Page 72 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
Sebastian could not face returning to the soiree. They could think him mad for all he cared. He would take up John’s offer and suggest the two of them went to Bath, even as he feared his friend might prefer to remain in the company of Elizabeth.
Now the two of them were betrothed. He closed up the studio, being careful to lock the door, and made his way through the upper part of the house to his bedroom. He had already told Langton not to bother bringing him anything to drink before bed, and shutting himself in, he lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, snuffing out the candle and plunging the room into darkness.
“I’ll always love her,” he told himself, even as he felt certain he had lost her forever.
***
The repose of sleep did little to alter Sebastian’s mood. He awoke with a sense of resignation and guilt over what he had allowed to pass between himself and Rosalind. There had been no doubt as to their shared passion, but Sebastian had allowed that passion to get out of hand, and he was only grateful he had drawn back before the possibility of something far worse had occurred.
“If she was with child… oh, it doesn’t bear thinking about,” he told himself, as he stood shaving at his washstand.
His thoughts were distracted, and he nicked his cheek, drawing blood, and cursing himself for his distraction. It seemed he could do nothing without the thought of Rosalind clouding his reason. He dropped the razor blade into the bowl of water, watching as the blood tinged the clarity. His blood was what had held back his passion, the blood flowing in his veins; the blood passed on to an heir whose future would be uncertain from the moment of birth.
“I can’t do that, I just can’t,” he told himself, and now his mind was made up.
He would go to Bath with or without John. A change of scenery, away from the whispering tongues of the tongues of the ton, would do him good. In Bath, he could be nobody. A stranger. And as a stranger, perhaps he could forget something of the past, and allow the events of the last few days and weeks to be forgotten.
Having finished shaving, holding a handkerchief to the razor cut across his cheek to stem the flow of blood, Sebastian sat down and wrote a hasty note to John. He told his friend of his turmoil, and begged that they might leave at once, even as he knew John would be loath to leave Elizabeth.
“For just a little while, long enough to clear my head,” Sebastian said to himself, hoping for a respite from his troubles and clarity for his mind.
***
Rosalind had not slept that night. She had laid on her bed, still wearing her dress, thinking about Sebastian. She had imagined him holding her, their lips pressed together, their bodies entwined. She had wanted nothing more than to be with him, to reassure him, to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
She was confused, even as she suspected, she knew the reason for Sebastian’s rejection. He had not said as much in as many words, but the fact was obvious to make love would be to risk her being with child, and Sebastian had no desire to saddle Rosalind with the burden of a mad husband and a child who would almost certainly suffer the same fate.
It brought tears to Rosalind’s eyes, as she admitted the truth to herself the truth as to why they could not be together, even as it was all she desired.
“And even though I love him, and he loves me,” she said to herself, rolling onto her side with a sigh.
It was morning, and sunlight was flooding through the window, the curtains of which Rosalind had not bothered to close. A gentle knock now came at the door, and Molly entered, bearing a tray with a cup of tea and two boiled eggs on it. She looked surprised at the sight of Rosalind lying fully clothed on top of the bed, for Rosalind had instructed her maid not to wait up the evening before and to have an early night.
“Oh, my Lady didn’t you know how to take off the dress?” Molly asked as Rosalind sat up.
“I didn’t want to take it off,” Rosalind replied, and Molly shook her head sadly.
“Oh, my Lady has something happened? You look so very sad,” Molly said, and Rosalind began to cry.
She could not hold back her tears, sobbing, as the maid hurried to set down the tray and put her arms around her.
“It had to end, Molly. I always knew it did. I always knew… oh, but I wanted it to continue. I wanted it to continue so very much, with all my heart. I love him, I can’t ever love another, only him,” Rosalind exclaimed.
It was as though she was in the midst of a bereavement, mourning the loss of her love, love she knew she would never experience again. Richard was but a pale comparison. She did not want to love him. She could not love him.
“You poor thing, but you will, my Lady. A broken heart can be mended, I promise you. It takes time. That’s the greatest healer. Time and the love of another. And there will be others, my Lady. I promise you,” Molly said, but Rosalind did not want to hear such words. She did not want to believe them.
“No… it’s him I love, Molly. Him and him alone. Oh…” she began, just as a loud knock came at the door.
“Rosalind, are you ready yet?” her mother’s shrill voice echoed from outside.
Rosalind hastily brushed the tears from her cheeks, rising to her feet, as Molly hurried to open the door.
“I’m just getting ready, mother. Why the urgency? It’s not yet nine O’clock,” Rosalind replied.
Her mother tutted.
“I want you to come downstairs. Richard’s here. He’s waiting for you. Put on something nice mauve or peach. Make your self look pretty,” the duchess said, glancing at Molly, who nodded.
