Upon a Midnight Dream (7 page)
Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
To sleep perchance to dream.
—Hamlet, William Shakespeare
Rosalind lifted a shaky hand to her face. Truthfully, she was alarmed. Her mother hadn’t been sick once that she could even remember. Whatever was wrong, it must be urgent for her to send for her. At any rate, it would be one of the longest journeys of her life considering she had to sit in such close proximity with that beast of a man.
She had Abigail pack what she needed and informed her godmother they would be making the trek back into the city the following morning. Mary didn’t seem at all put out. Instead, she looked excited. So much for having a birthday celebration. With all her preparations for travel, it seemed her birthday would again be forgotten.
It was the same way last year. Rosalind hated that her little girl fantasies were still so present. Though she was old enough not to care about birthdays, it still made her heart drop to her feet whenever they were uneventful. Her father often told her that magic took place on birthdays—one just had to believe.
She believed, but the minute she opened her eyes for a miracle, Stefan showed up. He was not her knight in shining armor. Unless the knight was supposed to be egotistical and irritating, albeit handsome. The only thing that fit was the white horse, but that seemed too cliché.
Perhaps, the reason she enjoyed Stefan’s kisses, or at least allowed herself to entertain them was because she knew her time was limited, and it was inevitable that she would die of this dreadful disease though she hadn’t had a spell since retiring to the country, or at least that she could remember. Wasn’t that a good sign? If she couldn’t remember her last spell, perhaps it meant the disease was going away? Or maybe Stefan’s kisses were just muddling her memory.
She should not have allowed him such liberties, but she seemed unable to control her more physical urges whenever he was around. It was as if his mere presence drew her into a spell that she was unable to fight.
“Cursed man,” she muttered, taking one last look around her room. It was time to leave. Maybe in London she would be able to see Stefan in a different light. It raised Rosalind’s hopes that somehow the arrogant man would grow or develop a romantic notion and pursue her like a man ought to.
A girl could hope. And it seemed hope was all she had to hang on to. That and the curse.
****
Stefan made his way back into the house slowly, taking in the expanse of the property. The vision in front of him was nothing short of extraordinary. Snow-filled forests swept out from behind the Tudor styled mansion framing the sight in such a picturesque view it nearly took his breath away. Such a shame that he wasn’t to be staying longer. The adventurer in him wanted to see what else the lands beheld.
The wind picked up, nearly knocking his beaver hat to the ground. A chill unlike that of cold weather plagued him. Just as winter was enchanting the lands around him—and reminders of cold death lay in front of him, Stefan was again reminded of the seriousness of the situation. If he didn’t marry Rosalind, and marry her soon—their families—both of them, would be doomed. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t convinced it was some sort of gypsy spell. What mattered was that he was given one way to fix everything. It was his fault that things had occurred as they had in the first place. Rosalind needed to marry him and if love was what she required, then his persuasion needed to be better than barking orders that they should marry in haste.
And it was for that reason alone—desperation and necessity that he went in search of Alfred. If he was to truly behave a gentleman, he needed some reminding in the art, for the girl was correct. His romancing was at a standstill, and it seemed that his only option at this point was to seek help—preferably from a human, not his horse.
Hanging his head in the only smidge of humility he possessed, Stefan went to his room. A knock soon came on the door. Fully expecting to see Alfred on the other side, Stefan blurted, “I need help!”
“I see you’ve swallowed that roguish pride of yours since the horse incident, hmm?” Rosalind winked.
May God have mercy.
“I was...talking to, er...myself.” Stefan cleared his throat.
Red hair glistened as Rosalind wrapped it around her finger in thought. “First your horse and now yourself. Are you sure you’re well, Your Grace? Shall I call for Mary to nurse you back to health until you’re feeling more like yourself?”
“By all means, call your godmother. Perhaps she can beat the last of my pride out of me. Sounds lovely, I’ll just be sitting over here waiting for the caning. I do hope she doesn’t break it on my back when she lunges for my head.”
“Oh posh. You’re no fun whatsoever!”
Stefan’s head perked up. Was she jesting? So, she did care. She—
“What woman beats a man who just sits there and mopes?”
Right. Stefan's mouth gaped open to speak or snap—really to respond in any manner, whether it be a grunt or some sort of beastly noise. Nothing came, and with that he did indeed find out that his pride was nearly gone. In its place was desperation for the redhead standing ever so provocatively against his bedpost. A few measly inches and he could have her on her back with that glorious red hair splayed across the satin sheets. His body hovering over hers, promises of pleasure and passion and…
“Your Grace? Did you hear me?”
He shook his head. Had Rosalind truly been talking that whole time?
“Course I did.” Stefan cleared his throat. Saints have mercy on him if she asked any sort of repetition to what she just said. Curse his lust-filled thoughts!
“So would that be agreeable?”
Stefan nodded; it was really the only option he had at the moment. Well, that or lifting her skirts, and he figured one of those two options would probably result in him being on the other side of that blasted cane.
“Good! I’m so very relieved that it is settled! I do worry about this estate when I’m not here, and it would be so kind of you to help out.”
“Help out?” he repeated. What in the blazes was she talking about?
“Yes.” Rosalind winked. “I’ll just let the estate manager know you’ll be making the final preparations with him before we leave.”
Devil take it, her smile sent tremors through his already hard body. “Yes, well, I would do anything for you, my Rose.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I can very well see that. Now, off you go. I’m sure you have much planning to do before we leave. I’ll just leave you to your talking, perhaps looking in the mirror would help next time?”
“I was not—yes, perhaps.” Stefan clenched his teeth and gave a curt bow as Rosalind’s laughter echoed in the room.
