Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Upon a Midnight Dream (18 page)
Nodding mutely, she turned on her heel and marched to bed, holding Gwen’s hand the entire way up the treacherous staircase.
The last word she heard from Stefan’s mouth as she turned the corner to go down the hall was, “Dominique.”
For truth is always strange, stranger than fiction—Lord Byron
Stefan paced the entryway for what seemed like hours. Finally, he went into the study and poured himself a brandy, still looking at the letter as if it would somehow grow lips and begin speaking to him. Perhaps he better put down the brandy before he imagined more enchantments in the house. Next thing he would think his horse was talking to him. On second thought…
“Rubbish, that’s complete rubbish.” Stefan shook the thought from his head. Was it a possibility that all of them were to go mad until the marriage was done?
The truth, in black and white ink, lay before him. But more than that, was a clue he hadn’t been expecting.
It was a contract signed by Dominique, the new Earl, to purchase the youngest daughter… but if this was the same daughter the man was talking about in the library at the ball that meant either Rosalind’s father wasn’t dead, or he wasn’t the rightful father to Isabelle. The more likely story.
So who was her father? And why would the contract be sent here? He looked down again and noticed the scratchy handwriting of the Dowager Countess of Hariss. Next to her name was the family crest.
He couldn’t very well run after Isabelle. Her own family had legally sold her to the new earl in a betrothal contract. A sum of a hundred thousand pounds in exchange for one tiny girl.
Closing his eyes against the torment of emotions, he sent up a brief prayer for Isabelle’s safety, and glanced back down at the script.
On the bottom edge of the paper was a tiny riddle. Why it would be on the contract in the first place was beyond him. The fact that it was there was nothing more than an answered prayer. He studied it until his eyes felt like they were sand.
Sometime during the night, it fell from his fingers as he dozed off to sleep.
****
Rosalind went in search of Stefan first thing in the morning. Her goal was to give him a piece of her mind as to how proposals were to work and to also convince the duke to go in search of her sister. After all, she couldn’t be far.
She found him snoring in her father’s old study. Not that it was a huge revelation to see him snoring with his mouth open, but it made her smile nonetheless. With a smile, she slammed the door shut earning a curse from the sleeping man and a very amusing debacle as he righted himself from falling out of his chair.
“Oh, my apologies, did I wake you?” She sang as she walked to the curtains and threw them open, allowing light to stream in. Stefan was sitting, eyes blazing with a piece of paper in hand and an empty bottle of brandy next to him.
“Long night?” She took a seat next to him and noted he looked quite put out, as if he was ready to strangle her for speaking in his presence, that should teach him to get so deep into his cups or continue to propose to her as if she were nothing more than a statue.
“Yes.” His eyes closed as he leaned back against the chair. “Of course I was having this lovely dream of a beautiful redhead until some witch slammed the door and let in so much sunlight that I find myself ready to curse any sort of sunny weather.”
The sun chose that particular moment to blaze into his eyes making his arms flap at his face like a bird trying to fly away from the inevitable heat.
“Son of a—”
“—Stefan!”
“Apologies…It was a long night. To say the least. My intention wasn’t to drown my sorrows in whiskey, nor was it to fall asleep at this particular angle that-thanks to the uncomfortable seat will leave the most lovely crick in my neck come later this afternoon.”
Rosalind swallowed, slowly taking in Stefan’s mood and went to ring for tea before taking her seat. “Did you find anything of use?”
“How are you at riddles, love?”
“Riddles? Hmm, well I’d like to believe I’ve figured you out, so that makes me what? A relative genius?”
“Ah a sense of humor in the morning. How positively irritating,” Stefan muttered as he thrust the paper in front of her face. “If you can figure this out, I just may eat my horse.”
Rosalind grinned. “Poor Samson. I wonder how he’d feel to know he was part of a such a wager.”
“I can assure you, Rose, that Samson is mindlessly trotting around the estate eating oats out of the hands of each stable hand as we speak. He won’t think a thing of it. I swear he’s gained two stone since we’ve been here.”
Taking the paper from his outstretched hand, Rosalind let out a little laugh despite Stefan’s sour mood and began reading. It appeared to be a normal betrothal contract. Her mother’s signature with the signet ring of her late father on the side.
