Page 10 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
One of the kitchen workers ambled past, a tray outstretched, filled with glasses of wine. Peter lurched forward, gripping the stem of one, and glugged it back, agitated. The kitchen worker gaped at him, seemingly shocked at the severity with which Peter drank. Peter shrugged, muttering, “What do you expect? You’d do the same if the love of your life was marrying your cousin.”
It wasn’t as though he disliked Frederick. It wasn’t that at all. Growing up, Peter had long considered Frederick to be one of his closest friends, an ally in the midst of their rather chaotic family (one of their aunts had actually murdered her husband and gotten away with it, saying the entire thing had been an accident. But it was a rare thing indeed, eating a steak dinner and “accidentally” slipping the knife beneath your ribcage. Wasn’t it?).
And under normal circumstances, he truly did want Frederick to be happy, to fall into the sort of romance that lasted into old age and beyond. Peter had just, frankly, been surprised at the woman Frederick had decided upon. Especially given that throughout his youth, and into adulthood, Peter had very much assumed that eventually, when he returned to London after business in Bristol, he would work up the nerve to court Tatiana himself.
The couple finished their dance, and the violins and cellos surged into yet another song, one that intoxicated the rest of the crowd and pushed them into one another’s arms, swirling around the garden. Peter was conscious that one of Tatiana’s cousins, a big-breasted woman wearing a plum gown, made eyes at him, big, glossy ones that made his stomach clench. He couldn’t face them.
Suddenly, Frederick’s mother appeared before him. Lady Braxton was a teensy woman, bird-like in bone, her nose creeping forward like a beak. She batted her eyes at him, inspecting his empty wine glass. Peter made a conscious effort not to lean one way or the other, to maintain a completely sober outlook.
“Good evening, Auntie,” he said.
Lady Braxton cleared her throat. “Darling Peter, you know it’s not quite evening, yet, don’t you?”
Peter cleared his throat. He wanted to scream to the sky above. “Just preparing for the night ahead,” he offered.
“Clever boy,” Lady Braxton said. She turned quickly, cutting beside Peter. They both stood in full view of the happy couple. Tatiana slipped her fingers through Frederick’s. Again, Peter felt close to vomiting.
“Really is marvellous that Frederick was able to latch himself to this one.” Lady Braxton sighed. “He spent so many years inside a book, I wasn’t sure if he knew how to speak to women at all. Not like you, Peter. You’ve always had a way with them.”
Peter adjusted his weight. He hadn’t been conscious, all those years at balls and parties, that his Aunt Braxton had been watching his every move. His eyes searched the edge of the garden, hunting for an escape.
“Although I dare say, it will be your engagement party soon,” his aunt continued. She clucked her tongue. “I’ve heard tell that your current business proceedings are going rather swimmingly? Your father speaks incredibly highly of your work with him in Bristol. My brother can be a difficult man to deal with.”
“I’m nothing if not his son,” Peter offered.
Lady Braxton’s laugh twinkled into the night. Peter took a slight step back, aching to dart out of the party. From where he stood, he also heard Tatiana’s giggle, one that he’d often prayed would be directed towards him, and only him, one day. Not ordinarily one for daydreams, he’d busied himself with ones involving their life together, a future in which she was his wife, far more than had been necessary.
In a sense, he’d built his own coffin, dug his own grave. He would never be happy again.
“I suppose that means you’re just as ruthless as he is,” Lady Braxton said, speaking, again of her brother, Peter’s father.
“The business is difficult. It’s meeting after meeting, and my father making cutthroat decisions, ones he says are necessary for the nature of the company,” Peter said, choosing his words carefully.
“You were such a reckless child,” his aunt said, arching her brow. “I never knew what you were going to get my Frederick up to, out there in the fields. Always coming home with scabbed knees, or a broken arm, or a busted head. Don’t you remember that time, you were only twelve, perhaps, and blood was seeping so fast out of your eyebrow that I thought you would lose consciousness. But no, you spoke to me with more pep and sass than any child ever has, before or since. I told your father that you would make a great deal of money for him one day, based on your ability to stay upright and confident in the wake of near disaster. He laughed and said it was just the way of our family, that I had the same ability. I suppose he’s right.”
Peter rather disliked the work his father had set aside for him. But at 27 years old, he hadn’t a clue what else he was meant to do. So: he’d busied himself in Bristol, watching as his father met with investors, jeered them, cackled with them, ultimately pushed them into entering business arrangements that weren’t necessarily kosher for all involved.
“I’m terribly sorry, Auntie,” Peter said suddenly, again hearing the rush of Tatiana’s laugh, swirling through his ears. “I just need to be excused for a moment.”
“Come find me after,” his aunt said, her eyes glittering. “I want to pick that brain of yours. Discover what it is exactly that makes you tick. You’re a brilliant man, Peter. Far more in the world than my dear Frederick.”
“Ah, yes. Well. Frederick’s done rather well for himself, now, hasn’t he?” Peter suggested before spinning on his heel and rushing towards the edge of the garden. Just as he parted the last of the crowd, he nabbed another glass of wine from the top of a platter, making momentary eye contact with the very same kitchen worker. The glare of judgement was not lost on him.
“Apologies,” he murmured, not actually meaning it for a moment. He guzzled half the drink before cutting down the garden path, his shoulders hunching forward. His mind raced with the words his aunt had spoken to him. Her opinion of him was stellar, yet it was also representative of many people’s. He knew he was a formidable force in court, that he was regarded as “quite a catch,” when it came to romantic relations.
That said, he’d clearly not “achieved” the woman he wanted more than anyone else. Tatiana. Tatiana Chesterton. He’d whispered the name to the winds so many times.
He’d spoken of her only briefly to one person, his father, perhaps two months previously. They’d been at the shore in Bristol, watching the wind whip over the waves. His father discussed his love for Peter’s mother, that it was a complex thing, one that had forced him to remind himself the sort of man he’d been when they’d started it all. “It’s funny, Peter: you think you’ll grow together, but in many ways, you still grow old apart. You’re standing alongside your partner, but you’re still yourself, and they’re still someone separate from you. You have to work at it, every single day. Otherwise, you’ll fall too far apart.”
Peter’s head hadn’t felt clear with this knowledge. In fact, it had felt heavy and strange, a reality he didn’t readily wish to face.
“I believe I’ve met the girl I wish to marry, Father,” he’d whispered then, his voice nearly falling into the wind and disappearing. “We’re incredibly similar, in many ways. Both the lives of every party. Both quick with a laugh. Both ready to make the first joke. And she’s brilliantly beautiful, Father. Truly, one of the most stunning women in all of Society…”
His father hadn’t responded. Above, the clouds had brimmed, heavy and dark, and then cast rain atop their shoulders. They’d scuttled back indoors, Peter’s head still foggy with all the emotions, stirring within him. He was at “that age” when he was meant to do something about them. He was at “that age,” ready to forge forward, craft a family.
Tatiana was the one. The one he was meant to be with.
But when he arrived back in London the previous week, he’d met first with his cousin, Frederick, who’d informed him – with big, glowing eyes – that he’d asked for Tatiana’s hand in marriage, and she’d accepted! Peter had felt a part of a strange nightmare. His cheeks had fizzled with anger.
