Page 24 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Again, Elizabeth was uncertain who was meant by the mysterious “they” whose expertise could be translated into universal norms. The opinion of the ton was a collective one, and often based merely on widespread opinion. But Rosalind preferred to make up her own mind, and she would not be forced into making an assumption about the earl until she could know it for certain herself.
“I’m sure it is. And I’m sure you’re right. The earl’s completely mad. That’s why I find him alluring,” Rosalind replied, and Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide with horror.
“Oh Rosalind, no,” she said, but Rosalind’s mind was made up.
She had been nervous at first, but curiosity now got the better of her. At the masquerade ball, Rosalind had found herself alone with the earl in a room full of scandalous portraits. He had done nothing to scare her or threaten her. If he was mad, there was a benevolence in his madness, and Rosalind was not afraid.
“He’s friends with Lord Cuthbert. You and he were dancing at the masquerade, weren’t you? Well, why not seek them out together?” Rosalind said.
She knew her mother and the Duke of Northridge would be angry with her, and her father would tell her she was being foolish, but Rosalind no longer cared. She wanted to speak to the earl. And if that meant defying social convention, so be it.
“I did dance with John. Er, Lord Cuthbert, I mean, but I don’t think he was interested in me,” Elizabeth said, reaching out to take one of the meringues, but Rosalind slapped her hand back.
“Look, they’re over there. Now’s our chance,” she said, taking Elizabeth reluctantly by the arm.
But as she did so, a voice behind her made her shudder. Turning, she found the Duke of Northridge standing before her.
“They’re going to begin the dancing soon. Come along, Rosalind. You can leave Elizabeth by the dessert table,” he said, raising his eyebrows as Elizabeth blushed.
“I… I don’t want…” Rosalind stammered, glancing over her shoulder and catching sight of Sebastian, who was watching her from across the room.
“Nonsense. We’re going to dance. It’s expected of us, Rosalind. Come along now,” he said, and Rosalind had no choice but to do as he said.
He took her by the arm, somewhat forcefully, leading her into the throng of dancers and slipping his hand around her waist. There was nothing romantic about his actions. Not once had Richard tried to seduce her or make himself an attractive proposition.
He was a middle-aged man, far too old for her, possessed of graying hair and a growing paunch around his stomach. His dress clothes were ill-fitting. They were those of a man unwilling to accept the changes of the passing years. It was clear he had consumed too much wine and brandy for his own good.
“Just one dance, I’m feeling…” Rosalind stammered, trying to release herself from his grasp.
“As many dances as I wish, Rosalind. It’s not up to you to decide. We’re to be married, and we’re to be seen, too. Don’t you understand what that means?” he asked, and Rosalind sighed.
“I don’t want to dance,” she replied, but he ignored her, and now the waltz picked up its pace, and the dancers whirled and twirled in a throng.
As the music came to an end, Rosalind caught sight of the earl. He was watching her from across the dance floor, standing with Lord Cuthbert by a marble column. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he angry with her for having led him on?
Now he knew she was as good as betrothed? She could not take her eyes off him, imagining his face as that of Dionysus, their lips almost touching in the painting. The thought of his madness did not scare her. She found it alluring, somehow. There was a mystery about him, one she wanted to discover more about.
“We’ll dance again when the music resumes,” Richard said, and Rosalind sighed, wishing there was someway she could get away from him. If only the earl would make an advance.
She imagined herself in his arms, the gentleness of his touch, the movement of their bodies as one. Rosalind would like to dance with him, to feel his arms around her, his lips pressed against hers, just like in the paintings.
“I need to go to the powder room,” Rosalind replied, pulling herself away from the duke’s hold.
He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but he made no attempt to stop her. And hurrying off in the direction of the powder room, Rosalind hid herself behind one of the marble pillars lining the far side of the ballroom. She knew she would not be able to hide for long, and her only hope was for someone else to ask her to dance, even as she knew it would only serve to anger the duke further.
Richard wanted her all for himself. He was a jealous man, who already believed he possessed her, even as Rosalind had given him no reason to think so. His assumptions were arrogant, and Rosalind wanted only to show him she was not interested.
“Oh, there you are, Rosalind. You managed to escape from him then?” Elizabeth said, finding Rosalind loitering behind the column.
“I’ll have to go back in a few moments. I just needed a respite from him. He’s quite awful,” Rosalind replied, annoyed with Elizabeth for having made no progress in approaching Lord Cuthbert.
He was her opportunity to approach Sebastian. The earl and his friend were still standing in the same position. Rosalind could see them from her vantage point, and as she had headed in the direction of the powder room, she had felt certain the earl was watching her. She had hoped he was, even as he had made no attempt to speak to her. What was he waiting for?
“Do you think he’ll invite you to dance?” Elizabeth asked, peering cautiously around the pillar.
“He might do, if you’d only talk to his friend, too,” Rosalind replied, feeling somewhat exasperated with Elizabeth, who was a free agent and could talk with whomsoever she wished.
“Oh, but I don’t know what to say to him,” Elizabeth replied, and Rosalind gave a wry smile.
