Page 60 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Rosalind was astonished, and now she thought back to Elizabeth’s words about the letter John had mentioned to her. Something had happened to Sebastian. A new development in this tale of twists and turns, and as she reached the corner of the shrubbery, where the path of the maze veered left, she heard Lady Helena’s parting shot.
“He’s not your responsibility, Victoria. You don’t owe him anything. If he goes mad. So be it. You’re more than capable of managing things without him. Aren’t you?” she said.
Their voices now disappeared along the path, and Rosalind shook her head, terrified as to what she had just heard. Was it all a conspiracy? It sounded very much like one, and Rosalind knew she had to say something to warn Sebastian of the impending danger, even as she wondered if he had not realized it for himself.
Retracing her steps through the maze, she emerged cautiously onto the lawn, glancing along the path to where Lady Soutbourne and Lady Helena were talking by a large statue of a cherub holding a bow and arrow. She returned to the house, hastening inside, and catching sight of Elizabeth and John by the refreshment table, hurrying over to them, as they both looked up at her and smiled.
“Have you seen Sebastian?” she asked, but they shook their heads.
“He’s in a funny mood tonight. He’s brooding over something. But he won’t tell me what it is,” John said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Are you all right, Rosalind? You seemed upset before,” Elizabeth said, and Rosalind forced a smile to her face.
“I just needed some air. It’s such a stifling house. Everyone’s so confined. I much prefer a ballroom for an evening soiree, don’t you?” she said, glancing around her, trying to catch a glimpse of Sebastian, who was nowhere to be seen.
She feared being caught by her mother or the Duke of Northridge, and now she retreated to the powder room, mulling over what she had heard, and wondering if her suspicions could have any grounds to them, even as she felt certain something wicked was occurring. It would not be beyond the realm of possibility to invent a madness, to create one in the mind of another, to make them believe they were mad, when in fact.
“He’s not,” Rosalind told herself, as now she searched for Sebastian, determined to tell him the truth, even as others were determined to keep it from him.
Chapter 25
Sebastian had not meant to avoid Rosalind, though it was admittedly easier to do so. He did not know what to say to her, his own confusions clouding his judgement. He had been brooding on the discovery of the cigar case and on the certainty of his not having sent the note to the land agent. It was all so confusing, even as it made perfect sense if one accepted the possibility of there being a conspiracy against him.
“But why? Why would they want me to be mad? They…no, him…” he told himself, knowing his uncle’s arrival could not be mere coincidence.
He had no proof, and yet he knew for certain he was not going mad, not in the matters pertaining to those things he remembered without doubt. But to accuse his uncle openly would be foolish. He would only say this was yet another symptom of Sebastian’s madness and use it against him.
“I can’t be certain. But I am,” Sebastian told himself, as now he took refuge upstairs, away from the other guests, and in a part of the house he did not think he was supposed to be in.
He had made his way up the back stairs, finding himself in a narrow corridor presumably used by the servants, all of whom were busy serving drinks downstairs. A small alcove with a window seat, looking out over the gardens, now provided Sebastian with a refuge, and he sat down with a sigh, shaking his head as he wondered what to do next.
“Rosalind must think I’m a terrible man,” he thought to himself.
He had seen her briefly on his arrival, but he had held back from talking to her, knowing she was under the watchful eye of her mother and the Duke of Northridge. So many barriers were placed between them, but the apparent fact of his madness was no longer one. At least, that was how it seemed.
“I feel just as I always did, but I was made to think…oh, it’s too awful,” he told himself, for the idea of a conspiracy against him was too dreadful to comprehend.
He trusted his stepmother. She had been good to his father, and Sebastian knew how difficult it had been for her in the long months of his final illness. She had been stalwart in her dedication, often speaking of duty and the necessity of sacrifice. Sebastian respected her for that, even as their finding themselves thrown together in the aftermath of Sebastian’s father’s death had not been easy. But the arrival of Sebastian’s uncle was another matter.
“I don’t trust him,” Sebastian told himself, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt certain something was wrong.
Glancing out of the window, he could see his stepmother and Lady Helena conversing together by a large statue of a cherub. He wondered what they were talking about. Lady Helena had always been interested in other people’s business, and he shuddered at the thought of the humiliation she had inflicted on him at Gunter’s.
What had Rosalind really thought? As he watched from the window, a sudden footfall in the corridor caused him to look up, and he imagined he was about to be discovered by a servant.
“I’m just going back down,” he called out, rising to his feet, but to his surprise and pleasure, even as he felt embarrassed to see her. It was Rosalind who appeared in the archway to the alcove.
She looked at him with concern, breathing a sigh of relief, as Sebastian gave a weak smile.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, stepping forward as Sebastian blushed.
“I… I’m sorry… it’s not been… things are difficult,” he stammered, not finding the right words to say, even as she now reached out and touched his face.
A shiver ran through him, and he reached up, cupping her hand in his. Her touch was gentle, comforting, and reassuring. He felt a fool for having so readily withdrawn from her, even as she was surely the only person who truly understood him. There was no judgement in her expression, no question of rejection. She wanted to help him, and Sebastian knew he had been cruel in pushing her away.
“Then tell me. What’s happened? Why the sudden change? You keep me at a distance, Sebastian, but I don’t want to be. I know it’s impossible, but I feel a sense of possibility, even if it’s only in a dream,” she said.
Sebastian knew just what she meant. It was a dream, but the most pleasant of dreams; the most delightful. He loved her, yet he had kept her at such a distance as to make the possibility seem an impossibility.
