Page 28 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“I… but what about Dionysus? Wouldn’t you need a man’s eyes to model his after? You can’t have used your own, surely?” he asked, and she smiled.
“I had an image in mind. They were eyes I’d seen very clearly, very vividly. I had trouble at first, but then I saw the eyes I wanted to gaze into. Ariadne’s, I mean,” she said. Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as he imagined those eyes, the eyes of Ariadne and Dionysus, as those of his own, and Rosalind.
“I’m glad you found the eyes you wanted,” he said, and she nodded.
He wanted to hold her gaze; the same gaze he imagined in the painting. She was so beautiful, and, like a true masterpiece, whenever he looked at her, he saw something more. He saw further detail in her beauty in the depths of her eyes and the softness of her skin. She was a work of art.
“I did, but…oh, look, Richard’s coming now. I’ll go to the powder room. Perhaps we can avoid him? Another dance or a walk out on the terrace, perhaps?” Rosalind said. Sebastian was brought back to his senses, looking up to find the Duke of Northridge coming towards them through the throng.
He nodded, and Rosalind hurried off, leaving Sebastian standing below the paintings of the three sisters. Sebastian had been lost in the moment. While around them, the ball had continued, and the musicians had struck up another waltz. But the arrival of the duke had brought them both back to their senses, and now Sebastian was faced with an encounter he would rather not have.
“Where did she go?” the Duke of Northridge said, not acknowledging Sebastian, but speaking in a demanding tone.
Sebastian resisted the urge to suggest Rosalind had gone as far away from the duke as was possible, and instead merely shrugged his shoulders.
“We danced, that was that,” he replied, for he was not about to reveal any of the intimacies they had shared or suggest he and Rosalind had done anything more than continue a casual acquaintance.
The duke scowled at him.
“She’s mine, you know. My betrothed,” he said, and turning on his heels, he marched back off across the ballroom, leaving Sebastian shaking his head.
But he would not be cowed by the duke. Rosalind belonged to no one. She was a remarkable young woman, and despite his fears, Sebastian could not help but feel himself ever more enamored with her. He wanted to see her again; he wanted to be with her, and now he hoped it would not be too long before she returned from the powder room.
Chapter 12
Rosalind had not told the earl about Dionysus, even though she felt certain he would not have minded. Perhaps he would have even been flattered. She had been so caught up in their conversation it was as though nothing else had mattered.
He had really listened to her, and Rosalind could not imagine the Duke of Northridge, or her mother or father doing the same. Rosalind was not used to being listened to, to being taken seriously. But Sebastian was different. He had listened to her.
“Dionysus to my Ariadne,” she thought to herself, smiling at the thought, as she hurried towards the powder room.
Richard’s approach had cut short the conversation, and while Rosalind knew she would be in trouble with her mother for ignoring the duke, the thrill of doing so was alluring. Entering the powder room, she was hit by the strong scent of perfume, the air heavy with talc and fragrance, and a babble of voices coming from every side.
“Did you see the Marquess of Weston dancing with that slip of a girl, Annie Lester? Yes, I could tell you some tales about Annie Lester. She was a lady’s maid, but seduced the husband. He left her everything. Her poor mistress was reduced to…well, I won’t say it here,” one woman was saying, tutting, and shaking her head, while others shared similar stories of scandal.
Rosalind sat down on a plush stool in front of one of the mirrors, opening her small handbag and taking out her powder. Her back was turned, and she was sitting behind an oriental screen, on the other side of which two women were deep in conversation.
“He’s so forgetful, Helena. I had to remind him about the masquerade, and I’m certain he’d forgotten about tonight, too,” a voice was saying.
Rosalind was curious and allowing a cloud of powder to form around her. She glanced back through a gap in the screen at its fold, catching sight of none other than Sebastian’s stepmother, Lady Victoria Sinclair. Rosalind had seen her sitting next to Sebastian at dinner, and she recognized the other woman as Lady Helena Bonham, a socialite and irrepressible gossip.
“It must be terrible for you, Victoria. And to think his father and grandfather were the same. It obviously runs in the family along the male line. How fortunate you and your late husband didn’t have any children,” Lady Helena replied.
Rosalind was listening with interest. They were talking about Sebastian, and she was curious to learn more about the apparent madness others had mentioned.
“Yes, I do count it a blessing, but I can only fear when the madness seizes him. It starts with forgetfulness. His father was the same. He’d forget this and that, but I didn’t I think anything was wrong at first. It came on so suddenly.
I’m refurbishing part of the house at the moment to create a music room. We discussed it weeks ago. He’s completely forgotten. Small things don’t matter, but how can he discharge his duties as earl with such a memory?” Sebastian’s stepmother continued.
“You can only do your best, Victoria. I know it must be difficult. He’s such a delightful man, too. It’s such a pity. And the inevitability of it, too. He can’t possibly marry or have children, living with such a fear,” Lady Helena said.
Rosalind’s eyes grew wide and fearful. She had not realized the extent of Sebastian’s condition, even as she had seen no evidence of it for herself. During their conversation, there had been no look of madness in his eyes. It had not even occurred to her to think of it. Yet here was Lady Southbourne, telling her friend the terrible extent of what she feared. Sebastian would not marry for fear of passing the inheritance he believed was his.
“Well, I don’t know, but it seems unlikely, doesn’t it? I’ll manage as best I can, but it’s a terrible worry, Helena,” she said, as the two women now emerged from behind the screen.
Rosalind turned back to the mirror, pretending to be engrossed in her powdering, even as she felt a terrible sense of sorrow at what she had heard. Was Sebastian really mad? It seemed a cruel fate for a man of such obvious intelligence, and her heart went out to him, even as she knew there was little she could do to help him. If the madness was hereditary, it was only a matter of time, and if Lady Southbourne was to be believed, that time had come.
“Lady Rosalind, I’m here. The duke’s talking to your parents. We could slip out onto the terrace,” Sebastian’s voice came from the shadows, and Rosalind turned to find him concealed behind one of the marble columns.
