Upon A Midnight Dream

by Rachel Van Dyken

  "Stefan?" Rosalind lifted a gloved hand to his face.

  "Yes?" He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  "It is you."

  Her warm hand abandoned his face. Rosalind left him wanting, needing, gasping for air and feeling lost all at the same time. Whatever did she mean? The time spent thinking on her cryptic words was interrupted when Gwen nearly ran into him.

  "She's gone."

  How was it that he was cursed with so many females in his life? Did they always talk in riddles? "Yes, well, I'm sure we'll find her." He patted her shoulder. The poor thing was probably exhausted after being at her first ball.

  "No, Your Grace. It's Isabelle. She's gone! I know she wouldn't leave the ball without us. I just know it! Something dreadful has happened!"

  "Stay calm, I'm sure we'll find her." Stefan threw her a charming smile and walked off in search of Rosalind, taking his time making greetings with other attendees the entire way.

  Later that night, they figured Isabelle had gone missing around the same time Rosalind and Stefan had gone into the library.

  The last place they needed to look was the house in town. For where else would Isabelle had run off to?

  As Stefan pounded on the door and his grip tightened on Rosalind. The valet opened, his expression grave.

  "She's gone" Willard announced.

  "It seems to be the general consensus." Stefan muttered pushing past him. "Now tell me, do you have any idea where she's run off to?"

  "I've made arrangements." Lady Hariss made her way down the stairs. "I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done now."

  "You've made arrangements for what exactly?" Stefan asked his stomach feeling tight with dread.

  The dowager gave a mad smile and fanned herself with her naked hand. "Oh, well, you two were just taking such a dreadfully long time getting married. We needed money; you gave me no other option. The contract has been signed. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm tired."

  "What the devil are you talking about?" Stefan tried to keep himself calm as the wicked woman gave out a menacing laugh.

  "She was a bastard anyway, it's of no matter."

  With that she marched up the stairs.

  Stefan could hear the two sisters weeping next to him. Was he the only one confused?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They do not love that do not show their love

  ~ The Two Gentleman of Verona ~

  Rosalind watched her mother's disappearing form and fought the urge to throw something at her. Was madness then her mother's curse?

  She turned to the Willard, who now appeared to be sweating and ready to kill anything that spoke to him. "Do you know what she speaks of? Where Isabelle ran off to? Why she claims that the youngest is a bastard?"

  He cleared his throat. "Surely, you don't think I had anything to do with this? Your mother is ill my lady, it would be good of you to remember that. If your mother felt the need to sell her youngest daughter to the highest bidder, then so be it. After all, is it so odd for a peer to betroth a daughter in order to gain an alliance as well as money?" He lifted a haughty eyebrow and turned on his heel, muttering under his breath.

  "But…" Rosalind wanted to remind him that her mother had no reason for her claim, but felt Stefan's hands on her shoulders. The pressure of his hands made her relax, best not to ask the valet any information at this point. The look in his eyes was pure rage and madness.

  She watched helplessly as the man walked away, leaving her alone with Gwen and Stefan.

  "Stefan," Rosalind's voice hitched. "What do we do? Everything has gone topsy-turvy…"

  Stefan didn't move for a while, his muscular form rigid. "We must marry immediately."

  "Oh sweet heavens, here we go again." Rosalind rubbed her forehead with her hands. "Have you learned nothing about proposals, Stefan? Besides, we already agreed to marry."

  "He's right, m'lady." Mary said behind her.

  "Oh, Mary, I didn't see you! Have you seen Isabelle?"

  Mary's posture was slumped as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I'm afraid she's gone."

  "But where!" Rosalind was tired of fighting, tears streamed down her face. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? Stefan was back to his insulting proposals, her sister was missing, her mother insane.

  "There's nothing we can do for her now." Mary handed a piece of parchment to Stefan and walked away, eyes downcast. Her nurse and godmother had been missing these past few days, or at least scarce around the house. Possibly, madness was catching up with everyone. Was there any other explanation?

  Rosalind watched as Stefan unfolded the paper and read the contents, his face turning redder with rage by the minute.

  "Off to bed, all of you," he barked.

  Rosalind bit back a curse, wanting nothing more than to yell and scream at him. How dare he yell when she was so distraught!

  She opened her mouth to speak. His large hand came slicing through the air in front of her making her stop from saying something she would most likely regret.

  "To bed, both of you." The warmth in Stefan's eyes faded and Rosalind was once again reminded of the brute behind the man she had grown to care for.

  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."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  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 bottl
e 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 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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  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 s
ister 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.