Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(41)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"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.