Page 36 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“I left you to sleep a little later this morning, my Lady. But your parents are waiting for you downstairs. You’re to join them for breakfast,” the maid said, and Rosalind groaned.
She and her mother had barely exchanged a word during the carriage ride home the previous evening, but the duchess’ disapproval had been clear. She had chastised Rosalind at the ball for disappearing and had apologized to the Duke of Northridge for her daughter’s behavior.
Rosalind had remained silent, even as she had wanted nothing more than to tell her mother just how she was feeling. Back home, they had parted with a curt goodnight, and Rosalind had intended to remain in her bedroom that day, finishing her portrait of Ariadne and Dionysus, the dream of which had given her fresh inspiration.
“Really? But why? What do they want?” she asked, and the maid shook her head.
“I don’t know, my Lady. But those were my instructions,” she said, and Rosalind nodded.
She would have no choice but to do as she was told, and Molly now helped her get ready. It was half an hour later when Rosalind made her way downstairs to the dining room, where the scent of deviled kidneys did little to encourage her to enter. She knew her parents were angry, and as she entered the dining room, her mother looked up at her disapprovingly.
“So…” she said, as Rosalind’s father raised his eyebrows.
“Sit down, Rosalind,” he said, as one of the footmen hurried to pull out Rosalind’s usual chair.
“I know you’re cross with me, mother. But I’ll say it again. I don’t want to marry the Duke of Northridge. If you’d just listen to me,” Rosalind said, as tears rose in her eyes.
Richard had been nothing but beastly to her. He had threatened her, and Rosalind wanted nothing more to do with him, even as she knew her parents would not say the same.
“Listen to you? We’re your parents, Rosalind. We know what’s best for you, and it certainly isn’t a madman,” her mother exclaimed, almost knocking over the coffeepot as she raised her hand in an angry gesture.
“What your mother says is right, Rosalind. I was very worried when I saw you dancing with Sebastian Sinclair,” Rosalind’s father said.
This was a two-pronged attack. Her mother was easily swayed by her emotions, but her father was a rational man who spent most of his time in his library. If both emotion and reason were brought into play, Rosalind knew the matter was decided.
“But why? He’s not mad. We danced. We spoke. He’s interested in the same things as I am, like painting, poetry, and the arts,” Rosalind said, and her father raised his eyebrows.
“Poets and artists; all of them are mad. The creative genius, perhaps, but not in that family. His father was mad, his grandfather was mad, and he’ll go mad, too. Mark my words. And I won’t have my daughter courted, or worse, married to a madman,” he said.
Rosalind’s mother now began to sob, and Rosalind sighed, shaking her head, as she reached out to place her hand on her mother’s arm. They rarely saw eye to eye, but Rosalind did not want to hurt her mother. She loved her, and she knew her mother loved her, too. Her concern, though misdirected, was born out of love, and Rosalind knew she was trying to do her best for Rosalind, even as she wished her mother would listen to reason other than that of the duke.
“But don’t you see? If I married a man like Sebastian, I’d be happy,” Rosalind said.
She did not say “Sebastian,” but rather “like Sebastian,” for she really did not know how Sebastian felt. They had shared a kiss, but many men and women shared kisses. That did not mean they would marry or even court. But the possibility was there, and it was one Rosalind would cling to, even as her mother looked up at her sternly.
“I forbid it, Rosalind. Listen to your father if you won’t listen to me,” she said.
Rosalind glanced at her father, who was now attacking a dish of deviled kidneys a footman had just placed in front of him. It would play havoc with his gout, and Rosalind knew the duke would only grow grumpier as the pain set in later in the day.
“But father, don’t you see how unhappy he makes me? Richard, I mean. We’re not a match. We’ve got nothing in common,” she said, but her father looked up at her angrily.
“You’ve got plenty in common. Aristocratic blood for one. That’s what matters. For our two families to become one. I don’t have an heir, and I won’t see my estate and title pass to a man I don’t approve of, certainly not to a madman,” he replied.
“But he isn’t mad,” Rosalind exclaimed.
Both her parents were now being unreasonable. They could not see past their prejudices or that of the ton. It was always the same. A collective opinion, disseminated through the drawing rooms and salons, taking on an authority of scriptural proportions. Where these rumors arose, and who decided on their truth, was a mystery. But once propagated, they were unstoppable.
“You don’t know that, Rosalind. I’m sure he’s very good at hiding it. But I’m your Father, and I’ve got a duty to protect you,” the duke said, banging his fist down angrily on the table.
“Then protect me from the Duke of Northridge, Father. That’s who you should be protecting me from. What gives him the right to assume I’m his to do with as he pleases? He assumes our betrothal, but he’s not once expressed any form of affection for me. It’s as though I’m his property to do with as he pleases,” Rosalind exclaimed, her anger inflamed at the thought of how the duke had treated her.
“I forbid it, Rosalind. You’re going to marry the duke, and that’s final,” her father exclaimed, but Rosalind was adamant she would not, and folding her arms, she turned away from her father in defiance.
“Then you’ll have to drag me down the aisle, father,” she replied.
The sound of her mother’s sobs now filled the dining room, and Rosalind could only sigh, despairing of the stalemate they had reached. It was clear her parents had acted on immediacy, believing her thoughts regarding Sebastian were in their infancy.
But the force of her feelings for the earl had surprised her, and Rosalind could think of nothing but the kiss they had shared, knowing the horror her mother would feel if ever she discovered the truth.
