odd behavior.
“Flushing dear, you’re flushed.” Isabelle said helpfully. “Now, let us don our bonnets so we can be on our way. I haven’t shopped in an age, and I cannot wait to visit Bond Street! Do you think the duke will allow us a short jaunt to the book store as well?”
Rosalind gave her youngest sister a warm smile. “I’m sure if you ask sweetly enough and feed Samson oats, the duke will agree to just about anything.”
Gwen huffed. “But just to be safe, we’ll allow Rosalind to do all the talking. It seems to distract the brute long enough to get away with a multitude of sins.”
Rosalind really didn’t have any response to the blatant truth flowing from her sister’s mouth. Shrugging, she helped them find their bonnets and let out a sigh as she thought about the upcoming ball.
****
Stefan counted every step he took as he made his way to the stables in search of Samson. The groom, having already put up with Samson the previous night uttered a sigh of relief when he saw the Duke make his way towards the horse.
Samson neighed irritably and Stefan found his mood exactly matched his horses, not that it was any grand revelation.
His purpose on arriving after only receiving two hours of sleep was to tell Rosalind of the strange happenings at his home, but every serious thought left him the minute he set eyes on her. And he found he was more inclined to help her and her sisters than cause them more panic than necessary.
After all, he hadn’t any proof that the strange happenings were connected. It just seemed…odd. His brother James had informed him that his mother was beginning to show signs of the mysterious illness that had plagued Fitz. The dowager was often times tired and short of breath keeping to her bed most days. James however didn’t seem ill at all but the dark circles under his eyes proved that he too felt the pressure from the curse or whatever else was happening in his family.
“What do you intend to do?” James had asked him.
“Marry her and be done with it.” Stefan hadn’t meant to sound so harsh but was losing patience in the presence of his insipid brother.
James looked away before answering in a low trembling voice, “It will solve nothing brother, absolutely nothing.”
Stefan’s hair stood on end as his brother left the room. What did he mean? On cue Elaina, Fitz’s wife, burst onto the scene.
“He’s worsening! But there isn’t any explanation! He only drinks his tea and barely touches his food!”
“Tea?” Stefan looked at the woman he once thought beautiful and perfect, indignation rising in his chest over the hurt Fitz must feel at her betrayal. “Fitz despises tea.”
“It’s said to have healing properties, just last week Mr. Fairbanks said it was helping his mistress as well.”
“Mr. Fairbanks?” Stefan searched his mind, why did the name sound so familiar. “Who is his mistress?”
“The Dowager Countess of Hariss, of course.” Elaina answered curtly.
Stefan shook his head and patted Samson on the neck. Why would that strange valet Willard make a visit to their house? Naturally, if he knew they were all suffering from the same sickness he would want to help. But why did Stefan feel like help was the last thing Mr. Willard Fairbanks wanted to offer?
Footsteps neared crunching against the grass and stopped. He whipped around to see Rosalind standing before him. A bonnet covering her vibrant hair.
“I wanted to say thank you.” Her eyes dropped to the ground.
Stefan chuckled. “To the dirt or to me? Apologies for my confusion, but it seems when one says thank you they do so by looking at the object they are thanking.”
He noticed her swallow, watched as her neck slowly lifted that downcast head until her eyes met his in a compassionate stare. “Stefan, I…”
Enjoying her discomfort, he folded his arms around his chest and tilted his head to the side. “You…”
“I was wrong.”
“Sorry love, what was that?”
Glaring, she fisted both hands and walked closer to where he stood. “I was wrong. I know how difficult this must be for you to understand, considering you rarely apologize, but that is exactly what I’m doing.”
“And you were doing such an admirable job before you allowed your passionate side to get in the way, weren’t you, Rose?”
Her eyes darted away. He turned her head to face his, unapologetic about his grip on her chin as he drew her near and brushed a kiss across her lips.
“What were you wrong about, Rose?”
She stiffened. “Anyone can see us out here.”
“Let them,” he growled. “Now, let’s hear the apology, shall we?”
Her eyes sparked. “Fine then. You aren’t nearly as barbaric as I once thought nor do you have the manners of an ogre.”
“You never called me an ogre.”
“Out loud, I didn’t.” She smiled, “And when it counts…” Her lower lip trembled. “…when I need someone, something stable, the only image my mind can conjure up, is one of you.”
Samson neighed and nudged Rosalind in the thigh. “And Samson, of course.” She added now giving full attention to the horse as she ran her kid gloves along his white fur.
Stefan glared at his horse and silently conveyed a message of a land without oats void of any trots and filled with nothing, save geldings. Samson, didn’t seem to notice the look of disapproval on his master’s face and merely rubbed against Rosalind all the more.
“Cursed animal,” Stefan stepped in between the two and grabbed Rosalind by the shoulders. “I care about you a great deal, Rose. I—“
“—Are you two ready?” Isabelle came around the corner with her sister in tow. “It’s late in the morning, and we need time to find gowns and prepare!”
Words of love hung in the air. Would he never get his opportunity to tell her how he felt? With a shake he nodded his head, “Of course.”
The girls turned and giggled. Rosalind ran ahead to join them. All three of their little heads together in excitement.
His face took on a smile that nearly hurt from its expansiveness, and Samson nudged him quite hard on the backside, as if to say, “Don’t be an idiot.”
“Helpful,” Stefan muttered and followed the girls to the awaiting carriage, but not before stopping and giving the groom strict instructions to hide the oats. He left the stables with noises of Samson’s protests. That’ll teach him to try to steal his future duchess.
