Rosalind felt the all too familiar choking fear. "What is it?"
"I've failed you."
"How? I don't understand."
Stefan cursed. "Both your sisters are missing. I'm supposed to take care of you. How am I to do that when I cannot even take care of two young girls? Not to mention be outsmarted by them, but what's worse, what's worse…" he repeated and looked down. "Your father is not truly your father."
"I don't understand your meaning." A cold chill shook her core.
"The earl, who died — he was not your father. Your mother said as much when she tried to poison you."
"But how are you failing me?"
Stefan took a deep breath and released another string of curses. "As of today, your mother has broken her silence. I've tried to do my best Rosalind. But gossip is rampant that you and your sisters are bastards."
Rosalind gasped, and began to choke on her sobs. "But, my parents were married, they were…"
"Your parents, your true parents were not married Rosalind. Your father claimed you as his, but the damage my dear, has already been done."
"You cannot be married to me." Rosalind's voice shook. Her hands wrung the bed sheet as her mind tormented her with images of Stefan again and again.
"I'm not the true descendant, the one to break the curse am I?"
"For the last time, there is no curse, but you are correct. It apparently now falls to another woman, your cousin Maleficent."
Rosalind could not speak. Words would not come out of her mouth, not even when she tried to force her lips to move. "So the contract between our families…"
"The contract says I need to marry the true blood relation of the Earl of Hariss."
Rosalind pushed his hand away. "Then you must do as it says. You are, after all, a duke."
She kept her voice cold; she had to. How could she allow him to stay married to her? She wasn't even the way to solve the curse, if one existed, and now she had her doubts. Perhaps her mother was truly mad and poisoning everyone, herself included. It would make sense, which meant, Rosalind had no reason to truly be stayed to Stefan. Other than loving him with all her heart.
But he must never know.
Stubbornly, Rosalind pasted a smile on her face. "We will, of course, get our marriage annulled. No one will be the wiser that we spent the evening together, and if there is a child… Well, we will cross that bridge if it happens."
"Rose—" Stefan choked. "What are you saying?" Stefan began to pace around the room. "How can you say such things? I… I…" He cursed himself for not being able to say the words, but she was discarding him so quickly, so effectively. Had she no feelings for him at all? "I care for you deeply."
A tear ran down her cheek. "And I you. After all, you've been so good to me and my sisters."
"That's it? That's all you are going to say?" Stefan was incredulous and more pained than he ever thought possible. Silence answered him. "Is this what you truly want, Rosalind? To be rid of me?"
"It is what is right."
Stefan cursed. "Devil take it! I don't give a wit for what is right, Rosalind. Do you not want to be married?"
His eyes betrayed him, the wound cut deep. But Rosalind couldn't find in herself to do anything except nod the affirmative. How could she saddle the great Duke of Montmouth to herself? How selfish could a person be? For it would only be for her own benefit; he would be shunned by society for not only marrying a bastard, but going against both their dying fathers' last wishes.
"Yes," she mouthed weakly.
Stifling an oath, he stormed off, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.
~ Lord Byron ~
Rosalind's lips quivered as the wet frigid air blasted against her face. The temperature hadn't caused her quivering; no, it was because she was hurting deeper than she ever thought possible, and all because she was following her father's final wish.
Stefan looked past her, closing his eyes as he said the words that started everything. "I release you."
Rosalind found that she couldn't stop the sad smile from spreading across her face. "Am I an animal then, Your Grace? That begs to be released?" She closed her eyes against the burning intrusion of tears.
"No," he choked. "You would never beg to be released from anything, not my Rose. Not unless you asked, and I know you better than you believe. You need no reminder of the pain I have caused you, nor the nightmare of being with a man who is more brute than gentleman."
"And if I want the brute?" she asked in a small voice.
"The brute wants you… will always want you."
Tears streamed down Rosalind's face, the salty invaders rolled down her lips. "I lo—"
"It's time my lady," Mr. Fitzgerald said. "Up you go! We'll get you back to the country estate, make it right as rain, we will."
