Page 76 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Lady Soutbourne screamed, and Sebastian’s uncle rose hurriedly to his feet, as Sebastian now lay still, his eyes wide and staring.
“My God, you put too much in it, you fool,” Sebastian’s uncle snarled, rushing to Sebastian’s side as his stepmother held her hands to her mouth.
“I didn’t it was the same as usual, just as Mr. Palin said. A spoonful, that’s all. He must’ve reacted last night’s he’s had too much. Oh… no, it can’t be. They’ll discover it. If he’s… he’s not… dead?” she stammered.
Sebastian’s uncle leaned over him, and his stepmother cautiously did the same. But as they did so, Sebastian blinked, and in a trice, he sprang to his feet. Lady Soutbourne screamed again, and Sebastian’s uncle fell back in horror, as now, from behind the left-hand curtain, John emerged, and from the right-hand curtain, another man, a magistrate of Sebastian’s acquaintance, emerged, too.
“You thought you’d killed me, didn’t you? Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in framing yourselves,” Sebastian exclaimed, gazing triumphantly at his stepmother and uncle, who now cowered at the magistrate’s presence.
“I think I’ve heard enough to corroborate your story, my Lord. I’ll see to the arrangements for prosecution,” the magistrate, a tall, lanky man, with graying hair, whom Sebastian had befriended during a legal dispute over monies owed him by a contractor, said.
“But… no, Sebastian, it’s not what you think. You think it was poison in the coffee? No, it was your tonic, the one prescribed for you. We were worried you weren’t taking it,” Lady Soutbourne said, but Sebastian shook his head.
“Nonsense. I know exactly what you’ve been doing. We heard it all in the hallway yesterday, the two of you conspiring. I suspected as much from you, uncle, but not from you… I trusted you, Victoria,” Sebastian said, shaking his head.
The door to the dining room now opened, and several members of the militia entered. They had been waiting outside for the signal, and John had just summoned them, as now they took Sebastian’s uncle and stepmother into custody. Sebastian watched them go, shaking his head, before sinking down into a chair by the window. John put his arm on his shoulder.
“You’re not mad, Sebastian. Do you believe it now?” he said, and Sebastian nodded.
Everything, the missing cigar case, the altered painting, the changes of dates and reminders of events. All of it along with the poison had been a deliberate and calculated attempt to drive Sebastian to believe the madness his grandfather had suffered was his own. His father had succumbed to it, and Sebastian could not help but feel a deep sense of sorrow at the thought of what the man he had loved and respected had suffered at the hands of Lady Soutbourne and Sebastian’s uncle.
“I do, yes,” Sebastian replied, and now, he really did believe it.
He was not mad, and that fact brought with it a change, a change in his feelings towards Rosalind. He had pushed her away, forcing himself to believe there could be no future between them. But with the burden he had carried for so long now lifted, the possibility of finding the happiness he had believed lost had returned.
“And that means…” John said, smiling at Sebastian, who now rose to his feet.
“It means I can’t hide behind it any longer. It means… I could be with Rosalind,” he said.
“And you should hurry, Sebastian. She’s to marry Richard by special license this very week. Elizabeth told me as much. But there might still be a chance, if you act soon, that is. But don’t delay,” he said, imploring Sebastian to act, even as it still seemed an impossibility.
“I can only try,” Sebastian replied, and galvanized into action, and knowing his thoughts were entirely his own, he hurried from the dining room, calling for Langton to have a carriage summoned, intent on telling Rosalind the truth of his feelings, and proving he was not mad.
Chapter 32
“You’ll ride in an open top carriage, Rosalind. I know it’s only a small affair, but we want you to be seen, don’t we?” she said.
Rosalind had no interest in open top carriages, wedding dresses, or nuptial celebrations. Her fate was decided, and now she awaited it. It did not matter if she was dressed in rags or as a princess. The outcome would be the same. Her own unhappiness and the prospect of a lifetime of regret. She had no choice in the matter. The choice had been made for her.
“Whatever you say, mother,” she replied, gazing out of the window at some birds splashing in the birdbath.
How free they were, and how she wished she, too, could be free, free to fly away and never return. But Rosalind was trapped in a gilded cage. She would be the Duchess of Northridge, with all the finery and trappings to go with it.
She would have houses and estates, pretty clothes, and servants. Her every whim would be indulged, and yet all she really wanted to be was happy. She had been happy in Sebastian’s arms, but it had all been a dream, the fantasy of a painting, rather than real life.
“I say an open top carriage, Rosalind. I want the whole ton to see my daughter married,” Rosalind’s mother said.
Her father was sitting with his leg propped up on a gout stool, and he nodded, and was about to say something further when the drawing door opened, and the butler appeared, looking flustered.
“I’m sorry, your Grace. He’s insisting on seeing you immediately,” he said, and behind him, to Rosalind’s astonishment, came Sebastian.
She had not expected to see him again, to ever see him again. But here he was, as bold and brass, and striding into the room, he bowed to her, before turning to Rosalind’s parents, both of whom looked astonished.
“Your Grace, I’ve come because I can’t bear to stay away. I need to tell you the truth. The truth of my love for your daughter and my intention to marry her, if she’ll agree to it,” he said.
Rosalind gasped, and her mother shrieked.
“Get him out of here. Edmund send him away,” she exclaimed, as Rosalind’s father staggered to his feet.
