Page 49 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Sebastian had no choice but to agree. He did not know if he was mad, or simply being told he was mad. As the doctor left, his uncle whispered something to him, before coming to Sebastian’s side. He looked down at him sympathetically, standing next to Lady Southbourne, who dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I was sorry not to be here for your father when these events occurred. We had our disagreements, but blood is thicker than water, and I won’t shy away from my duty now. I don’t want history to repeat itself, Sebastian, but I fear it will, unless we do all we can to help you,” he said.
Sebastian nodded. He was still in some discomfort from the pains in his stomach, and there was little more he could do than agree. He was tired and wanted to go to bed, even as he feared further forgetfulness, or perhaps even the moment of total breakdown. He was living on a knife edge, poised between life as he had known it, and life as it was to be when the moment of insanity came.
“And we will do all we can to help you, Sebastian. I promise,” Lady Soutbourne said, reaching out and taking Sebastian’s hand in hers.
He nodded, knowing there was nothing else he could do but accept his stepmother’s words. Langton was summoned, and it was decided Sebastian should go to bed. The butler and two footmen helping him up to his bedroom, where he was laid on the bed, his uncle now attending him with a candle in hand.
“Whatever you need, Sebastian, we’ll see to it. Running the estate needn’t trouble you. I can see to all that,” he said. But Sebastian shook his head.
It was as though control was being taken from him, and his uncle and stepmother were already making arrangements as though his demise had occurred. But nothing had changed, even as Sebastian was feeling his grip on the world around him loosening.
“You don’t have to. I’m going to fight it,” Sebastian replied, for he was determined to do so.
His uncle nodded, looking down at him in the flickering candlelight with a sympathetic expression on his face.
“Your father was stubborn, Sebastian. He refused to accept what was happening to him. Your stepmother doesn’t want the same to be the case for you. Please, let us help you,” he said.
Sebastian sighed, nodding, even as he had no intention of succumbing to the notion of madness. It was as though they were trying to convince him of the inevitability. But Sebastian was determined to fight it. He was not mad, and when his uncle had left the room, Sebastian cursed under his breath.
“I won’t let it happen. I won’t let it defeat me,” he exclaimed. He was trying to think of all the reasons he was not mad, even as the reasons why he could be played heavily on his mind.
But he was exhausted, and with the pain in his stomach now subsiding, he fell into a deep sleep.
***
“You can come out. You don’t have to be shy. Shall I close the window for you? Oh. But there’s such a pleasant breeze blowing in off the sea, don’t you think?” Sebastian said.
He was sitting at an easel in an unfamiliar room. It was poorly furnished, though homely, with two large windows, both of them open, looking out across steep, red-tiled rooftops towards the glinting sea beyond.
Sunlight filled the room, and from behind a crudely decorated wooden screen, a figure now emerged. It was Rosalind, dressed only in a silk chemise, smiling, though looking somewhat nervous as Sebastian indicated an old chaise lounge by the window.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said, and Sebastian smiled at her.
“You look very pretty,” he said, as now she lay down, raising her right arm above her head, draping herself over the cushions, and looking expectantly at Sebastian, who now took up a piece of charcoal and began to sketch.
“What will you do with your picture?” she asked, seeming to relax a little as he worked.
“It’s a study, for a painting,” he replied, and she smiled at him.
“A nude, I suppose. I know your reputation,” she said, and he blushed.
“Do you?” he replied, and she nodded.
“I’ve got a friend, Celine. You sketched her, didn’t you?” she said, and Sebastian blushed.
He remembered Celine and her broad shoulders, curvy figure, and ample breasts.
“I did. She was very compliant,” he said, and Rosalind laughed.
“But she was dressed, wasn’t she? You only told her it was for a nude. But how can you paint a nude without a model for one? A true model, I mean,” she said, and Sebastian paused, looking around the easel in surprise.
He did not want a reputation like that, even if Rosalind was right. His little studio was filled with half finished paintings. Each one was intended to become a masterpiece, yet he never truly captured the female form as he desired it.
“You’re right. It’s not easy to paint a nude without a nude model,” he admitted, and Rosalind smiled.
“No, I’m sure it’s not,” she said, as Sebastian returned to his sketch.
