Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(53)

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?



****



“Ready?” Stefan asked as his hand reached for Rosalind’s.

Her heart thumped in her chest, she was shaking so much she was sure Stefan could feel the nervousness. “Ready.”

Both turned towards the front of the small church where only their respective families lay in wait.

Forgoing tradition, Stefan had wanted to hold Rosalind’s hand as he walked her down the aisle, for she hadn’t a father to escort her, and he had no father to offer her. It was as if two sad orphans made their way to the final destiny laid out before them.

He squeezed her hand and stole a glance at her beautifully adorned dress. In that moment, Stefan hated himself, for in the end he took full blame for the deaths of their families and the weight settled over his shoulders as he watched his soon to be wife shaking next to him. Rosalind, the woman was perfect, untouchable, pure, and she above all women deserved to be worshipped by the ton, deserved to have her father kiss her hand and demand that Stefan be a good husband.

I swear it, Stefan thought to himself as they reached the front of the church. I swear on my life that I will make you proud, deceased parents of ours. That your blood line will be strong, that I will spend every waking moment of my life making hers better, and every dream filled sleep holding her in my arms.

The ceremony was short and to the point. The vows were read, and Rosalind wore a sad smile as she looked to her mother, who still looked as mad as ever. The church was near empty, and Stefan felt indignation rise in his chest, along with failure. And Stefan cursed the curse, if that were possible, all over again. She deserved flowers, a woman with such red hair and beautiful nature—well it wasn’t right that she didn’t have the wedding she deserved surrounded by all her sisters, friends, family…

Stefan shook the thought away. No sense worrying over what he could not fix, then again he did have a surprise in store for her tonight. Yes, tonight had been hard for him to arrange considering both of their houses were filled with the mad and sick because of the curse.

Like a nervous school-boy, he helped Rosalind into the carriage. It came to his large home but instead of stopping up front, it went around to the back of the house.

“Where are we going? The servants entrance?” Rosalind winked and Stefan nearly lost his nerve.

“You’ll see.” He patted her hand and watched in fascination as his bride’s eyes took in the scene around him, daylight had given way to twilight. The sky was starting to scatter with stars, and he could not help but smile to himself. He wasn’t the most romantic man in the world, and he knew Rosalind’s only view of him was a barbaric, but he wasn’t the selfish sort of lover that most men were. No, he wanted to take his time with Rosalind, if he failed to woo her during their courtship, he would woo her during their lovemaking, until she was marked as his.

The carriage pulled to a stop, he could have sworn his hands were sweating in his gloves as he held out his hand for Rosalind. With a curious smile, she followed him through the back of the property.

“A cottage?” Rosalind’s eyes widened, and selfishly he hoped it was in pure shock at the expanse of décor.

The cottage was covered in snow, but the trail leading up was scattered with red rose petals.

“For my Briar Rose, the fairest of the fair…” he whispered in her ear. “Shall we?”

Rosalind’s laughter echoed off the enchanted path, “Briar Rose hmm? Am I then a thorn within the rose?”

Stefan stopped in is tracks and pulled her body flush against his. “No, my duchess. I would gladly prick my finger on your thorn if the result would be merely to gaze upon your face for the remainder of my days.”

Her eyes pooled with unshed tears, but she turned and followed the rose drizzled path until they reached the door, not once responding to his speech.

“It’s beautiful.” Tears freely fell down Rosalind’s porcelain skin as her eyes settled on the open door. A roaring fire and a picnic of fairy cakes lay in wait on the table. The massive bed in the middle of the room had its fair share of rose petals. The smell was intoxicating. Stefan had said to spare no expense when he gave instructions to Rosalind’s mother. A moment of weakness or a moment of kindness—he wasn’t certain which, but her mother had asked if she could prepare something special for the couple, and he had allowed it. On one condition; she must do it on his terms.