Page 4 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“Very good, my Lord. Please ring if you need anything,” the butler said, and with a curt bow, he retreated from the library, leaving Sebastian alone.
The earl crossed to the window, looking out over the gardens of Southbourne House, before closing his eyes and trying to calm the thoughts overwhelming him. It was always the same when he awoke from the dream, the fear of what was to come gripping him with a terror he found it hard to rid himself of.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” he told himself, though he knew his father had first been seized with the symptoms when he was in his late twenties.
Sebastian was twenty-six and had inherited the title of the Earl of Southbourne a year ago, following his father’s death. His own mother had died some years ago, leaving Sebastian with his stepmother, Victoria, and an uncle, Julian, on his father’s side, whom he rarely saw. His father’s end had been an unpleasant one, and Sebastian had watched as the same madness had seized him as it had seized his own father before him.
“But it’s going to. It’ll take you like it took them. It’s only a matter of time,” Sebastian told himself.
There was no cure for the madness, even as Sebastian had done everything he could possibly think of to lessen its advance. He had consulted the best doctors, taken tonics and pills, read endless books on the matter of madness, and even gone so far as to experiment with his own treatments.
He tried cold water cures and heat treatments, exotic plants and hallucinogens, and even talismans and long forgotten herbal remedies. But there were no guarantees, and just as madness had seized King George, so, too, did Sebastian fear it would seize him, too.
“The dream proves it, my father suffered from terrible dreams,” Sebastian thought to himself, remembering his father’s end, when agonized cries echoed through the house at night.
It made him shudder to remember it, but as he was about to pour himself another glass of brandy to steady his nerves, the library door opened, and his stepmother entered the room. She was a haughty woman, quite tall, with long, red hair, combed into ringlets, and wearing a black dress, for she was still in mourning for Sebastian’s father. She never bothered to knock, and now she looked at him questioningly as Sebastian slumped into a chair by the hearth.
“Another dream?” she asked, and he nodded.
“I’m getting them more frequently lately, even during the day. It’s always the same, the maze and the high wall,” he replied, for he made no secret of his fears about the onset of the illness his father had succumbed to.
There was no point in hiding the fact. It impacted everything he did, and everything to come. While Sebastian knew it was his duty to further the line, the thought of doing so filled him with dread. How could he bring a child into the world, knowing it would suffer what he, and those before him, had suffered, too? Then there was the question of a wife, certain to be made widow very young. His stepmother looked at him sympathetically.
“You should speak to the doctor about it again and get him to come and visit you. Get the one who treats the king,” she said, but Sebastian shook his head.
“It’s inevitable. I know what’s going to happen. You know what’s going to happen,” he said, but his stepmother shook head.
“No one knows what’s going to happen, Sebastian. But you can’t live your whole life in fear. Try to think about something else. There’s the masquerade ball to plan for. You’ve not forgotten, have you?” she said, and Sebastian’s eyes grew wide.
He had entirely forgotten about the Marchioness of Graystone’s masquerade. It was a highlight of the season but had entirely slipped his mind. The fact of his forgetfulness brought with it a panic. If he could forget something as anticipated as the masquerade ball, what else was he forgetting? Sebastian had considerable responsibilities, people who depended on him, and duties to perform. But if he was growing forgetful, was this the first sign of the madness setting in?
“I… yes, the masquerade ball. I remember now, but I’d forgotten. I don’t know why I’d forgotten. It’s this very week, isn’t it? I’ll wear the same mask as last year. It’s upstairs in my wardrobe, but how could I forget it?” he replied, as much questioning himself as asking his stepmother’s opinion.
She looked at him and shrugged.
“We all forget things, and I’ve reminded you now,” she said, for his stepmother did not always take seriously the facts of his heritage.
But she had seen his father in the last throes of madness. She knew what was coming. Surely it filled her with dread?
“I think I need some fresh air. I’m going to walk in the garden,” Sebastian said, remembering what one of the doctors had said about clearing the mind with new air.
His stepmother nodded, taking a book for herself from the shelves and following Sebastian into the hallway. He was about to step out into the garden when the sounds of a carriage drawing up caused him to look out of the windows at the front of the house. His friend, Lord Cuthbert, John, was just climbing down, and Sebastian was relieved to think he would have some company.
“As long as he doesn’t come bearing news of something else I’ve forgotten,” Sebastian thought to himself, waiting in the hallway as the butler came to answer the door.
John was in good spirits, he always was. They had been the closest of friends since childhood, but they could not have been more different. While Sebastian was forever concerned about the future state of his mind, John was the sort of man who took everything in stride. Sebastian had never heard his friend express a worry about the future.
“It’s good of you to come. I was just going to walk in the garden,” Sebastian said.
“I was worried about you when I heard you talking last night at Boodles,” John replied, shaking Sebastian by the hand.
The two of them had been at their gentlemen’s club the evening before, and Sebastian had again expressed his fears as to the future. Awakening from his dream had done little to allay such fears, and now his anxiety was rising once again.
“It’s kind of you to say so, John. I, well, I had the dream again, the one I told you about with the high walls and hedges. The dream where the man is telling me I’m not mad,” Sebastian admitted. They made their way outside into the garden at the back of the house.
Southbourne House was an ancient pile, home to the Earls of Southbourne for six generations, but its parkland had been encroached on by the city surrounding it, and in the middle of his madness, Sebastian’s grandfather had sold much of the estate for development. But to walk in the gardens was still pleasant, and Sebastian found them to be a sanctuary in moments such as this, the borders in full bloom, and the sweet scent of lavender and roses hanging in the air.
“Perhaps you should believe him, Sebastian. Isn’t he telling you what we’re all telling you?” John replied.
