Page 1 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Chapter 1
The Braxton estate on the outskirts of London had been the crowning achievement of Frederick Braxton’s great-great-grandfather, a man who upheld finery over all things. He’d orchestrated every unique detail of the mansion, crafting a stunning fireplace that had once garnered a visit from King George himself, an ornate ballroom with enormous mirrors that had busied themselves, over the centuries, with reflecting back one grand party after the next. Gowns swirled; lords and ladies cupped their hands together and whispered secrets. Marriages were forged, and babies were ultimately born, all because of this stunning ecosystem of grandeur.
Ella and her sister, Tatiana, had grown older down the road from this estate, frequenting its halls, taking tea as they grew older, and roaming the glorious gardens. Throughout spring and summer, stunning blooms crept toward the sky, ballooning out and billowing in the breeze. Frequently, they called the home their dream world, a place for ultimate escape. And they used it: darting across the moor to find their good friend, Frederick Braxton himself, a boy (now man) a few years older than they, always willing to walk through the woods or play tricks on his younger brother or toss around a ball or read, read endlessly into the afternoon and evening – read as though the world had stopped turning and no one required anything at all from you, and never would again.
At least, that was how Ella liked to think of it.
She remembered the long afternoons when she and Frederick had pored over books, whispering their favourite passages to one another and speaking excitedly about what words could possibly do, when stitched together from different perspectives. When Ella was around eleven or twelve, Frederick had introduced her to his love of history, thus propelling her into an entirely different section of the library. Frequently, she laid awake at night, thanking her lucky stars for having someone like Frederick in her world, someone willing to blast open the metaphorical roof of her mind and allow her to see, really see.
Ella considered these afternoons now: perched, as she was, at the edge of the stool before her make-up mirror, easing herself tighter and tighter towards her own reflection. She hated how typical it was, to be a woman and analyse one’s self in such a manner: with such severity. But at 22 years old, she ached with the knowledge that very soon, she wouldn’t look precisely this way; that every moment that passed cast her towards middle-age. It was a strange thought, being ever so single, and ever so aware that she needed to find herself a proper romance, a romance that “stuck,” that appreciated her beauty and then would forgive her when her beauty faded away.
She sensed that Frederick was precisely the sort to ignore the passage of time. Or, if not ignore, embrace it. She imagined him preaching of various poems he’d read, ones that counted the wrinkles on wives’ faces in a way that applauded their lives and celebrated the consequences of living such a long time. It wasn’t that Frederick himself was a poet, no. But he was well-read in the poets, was better-read than anyone Ella had ever met. Even herself, although she supposed she might catch up to him. Especially if she remained a single maid.
Of course, that wasn’t a part of the plan. Not now, with Frederick’s return imminent. He’d been away the previous three months, studying at a university in Bristol under several history professors, attending to his intellectual needs before, he said, his ultimate “time” to join Parliament, like his father. Frederick was nearly 26 years old, and, at least the last time Ella had seen him, had begun to look more and more like a man, and so much less like the optimistic, gentile boy she’d grown up with.
Ella had written him a few letters throughout his studies in the west. Each time, her stomach had ached with the desire to tell him her true, pent-up feelings: that, in fact, she was head over heels for him; that each afternoon she’d spent curved around a book, just to the side of him, had been some of the happiest times of her life. “I want to do that with you every single day,” she imagined writing, but never did. It was perhaps too forward.
In response to her letters, Frederick responded with what she deemed as excitement. He told her endlessly about his historical discoveries, about the letters he’d read between various monarchy members, about the affairs he’d learned about. How cheeky, she felt, him telling her about the affairs! She’d blushed at the thought of it, of Frederick being conscious in his writing of her. Was he trying to tell her something? Something about the state of their future?
For surely, he knew she was one of the only people in the world who could understand his excitement for what could be learned, for what could be read.
Ella swished her brush through her long red locks, turning her eyes towards the brimming May afternoon outside. How daydreamy she’d been, since Frederick had announced his return. Her thoughts swirled, unwilling to be pinned down.
There was a knock on the door. Ella pulled her shoulders back, called out, “Come in!”
Through the crack slinked her sister, Tatiana: a taller, thin-boned, gorgeous woman of 25, who let out an infectious laugh the moment she locked eyes with Ella in the mirror. “Darling girl, what are you doing indoors on a day like today!”
Ella hadn’t yet declared her love for Frederick to Tatiana. She swallowed hard, balancing her thoughts, trying to imagine Tatiana’s opinion on the matter. The three of them had grown up together, had spent many an afternoon lazing about beneath the sun. Certainly, Ella had never suspected Tatiana and Frederick to have any sort of strong friendship, especially given that Tatiana thought the pair of them were “wasting their youths” with all that book stuff. Perhaps when Ella finally made the announcement, told Tatiana of her aching heart, Tatiana would spurn her, tell her that the pair of them would “waste their old age, too.”
“I’m just trying to brush through this bird’s nest.” Ella sighed, clunking her brush back on the wardrobe. “And my bangs, goodness. They’re entirely too long, aren’t they?”
Tatiana smirked. She swirled towards the mirror, leaning down and looking at herself, as well. In Ella’s eyes, as well as the rest of the world’s, Tatiana was a vessel of purity, a gorgeous specimen who’d never had to spend much time beautifying herself. Her long locks were nearly black, and coiled perfectly towards her waist. Her eyes were a stirring green, almost alien in nature, and seemed to sparkle when she laughed. Ella’s were green, as well, but a bit darker, reminiscent of, say, a swamp. At least, this was what she thought.
She’d never discussed this with Tatiana, either. Any time Ella gave any sort of indication that she wasn’t entirely thrilled with her appearance, Tatiana batted it away, telling her that it was a waste of time considering it. “You’re beautiful, Ella. And everyone knows it.”
Of course, this was easy for Tatiana to say: the prettier, older, more electric and outgoing sister. The one everyone remembered.
Complicated, when the person Ella loved the most was also, sometimes, the one she was most jealous of.
“I can trim your fringe for you if you like,” Tatiana said, after a pause.
“Really?” Ella asked, her voice a bit brighter than she wanted it to be. She sounded too eager, as though she really was “planning” for something. Something, like, say, Frederick’s arrival.
“Sure,” Tatiana said. She pulled open the drawer of the wardrobe, her fingers scavenging for the scissors. She released them from beneath several books and towels, pointing them into the air so that the May sun glinted off the top. “I’ve done it before.”
“Not the fringe. It’s a bit more delicate…” Ella said.
“Don’t worry. I have steady hands,” Tatiana offered.
Ella turned in the stool, splaying her hands across her lap. She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. Her heart seemed to burst somewhere near her throat. She imagined a bullfrog, how his neck bulged out and in.
Tatiana turned the scissors over Ella’s hair, easing the metal against Ella’s forehead. “I was just downstairs with Mother,” she said, taking the first snip. A bit of red curl fell to the floor. “And she was talking about Frederick’s arrival this afternoon. I don’t know if you’re interested, but perhaps he could come to the house this week for a bit of dinner?”
“Oh?” Ella said, watching another curl drop. “I wasn’t entirely sure when he was coming back.” The lie fell from her lips.
“I believe it’s today, if nothing unfortunate happened on the way. Lift your chin,” Tatiana instructed.
Ella did. Tatiana snipped again. She drew her other hand along Ella’s jawline, as though she was trying to stabilise herself. “So, what do you think?”
