Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(38)

“A moment of weakness.” Rosalind managed a smile. “She seems to be getting more horrid with age.”

“Your mother?”

She nodded.

“Yes well, I thought she was lovely. Only twice did I contemplate choking that neck of hers, and I had half a mind to pat myself on the back for my restraint.”

Rosalind laughed, covering her mouth with her hands at Stefan’s obvious attempt to pull her out of the melancholy she was in.

“What?” he asked, looking offended. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the exact same thing, little minx. Now, let us straighten you up.” His thumbs wiped the tears from her eyes. “There we go, now you look like the same redhead that told me my sonnet was stupid and my proposals lacking.”

Rosalind bit her lip against the hammering of her heart.

Stefan’s hand reached up. Taking her by surprise he pulled at the back of her head and kissed her so hard she thought she may expire on the spot. His tongue dove into her mouth without restraint. Large hands twisted into her hair and tugged her entire body forward.

He pulled back with a smug grin. “Aw, there’s that fire I’m so used to. Glad to see you set to rights again. Shall we?” He opened the door and offered his arm.

Insufferable man! She didn’t know whether to pull him back into the room and beg of him to kiss her again or slap him for his advances. In fact, she wasn’t even sure how her wobbly legs managed to move in a straight line. The man was an emotional complexity! How was it that he was able to offer her sound advice in the same breath he used to kiss her senseless?

Cursing the man for his seduction abilities that she earlier mocked, she made her way with Stefan in tow towards her younger sister’s room.

“Aghhhhh!” A scream erupted from her mother’s rooms.

Panicking, Rosalind turned on her heel and ran. Stefan was ahead of her and in the room before she was able.

“What the devil happened here?” he roared.

Rosalind gasped when she came into the room. Her mother was lying on her side motionless and pale.

“Is she…” Rosalind shuddered.

Willard was next to her side, his face contorted with rage. “She seems to have developed similar symptoms to the other maids. She said she was in pain so I brought her some tea, then she complained of stomach cramps and fell into a deep sleep it seems.”

“Call for the doctor immediately,” Stefan ordered.

Willard merely stood there motionless before adding. “Your Grace, pardon my outspokenness, but we’ve been dealing with this cursed disease for the past few weeks. A doctor will not help. She will slowly go mad. I’m sure of it.”

“I said…” Stefan clenched his fists. “Call for the doctor.”

“Your Grace,” Willard gave a curt bow and exited the room.

“Well, it appears my family has gone mad.” Rosalind looked at her mother’s motionless form.

“Rose, I hate to say this now, and I know my proposals haven’t been the stuff of legends, but…”

A heavy weight of guilt descended onto her shoulders. Maybe they were right, she was being selfish. How morose of a thought—to know that she would surely die married to a man she was starting to care for. The thought that she was actually developing feelings for Stefan didn’t aid her confusion. It caused her heart great pain. Even worse than his botched proposals was the fact that she was hiding the seriousness of her health issues from his very astute eyes. He knew nothing of the constant fear that plagued her. The horrible premonition that one day, she would simply fall asleep and never wake up.

“What are you saying, Stefan?”

“Rose, if it is the curse...” he didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to. The house felt constricting and all at once frightening and cold. His eyes landed on her mother’s frail form.

“Are you still in possession of the special license, Stefan?”

After a moment of silence, he said, “The license hasn’t left my person, Rose.”

Rosalind closed her eyes. She had to make the decision without looking at her mom’s ill form and pale face. “Of course you do. Always dependable. We shall marry in two days. That will give me adequate time to make arrangements.”

“As you wish.” His voice was barely audible. Was he regretting the hastiness of their marriage? Or was he merely trying to be humble about her decision?

She would never know, for the next minute her world turned on its ear as a very pale woman ran into the room and announced. “They are both dead! The two maids, my friends…they are dead!”





Chapter Fourteen


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?”