Page 39 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“My Lord, her ladyship tells me you’re missing your cigar case. I’ve asked the other servants, but no one’s seen it since yesterday. Elsie was the last one to dust here yesterday morning. She swears she saw the cigar case on your desk,” the butler said.
“I smoked later on. It’s gone missing overnight,” Sebastian replied.
He was beginning to wish he had never mentioned the matter of the missing cigar case. Now, the whole household would see it as a sign of madness. Servants were terrible gossips, and it was not unheard of for a maid or footman to share the goings on in one house with those in another. They practically encouraged it. He could hear the chattering tongues in the drawing rooms and salons.
“Well, if he can forget his cigar case, what else is he forgetting?” they would say, fanning the flames of speculation.
It was not the cigar case itself that mattered. It held no sentimental value and could easily be replaced. But losing it was yet another sign of his forgetfulness. The music room, the ball, the cigar case…what else had he forgotten?
“Shall I question Elsie again?” the butler asked, but Sebastian shook his head.
“I don’t care about the damn cigar case, Langton. But if I find more things missing…” Sebastian replied, allowing the threat to linger in the air.
The butler nodded.
“Very good, my Lord,” he said, retreating from the room with a bow.
Sebastian finished his coffee, before pouring the glass of brandy he had earlier forbidden himself. He saw it as medicinal, downing it in one, before returning to the chair by the hearth and closing his eyes. He was just drifting off to sleep, when another knock at the door startled him, and opening his eyes, he found John entering the room without invitation.
“Ah, here you are. A little too much punch last night?” he asked, and Sebastian scowled at him.
“I’m quite all right, thank you,” he said, hiding the brandy glass behind a large aspidistra plant as John crossed to the window.
“I’ve just called on Elizabeth. We both agreed it was a wonderful occasion last night,” he said, turning to Sebastian, who nodded.
“It was enjoyable, yes,” he replied, and his friend raised his eyebrows.
“Are you having regrets? Are you feeling guilty about kissing Rosalind?” he asked.
Sebastian shook his head. The one thing he did not feel was guilty. Had Richard been a man of honor, a man who had treated Rosalind well, a man he was on friendly terms with, the matter might have been different. But Sebastian felt no guilt in having kissed a woman who wanted nothing to do with a man like the Duke of Northridge.
“No. But I fear it was a mistake to do so. You can call that a regret, if you wish,” he replied, and John smiled.
“We all make mistakes, Sebastian. I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” John replied.
But to Sebastian, it did matter. He did not regret kissing Rosalind. The memory of that delightful encounter would remain with him, as would that of their conversations, too. The mistake had been to allow himself the possibility of something more. He had imagined what it would be like to court her, to hold her in his arms again, to marry her. But such thoughts were idle fantasy for a man with a destiny such as his.
“I don’t know. I just feel there’s such an injustice in her being forced to marry that man. Don’t you think? Her hopes and dreams, her ambitions, all she is and could be, crushed beneath the indifference of a man who only wants a pretty girl on his arm,” Sebastian replied.
John was silent for a moment, and he sighed, shaking his head as Sebastian sat brooding by the hearth.
“I’m sure there’s still hope. Perhaps you could talk to her father. You could make an offer,” he said, but Sebastian shook his head.
“Haven’t you forgotten something? I’m mad, aren’t I? I’ll forget everything soon enough,” he replied.
His friend rolled his eyes.
“Oh, come now, Sebastian. What nonsense. You’re not mad, and you’re not going mad. But you will do if you keep brooding on the matter. You need something else to think about, and I’ve got just the thing. An art exhibition,” John said.
Sebastian looked at him curiously.
“An art exhibition?” he asked, and his friend nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s right, at Somerset House. It’s going to be quite spectacular, they say. It’s an open exhibition, and anyone can submit to it, though in practice it’ll only be a select number of artists. Why don’t you come? It’ll do you good,” John said.
Sebastian smiled. He knew his friend was only trying to help, and he was grateful to John for attempting to do so. The thought of an art exhibition was far more conducive than that of a ball or a soiree. Sebastian loved art, and to wander through a gallery, admiring the paintings, would be a relief from his present worries.
“Very well, I’ll come. I’m sure it’ll be a fine occasion. I’ve been to exhibitions at Somerset House before. They always put on a good show,” Sebastian replied, and John smiled.
