Curse of Rose de Winter

Chapter 2

I smiled and then gave a very flat laugh.

"No, I've no desire to commit fraud. And I thought you were a lawyer. Please remove yourself and let me leave the room."

"You've got a particular look, you know, which was why I thought you were Blanche," Dylan said from the darkness he had hidden himself in. He came to us so we were in a triangle, with me farthest from the entrance. I sighed loudly.

"I get that a lot, Mister Dylan. Like you are of Vietnamese blood, I have Jewish ancestry, but I grew up here and consider myself English," I said.

"You look of mixed heritage," Vaughn said as thought to comfort me. "It's the black hair."

"That's all we know of Blanche," Dylan whispered. "White skin unlike mine, thick black hair, and red lips."

"Maybe you mean red lipstick," I said softly. "I'm sure you can find many replacements, and people can recognize me as Rose of the Blackwood House."

"You can cut your hair. Some layers like this, maybe a bit that way—oh, of course I wouldn't do it. We have a lady's maid, Irene, she could take care of you. I'm sure she can do something with your hair, I know, straighten it," Dylan said.

"And what if Miss Blanche shows up?" I asked.

"I'm sure she wouldn't," Dylan laughed crassly. "The deadline was last week. That's why we sent another letter. If she never appears, then the will won't be opened."

"Why? That's not possible," I muttered. "It has to be opened one way or another, or else what's the use of a will?"

"To curse us," Dylan said.

"Now, now, Dylan," Vaughn said with a teasing air. "We must ready 'Blanche', there's no curse."

"Yes." Dylan looked back at me. "It'll just be for one day, Miss Rosemarie. And after the will is opened, you can go your merry way."

"We can opt for a wig, too, but it wouldn't be much use because the hair color is what we need, after all," Vaughn said to himself.

"But what about that strange mark at the neck?"

"What mark?" Vaughn frowned.

"Blanche has a birthmark behind her neck, I suppose a dot like a mole will have to do."

I stood there, cornered by the two men. And yet I was intrigued. Intrigued with this family of a French Viscount from somewhere and his two wives from the East, like exotic toys for him.

I had always heard the best of the de Winters; they were rich; blessed with a two sons—but now I saw. The one daughter the late de Winter had from an affair had trespassed their positions. What was with this unfair hierarchy?—they must think.

But poor Dylan. He really didn't remember me nor the Blackwoods. But even so, he was a victim of his father, being cursed with nothing. He didn't even have land nor money.

"Will it really be one day?" I whispered.

"You're involved too, Miss Rosemarie," Dylan continued, "well, not you, but the Blackwoods. They're important benefactors of my father, Auguste de Winter."

"Oh. I knew we had lot of connections but not to the point," I whispered. No, I hadn't known at all.

"It's not your family, only the next head." My eyes widened as Dylan said his name. "Leroy Blackwood. Your cousin, I recall."

"Leroy is coming?"

"Yes. That might be a problem—"

"No," I cut Dylan off. "I'd love to see Leroy again, after the few years he was sent to the academy and came back as the head of the Blackwoods."