Free Upon a Midnight Dream by Rachel van Dyken Page A

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