She shrugged. “Sorry to say, but it looks completely normal…” With a huff she brought the parchment closer to her face noticing a small etching on the bottom part of the paper. “Except…”
“Yes,” Stefan rose from his chair and stretched. “Except for that blasted riddle on the bottom of the page. Unfortunately I took French at university instead of Russian, terrible language if you ask me, but it seems we are in need of a translator.”
“Gwen.”
“Of course, the other sister why hadn’t I thought of that?” Stefan looked around in exasperation. The night had obviously not been kind to him, she had half a mind to put him outside with Samson until his barbaric manners were all but gone. Who knew he was such a bear in the morning! If anyone had something to be upset about it was her!
“No,” Rosalind scowled at Stefan at the same time the sunlight again enhanced his god-like body. On second thought, she walked to him and wrapped her arms tight around his neck in excitement. “But she knows Russian.”
“Do I want to know how she knows?” His body relaxed the minute it was in contact with hers. Shuddering, he bent down to kiss her forehead.
“She knows several languages, it’s a type of hobby for her. I’ll go search for her while you go….do what men do to get ready in the morning and do try not to be grouchy.”
“If you don’t want me to be grouchy then you need to marry me.”
“Now?” she asked sarcastically.
He was obviously not amused, for he cursed and ran both hands through his long blond hair.
“Yes, right now. Immediately.”
“Are you still drunk?”
“I am not!” Stefan closed his eyes. “I am not drunk. I just think it best for us to be married. I can provide protection for you and your sisters.”
Not the most romantic proposal and most definitely not the words that she wanted to hear from his lips, but his reason was sound.
Her shoulder slumped and she nodded. “Tonight, we’ll marry tonight. Does that suit you?”
With a grin so magnetic that Rosalind couldn’t help but smile back, he laughed and nodded. “Oh it suits me just fine. Now, go find your sister while I make preparations.”
With a nod, she was out the door in search for Gwen, praying the entire way that she still remembered Russian.
It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe –
You might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.—Lord Byron
By the time Stefan returned to his townhome, he knew his family had indeed gone mad. Fitz was worsening, looking as if he was on his death bed. His mother was bed ridden with orders to rest, and Elaina and James were running around the house as if the dratted sky was falling.
“Stefan!” Elaina ran into his arms the minute he opened the door. Her chocolate eyes were dim compared to their usual shine. How he had ever found her attractive especially now that he had Rosalind in his life, he would never know.
Prying her hands away from his body, he asked her the question he didn’t want to ask. “Is Fitz alive?”
“Of course he’s alive! Everyone’s alive! It’s the matter of impending death that has the servants and everyone within this house mad! And you’ve done nothing!”
The things he wanted to say to her were grossly inappropriate, and he knew she spoke only out of fear. “I’m to marry this evening.”
“It will do nothing.” She slumped onto the stairway and put her head in her hands. “Believe me, this curse will be the ruin of us all.”
Not that he was known for being an emotional man, but this really wasn’t the time for comforting anyone, so he stepped over her as best he could and readied himself for his upcoming nuptials. Knowing that if this didn’t work, there was something else a foot, and he was going to figure it out even if it did kill him.
It was a wonder what fresh clothes did for his outlook on the depressing day. Remembering Rosalind’s words, he tried to paste a smile on his face instead of a scowl, but it was blasted hard, all things considered.
Samson waited for him outside the house—the horse truly had gained weight since their little endeavor back into London.
“So what do you think Samson? Today we are to be married. No more bachelorhood.”
Was it him or did Samson slump his shoulders as if disappointed? No, it had to be his vivid imagination; it seemed in the past week he had done nothing except imagine that the world around him was enchanted and alive.
“Blasted curse has me going mad,” he mumbled, getting on his horse. As he turned the corner he noticed the valet walking hastily towards his residence.
“Good day, Your Grace.” Mr. Fitzgerald gave a curt bow and meant to be on his way. Samson however was not having any of it. He neighed and kicked until Stefan was sure the horse would trample the small man.
“Samson! Down this instant! Heel!” Stefan pulled tighter on the reigns. Was madness also taking over his horse?
Finally, the horse calmed down and promptly sneezed in the valet’s face. Making Stefan cough to cover his laugh. What had gotten into him?
“Apologies, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him react this way. Must be the curse.” Stefan offered a small laugh, but the valet was not amused.
“Good day.” Mr. Fitzgerald tipped his hat and walked off.
Stefan turned Samson back down the street. “Don’t know if I should congratulate you or strangle you for sneezing on a man. Whatever has gotten into you, old boy?”
