Page 37 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“I just wanted… Why must you cause me such distress, Rosalind? Why can’t you be more like Elizabeth?” her mother exclaimed.
Rosalind rose to her feet. It was always the same. The moment of comparison had come.
“Because I’m not Elizabeth, mother. And I never will be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs. I won’t be down for luncheon. And I’m not at home to visitors,” she said, turning on her heels, and marching out of the dining room.
They had reached a stalemate, and while Rosalind knew her parents would always have the upper hand, she, too, could be as stubborn. They were too much alike. She had her mother’s emotional side, along with her father’s reasoning and intellect. But both her heart and her head told her she was doing the right thing, even as it meant defying the expectations of her parents.
“I won’t marry him, I just won’t.” Rosalind told herself, as now she made her way upstairs, shutting herself in her bedroom and locking the door.
From beneath her bed, Rosalind took out the portrait of Ariadne and Dionysus. The figures were complete, their gaze fixed, and there was no doubting the moment they shared. Rosalind thought back to that same moment in her dream, when Dionysus had gazed down at her before casting her jewels into the heavens above.
But now there was more to include, a whole background, and the story leading up to that moment. She pictured the procession of dryads, nymphs, and satyrs, and the women, too.
“I’ll paint them all, but fading into the background, just as they did before,” she said to herself, closing her eyes and thinking back to the kiss she had shared with Sebastian.
She could feel his arms around her, and his lips pressed against hers. She raised the palm of her hand to her lips, trying to recreate the feeling, and sighing as she opened her eyes. It would never feel the same. The moment passed, though the memory lingered.
“Never to be repeated,” she told herself, for she felt certain there was no hope of anything more.
What had happened at the ball had been a pleasant diversion, like looking at a painting. But as with all art, it was not real. What had happened in the dining room that morning was real. That was Rosalind’s lot. She was destined to marry the Duke of Northridge, and it was folly to think otherwise.
Romantic notions, dreams of Ariadne and Dionysus all of it was as nothing. She looked at the painting, half-tempted to paint over the figures and begin again. Every time she looked at it, Rosalind would be reminded of what she could not have. These feelings were a myth; a distant dream, out of reach, and pointless to dwell on.
“He won’t remember me. It was all very pleasant, but he won’t remember me,” she told herself, taking up her paints and beginning to detail in the background figures.
But as she worked, Rosalind’s gaze was forever drawn back to Dionysus, and try as she might, she could only see Sebastian there, the memory of their kiss lingering, and the hope of seeing him again remaining.
Chapter 16
Sebastian passed a restless night, tossing and turning, his thoughts preoccupied by Rosalind and the kiss they had shared by the fountain the previous evening. He could not rid himself of her image, and eventually, he stopped trying to sleep, rising from his bed, and dressing hurriedly. It was early morning, and padding through the house. He went to his study, intending to smoke a cigar in an armchair and attempt to fall asleep again.
“Where are they, damn it?” he exclaimed, hunting over his desk for the box of cigars he felt certain he had left there the day before.
He was certain they were there somewhere, but despite having cleared the entire surface of books and papers, the box remained elusive. Sighing, he sat down in the armchair and closed his eyes. Immediately, the image of Rosalind returned. He pictured her by the fountain, her hair flowing down her back, neck arched, a smile on her face.
“If only I could kiss her again,” he thought to himself, imagining his hands running over her body, the sweet scent of her perfume, intoxicating, the touch of his lips against her neck.
There was no doubting the power of the kiss they had shared. Sebastian was no stranger to the lips of women. There had been dalliances, affairs, even the hope of something more. But no woman had ever matched his expectations or been the sort of woman whom Sebastian could have imagined spending the rest of his life with.
“Don’t flatter yourself. They left because they thought you’d go matter. It wasn’t your choice,” he reminded himself, even as he preferred the narrative as he wanted to remember it.
But the truth was simple: no woman had ever wanted more from Sebastian than the casual acquaintance of a ballroom, or the hurried intimacies of a secret liaison. His reputation was enough to ensure he was always cast aside, deemed an unsatisfactory match by whichever father or guardian had the final say.
The same would be said for Rosalind, even without the complications of the Duke of Northridge. With a sigh, Sebastian poured himself a glass of brandy from a decanter on his desk. Remembering it was not yet seven o’clock in the morning, he set it aside, ringing the bell in the hope of a cup of coffee.
“I should forget the whole thing. It never happened,” he told himself, as the door of the study opened.
But to his surprise, it was not one of the servants who appeared, but his stepmother, and he looked at her curiously as she smiled at him.
“I heard you ring. You’re up very early,” she said, and Sebastian nodded.
“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted some coffee. If there’s a servant to bring it, that is,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
The servants at Southbourne House were not the most efficient of staff, and only a few days previously, Sebastian had had cause to reprimand the butler, Langton, for allowing several of his shirts to come back from being laundered with tears in the seams. Laziness was rife, and Sebastian had even considered firing the whole lot of them, even as his stepmother persuaded him not to.
“It’s all right, Sebastian. I’ll bring you some coffee from the dining room. They’re just setting out breakfast, now. Will you take it in here?” his stepmother asked.
Sebastian nodded. He and his stepmother had not always seen eye to eye, but lately, she had been making something of an effort to be kind to him, and he was grateful to her for it. It was one less thing to concern himself with.
