Page 56 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
His memory would worsen, losing his faculties, and the descent into physical pain. His stomach still had a slight ache to it, and the coffee the butler had brought him was doing little to calm his fears.
“Where is he?” Sebastian thought to himself.
But as the clock on the mantelpiece passed the quarter hour, a knock came at the door, and Langton announced the arrival of the land agent, who now appeared, looking somewhat flustered.
“My Lord, forgive me tardiness. I wasn’t expecting us to meet today. I didn’t think it was necessary until next month,” he said, his faced red, as he caught his breath.
Sebastian rose to his feet, confused as to the land agent’s words.
“That was my feeling on the matter, too,” Sebastian replied, shaking Mr. Gerard’s hand.
The land agent looked at him in surprise.
“But I received your note yesterday, my Lord. In the morning. You wanted to see me today, to discuss the Norfolk holdings. I was under the impression we’d wait until next month to discuss them. There’s no urgency in the matter,” he said.
Sebastian was taken aback. He had not sent a note to the land agent. He was certain of it.
“When did you receive the note?” he asked, and Mr. Gerard took out a piece of paper from a small ledger he was carrying.
The writing was that of Sebastian, though with the same shaky hand as had shown in his diary. It was a brief missive, dated the previous day, instructing the land agent to visit him at eleven o’clock the following day, that day.
“Around noon, my Lord. I didn’t reply, because I’m afraid I was rather too busy. I had a meeting of the privy council this morning. I act as land agent to the Regent for certain holdings around Windsor. It had to take precedent,” he said, but Sebastian was not listening. His attentions turned to the timing of the note.
He could not have sent it. Yesterday morning, and for the rest of the day, he had been at Somerset House in the company of Rosalind, John, and Elizabeth. He had not told his stepmother he was going out, but he knew for a fact he had not been at Southbourne House when it was claimed the note was written. He was certain of it, and now he began to question so much else, too.
“And you’re certain of the time, Mr. Gerard,” he replied.
The land agent looked slightly annoyed at this question and nodded.
“Yes, my Lord. Now, what is it you want to discuss with me?” he asked, but Sebastian shook his head.
“I didn’t want to discuss anything with you, Mr. Gerard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go out myself. We’ll meet as planned next month. Don’t do anything about the Norfolk holdings. I haven’t decided if I’ll sell them. Good day to you, sir,” Sebastian said, holding out his hand to the land agent, who now looked thoroughly confused.
“Good day, my Lord.” he said, as Sebastian hurried out of the room.
He knew he was right. He could not possibly have sent the note to the land agent, and if the fact could be disproved, perhaps, so too, could the other things he had been so convinced of. Without bothering to tell his stepmother or uncle where he was going, he snatched up his outdoor coat and hat, and hurried out of the house. He took a carriage, telling the driver to make all haste to the home of Lord Cuthbert, whom he found busy about his correspondence.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” John asked, rising to greet Sebastian, who had insisted on following his friend’s butler into the study.
“I’m not mad,” Sebastian said, and John laughed.
“No, you’re not. Haven’t I been telling you that all along?” he asked, and Sebastian smiled.
“No. I can’t be,” he said, and he recounted the story of the lad agent and the alteration of the diary.
“It was a forgery. I know it was. I couldn’t have written the note. I wasn’t there. I was with you…with Rosalind,” Sebastian said, thinking back to the time he had shared with her at Somerset House.
When the note was supposedly written, the two of them were enjoying the intimacies of the nudes.
“But who sent it? Can’t you ask the butler?” John said, but Sebastian shook his head.
“No, we leave all the correspondence on the hallway table. A boy takes it. There’d be no way of telling who sent what,” Sebastian replied.
The thought was weighing heavily on him. It was one thing to believe himself mad, but quite another to think of someone attempting to make him believe it. He could not imagine who would sink so low, or what they would stand to gain from it? Was it one of the servants?
They had all seen the way the madness had seized Sebastian’s father, but they could stand to gain nothing from it, even as Sebastian’s thoughts turned to another dreadful possibility.
“Then perhaps…the butler? A disgruntled maid? Have you gotten rid of any of the servants lately? Or…you don’t think… your stepmother?” John said, raising his eyebrows.
