Page 55 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“He’s not dangerous,” she replied, folding her arms and fixing Richard with a defiant gaze.
“I say he is, Rosalind, and I’ll remind you to whom you’re speaking. Don’t forget what I’ve done for you,” he snarled, leaning forward and raising his finger to her.
“I know what you’ve done,” Rosalind replied, turning away from him, and looking out of the carriage window.
They had left the city behind now and were driving through pleasant parkland by the river, following a track with the river on their left. Weeping willows swept down from the banks, and meadows of wildflowers stretched out on their right, their sweet scent drifting on the breeze. It would have been idyllic, had it not been for the company, and when Richard called a halt, Rosalind knew the rest of the day would be an endurance, rather than a pleasure.
“We’ll picnic here, I think,” he said, directing the carriage driver to place the picnic baskets by the riverside, where a meandering flow entered a deep, clear pool.
It was idyllic, but in Richard’s company, Rosalind could only think of Sebastian, imagining herself in his company, alone by the river, picnicking in the sunshine.
“It’s very beautiful here,” Rosalind said, sitting on the rug the carriage driver had set out for them, as Richard sat by her side.
The picnic basket contained many delights: cold meats, cheeses, a raised game pie, a loaf of bread and a pat of butter, along with sugared fruits, jam tarts, and dainty biscuits. There was wine, too, and Richard proposed a toast, raising his glass to Rosalind, who could summon little enthusiasm for its subject.
“To our future happiness: marriage, an heir, and all it brings,” he said, raising his glass to Rosalind’s and nodding to her, even as the prospect filled her with dread.
In his company, Rosalind felt nothing of the joy she felt in Sebastian’s presence. There was no passion, no spark, even as it seemed he was trying his best to seduce her. But Richard could not compete with Sebastian, and Rosalind could only feel sad at the thought of their being such opposites, even as they were destined to marry.
“Yes. To future happiness,” she replied, still hoping beyond hope her parents might see sense, or Richard lose interest.
As the afternoon progressed, Rosalind became sleepy, and while Richard stripped off his shirt and swam, she lay down on the rug and closed her eyes. Outside, the sun was pleasant, away from the stifling atmosphere of her mother’s drawing room, and Rosalind yawned, almost falling asleep, as her mind drifted back to the afternoon in Sebastian’s company at Somerset House.
She pictured him with the portraits behind, his smiling face, that mischievous look. In stepping beyond the velvet curtain, they had known they were doing something wrong, but somehow it had not seemed to matter. In the earl’s company, nothing else seemed to matter, and it was only later Rosalind suffered the consequences.
“If only he’d steal me away, then we could be together,” she thought to herself, imagining slipping out into the night, and Sebastian waiting for her with a carriage.
It was not unheard of. There had been the case of Lady Eleanor Fortescue and the groom. They had eloped to Gretna Green and married on the blacksmith’s anvil. It had caused a scandal, but the two of them were happy, and the last she had heard of them, they were living in a cottage in the rural north, and very much in love.
“Why shouldn’t we do the same?” Rosalind asked herself, even as she knew a hundred reasons why they could not.
She did not even know if Sebastian was in love with her. He was reticent at times, and she had seen the look of fear in his eyes following Lady Helena’s humiliating enquiries. Did he fear attachment? Did the possibility of his madness hold him back?
The answer was surely yes, and it pained Rosalind to think of what he denied himself, even as she wanted desperately for him to realize none of it mattered to her. Perhaps she was naïve, or even foolish, she told herself, but love was a form of madness. It made the thought of the earl’s on madness entirely reasonable.
“Well, I think we should be getting back now, Rosalind. I’ve got some business to attend to. Come now, gather your things,” Richard said, and Rosalind was brought back from her daydreaming.
She sat up and looked at him in surprise. Was this it? It was as though he had decided to schedule a moment of enjoyment into his routine, just as one would a meeting or social call.
There had been little attempt on Richard’s part at conversation, and Rosalind could only feel a sense of disappointment at his having not even made the slightest attempt at sharing something of himself, or their plans with her.
“Oh, very well,” she said, as the carriage driver now hurried to collect the remnants of the picnic.
Richard pulled off his shirt behind a tree, and Rosalind caught sight of his naked torso, as he changed into dry clothes. But the sight brought with it none of the allure of a nude. Rosalind could not imagine Richard as the subject of one of the paintings.
There was nothing seductive in the image, only the body of an ageing man, holding nothing by way of sensuousness or desire. Rosalind sighed, turning away, and following the carriage driver across the meadow.
“Well, Rosalind, did you enjoy that?” Richard asked, as though suggesting he had done his duty and was now absolved of further obligation until his schedule suggested otherwise.
“Yes, it was very pleasant,” Rosalind replied, but in her mind, she could think only of Sebastian, and how much more pleasant it would have been had he been there instead.
Chapter 23
Sebastian glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece in his study. It was a minute past eleven. But the land agent, Mr. Gerard, was always on time. He was scrupulous about it, and it seemed odd to Sebastian to think of him arriving late. For a moment, he wondered if he had been right about the meeting, even as he glanced down at the open diary on his lap, where the appointment was written in his, albeit shaky, hand.
“Perhaps he’s forgotten, too. People do forget things. It’s perfectly normal,” Sebastian reminded himself.
He had been in a state of anxiety all morning, wondering what else he would discover he had forgotten, even as his stepmother had promised him there was nothing expected of him in the coming week. But try as he might, Sebastian could not rid himself of the dreadful fear of what was to come.
