Page 5 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“But I know it’s not true. I know he’s trying to make me think it to lull me into a false sense of security. I’ll say I’m not going mad, and then I will. But if I remain vigilant…” Sebastian replied, for he had convinced himself what he had to do to prevent the madness setting in. He had to believe in it.
By believing in it, even as those around him denied it, Sebastian could defeat its effects. He felt certain of it, even as he knew it was a dangerous game to play. John raised his eyebrows.
“Then you mean to embrace it?” he asked.
Sebastian shook his head.
“No, but I can’t deny it’s happening, either. My stepmother had to remind me about the masquerade ball. I’d completely forgotten about it. If she hadn’t told me, I’d be oblivious to it. Isn’t that terrifying?” Sebastian said, but John shook his head.
“It just means you forgot it. I forget things. Everyone does. It doesn’t mean you’re going mad. And it doesn’t mean you’ll end up going the way of your father or your grandfather. I wish you’d stop worrying about it,” John said.
But with the passing of time, Sebastian was growing increasingly worried. The thought of the madness preoccupied him, even in his dreams.
He could simply not rid himself of the thought he had just a few year years, perhaps even just a few months, before he was gripped by the same symptoms his father and grandfather had experienced; symptoms he knew would be terrible to endure. Forgetting the masquerade ball was only the beginning.
“But I do worry about it, John. I worry about it all the time. I fear, well, you know what I fear,” Sebastian said, and his friend sighed.
“Try not to think about it. You’ll enjoy the masquerade ball. We both will. It’s always such fun, isn’t it? The music, the dancing, the refreshments,” he said.
Sebastian had to admit he did enjoy the masquerade. It was a highlight of the social season, and the Marchioness of Graystone was an excellent host. Sebastian’s mask was hung up in his bedroom. It was a gaudy creation in green and purple, purchased two years ago. He was looking forward to donning it alongside John, whose mask was equally ostentatious.
“It is, yes. I don’t begrudge it. I just… well, you’re right, I should try not to think about it. But I can’t help it,” he said, and John paused, turning to Sebastian as they stood together on the lawn.
He put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and smiled.
“You’re not alone in this, Sebastian, I promise you. You don’t have to face it on your own. These things are far better understood now. The king, his madness. It’s all helped our understanding. You’ve got the best doctors in the country examining your case,” he said.
Sebastian was grateful to John for his words. He knew he would not be alone, and his friend could always be relied on in as a listening ear when Sebastian’s anxiety overwhelmed him. But in his own mind, in his own thoughts, he was alone, and no one else could shoulder the feelings he was experiencing or help to lessen the load. This was his fight, and ultimately, he would face it alone.
“I know it’s just difficult,” he said, and his friend smiled.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure a lot of people don’t ever speak of it. But you do, and that means you can be helped,” he said.
They walked back towards the house now, and Sebastian was grateful to John for his visit.
“Do you believe in the Sinclair curse? Do you believe it’s passed down from generation to generation? I fear marrying because of it. I fear what might be if a child was brought into the world,” Sebastian said.
His friend pondered for a moment.
“I don’t know, Sebastian. But I hope it won’t stop you from seeking the companionship you deserve. Don’t let fear hold you back. If you meet a woman, a young lady at the masquerade, why shouldn’t you pursue romance?” he asked, even as Sebastian shook his head.
It would hardly be fair to fall in love, or lead a woman to think there might be the chance of a long and happy marriage, when there may not be a chance.
“I don’t know, John; it hardly seems fair,” Sebastian replied, for his mind was already made up, and as much as he might have desired the companionship of a woman, he knew it would not be right to seek it, when such a terrible curse hung over him.
Chapter 3
“You can’t hide yourself away tonight, Rosalind. We’ve got a guest,” Rosalind’s mother said, as they sat at breakfast the following morning.
Rosalind looked up from her toast and marmalade in surprise. Her mother had mentioned nothing about a guest, even as Rosalind suspected there was an ulterior motive; there usually was. She had no chance of making an excuse, for there could be no reason for her to avoid dining with her parents that evening, having already assured them her megrim was gone.
“Oh, yes?” she asked, fearing it would be some dull aunt or distant cousin.
Her parents exchanged glances.
“The Duke of Northridge,” her father said, and Rosalind groaned.
Richard Stratton was a longstanding acquaintance of her parents. He was an arrogant man, possessed of considerable wealth, who believed he could use his wealth to further his position in whatever manner he wished, including securing the attentions of young ladies.
