Page 68 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
With a sigh, he closed the door, knowing he was being churlish, but fearing he really would be driven mad by the sight of Rosalind and the Duke of Northridge together. It was an impossibility, one he could hardly bear to live with.
He cursed himself for having so easily given way to his feelings, even as he had vowed to keep from the intimacies so many others took for granted. But love could not be tamed. It was like a wild animal, roaming where it wished, and when it had discovered its prey.
“Why should I hide myself away in here? They really will think I’m mad,” Sebastian told himself, banging his fist down on his desk, and shaking his head.
He was not feeling very well that evening, and the cup of coffee he had drank earlier had only worsened the symptoms. He poured himself a brandy, drinking it in one gulp and taking a deep breath.
“Don’t be a fool, Sebastian. Show them what you’re made of. Show them you’re not mad,” he said to himself, and taking another deep breath, he stepped out of his study, met by the chatter and laughter of the soiree.
Music was playing, and Sebastian made his way through the throng towards the refreshment table. He helped himself to a glass of punch, its heady aroma filling his nostrils, as he glanced around him for any sign of Rosalind. She was with her mother and the Duke of Northridge, the two of them standing on either side of her, as though guarding her from both approach and escape.
“Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking for you,” a voice behind Sebastian said, and turning, he found John smiling at him.
“Oh… yes, I…” Sebastian began, but his friend nodded.
“I thought you’d want to make your escape, though not immediately. Elizabeth’s just gone to the powder room. She’s…” John began, but Sebastian interrupted him.
“You’re a lucky man, John. I envy you,” he said.
His friend looked at him in surprise.
“That’s kind of you to say, Sebastian, but… what makes you say it? Are you thinking about Rosalind?” he asked, and Sebastian nodded.
He thought of nothing else but Rosalind. Jealousy, envy… they were not nice things to feel, but Sebastian was envious of his friend. There were no barriers to his love for Elizabeth, nor to hers for him. They had fallen in love and they were to marry. It was as simple as it was profound, just how love should be.
“I wish I could… oh, I just wish things were different, John. I shouldn’t wallow in my own self-pity. It makes me look weak. But perhaps I am weak. Perhaps I am mad,” Sebastian replied.
His friend placed a reassuring hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Utter nonsense. There’s not a shred of weakness in you. You’ve proved as much countless times. No, Sebastian, you’re not mad, and you’re not weak. But there’re those who’d like to make you think you are, and those for whom it would be far more convenient if you were. Now, I need to find Elizabeth, and I suggest you do the same with Rosalind,” John replied.
It all sounded so simple. It was simple. In words, at least. But Sebastian knew the reality was very different. This was not a painting. It was not something he had control over. The artist was master of their canvas. They controlled precisely what happened to those depicted there. But life was not a canvas, and Sebastian was not the artist of his own destiny, or so he felt.
“One dance, perhaps…” he thought to himself, feeling certain the duchess could not begrudge the host of the soiree from dancing with her daughter.
But as he turned, Sebastian’s heart fell. The musicians had just taken up their tune, and the small space for the house was far from suitable for such a large gathering was now filled with twirling skirts and flapping tails. John and Elizabeth were among them, as were Rosalind and Richard.
The Duke of Northridge had a smug, satisfied look on his face, while Rosalind’s was one of forced resignation. He had her in a tight grasp, and looking over at Rosalind’s mother, Sebastian could see the look of satisfaction on her face. He wanted to do something to rescue her from this injustice. It was unbearable to think of it, to know what would happen to her, and to feel powerless to act.
But the matter was settled, and the announcement of the betrothal would surely come soon. Neither Sebastian nor Rosalind could prevent it, even as it surely broke her heart as it did Sebastian’s.
“Now you’re being selfish, wallowing in your own self-pity. It’s her who has to live with it,” he told himself, trying to tear his gaze away, even as he continued to torture himself with the sight of Rosalind in Richard’s arms.
His stepmother, too, had joined the throng, dancing with Sebastian’s uncle, and as he stood on the peripheries, Sebastian felt a terrible sense of a world moving on, forging ahead, while he was left behind. John and Elizabeth, Rosalind and Richard, even his stepmother and uncle.
They were all making plans for a new life, one Sebastian would not be privy to. He was the madman, and soon, his madness would consume him. Whether trick or not, this was his fate, and he felt only a sense of horror at the inevitability of what was to come.
“Don’t they make a charming couple?” a voice to his side said, and Sebastian looked up to find Lady Helena standing next to him.
“Who?” Sebastian asked, for he was not entirely certain to whom she was referring.
“Your stepmother and uncle, of course,” she replied.
Sebastian did not think there was anything charming about his stepmother and uncle dancing together. Quite the opposite, in fact. To see them together raised further questions as to his uncle’s intentions, and while Sebastian still had no proof as to what those intentions were, he was growing ever more convinced as to possibility of his being forced into the madness he was trying so hard to resist.
“Perhaps,” Sebastian replied.
He knew Lady Helena was only interested in scandal and gossip. She had proved as much at Gunter’s, with her apparent sympathy and a forced show of concern.