"Be happy, Rose."
Words would not come… tears, however, streamed of their own accord as the vision of her husband disappeared down the road. He said he would protect her at all costs. She hadn't realized the cost would be that of her heart.
Within a few hours, Stefan was so drunk he wasn't able to see straight. The whiskey wasn't doing its job, at least he didn't feel it was, for he could still remember the sad smile spread across Rosalind's face. He wanted her. He loved her. But, if she truly loved him, would she not have asked him to fight for her? To stay with her forever and always? Was he merely talking romantic nonsensical things because his heart was so heavily involved?
In an effort to make his mood worse, he stumbled to the room where Rosalind had been staying and laid across the bed, taking in her scent. The tea cup was still full. The girl hadn't touched it.
Obsessively, he held it to his lips thinking that if she had touched it, he wanted to feel her lips against his, imagine it once again.
A strong odor greeted him, so foul his stomach churned. What the devil had they put in her tea? Suspicion pooled in his belly. On a whim, most likely because he was foxed and depressed, he called for the maid.
"Yes?" She gave a low curtsy never lifting her eyes to his face.
"Who brought the tea?"
"Mr. Fitzgerald, sir, he says it has healing properties."
"It's foul," he remarked absentmindedly.
She let out a giggle. "Yes, I think the rats agree with you, for some of this concoction took a spill earlier tonight, and they died instantly, most likely from that awful smell."
"What did you say?"
"The putrid smell, sir?" she answered.
"Before that?"
"The rats?"
"Yes." He rose from the bed and walked to her. "They died? All of them?"
"Well, yes, but they could have gotten into some poison too, sir…"
Stefan's memory flashed ahead of him. The tea, always the tea. Hadn't he suspected as much before? Mr. Fitzgerald was bringing his family tea, when they were ill. Even Rosalind's mother, and the night of Rosalind's spell.
"Oh, God…" Stefan prayed as he stumbled out of the room and called for his horse. "Oh, God, oh, God, please let her be alive."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss, I die."
~ Romeo, Romeo and Juliet ~
Rosalind wished for one of her spells to come upon her again, for no other reason than to sleep away the pain stabbing at her chest.
To be forever separated from the man she loved, could anything be worse?
The carriage pulled to a stop. Mary reached across and patted her hand. "T'will be alright, you'll see. My Alfred won't let the duke be so hair-brained for long, you'll see."
"Your Alfred?" Rosalind was partially amused. "Is that where you were running off to so often?"
A blush rose to Mary's cheeks. "It isn't proper to talk of such things. Your duke will come for you. I know it in my bones."
"He isn't my duke." Rosalind sig
hed. "Not anymore."
"My lady?" Willard held out his hand. With reluctance, she grasped it as he helped her out of the carriage.
Her country estate mocked her with its dark and gothic scenery. The last thing she wanted to do was walk into an empty home. It reminded her of her heart, her soul. Black and empty for Stefan had taken every ounce of love she had, and she feared she had nothing left to give, to anyone.
Her sisters were still missing, though Stefan promised that they would surely be found. He had sent men in both directions after them.
So now, Rosalind was left to live out the rest of her days in a dark castle with no one save her godmother and her family's odd valet.
It was still strange that he decided to escort them back to the estate. After all, he was now in charge of the London home, but he had been so worried. She was at least grateful that the man cared.
The air within the house was frigid, void of any warmth. With a sigh, she notified Mr. Fitzgerald and Mary that they would all share the task of lighting the fires. She helped Mary with the downstairs while Mr. Fitzgerald brought in everyone's trunks.
Exhausted, Rosalind sauntered up to her room, but stopped when she noted none of the bedrooms had any fires going. With a sigh, she walked into Mr. Fitzgerald's bedroom and began the tedious task.
She jerked at the old fireplace and lost her balance sending her sailing into the desk near her. A flutter of papers flew to the floor. Swearing, Rosalind bent to retrieve them and froze.
