Page 45 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“Oh, but your stepmother was very concerned. You’re forgetting things and mislaying things. She says it was the same for your father, too. Aren’t there any doctors who could help you? I know a specialist in Bath,” Lady Helena said, glancing again at Rosalind, who held her gaze defiantly.
“I’m sure I’ll be all right,” Sebastian replied, and to Rosalind’s relief, the waiter arrived with a tray bearing their ices and sweet treats.
Lady Helena said goodbye, but the damage was done, and the happy atmosphere of earlier was replaced by a cloud. Sebastian looked angry, sitting stony faced as the ices were placed in front of him, while John tried to lighten the mood.
“Don’t they look delicious?” he said, and Elizabeth nodded.
“The colors are so vibrant. Look at mine, orange and yellow, and it tastes exquisite,” she exclaimed, tasting the two flavors in turn.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalind whispered, turning to Sebastian, as Elizabeth and John tried one another’s ices.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s probably right,” Sebastian replied, shaking his head.
Rosalind put her hand on his, and he looked up at her and gave a weak smile.
“I don’t think it’s true,” she said, and he sighed.
“You’re very kind to say so, but I fear it is,” he replied, and for the rest of their time at Gunter’s, he seemed lost in a deep melancholy.
Rosalind felt terribly sorry for him, and angry, too, at the way he was treated. It was assumed he would be afflicted by a condition he had no symptoms of. It was as though he was being shunned as a leper, before the symptoms showed themselves, and Rosalind had no doubt as to Lady Helena’s ability to spread rumor across the ton.
“It’s all so unfair, he’s so very sweet,” she said to herself, as she and Elizabeth returned home together, knowing the afternoon she had spent with Sebastian at the art gallery would not be one she would forget.
Chapter 19
“Cheer up, Sebastian, it’s not so bad, is it? Lady Helena was only asking after your health,” John said, as he and Sebastian walked back to Southbourne House.
Sebastian looked up at his friend and sighed. He had been lost in thought, his mind on Lady Helena’s remarks and what Rosalind must have thought of them. Her words had sunk him into a deep depression, the happiness of that carefree day replaced by the reminder of his imminent descent into madness.
He had been a fool to show his flirtatious side, acting as though the possibility of a courtship between himself and Rosalind was a real possibility. But it was not precisely for the reasons Lady Helena’s words had reminded him of.
“Of my health? Yes, but it’s hardly a broken leg, is it, John? One’s mind can’t be splintered and set like a bone. Once it’s gone, it’s gone,” Sebastian replied, shaking his head sadly.
His friend looked at him with a concerned expression.
“You’re dwelling on this far too much, Sebastian. It’s not good for you. You seemed happy at Somerset House. Happy in the company of Lady Rosalind. And now…” John said, shaking his head.
“Because I was happy. I could pretend to be. I could forget my troubles and my worries. The moment was sublime,” he said, thinking back to touching Rosalind’s face, brushing back her hair, gazing into her eyes.
It had been a perfect moment, one Sebastian would never forget. But now, reminded of what was to come, Sebastian could only feel a deep and devastating sadness. He would soon lose everything, even as he had clung to the possibility of something.
“And it still can be. There’s no certainty in anything Lady Helena or anyone else says. You’re not mad,” John said.
His tone was definite, as though he was pronouncing a medical fact rather than a personal opinion. They arrived back at Southbourne House, and after parting ways, Sebastian made his way up the short drive. While looking up at the house, the scene of his father’s and his grandfather’s madness flooded his thoughts.
“And now it will be my madness,” he told himself, shaking his head as he made his way up the steps. S the front door.Langton, the butler, opened for him it. But as Sebastian stepped over the threshold, a sudden pain gripped him in the stomach and he stumbled, leaning on the doorpost and gasping for breath.
“My Lord?” the butler exclaimed, catching Sebastian by the arm, as he groaned, hardly able to stand. The pain was so intense.
“A chair…help me,” Sebastian exclaimed, his eyes watering, as the sharp stabbing pain continued.
The butler called for help, and two of the footmen came running, taking Sebastian under his arms, and practically carrying him into the drawing room, his legs feeling like the melting ices he had just consumed. They laid him on a chaise lounge by the window, and water was brought, along with smelling salts, to revive him.
“I’ll send for a doctor, my Lord,” the butler said, but Sebastian shook his head.
“No. I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be all right. Just bring me some chamomile tea,” he said.
He feared the arrival of a doctor, and what would be said. How would he be diagnosed? Was this the madness taking hold more vehemently? The butler looked concerned, but he did as he was told, sending one of the footmen to fetch a cup of chamomile tea. The pain was subsiding, but Sebastian feared trying to move, lest it return. He tried to sit up, gesturing for the window to be opened. The room was stifling, and his head was spinning. What was wrong with him?