“Until dinner, Your Grace. Remember. Eight o’clock sharp.”
The door shut behind her, leaving Stefan with the aching suspicion that he had just agreed to do something horribly disagreeable. Well, he was a duke! As long as he wasn’t mucking out stables and farming with the tenants, he would be fine.
****
“Son of a—”
“Oh, Your Grace! So glad to see you! We have been waiting in expectation for your grand tutelage!”
Oh, how he wished for his own cane, or possibly to wrap his hands around Rosalind’s beautiful slender neck. Yes, he would cheerfully punish that woman for putting him in this predicament. Outside, in the snow, mucking stables. Dukes did not muck stables. Dukes rarely stepped foot inside stables unless it was to buy some greys or perhaps ride or…
“When you’re ready, Your Grace.” Higgins, the estate manager, was a short plump man with an all too cheerful demeanor and an aggravating voice that sounded quite like an animal in heat, though to be fair, worse comparisons were out there.
Stefan muttered a few more curses for good measure and plastered a ducal smile on his face while he reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Higgins, it seems I’m a bit in the dark. Tell me how I can be of service.”
“Right away, Your Grace! And may I just say, to work next to such a man! Well, I don’t think my Betsy will believe me when I tell her!”
As long as Higgins didn’t repeat all the curses Stefan muttered, repeating the story would be fine.
“Yes, good.” Stefan looked around the stables. Where was all the help?
Higgins stepped closer to Stefan and whispered in that awful voice, “What’cha lookin’ for, Your Grace?”
“Pride.”
“What was that?”
Stefan cleared his throat. “People, my good man. Where are all the servants?”
Higgins brow furrowed, a bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Oh, apologies, I thought the lady of the house told ya. It’s just me and the stable boy, cook, and of course, Abigail, and ol’ cranky pants, the butler. We haven’t had servants in this house since the earl’s passing.”
Which meant Stefan was to be a servant for the day. Oh the ways he would make Rosalind pay. On second thought…A smile spread across his lips.
“Very good!” Stefan slapped Higgins on the back and walked towards the shovels. “Shall we get to work then? It seems these stables need a good cleaning before we leave in the morning, wouldn’t want the estate to fall into disarray with the lady’s absence.”
Higgins joined his side and slapped him on the back, obviously not aware that dukes did not, in fact, get slapped by servants or any person for that matter. But he meant it in good fun, so Stefan let it slide like he had so many other things the past few days—pride, sanity, good sense…
“Well, let’s get to it, good man. Wouldn’t want to keep you from Betsy.”
Higgins grin was so wide, Stefan’s own mouth grew slightly sore. “Thank you, Your Grace. I tell you it is an honor, it is.”
“Right.”
Stefan gripped the shovel. Rosalind had another thing coming if she thought he was to be scared off by a little work. Had she no idea what he was doing in India that entire time? Nor that his father had tenants and estates of his own before his passing? Ones that Stefan saw flourish under his own two bare hands. If she wanted help, well, help was what she would get.
And with that, Stefan began to whistle a tune.
Hear my soul speak;
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service –The Tempest
Rosalind looked out the window facing the stables and froze. Was that…? Her ears strained to hear the melodious tune. No, it couldn’t be. The man was whistling! And the blasted horses seemed to be dancing along with that sorry tune.
“Of all the…” Her eyes flashed back to the window. Breath stole straight out of her lungs causing her to choke. The duke had removed his jacket. Seconds later, his shirtsleeves, as he began the laborious chore of chopping wood. May God rain curses on him for being such a fine specimen to look at.
Her elbows leaned on the windowsill of their own accord; her chin soon followed until she was leaning against the window, pasting her face to the glass so hard her nose was smooshed.
“My Lady?” A man’s voice penetrated her spying, throwing cold water onto the fervor of heat. With a bang, her forehead hit the window. Rolling her eyes, she put a hand to her skin hoping it wouldn’t bruise and turned around.
“Yes, Alfred?”
“I merely came to see if you needed any more assistance, were the windows dirty? Perhaps a good cleaning before we off tomorrow?” Alfred made a move to look out the window.
“No!” Rosalind yelled pressing her hands against the valet’s chest. With a jerk she pulled them back and let out an embarrassed laugh. “I mean, no need! I was just inspecting them for dust and they seem to be perfect. Not one speck of dust, or fat, or deformity...”
Alfred turned his head to the side in thought. “On the windows, you say?”
“Course, yes. I meant the windows, whom, I mean what else would I be referring to?” She nervously cleared her throat and clenched her hands behind her back.
“Right then. I shall sleep soundly tonight knowing there isn’t at trace of fat on them. Good day, miss.” Alfred gave her a knowing wink, then walked off just as another hot wave of embarrassment washed over her.
Sighing, she turned back towards the window. Just one more glance, she told herself as her eyes searched for Stefan’s muscled form. Where the devil did he go? Rosalind pressed her nose closer, her eyes now roaming in earnest to search the estate grounds.
“What are we looking for?” Stefan’s breath fanned the side of her neck making the embarrassment complete.
“Ah, Your Grace! Was just looking for you. It seems the windows are clean!” Alfred announced coming back in their direction.
Oh no.
“Is that so?” Stefan said still standing dangerously close to Rosalind who had yet to take her eyes off the cursed window.
“Oh yes, miss Rosalind was very perceptive earlier when she was looking at them for all traces of… Let me see what did you say? Oh yes dust and fat, was it, miss?”
“What is this nonsense?” Mary walked up behind Alfred. “We do not use fat to wash our windows!”
“Did you need something, Mary?” Rosalind nearly yelled above the commotion.
“Yes, Cook isn’t yet back with supplies and we need all the help we can get in the kitchens.”