Edward Willard Fitzgerald, the correspondence said.
A chill ran down her spine. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence, perhaps…
"My lady…"
Mr. Fitzgerald's smile froze on his face, then disappeared altogether. Fortunately, Rosalind was back at the fireplace even though the papers were still scattered.
"Yes, Willard? Sorry, I closed the window because a breeze came through. I was just going to right the papers once I finished with the fire." She did her best to sound cheerful though her hands were shaking something terrible.
"No," he said curtly. "That will not be necessary. Why don't you go take a rest, dear?"
"If you think that's what is best…" Rosalind brushed past him, hiding the note in her skirts as she did so.
By the time she reached her room, her heart was fluttering like a butterfly. She had to warn Mary, they had to get out of there, they needed…
A knock on the door jolted her. With a startled scream, she scolded herself then opened the door.
Mr. Fitzgerald was on the other side, tea in hand.
"Oh good, I'm so very glad you took my advice. Would you care for some tea to warm your bones? Perhaps it may even help you sleep a deep sleep, Rosalind."
"Of course," Rosalind smiled kindly and reached for the tea, willing her hand to stop shaking as she thanked him again and shut the door.
The tea smelt heavenly. It was too good to resist. She took a sip, and then another. After two or three sips her body began to feel heavy. Sleep, it seemed was finally going to overtake her, and make her pain go away. With a smile she stumbled to her bed, but didn't make it, as she crashed to the floor and blackness overtook her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"When beggars die there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."
~ Julius Caesar — William Shakespeare ~
"Samson! Truly boy, you need to go faster!" Stefan had been riding through the night. Samson, good horse that he was hadn't complained, only went faster and faster. He had no desire to run his own horse to the ground, but found that he had no other option. So he prayed his horse would not die on the excursion.
Rosalind would always come before Samson, so he explained quite plainly what the trip would mean to the horse. But if anything, the horse seemed to puff its chest out wider than before and nodded in understanding.
"Good man." Stefan patted Samson again. His horse neighed and picked up speed.
They reached the estate by morning. Samson appeared exhausted. The minute Stefan hopped off, he sent Samson to the stables. The horse slowly trotted off in the general direction.
Stefan took the stairs two at a time and burst through the doors.
"Rosalind!" he yelled, his voice echoed off the walls. Where was everybody? Mary? Cook? And the evil Mr. Fitzgerald.
"Rosalind!" He tried again in vain. It was morning; surely they were breaking their fast. He rushed into the kitchen. The kettle was boiling over and cook appeared to be sleeping across the table. He shook her awake, but she merely opened one eye and closed it again without answering him.
"Blast!" He ran out of the kitchens and up to the bedrooms.
Bursting into Rosalind's room, he stopped dead when his eyes took in the scene. Rosalind lay across the floor, appearing to be sleeping peacefully. And Mr. Fitzgerald cleaned a dagger by the window.
"Ah, so the prince comes to rescue the princess, does he?" Mr. Fitzgerald let out a bark of laughter.
"You!" Stefan roared. "It was you the whole time! There was no curse!"
"Only the curse that Rosalind's mother brought into the family. I so wanted my love to be happy. So I gave her everything she wanted, even when she married the late earl. So very tragic, his accident. The man didn't even taste the hemlock as it claimed his sorry excuse for a life."
"Why kill him?"
"Because she started to care for him, why else?" Mr. Fitzgerald smiled and closed his eyes. "You see, I've been slowly poisoning the family for years. I wanted the earl to be unable to father children. He did, however, father two. Rosalind and Gwendolyn. Isabelle was a creature of my own making, though she never knew. Her mother, bless her soul, was so easily manipulated. I poisoned her against her husband, told her he was not able to father children. The family of course blamed her, so I offered her an escape. We could continue our love in secret. I would be the rightful father and when the time was right, we would threaten to expose the secret and run away together."
