Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(42)

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.