Page 62 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Their hands were still clasped together, posed as though in a portrait. Rosalind felt so sorry for him. He had suffered terribly, and for nothing. He was not mad, but in being made out to be so, he was surely feeling what it would be like to experience the affliction of his father and grandfather.
“We all forget things. It’s perfectly normal, and not a sign of madness, not at all. I’m forever forgetting where I’ve put a certain color of paint or a bonnet or shawl. But it doesn’t mean I’m going mad,” Rosalind said.
Sebastian smiled at her.
“You’re the only one who believes me,” he said, but Rosalind shook her head.
“No, lots of people believe you. John and Elizabeth for a start. Isn’t it wonderful they’re getting married?” Rosalind said, as a sudden wistfulness came over her.
The kiss she had shared with Sebastian had been a single moment, snatched in the frame of the alcove. But when they stepped forth, Rosalind knew the world awaiting them would be very different to that of the portrait they had created for themselves. Beyond the frame, the Duke of Northridge was waiting, along with Rosalind’s mother, and the expectations of the ton. She longed to remain at Sebastian’s side, in his arms, in his heart.
“I’m pleased for them. It’s a little rushed, but well, I suppose love doesn’t always keep to our own expectations,” Sebastian said, blushing a little, as Rosalind smiled.
“It surprises us,” she said, and he nodded.
“And are you glad to be surprised?” he asked.
Rosalind leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She was glad to be surprised by the joy of finding a man she felt an absolute kindred spirit. So often she had heard of marriages of compromise, two people brought together through arrangement, who could never hope to love one another. How often she had feared it would be her lot, too, or assumed no marriage could be an entirely happy one. But in Sebastian, Rosalind had found her soul mate, the man with whom she was meant to fall in love, and having done so, she was not about to let the possibility of happiness escape her.
“I’d be far more so if we no longer had to pretend,” she said.
He held her gaze, their hands clasped together, and now their lips met in a further kiss, prolonged and passionate. Rosalind was again swept up in her feelings for Sebastian, feelings she no longer held back on. She was Ariadne; he was Dionysus, and she wanted only to be his. She had fallen in love with him, and there was nothing so could do to change it, even if she had wanted to.
“I love…” Sebastian whispered, their lips parting, but as he spoke, a call from along the passageway caused them both to startle.
“Oh, Rosalind, there you are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Elizabeth exclaimed, appearing with John at her side, as Rosalind blushed, and Sebastian turned away. The portrait of their passion now turned to a more formal affair without a hint of scandal attached.
Chapter 26
Rosalind did not sleep well that night. She did not sleep at all. After tossing and turning for several hours, she got up and continued her portrait of Sebastian. Inspiration came easily. She could picture him so vividly, the look in his eyes, the touch of his hand against hers, the feel of his lips, even the scent of his cologne.
All of it gave rise to the perfect image, one she now depicted effortlessly on the canvas. But what use was a portrait, when it was the longing for something real she so desired. Her mother had chastised her for disappearing, though the Duke of Northridge had been delayed, and the dancing had been lackluster at best. Rosalind had been forced only to endure the duke’s company for a short while, even as he had promised to call on her in the coming days.
“I can feel a proposal coming, Rosalind,” her mother had said, but Rosalind could think only of Sebastian.
The matter of Sebastian’s apparent madness had been resolved. There was no madness, only the cruel pretense of whoever it was who was trying to make it seem as though Sebastian was going mad. Rosalind suspected Sebastian’s stepmother, and as she and her mother had left, she had seen Lady Soutbourne talking to the man she now knew to be Sebastian’s uncle.
They had been whispering in low voices, casting furtive glances towards where Sebastian had been talking to John. The sight had made Rosalind shudder, for the thought of their attempting to drive him to insanity was wicked beyond measure.
“It’s too horrible for words,” Rosalind said to herself, as she made her way down to breakfast that morning, her thoughts distracted by the events of the previous evening.
Her father was still suffering from the effects of the attack of gout, and Rosalind found only her mother in the dining room, eating a slice of toast and marmalade ponderously.
“You can’t get married at the same time, Rosalind,” she said, looking up as Rosalind entered the room, and not bothering to qualify her statement.
“Who can’t, mother?” Rosalind asked, and her mother tutted.
“You and Elizabeth, of course. Two society weddings in the same week? No, it won’t do. You’ll have to talk to her. We’ll arrange it properly in the coming weeks once the proposal’s been made. But it never hurts to have these things arranged, does it?” she said.
Rosalind now realized what her mother was talking about. She had moved from possibility, to probability, to certainty. Rosalind might as well already have been married to the Duke of Northridge, for in her mother’s eyes, it was only a matter of time before the great event occurred, and there was no harm in planning ahead.
“I’m seeing Elizabeth this morning, mother. We’ll talk about it then,” Rosalind replied.
She had every intention of talking the matter over with her friend, but not in the manner her mother expected. Rosalind wanted to tell Elizabeth about her feelings for Sebastian. She had kept them hidden for too long, and now she and Sebastian had reached a new level of intimacy, Rosalind wanted someone with whom to confide these strange and unexpected feelings. Her mother nodded approvingly.
“Yes, the two of you can discuss your preferred dates, the type of dress you might like to wear, the entertainments,” she said, smiling at Rosalind, as though this was an example of generosity.
Rosalind would be given free rein in deciding on the practical matters of her wedding, but as for whom she would marry.
