Page 3 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Rosalind smiled. This was to be her first masquerade ball, and she was looking forward to it, even as she felt somewhat nervous at the thought of once more being left on the wall. Her mother had such high hopes for her, and while she was possessed of an independent spirit, she also knew her parents were impatient for her to make a match.
“Well, she hasn’t asked me to. You know what she thinks of my painting. She’s hardly going to ask me to make her something like this,” Rosalind said, holding up her own mask and laughing.
A long mirror hung on the bedroom wall and the two friends stood next to one another, laughing at the sight of themselves obscured behind the papier-mâché and feathers. Rosalind was pleased with her attempts, even as she feared the masks might be somewhat over the top.
“I think we’ll be the talk of the ton, Rosalind,” Elizabeth said as Rosalind replaced the masks in the wardrobe.
“Or it’s scandal,” Rosalind replied, for she was unsure what others would make of the masks she had made, even as Elizabeth assured her they were perfect.
“I’ll see you at the masquerade. I’m going to the modiste this afternoon. I want my orange dress altered. Why don’t you come with me?” Elizabeth said, but Rosalind shook her head.
She had a megrim, or so she had told her mother, and she knew she would only get into trouble if it was discovered she had slipped out. Besides, she wanted to remain at home to finish Ariadne’s eyes. After having seen her own eyes reflected in the mirror through the slits in the eyes of her mask, she felt she knew better how to finish that most important part of the painting.
She would make Ariadne’s eyes her own. That way, she could see what the heroine of her painting was seeing. The loving expression of her lover, Dionysus, who had cast her crown into the heavens to make the constellation Corona.
“I dare not… if we get seen… you go. I’ve got a dress to wear. If there’s one thing I’m not in need of, it’s haberdashery. My mother insisted on planning the entire season. I’ve got a dress for every occasion. I’m wearing peacock blue at the masquerade,” Rosalind said.
Elizabeth smiled.
“All right. You’ll bring the masks, won’t you? I’ll wait for you outside. We can go in together. It’ll be fun. I’ll see you then, and I’ll tell your mother you’re still not well when I go back downstairs. I can see you’re eager to get on with your painting,” Elizabeth said.
She embraced Rosalind, kissing her on the cheek, before taking her leave. Molly, who had been waiting outside, now returned.
“Can I bring you anything, my Lady?” she asked, but Rosalind shook her head.
“No, thank you, Molly. I’m just going to get on with my painting. I think I know how to finish Ariadne’s eyes,” she said. Setting the half-finished painting on the easel, she set about doing so, basing the god’s eyes on her own, and imagining herself staring back into the eyes of her lover, the eyes of the man who loved Ariadne so much, he gave her the stars.
Chapter 2
“Well, my Lord, it’s not possible. You can’t believe that. It’s madness,” the man said, peering at Sebastian Sinclair, his head cocked to one side.
“But it’s true, the curse. You know about it. The male line, it catches up with each of us. My grandfather, my father, and now… I know it. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you see it? But no, you don’t see it because you’re not real. You’re not really there,” Sebastian exclaimed, staring at the man, who smiled back at him.
Who was he? A stranger dressed in court dress with a ruff at his neck? He looked out of place staring at Sebastian amid the maze of hedges they were standing in. Every turn blocked by a wall of box hedge rising into the blue sky above. It was always the same, the maze, the impossibility of finding his way out, the mysterious companion.
“But you’re not mad,” the man said.
“Then who are you? Tell me your name? Let me understand,” Sebastian implored him, turning to run, and finding himself caught between the ever-growing fences. The sky now blotted out.
“Just follow me, my Lord. You’ll be quite all right. There’s no need to worry about madness,” the man said, but Sebastian had heard enough.
He wanted to get away, and now he threw himself towards the hedge, trying to push his way through. But the hedge was now a wall, redbrick, obscuring everything. With a cry, he tried to climb it, his hands scratching desperately at the grooves, cutting into his fingers. The man was gone; the walls towering above him, and he let out a cry, consumed by his fears.
“My Lord, won’t you wake up? You’re having a terrible dream, it seems,” a voice above him said, and Sebastian opened his eyes with a start.
The wall was gone, replaced by that of the books in his library, and standing over him was the butler, Langton, peering down at him with a worried look on his face.
“Oh… I… what happened? I’ve been asleep. I didn’t mean to go to sleep. What time is it? I came in here after luncheon, and…” Sebastian exclaimed, glancing the half-finished glass of brandy on the table at his side.
He was sitting in an armchair by the hearth, the memory of the dream still lingering. It was a familiar one; always the same. The maze, the hedges turning to walls; the stranger telling him he was not mad, even as he was convinced he was so. It was his greatest fear, and glancing up at the portrait above the hearth, his eyes met those of his grandfather. Wild eyes, seized with the madness Sebastian feared above all else.
“It’s three O’clock, my Lord. I heard you cry out, and when I came in, I found you asleep,” the butler said.
Sebastian finished the glass of brandy in one, hoping it would do something to alleviate his fears and steady his nerves. It was always the same, and now breathed a deep sigh, rising to his feet, and knowing he would suffer thoughts of his recurring dream for the rest of the day.
“Thank you, Langton. You can go now. I’ll be all right,” Sebastian said.
The butler raised his eyebrows. Sebastian knew the servants talked about him. They knew about his dreams, and his fears. He glanced again at the portrait of his grandfather, remembering the cries of agony he had so often heard in childhood, when the old earl had been seized by bouts of the madness Sebastian feared in himself.