Samson’s only response was to huff and continue trotting on.
****
Gwen looked again at the tiny scribbles and sighed. “I’m sorry Rose, I just can’t make out what it’s saying. I believe it may actually be in German, not Russian as you assumed, and by the markings, it seems to not be a riddle but some sort of directions. The only thing I can make out is the words
beware the Black Forest
.”
Rosalind mumbled an oath. They had been sitting and discussing what to do of the past two hours, and neither of them had any inclination as to what the cryptic words meant!
It didn’t help that Rosalind’s mind was thick with worry for her sister and selfishly, for her upcoming wedding that night. Hadn’t she always sworn she wouldn’t marry a man based off of the stupid curse? And here she was doing that very thing. Sure, her heart was involved she possibly even loved Stefan, but did he love her? Or was he merely offering his protection and his bed?
Gwen was still talking, “Rose, did you hear what I said?”
“Hmm? What? I’m sorry, woolgathering, I guess.”
With an exhale Gwen folded the paper and put it on her dresser. “Rose, I miss her too. I don’t know if mother’s merely mad or if we truly are cursed, but let us try to be happy. After tonight everything should be over with. The curse, and the madness with it and then mother will be able to tell us about her whereabouts.”
Rosalind looked at her sister’s porcelain face. Such a beautiful girl. “I’ll try, for your sake, I’ll try. Shall we begin to ready ourselves for tonight?”
“Yes.” Gwen kissed Rose on the forehead and moved to close the door.
“What were you discussing?” their mother asked, barging into the room. “If you mean to go after your sister, you’ll never find her. I ask that you trust my judgment in this. She is in good hands. After all…” She walked to the window and began moving back and forth as if in a trance. “I am a mother. It is my job to see all my girls married off, isn’t that right Rose? And see how much you’ve pleased me today. The curse will be broken. I will no longer be ill, and you’ll be a duchess. Yes, yes it has worked out perfectly.” She wrung her hands together until Rosalind’s own hands began to hurt. “I imagine everything will be perfect by morning.” She turned around to face them, her face haggard and worn. “Yes, by morning everything will return to normal, my loves, and Edward, yes he will be back too. He loves me you know.”
“Mother,” Rosalind took a tentative step towards the dowager. “Father’s dead, remember?” Never mind that his name was not Edward, but possibly her mother was just confused.
“Oh yes, yes he is, isn’t he?” She clapped her hands together as if excited by the idea. “Now, we must ready you for your wedding! Yes, we must get ready for the ceremony.” With a gleeful laugh, she left.
Gwen and Rose shared a look of pure horror before Rosalind rushed to the door and locked it.
“She’s mad!” Rosalind lifted a shaking hand to her temple.
“She is…” Gwen licked her lips. “And I’d die before I’d let her ruin this for you Rose, I swear it.” Her sister walked over to ring for her maid.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling for the valet, he has some sort of tea that he’s been giving mother to subdue her. I’m going to ask him to double the dosage.”
“Is it dangerous?” Rosalind asked putting her hand over her sisters.
Gwen shrugged. “He says it’s a mild sedative. Mother and father used to put it in our tea when we were young to help us sleep. I’m sure it will be fine.”
Rosalind nodded, but in the back of her mind a memory flared to life. The tea she was forced to drink every night when she was young and how her body would feel sluggish in the morning. She had stopped for a few years until her first debut into society when she had trouble sleeping again, her mother began putting it in her tea saying it would ease her nerves.
The maid entered, and Gwen gave instructions, but Rosalind’s mind continued to wander.
“Shall we begin with your hair?” Gwen asked reaching her hands into the silky locks flowing down Rosalind’s back.
Rosalind looked at her reflection in the mirror and fought the urge to cry. What was the matter with her? In all her haste, she had agreed to marry a man who botched every marriage proposal given, and to be quite frank he had been given many chances to be romantic. Did he love her? Was it merely to break the curse? Or get her in bed?
If she was to be introspective about her own feelings she would admit that yes, she was marrying to break the curse. It had to be. Perhaps if they had more time, to court, and to woo as she has originally asked, but now it seemed they were out of time, if her mother’s strange murmurings were any indication.
Tonight she would be the Duchess of Montmouth. Why, she wondered as Gwen began brushing her hair, did it leave her sick in the stomach?