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 distant Asian 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."

"But he knows you," Dylan said.

I smiled quickly. "I don't think he'd recognize me, because I'm not sure I'd recognize him anymore." I laughed lightly.

Vaughn gave Dylan a look. They must've been thinking they got my weak point.

"Who else is coming?" I went on.

"The Whitecross and Redmond, both of their sons, Ivan Redmond, Samuel Redmond, and Laurent Whitecross."

"Perfect." I could barely hold back my grin.

Eligible bachelors! All of wealthy and well-known families!

Dylan wasn't my type, I preferred more cheerful and talkative men, men I could laugh with. Now I had three choices—of course Leroy was a decoy, but I had three.

Me, a young, vulnerable girl, sitting in front of all these money and power hungry men. I'd play with them, flirt a little, see who really likes me for more than the fake Rose label, or even keep it. Who's to stop me?

"Do you accept, then?" Vaughn said with a smirk he was trying to hide.

I pretended to be deep in thought, a hand over my smile.

"Fine, I do accept."

"Wait!" Dylan ruined it. "Have her put all her hair down. It might only be the rain, or it might even be a wig What if Blanche sent us a replacement?"

"I'm really Rosemarie Blackwood." I kept from groaning. "I'll have my hair down if you desire it."

I unclamped the pins and they fell over my shoulders. I tossed it back. It was lovely, I knew, from my sister's compliments to even the mirror when I looked in it. It shone, and when they were wet they were glistening.

The men looked at it and Vaughn nodded in admiration. Dylan tried to find fault but could not.

"My skin is white, and my lips are usually pink, but all lips can be red with lipstick."

"She's right, this is our trump card," Vaughn murmured. "If you don't want Calvin or the other bastard sons coming forth."

"Well, darn it, guess I'm at a loss."

"Loss?" I repeated, insulted. Dylan paced back and forth before looking up.

"The meeting will be in five days time, have everyone prepare. It will be good weather around this time, it's spring, too. Most of all, let's hope the cars run if it's muddy."

Cars. If only I had one of mine. Our family only had one car and one chauffeur. They were expensive and my father was particular about not having us ride without him, as though his presence made all danger disappear.

But he wasn't coming. It made sense, my father only had daughters, so my uncle's son, Leroy,who was the oldest of our cousins will inherit everything. In exchange, if he didn't have sons and my sister or I did, our son would become the heirs. I understood how it worked a little.

"So shall I return in five days?" I asked.

"No!" Dylan was alert again. "We can't afford losing you. Stay in one of the guest rooms, we have clothing you can change into."

I looked around at the house. It was pretty, but hardly what I wanted to live in. I felt as though bats might emerge from dark corners or they could lock me in a closest and I'd die there with no one knowing.

But it was an enticing offer; to be a princess in this age, without a chance of inheriting anything, but still be of talk.

"This Blanche, she's beautiful isn't she?" I asked slowly, straightening my skirts. It was wet but had dried considerably through the hour we had been arguing and talking. "What if I'm not up to par?"

"You seem like the type Auguste would like, I'm sure they'd all think that." Dylan's cold reply and saying his father's name like that made me feel pity once again.

"I'm sure you'll inherit everything, Dylan—or Mr.Dylan," I whispered. "I hope you do."

He looked at me and then away, scoffing as thought I was looking down on him.

"I'm fine. Now if you don't mind, make yourself at home. Ask Irene, the maid, to take you upstairs."

I hesitated but he had a brooding air again. Vaughn smiled.

"I'll reach out with more details, but as long as you don't answer and I answer for you everything should go smoothly. They won't poison you or anything," Vaughn told me.

"You sure of that?" Dylan said in a low voice.

"Now, now, that's not a very nice joke to make."

Vaughn went on in his superficial manner to talk me over and once I nodded three times in a row, he finally allowed me to go out and call for Irene.

I sighed as I closed the door behind me. I was no longer going to be Rosemarie Blackwood. I was Blanche de Winter. What a wonderful ring the name carried.

My life I was overshadowed by my sister in everything and I felt like nothing. Yes. I could leave that boring life behind. I was Blanche.

White, with dark hair, and red lips.

I straightened my back, hair over my shoulders the way they had me put it. Irene smiled when I saw her.

"Oh, Miss Blanche—or was it Miss Rosemarie?"

"Blanche, I was going under the name Rose," I lied. It made me feel like Snow-White, or the Goose Girl; a Princess in hiding.

"Oh, yes, Miss Blanche. Your room has been prepared, do you have any luggage?"

"No, I wasn't planning to stay long," I said, lie after lie.

"Follow me then." She gathered up her skirts and I followed, my heels clicking after hers. "I'm Irene, one of the three maids employed as of now. The other two are Gwendoline and Julie. There's a head butler, but he's gone for two months or so. What a terrible timing, really, now that you are here."

"Me?" I repeated after her.

"I'm sure many of the family members will come and see you, verify you're really Miss Lucinda and Mister Auguste's daughter. You will be dealing with a lot. Calvin, Austen, Scarlett, they are worse than Dylan." She smiled nonchalantly as she said this. "All of the family are quite awful."

"I'm sure the will being read is of priority," I said. "I'll leave once it is."

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Her smile seemed to be of laughter then. "In his later years the late de Winter threatened to throw both Mister Dylan and Calvin out. Hated them. Said he liked his daughter more, and as of now only them and you were mentioned to be present at the reading of his will."

It suddenly seemed real and—scary, and I regretted my ease at agreeing to something so big.

"What if he does leave something to Blanche?" Then I realized my error. "Apologies, I don't go by Blanche often. Would I have to inherit the house or can I give it away to Dylan?"

She showed me my room and then proceeded to ready the bed.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the lawyer they have over."

"He's a strange man, isn't he?"

"There's many strange people." She laughed this time, dryly. "Wait until you meet the whole of the family. His wives, and the family of the wives, children they had with other men..."

She got a nightgown out. It was large for me but better than the damp dress.

"I'll have a dress ready for you by tomorrow. Let me take your clothing and measure them. By tomorrow morning, I'll get you some appropriate dresses. Oh, and new shoes."

I finally unlaced my boots, but looking at Irene who looked over me, too, made me realize how everyone in this house was warped.

The room felt pompous with its beautiful floral covers and empty vases, not to mention a huge vanity table with a mirror reflecting the two of us.

Irene had a plastered smile and moved quickly, her boots only making soft shuffles. She grabbed my shoes and put slippers in front of me, then when I undressed into my white slip she carried away my wet blouse and long skirt. I felt more of a prisoner than a princess.

When she closed the door, I shivered. It was an unusually cold spring.