Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(6)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Stefan looked into his brother’s expressionless eyes, and his heart gave way again. How had things spiraled so far out of his control? And so fast?

"I’ll leave as soon as I can," he said, looking down at the cold slate floor. It was, as he thought, a moment in time where he would always remember the look on everyone’s face. His mother, in mourning and thinking nobody noticed as she continued to drink more and more sherry until her features took on a rosy appearance. And Fitz, silent as the grave, because even he knew he hadn’t much time left.

The sunlight poured in through a crack in the drapes, tiny dust particles sprung to life all around Stefan’s face, and it seemed the universe was frozen in place. His family utterly broken, silent, and grieving in that tiny death trap of a room. And he, the savior of him all, had just agreed to marry a girl with one foot in the grave. It was madness.

But it was also love. True love for his father who had died before his time, and his mother who was slowly dying every day, and Fitz. He owed it to Fitz for life had been the cruelest to him over the past few months.

Stefan had thought he was over Elaina. That hopefully through the passage of time, her beauty would cease to affect him.

Instead, he found it was worse. So when Fitz began his downward spiral into his sickness, Elaina had sought comfort elsewhere. The thought alone made Stefan ill, for Elaina had gone to James, of all people, for that comfort.

"How long shall it take?" James asked, breaking his sulky silence from the corner of the room. He was ruined more than anyone, for he had publicly announced a matron of the ton as his mistress, making him not only the laughingstock of the family, but also bitter for the woman who had denied him. Which was why he took his solace where he could find it — Elaina’s bed.

"I’ll be as quick about it as I can," Stefan said.

"Good," James excused himself from the room, not quite sure on his feet, for he had consumed nearly as much whiskey as his mother had sherry.

"Stefan?" With tremulous hands, his mother held out a crumpled piece of parchment. "It must be done this year or else…" Her weak voice trailed off.

"Or else?" Stefan asked, not sure he wanted to know the end of her tragic tale.

"The curse will take us all, Stefan."

Biting back another oath Stefan took the paper and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "I’ll return as soon as I am able."

"You cannot fail, my son."

His mother’s last words haunted him as he quit the room. The only sounds in the depressed house were those of James’ and Elaina’s stolen laughter, Fitz and his coughing, and his mother weeping into her hands.

"I will not fail," he vowed, and went in search of his horse.

CHAPTER TWO

It is never too late to be what you might have been.

~ George Eliot ~

That same cursed day…

The snow fell throughout the afternoon. Rosalind watched as the flakes danced through the darkening sky. The solitude in her hiding spot should feel lonely, but instead she relished the few silent moments to herself.

With her godmother running around the manor like a little mother hen, it was a shock she could even find a place to hide. Why, she had asked when she was little, did she need a godmother? Was having a full staff in the house not enough? Her father had merely patted her head and said she was extra special and in need of more than one guardian. Though her godmother scoffed at such an idea and swore up and down it was merely a precaution in case one of them died.

They believed Mary to be his insurance policy. But Rosalind knew better than that. Mary adored her, and she Mary. Since leaving her mother in London, her godmother was all she had. Her family had all but abandoned her since the night of her father’s death, in hopes that the curse would follow only Rosalind.

"What have you done?" he had said. Shivering, she pulled her arms closer to her chest and sunk deeper into the chair.

"Rose!" Mary’s high voice pierced the once silent afternoon. "Rose! I know you are hiding! Come here at once!"

Hide? From her godmother? Rosalind laughed. That was impossible, for Mary was everywhere every second, constantly watching Rosalind as if she were breakable. It was irritating to say the least.

"Here, I’m in here!" Rosalind yelled back, snapping the book in her lap closed. She straightened her shoulders and waited for the little woman’s entrance.

Within minutes, Mary stomped into the room, face flushed with exertion. "Child! You simply cannot give me such a scare as to disappear for a few hours without a peep!"

"Peep," Rosalind offered with a devious smile.

Ignoring her, Mary marched towards the window where Rosalind sat. "Have you nothing better to do the day before your birthday than read?"

Rosalind stretched her hands over her head. "What would you have me do, Mary? It is snowing, after all. Would you like me to go for a ride out in the snow?"

"What a lovely idea! I’ll tell the groom at once!"

With that Mary ran out of the room, yelling at the top of her lungs to ready Rosalind’s horse.

She should have known better than suggest anything to Mary, the godmother who thought idle hands were the devil’s playground. And that any person with enough time on their hands to sulk had adequate time to do something about it.

Legs heavy with sleep, she made her way up to her rooms to don a warm riding habit lined with fur and a muff. The last thing she wanted was to meet her death in the freezing snow the day before her nineteenth birthday. Her last one, according to all the best doctors in London.

Rosalind took her time descending the stairs, careful as she added weight to each step. She must be mad to go riding in such a condition, but part of her wondered if Mary wasn’t just eager to get her out of the house. After all, she had been spending a record-breaking amount of time reading and gazing out the window. But her muscles were more fatigued now than ever. The woman, who was once fearless, was now full of fear. It seemed to choke the very life out of her.

The crisp winter air burned her nose. Though not extremely cold, it would most definitely be a frigid jaunt. Her legs continued to work properly as she made her way to the stables.

"And how is Duke today?" The smell of horses and sweat welcomed her as she noticed Duke already saddled and ready to go.

Hubert, her groom, laughed. "Aye, Miss, he’s as feisty as ever. Careful out there, Miss. Duke is itching to go for a long run."

"We’ll do fine, I’m sure." Closing her eyes, she ran her hand over his beautiful black coat, relishing in the warmth of his fur. Without assistance, she mounted and took off in a short trot.