Page 18 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
“It seems that way,” Peter said, arching his brow. “I dare say I might be a part of this small group of yours.”
“I noted that you came back into the party with Ella,” Frederick said.
“Certainly. We ran into one another in a separate garden.”
“Is that so?” Frederick asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be so?” Peter demanded. His heart thumped wildly. He hated being put on any sort of spot, especially from his weak-minded cousin. What on earth did Ella truly see in him, anyway?
“It’s only that Ella means a great deal to me,” Frederick continued.
“Oh?” Peter asked, drawing his smile higher. “Does that mean you have a bit of a thing for both of them?”
Perhaps all of this could be rectified in a single conversation.
Frederick’s cheeks reddened. He shook his head slowly, slipping the edge of his tongue along his lower lip. “No. Perhaps for a few years, it seemed clearer to me that Ella and I were on a similar wavelength. But she was never a curiosity to me, the way Tatiana was. I couldn’t place her. She seemed like such a foreign vessel. A woman with a secret.”
Peter sniffed. He had never thought this about Tatiana at all. Rather, she’d been so apparent to him, so clear. Their hearts beat upon a similar timeline.
“Do you think you’ll ever figure her out?” Peter asked, arching his brow.
“I suppose I have the rest of our married life to figure it out,” Frederick returned.
Frederick bolted back in his seat, shoving himself to standing. He wrapped his hand around his book, turned back towards the hallway. Peter had the gall to ask if he planned on actually doing any reading that day, to which Frederick responded, “I dare say that’s none of your business, my dear cousin,” with more sarcasm than Peter was accustomed to hearing in his voice.
Just a few days later, Peter dressed for the dinner party: scraped a comb through his hair, tightened his cravat, focused his eyes on the rather dirty mirror at his family’s estate and demanded of himself, “Is this the sort of man you want to show off to the likes of Tatiana? Is this what will make Tatiana the most jealous?”
But of course, the mere thought of it turned his stomach over with embarrassment. What a foolish thing, to tear yourself apart for someone. In reality, despite being a professional man, with hobbies, a killer shot, incredible pianoforte abilities, he still ached with the realisation that Tatiana had chosen Frederick, instead of himself. It simply couldn’t move forward like this if Peter were going to face his own future.
Peter draped his leg over the top of his horse, stiffened his back. His eyes cast across the moors. It was nearly June, and summer hung heavy over everything, almost expectant, as though it demanded something from you, along with the birds and the trees and the grass.
It wasn’t like Peter to take a carriage to an event, choosing instead to feel the wind through his curls, racing past his ears. This allowed him moments of meditation, of allowing his thoughts to drape off of his shoulders and filter to the ground. Up on the horse, it was only him. Only the world. Only the pounding of the horse’s hooves beneath.
As it often happened when Peter allowed himself to fall into the softness of his own mind, he found himself at the dinner party all too quickly — as though the world had spun along without him for a moment. Time seemed boundless.
The stable boy came out from the shadows of the stable, reaching up to grip Peter’s line. The horse reared his head back as Peter slipped down the side of him. He kept a hand atop the horse’s back, whispering, “Old boy, come now. I’ll be back in a few hours. You know the drill.”
Peter had never truly shown such tenderness in front of anyone, and now, the stable boy’s eyes gleamed up at him, drinking in this information. Peter rolled his eyes back. He dropped a shilling into the boy’s outstretched hand as if to say, “Don’t you dare tell a soul about this beating heart of mine,” before turning back towards the mansion.
The large house stood, white and foreboding, beneath the evening sky. Already, banter filtered out of the doors and windows, alerting him to the heartbeat within. Peter took a long breath, reminding himself that soon — altogether too soon — he would be back in the safety of his own bed, surely pleased with the events of the evening. He imagined making the most beautiful joke, causing Tatiana to rear her head back, her eyelashes fluttering, that gorgeous laugh flowing out of her. He would be the cause of it. And then she would know, fully, in her heart of hearts, that he was the one for her.
She would recognise how far off-target she was, latching herself to Frederick. And surely, Frederick would see the same.
The moment Peter entered the mansion, one of the maids scuttled forward, bowing her head a bit and greeting him. “Good evening, Lord Holloway,” she said, her voice breathless. “The rest of the party is just in the parlour, awaiting the first course.”
“You mean to tell me that the party is located where all the commotion is?” Peter said, lifting his brow.
The maid’s face faltered a bit, growing lax. At the far end of the hallway, Ella appeared, looking almost angelic. The light wafted just so from the far window, making her light pink skirts glow around her. She flashed a smile, then turned her eyes towards the maid, seemingly conscious that he was up to no good.
“I dare say it’s impossible to trust that you’ll be polite, isn’t it, Lord Holloway?” Ella sighed. Her electric green eyes tore into him.
For a moment, Peter felt frozen in that glare she gave him, feeling a more formidable power than he’d initially attributed to her. Within seconds, it passed.
“Good evening. I dare say I’m never up to much good. But neither are you,” Peter responded.
“With that in mind, I would love to have a brief correspondence with you,” Ella said, her voice still bright. It seemed she was projecting an idea for the maid, one that ensured no one knew quite what the pair of them were up to.
Peter joined Ella on her march back towards the parlour, with the maid, anxious and scurrying behind them. Peter’s hand swept across Ella’s colossal skirts. A strange itch churned up and down his back.
