Page 43 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
She knew her own naivety, but her imagination was more than capable of transporting her into the passions depicted. It seemed odd to think of the repression of such desire, given the obvious pleasures it engendered. The expressions on the faces of those depicted in the portraits were entirely of mutual delight. There was nothing forced about the poses. They depicted love, and love was beautiful.
“Entirely natural, but our puritanical society doesn’t see it that way. They hide such things behind the veil,” he said, nodding towards the velvet curtain, through which another a gentleman had just been ushered.
“I think it’s very sad,” Rosalind said, pausing in front of another nude, this one depicting a woman lying on a chaise lounge, her breasts exposed, with a mischievous smile on her face, as sunlight poured through an open window.
Rosalind imagined herself lying there. What would she see? She pictured the artist at his easel, felt the warm breeze coming through the window, heard the chatter of voices on the street below.
“What are you thinking?” Sebastian asked, and Rosalind was brought back to her senses.
“I was just…I can picture myself there,” she said, blushing. She knew there was no reason to feel embarrassed telling him she enjoyed imagining herself the subject of such paintings; he already knew. He smiled at her and nodded.
“I can picture you there, too. What about the others? Do you see yourself there?” he asked, holding his hand out to the other paintings, where lovers were entwined together in acts of passion.
“I can,” Rosalind admitted, and the Earl held her gaze, just as Dionysus had held that of Ariadne in the picture Rosalind herself had painted.
Her heart skipped a beat, his piercing green eyes fixed on her, as now he reached up and brushed the curls of her hair back from her face.
“I think you’re as much a portrait as any of them,” he said, and Rosalind blushed.
“Oh…but I’m not…I could never model for such…these women are…” she stammered, but he shook his head, his fingers still lightly touching her cheek.
“You are. Truly, you are,” he said, just as a steward cleared his throat.
“Keep moving, sir, others want to see the portraits,” he said, and Rosalind was brought back to her senses as Sebastian looked suddenly embarrassed.
“Yes, very well,” he said, and now they continued around the room, admiring the other nudes and sharing their criticisms and appreciations.
As they stepped out from behind the velvet curtain into the main gallery, Rosalind caught sight of Elizabeth and John at the far side of the room. They were admiring a painting of King Charles II, and Rosalind hoped her friend had not noticed her absence, given the subject matter hung in the room behind her.
“Oh, Rosalind, there you are,” Elizabeth exclaimed, as Rosalind and Sebastian came up behind where she and John were admiring the portrait of the beheaded monarch.
“I was just saying to Elizabeth, I think it’s time we headed for Gunter’s, don’t you? A little iced treat to end the day?” John said, and Elizabeth looked up at him and swooned.
“You do have the best ideas, John,” she said.
Rosalind and Sebastian exchanged glances, smiling at one another, as John and Elizabeth led the way arm in arm. There was no doubt they were in love, and Rosalind was pleased for her friend, as it seemed Sebastian was for him, too.
“They make a lovely couple,” Rosalind whispered, as she and Sebastian walked a few paces behind.
They did not walk arm in arm, though Rosalind would not have minded if they had done. At the gallery, she felt they were just like any other courting couple, even if the truth was very different. It had been a moment to savor, and Rosalind could not help but feel happy to be in the company of the earl, who had displayed nothing of the apparent madness for which he was rumored to suffer.
“They do, don’t they? I’m pleased for John. He’s been unfairly judged as a rake in the past. But he’s really not. I can assure you of that. He’ll make an excellent match for your charming friend,” Sebastian said, as they walked along The Strand towards Gunter’s.
As they walked, Rosalind thought back to the moment they had shared beneath the nudes, imagining herself to be the subject of the painting, and having Sebastian as her lover. She was happy for Elizabeth, but in this moment, caught up in the fantasy of her and Sebastian being together, Rosalind could not help but feel sorry it could not last.
“Here we are at Gunter’s. Look at the wonderful displays in the windows,” John called out.
Gunter’s Tea Shop, on Berkley Square, was a fashionable place to gather, frequented by elegant young ladies and handsomely dressed gentlemen. It was a haunt for courting couples, a place to be seen and to see others. In the windows, spectacular creations in sugar were displayed, this one depicting an alpine mountain scene, complete with a village of sugar houses, dusted with snow.
Rosalind had a sweet tooth, and if her mother was feeling indulgent, she would bring her to Gunter’s, where dozens of flavored ices were available to savor, along with sugared fruits, syrups, daintily iced biscuits, elaborate cakes, and delicate sugar spun delights.
“Oh, I do love Gunter’s! I wonder if they’re still making the rose and lavender flavored ice we had last time we were here, Rosalind,” Elizabeth said, as John held open the door for them, and the party filed inside.
The tea room was a sea of bonnets, as chattering women giggled and gossiped with one another, while their gentleman companions sat hanging on their every word. A waistcoated waiter came to greet them, ushering them to a table on a raised platform at the far end of the room.
As they passed by, Rosalind recognized several women she knew. These women were friends of her mother’s, and she knew it would not be long before her parents discovered where she had been that afternoon.
“We’ll all have ices, won’t we? I suggest two flavors each: jasmine, orange, elderflower, violet, the list goes on,” John said, as Rosalind and Elizabeth examined the menus.
