Page 23 of A Sinful Viscount's Mistletoe Affair
It had snowed overnight, and the gardens looked perfect, but she could not deny that it was very cold indeed. But her cloak was warm, and her boots were lined with fur. She enjoyed the sensation of her feet crunching in the snow as she crossed the grass.
She had been awake for hours, and it was almost light now. The sky was a mass of ridged clouds, tinged with orange and pink. Sunrise was one of Isabella’s favourite times of the day, but not something that she experienced very often.
But after she had awoken from her rather intense dream, she had slept only fitfully, and after lying restlessly for what felt like hours, she had decided to come outside. Perhaps the crisp, cold air would clear her mind, and she was sure to be alone out here so early in the morning. No one else would be mad enough to brave the cold before they had fortified themselves with breakfast.
As she walked across the garden, she allowed her thoughts to return to her vivid and disturbing dream, where she had been saved from a marriage to the duke by the dramatic appearance of Lord Ashcroft.
Was she being reasonable to be so against her parents’ plans for her marriage to the Duke of Harbridge? She knew that from the outside, he seemed like her perfect match. He was successful, affluent, and perhaps more importantly than anything else, he was a duke.
That position brought status that almost nothing else could bring, except perhaps being a member of the royal family. Of course, her parents liked the idea of her marrying him and becoming a duchess.
Goodness, even Daphne had been wide-eyed with wonder at the thought of her friend being elevated to such a position.
But Isabella had never been interested in status and holding a powerful role in society. She was more interested in marrying someone who triggered strong feelings in her, and she knew in her heart that the duke never would.
Some might think he was charismatic, perhaps, but to Isabella, he seemed insipid and cold. And there was something about the look in his eyes when he stared at her that made her shiver.
The dream, she knew, was her subconscious way of processing her fears that her parents would force her to marry the duke. She thought, though, or at least she hoped, that they would never make her go through with a marriage against her wishes. But these things happened in society, and she knew it too well. Perhaps they would feel the pressure of securing a good match for her and push her into accepting his proposal.
She bit her lip as she rounded a corner and approached the rose garden. Perhaps she was being foolish or getting ahead of herself. The duke might have no intention of proposing to her; perhaps some other young lady had caught his eye last night. Or he might even have realized himself that they were not well-suited.
And yet, she remembered the way she had caught him staring at her across the room several times as the evening progressed. He looked as if he wanted to possess her somehow.
She took a breath and shook her head. She did not want to think about him anymore.
And besides, no matter how hard she tried not to, her mind kept on drifting back towards Lord Ashcroft. Towards Sebastian.
She whispered his Christian name softly under her breath, enjoying how it felt in her mouth. She would think of him that way from now on, she decided. No one else needed to know.
A vision of his face returned to her mind, along with the sensation of his hand on her waist as they danced together. She felt a strange longing to feel that sensation again. If nothing else happened between them, she thought, then perhaps at least they would get to dance together one more time before the end of the house party. She felt that she could scarcely imagine a future where she did not get to enjoy that pleasure again.
But even if the duke did not propose, or her parents supported her in rejecting him, would they ever accept Sebastian as a potential suitor? She knew his rank was far more modest, and her parents would never consider him to be as good a match for her as the duke. And yet, he had sparked something in her that she had never experienced before. No matter how hard she tried, she could not stop thinking about him.
She let out a sigh and tried to slow her busy mind. The gardens around her were beautiful, with small flurries of snow piled up in corners and most of the lawn untouched by footprints of persons or animals. She noticed, though, a set of footprints crossing the grass in the opposite direction, heading towards a small ornamental garden on the edge of the lake.
She could not imagine who else could be out at this time, but her curiosity was piqued, and, momentarily forgetting her desire for solitude, she decided to follow the footsteps and see if she could discover who else was brave enough to face the chill of the morning.
***
Sebastian stood in the walled garden, staring at the statue before him. It was so striking, here in the middle of the snow-topped lawn, that he could not take his eyes off it. He had had an unsettled night, finally falling asleep long after midnight and then waking only a few hours later, feeling restless.
And when he had ventured out for a walk, wrapped in several layers of clothes and his travelling cloak, he had not expected to find such a fascinating statue tucked away in this secluded area of the garden. It depicted two figures entwined together in a passionate embrace, and Sebastian knew, despite the dusting of snow covering them, that they were the god Psyche and the goddess Eros.
In a flash, a memory came to him of sitting by the fireside with his father, who had taken great pleasure in telling him all the Greek and Roman mythology stories. Of course he knew the story of Eros, the daughter of Venus, who was jealous of the beauty of the mortal Psyche and her many admirers. She sent her son to claim revenge by making Psyche fall in love with something hideous, but instead, he fell in love with her himself.
He remembered the passion with which his father had told those stories and how much he had loved to hear them, first as a young boy and then when he was much older.
His father had always been happy to talk to him about the allegorical meanings of the myths, and Sebastian knew that the way that he viewed the world and the people around him now as a grown man was very much down to these experiences he had spent with his father.
But now his father was gone, and he would never get to talk with him about such things again.
Sebastian let out a soft groan as he remembered the events of the previous evening. Once again he chiding himself for allowing himself to be so distracted by Lady Isabella, by her beauty and grace. Their dance had been intoxicating, but he knew he must forget it and focus on her father instead.
Because he knew that George Langley was hiding something. He could see it in his eyes when they were introduced to one another the previous evening. He had looked alarmed, even frightened, to be faced with the son of his old friend, and Sebastian was convinced that there was more to the story of what had happened to his father than he had ever been told.
But he had not made any progress yet. He swore to himself as he stared at the statue and remembered the trials and tribulations faced by Eros and Psyche. Surely, if nothing else, that story taught of the importance of persevering until a goal was reached, a desire met. He would try to remember it over the coming days.
He was just about to turn back and walk towards the house when he heard footsteps approaching. He was surprised that someone else should be outside as early as this. He turned to see none other than Lady Isabella, wrapped in a voluminous cloak, walking across the grass towards him.
