Upon a Midnight Dream (14 page)

I am tainted whether of the flock,

Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit

Drops earliest to the ground—The Merchant of Venice

Stefan was already on his third snifter of brandy when the doctor was gathering his things to leave the house. He hadn’t even been to see his own family, considering Rosalind’s had already driven him to drink. He didn’t feel the need to add to the mind-consuming madness that had taken place since his arrival in London.

“Your Grace?” The doctor poked his head into the library where Stefan was drowning his nerves.

“You may enter,” he motioned. “And how is the dowager this evening?”

The doctor looked away, put up a hand, then walked to the door and closed it. “Your Grace, if I may speak plainly?”

“Please do so.”

“How much do you know of the late earl and his wife?”

Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his seat before taking another sip of brandy. “I know that the late earl died of heart failure and that the entire family, as well as mine, believe some sort of curse is killing off our family tree one by one until I marry the eldest daughter.”

“I cannot speak for the curse.” The doctor swallowed slowly his eyes downcast, “but the late earl was a good man. A finer friend I could not ask for. What I find strange, Your Grace, is that we had an understanding. His health was declining, we were both aware that his heart was weak, but I had just seen him the day previous and he was healthier than I had seen him look in years.”

“What, exactly are you saying?” Stefan leaned forward.

“I do not believe he died of natural causes, Your Grace.”

“Have you any evidence or is this merely your opinion?” Stefan asked swirling the amber liquid around.

“He was drinking, Your Grace.”

“And that proves your hypothesis how?” Stefan could not help the shudder that took over his body. Something was odd in this house. And the doctor’s doubts only added to his own.

“He did not drink, Your Grace.”

“Ever?”

“Not since his diagnosis. I would say he had not a drop of alcohol for at least two years.”

“And how do you know he was drinking, doctor?”

The doctor began pacing. “When I arrived, he was already dead. And the scene before me was heartbreaking to say the least. There was so much commotion I almost missed it. But next to his chair by the fireplace I noticed a sniffer of brandy. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was only half full and had been tipped over.”

“That does not prove much.” Stefan admitted.

“I am merely telling you what I’ve observed.” The doctor stopped pacing. “Maybe my grief is talking. The good Lord knows only the daughters have grieved that loss.”

Stefan didn’t feel it was his place to ask what the doctor was referring to. He stored the information in the back of his mind as the doctor continued talking.

“As if things could not get any more peculiar. I find nothing wrong with the Dowager.”

“Nothing?” Stefan asked aghast.

“Absolutely nothing. She’s sleeping. Nothing more. Albeit, it is a strong sleep. Most likely drug induced, although I do not know why she would do such a thing.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Stefan rose from his seat and pumped the man's hand. “And I will think on what you’ve said.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor went to the door, but as he reached for it, it swung open wide revealing Willard. “Oh, good sir, I was just coming to fetch you. The hackney is here.”

The doctor nodded and walked off, leaving Stefan alone with the alarming news of the doctor’s discovery. Something was taking place in this household. And he was going to find out what.

Rosalind. She should at least know if her father was drinking brandy or acting out of sorts. She had seen him in his last moments. Should he bring back those painful memories though?

It was decided for him as Rosalind entered the room minutes later searching for a book.

“Oh, Stefan. I’m sorry, I knew I would have trouble sleeping so I came in search of a book, but I can come back at another time.”

“Wait.” He stood nearly knocking the brandy in his hand over in all his haste. “Stay, please.”

Rosalind looked towards the door then back at him. She must have decided she would rather spend time talking with him than tossing and turning in her bed, for she came near him and sat, tucking her feet beneath her.

“Brandy?” he offered.

Smiling, she nodded her head. Who wouldn’t need brandy after a day like today? If he stayed much longer in this madhouse he’d be a perpetual drunk.

He poured her a glass and handed it over.

She sniffed it before taking a large swallow.

“Rose, your mother….” How does one tell news such as this? Sorry, but you’re mother’s insane?

“She’s the devil.” Rosalind cursed and threw back the rest of her drink. Well yes, one could always be blunt. His little Rose, always honest to a fault.

“Well, yes there is that. Stole the words right from my mouth. Granted, I had others to add in as well. Colorful words too, would you like to hear them?”

Rosalind laughed. “Maybe after another drink.” She held out her glass. “I have half a mind to tell Samson to trample her.”

“He’d listen to you too. The cursed horse likes you better than he likes me, though he has revulsion of getting his hooves too dirty. I imagine he would somehow convince another horse to do his dirty work, all the while eating oats in the stable.”

Rosalind laughed loud and deep, causing Stefan’s blood to stir. “My groom is positively enamored of that horse. I’ll be surprised if he can even move after all the food he’s been consuming.”

“Glutton.” Stefan chuckled then sobered as Rosalind looked away with watery eyes.

“Rose…I spoke with the doctor.”

“As did I,” she admitted eyes still watery. “It appears she will stop at nothing to hurt me. I just don’t understand why she would cause such an uproar when she isn’t even ill.”