Stefan made a move towards Rosalind, but Mr. Fitzgerald pointed the dagger at Stefan. "Confession is good for the soul, don't you agree?"
"Of course."
"I mean to confess my sins before I kill you. It would be polite after keeping you in suspense for so long."
"Then by all means," Stefan ground out, waiting until the perfect time before he strangled the man and sent him to his eternal punishment.
"She fell in love with him. It was slow — she tried to hide it from me. So I killed him. She was unable to get over the death, so I began to give her tea. I began to poison her mind with lies. Truly, it was so easy to confuse the woman it hardly seemed fair, so lost was she in her pain. I even convinced her that she helped kill her husband. It was too easy to allow her to nearly kill Rosalind. You see, if the mother was crazy, the fingers would not be pointed in my direction."
"And now?" Stefan asked.
"Now," Mr. Fitzgerald laughed. "Now I'm rich. All of my daughters are gone or will be the minute I drive my dagger into Rosalind's heart. For I hate her the most of them all. She looks like her father the most, and she held his heart in her hand. She had his love. I never got to experience love from my daughters because the countess refused to tell anyone."
"Jealousy is a sad excuse for murder."
"Murder," Mr. Fitzgerald said, "is never an excuse. It's an ending. A finale. And it's the only way to keep everyone silent. Unfortunately, Rosalind's sleeping spells were happening less often, she became too accustomed to the tea. I imagine only her body sleeps now when she is exposed to it. In her sleep, she hears all. But she is paralyzed. Do you know how frightening it must be for a woman to hear about her death, yet be unable to do a thing about it? Though I don't claim to be a botanist, I've read that the body can almost become frozen in this state."
Mr. Fitzgerald pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Stefan as he slowly walked to Rosalind's side.
"I killed your father, my sweet. I sold your sister, and provoked the other to run aw
ay. I destroyed everything, and now I will kill the man you love."
Stefan ducked just before the pistol went off.
Mr. Fitzgerald swore as Stefan's body rammed into his. The dagger came slashing about Stefan's face. With love driving him, Stefan grasped the blade of the dagger, letting it dig into his skin as blood trickled down his wrist, and slowly twisted it towards Mr. Fitzgerald's throat.
Shaking, he slowly pushed it in until no life was left in the man's cold eyes. With an oath he pushed away and ripped some of his clothing to cover the deep cuts.
"Rose," he whispered as he sat across the bed. "Rose, come back to me. Awake, my sleeping beauty."
His lips brushed across hers as a single tear slid down her cheek.
"I love you," he choked. "I love you so much."
Blue eyes flashed at him, and the beauty mouthed. "I love you, too."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed;
She is woman, and therefore to be won.
~ Henry VI, Part I — Shakespeare ~
Rosalind had never been so terrified, as when she overheard all the horrendous actions Mr. Fitzgerald had taken against her family and his own flesh and blood. She still shivered when she thought upon it.
Rest was the last thing she wanted, especially now that she knew she wasn't dying and that her sleeping spells had been caused by nightshade in her tea. A botanist, Mr. Fitzgerald, or Edward was not, for he hadn't realized a person could become used to the stuff in small doses. His greatest mistake was in trying to trick Rosalind into thinking she was dying, when really the plant was only dangerous in large doses and only if injected.
A chill ran down her spine when she thought of the other plants found in his possession. Monkshood being one of them. She would have surely died had he given her something more potent, and she was suddenly thankful that he had been thinking he was harming her with nightshade instead of the more poisonous plant.
The orangery smelled delightful, she let herself in and closed her eyes. A male voice began to hum. Surely that wasn't Stefan, that would be too romantic, it would be—
"—Have I found you? The one who makes me sing? Once upon a midnight dream…" Rosalind followed the voice as it became louder. "As I lay me down to sleep, my midnight dream I know will keep. The stars in your eyes tell me what your heart is afraid to say. That while I wait for my prince, he will one day say…"