Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(12)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

With one final glance around her, she sighed, trimmed the candles, and made her way to her bedroom. Tomorrow Stefan would begin his courting. She wondered if he even knew the meaning of the word. For although he had been home from India for months now, he still had the manners of a savage.

CHAPTER FIVE

How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways…

~ Elizabeth Browning ~

Stefan marched down the long poorly lit hallway to his room and pulled open the door with more force than necessary. The girl wanted wooing? He smirked as he took a seat next to the roaring fire. Stefan rubbed his eyes with his hand and bit his lip in thought. It wasn’t the idea, more the principal of the matter. Why spend time wooing when in the end they had to marry regardless of circumstances?

He sat in silence, as the options lay before him. He could either one, force her hand; or two, woo and hope she would come to her senses. What did he know about wooing anyway? It had never been necessary, and since his return from India, he had more trouble hiding from women then trying to pursue them. The trouble, it seemed, had begun when he made a complete spectacle of himself at the Season’s last ball. Only to be glorified in the society papers the very next day by Mrs. Peabody — whoever she was, she obviously held him in high regard, for every single article mentioned him in some way or another.

His favorite meal always included boiled potatoes, which made every woman within his vicinity strike up a conversation about the stupid vegetable . He preferred a certain bay over every other horse which always led to women trying to talk with him about horseflesh, never a good idea when the women hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about. At one point a woman confused a Grey with the actual color and then proceeded to ask him why he preferred such a bland color instead of yellow or pink. Needless to say, he walked away quite frustrated. But the worst of Mrs. Peabody’s crimes also happened to be a personal favorite. What his choice hair color would be on a woman. That very piece of information seemed harmless at the time, that is until he went to a small dinner gathering and noticed quite a few of women trying to powder their hair in order to gain the blonde hair color he so obviously adored. Never mind that women had stopped wearing hair powder years prior. Apparently it was to make a come back. Not only did he sneeze each time a woman came near him that night, but one of the young ladies had an unfortunate accident leading to her hair being set on fire.

Whoever that deuced Mrs. Peabody was, his life had been absolute torture in the months following his return to polite society. It was no wonder his patience was wearing thin. Two beacons of society had fallen because of the curse, and now he was in the middle of nowhere trying to woo a woman who danced alone in meadows! Not that he should be casting disparagement upon her sanity, since only hours ago he had asked his horse for help.

By his weak calculations, he hadn’t any time to lose. The girl wanted him to try and so he would, but if he failed…

"Blast," he said aloud. He could not fail — would not fail. It wasn’t an option for him to even consider.

Stefan heard his valet enter and rose from his seat. "Alfred?"

"Your Grace?" He made quick work pulling out Stefan’s dressing gown and robe.

"Have you any expertise with women?"

Alfred paused his fingers on the soft silk of the dressing gown, seemingly frozen in place. "If this is about that godmother, my apologies for not warning you of her manner, sir. It is rumored that she’s taken a mother hen approach to Lady Hartwell. If I had known she would strike you, I would have surely given you warning."

Stefan waved off his valet’s excuse. "No, it isn’t about the godmother, though I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes when she raised that blasted cane for the third time. I am inquiring so I may…" He lifted his eyes heavenward and took a deep breath to finish his sentence. "…Woo the girl," he finished quietly.

"You want to do what with the girl, sir?"

"Woo her," he said again.

Alfred stared at him long and hard. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Did you say you wish to woo her?"

"That is what I said." Though by the look of shock in his valet’s eyes, he desperately wished he could take it back and forget the whole conversation ever took place.

"Woo." Alfred repeated.

"Yes, woo," Stefan confirmed, tiring of his valet’s obvious amusement. He knew Alfred well enough to speak plainly to him, but he didn’t expect him to find the whole situation so amusing.

"I believe ladies enjoy flowers, Your Grace." Alfred began helping Stefan undress. "There is also a rumor floating around in polite society that they enjoy amusing conversation and compliments."

"Stop mocking me, Alfred."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Alfred continued helping him undress until he was ready for bed. The silence was deafening.

Muttering an oath, Stefan looked back at Alfred. "Flowers, you say?" He scratched his head in thought. Whatever happened to women who were easily seduced by lust-filled looks and hasty advances? Oh yes, they were all back in London while he was trapped here in an ancient castle with nothing, save a spinster and Lady Rosalind to keep him company. He refused to count the servants, mainly because Alfred was putting him in a devilish bad mood.

"Would you like me to acquire some flowers for you, Your Grace? I believe I heard talk of a rose garden on the estate. Though in winter, I doubt any of them are in bloom. An orangery perhaps?"

Stefan thought on it. The last thing he needed was to propose with a bouquet of dead flowers in hand. Surely Rosalind would not find the irony at all funny. "No, Alfred. It is the lady’s desire that I sweat and toil for her. Therefore, I will pick the flowers, sing the sonnets, go down on one knee and pour out my bleeding heart."

"Very good, Your Grace." Alfred smiled and bowed. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, by all means, leave me to my devices, so I can plan my seduction."

"Woo, sir."

Stefan paused. "What was that?"

"Woo," Alfred repeated. "To seduce implies you mean to cheat. To woo implies fair play where both parties are involved."

"Goodnight, Alfred." Stefan grumbled. He needed sleep if he was to start this little adventure on the morrow. The trouble was, he had never courted a lady before and hadn’t a clue how to go about it. Flowers and compliments seemed to be forced. And with Rosalind’s father dead, he hadn’t a man to ask permission to court. It seemed he truly was left to his own devices, and he wasn’t entirely certain that was a wise course of action. After all, he had only been back in London for six months, and during that time hadn’t once pursued a woman. The last woman he had even thought about had been Elaina. But that was before the bitterness of her husband’s illness and the loneliness of her bed changed her.