“Boredom?” Stefan offered. “Or maybe she wants to cause you pain for not abiding by her wishes. Regardless, we should keep a close eye on her.” Stefan’s mind went back to the odd mannerisms of the valet. “And the servants as well.” The ones who were still alive that is. What a mess.

Rosalind sighed, drinking her brandy in silence. “Did the doctor say anything else?”

His opportunity could not have been better. “Actually,” he set his glass down and leaned forward drawing courage from the burn of the alcohol down his throat. “I was wondering about your father.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, was he drinking the night he died, Rosalind? I know it is painful to talk about, but the doctor has suspicions, and I am merely trying to ascertain the truth to prove or disprove his theories.”

Rosalind nibbled on her lower lip distracting Stefan from his line of questioning. Rather than thinking about the odd happenings of the day, he found himself daydreaming about the taste of her lips and the feel of them as he slipped his tongue past her defenses.

“He was!” she blurted, stunning him out of his erotic dream.

“Drinking, you mean?” he asked.

“Yes! I know for certain because I thought he might be drunk, he was mumbling to himself when I walked into his study, but he had slowly been deteriorating. He put his glass on the ground and approached me and when he fell, well he must have knocked it over, for I don’t recall seeing it after the incident. Perhaps they cleaned it up after the doctor left.”

“Yes, perhaps.” Stefan didn’t think it wise to share his suspicions with Rosalind. “Where do you wish to marry?” he changed the subject as best he could. “I believe we can secure a church in this short amount of time. It will be nice to have our families present now, won’t it?”

“I suppose, though I still haven’t laid eyes on either of my sisters; one would think they were missing or something.” Rosalind shrugged and offered a smile. “Are we doing the right thing, Stefan?”

Leave it to her to ask the logical question. “The right thing for our families? Yes, sweetheart, we are.”

“And for us?” She quickly looked down and began swirling the remains of her brandy.

He took the glass from her hand and walked around the desk taking a stand in front of her. Stefan reached out his hand and brought her to her feet. “I can only speak for myself.” He watched as she licked her lips and leaned forward. “Selfishly, I would marry you regardless of the curse, Rosalind, and that’s the truth. Though you can imagine I would make a larger spectacle of myself. The sonnets would of course be written better than Byron himself. I’d throw rocks at your bedroom window in hopes that you’d let me up. And since being slightly foxed demands brutal honesty, I’ll admit to trying to seduce you every day until the vows were said.”

Green eyes widened as she gave as light sigh.

“Surprised?” he asked huskily.

“Not really.” She grinned.

His control snapped. Like a hungry lion he swept in and devoured her mouth with all the force of emotion he had been keeping in throughout the night. With a moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her embrace. It was as if a fight of desperation had broken free, for she frantically pulled at his jacket until it was off of his shoulders, and he in return tugged at her hair until it was free of pins.

Her once passive participation was suddenly aggressive, and Stefan found it hard to keep up with her enthusiasm as he was trying to think of a way to remove her clothes and happily possess her without wasting too much time. His need to protect her fought with his desire to bed her. A fierce battle for control raged within his chest. The last thing he wanted to be was reasonable as her fists grabbed a hold of his unfashionably long hair.

He cursed himself. In all these years, it would be now that he would develop a conscience and push the girl away only to spend the night in a frightful sleep of need.

“Rose,” he pulled away. “Sweetheart.” He grabbed at her hands still clenched within his hair and brought them to his lips. “Believe me when I say I want nothing more than to take you right here in the library without a care for who sees or how it looks.” He glanced at her swollen lips. “To the devil with propriety.”

She laughed, her eyes glistening with need. “Yet,” he caressed her face. “I find that I would not be able to live with myself if I took what was not mine in a fit of passion brought on by heightened emotions and a trying day. Please forgive me for being strong when I so desperately wish to be weak.”

“For a brute, that was quite poetic.” Rosalind said as a blush crept up her cheeks. “Does this mean you’re saving your weakness for me and only me, Your Grace?”

His heart began thudding wildly. “But of course. I imagine I’ll have plenty of weakness stored up for our wedding night. The only question is, will you be up for it or expire on the spot with your own delicate sensibilities?”

Rosalind lifted an eyebrow as she playfully jerked her hands free of his grasp. “Oh, Stefan, you should know me better by now.”

“Pardon?”

Gathering her skirts she walked slowly towards the door and spoke without turning around. “I am anything but delicate.”

His body begged and pleaded for him to race after her, to slam the door in her face and push her body up against it. He had to close his eyes to fight the emotions swelling within him. Stefan was truly worried that he wouldn’t make it. An insane godmother with aversions to pink, a suspicious valet, an enraged mother, a temptress, and a horse that acted more like a person than an animal. If he walked away without going mad, he would count himself fortunate.

Later on in the evening, his body fought for control. Part of him demanded he find Rosalind’s rooms and finish what they started. The other half told him to find sleep in any way possible.

Neither won, which come morning left him in a foul mood. It did nothing to help matters that on impulse he had slept in the library in order to protect Rosalind. At least that was what he told himself, though he wondered if he was more worried about himself attacking her or her mother. Most likely, it was a tie, leaving him again aggravated.