Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(43)

“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.