Page 33 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
But it was in her nature to stick to her own mind. It was, in fact, the reason she felt she’d been more drawn to Frederick. She’d always assumed he was that sort of person, as well. Yet now, it seemed he was altering his own mindset, shifting his personality. She felt cast out on an island, alone. The world stirred around her, assuring her that it would never include her in its game.
“I really should go inside,” she stammered.
“Ella! Peter!” Tatiana cried from behind. She drew her hands over her hair, trying to cover herself from the rain. “We should really take cover! This rain came on so quickly!”
Ella spun fast towards Tatiana, her heart beating wildly with anger. Peter whispered her name, “Ella!” but she refused to turn back, to engage a moment longer. There was nothing else that could be done.
The route back out of the hedge was long, harried. They spun on incorrect paths twice, forcing themselves to trace back. Tatiana and Frederick shrieked with laughter, but Ella and Peter kept themselves far apart, both cast in a foul mood. They finally reached the lawn, scrambling towards the Braxton mansion. Peter fumbled up behind her, still seeming to try to pull her back, to say something else. But Ella burned ahead, unable to believe her own speed. She stormed towards the house, her shoulders aching with sadness. She prayed she would never have to speak to Peter again in her life.
If he wanted nothing to do with her — nothing beyond what she could help him with on his path to love for her sister — then she wanted nothing to do with him, either. It was simply the way it had to be.
Chapter 15
It wasn’t difficult for Ella to find something else to occupy her mind in the wake of the Peter disaster. Her house was a flurry of activity leading up to the wedding, which lurked on the horizon — just two weeks away. Her mother was in a constant state of panic, her face perpetually void of blood, pale and ghost-like. She grew accustomed to ordering everyone about — even the quietest, most insignificant maids, telling them, “What are you doing? Why are you standing there like that? There’s much to do and not a moment to dally. Please. Make yourself useful. Fold some napkins.”
Ella busied herself with a selection of tasks, one of which involved sewing the delicate lace on her sister’s wedding gown. The process allowed her mind to go elsewhere, far from the strange, amorphous, scary place it wanted to lurk (those thoughts that involved Peter). Rather, the task was so specific, so difficult, that she was allowed hours of reprieve.
Tatiana seemed increasingly anxious, despite her enduring love for Frederick. One evening, Ella found her at the window of the parlour, her face swept forth into her hands. Her shoulders swayed back and forth. Immediately, despite everything, Ella hurried forth, turning her face upward. She tried to scrape Tatiana’s hands from her cheeks.
“Tatiana, darling. What is it?” she murmured, coaxing. “Darling, what is happening? Please. Speak. You can’t stay in here all night long weeping to yourself. You know that isn’t in your nature. You’re the sort to speak aloud whatever it is you’re feeling.”
Finally, Tatiana sprung her hands from her face. As Ella expected, she was exceedingly lovely, her cheeks glowing with tears. Her eyes searched Ella’s, hunting for some kind of approval. Her lower lip bobbed up and down.
“Ella, sister. I had the most wretched dreams,” she murmured.
“What were they?” Ella asked, gripping her sister’s hands.
“I dreamt that our entire lives, Frederick remained in the library, ignoring me,” Tatiana returned. “I dreamt that I had to tend to the children whilst he maintained his commitment to academia. All the work I’ve done with him, all the ways in which I thought he’d changed for the better — all of that was gone. Void.”
Ella blinked several times, marvelling at how conscious Tatiana was of the ways Ella had initially seen their relationship. She wondered what to say and half-thought of coaxing Tatiana in the other direction, telling her that Frederick may very well end up that way.
But it went against her very nature: her heart which beat with love for her sister. She swallowed hard and said, “Frederick has shifted his entire view of the world because of you. It’s apparent to everyone. You can’t assume he’s just going to slip back into old patterns. He loves you dearly.”
Tatiana let out a final wail. “I know you’re correct, dear sister. It’s just that I’m so fearful. On the brink of this entire new life. I know I won’t see you any longer in the night. That I won’t be able to greet you at breakfast. It will be all Frederick, all the time. And much of my body feels entirely grateful for that. Much of it aches to know him and only him. But as you know, change is a difficult thing. And throughout our lives, we’ve had very little of it.”
Ella was surprised to feel a physical reaction within herself. She clenched her eyes together, tight, swallowing hard. Tatiana reached forward, drawing her hands across Ella’s cheeks. She held onto it. “I know it’s difficult for you, allowing me to leave like this. I just need you to know that it’s just as difficult for me.”
The following afternoon, Ella burned with memory of this exchange. Her needle was poised far above the wedding gown, glinting in the sun. Sweat billowed across her neck and back. Tatiana was busying herself with the flowers in the back of the house, attempting to gather together the appropriate colours and textures for the grand affair. From where she sat, Ella could hear the insistence in Tatiana’s voice, so much like their mother’s. “You must know not to do it like THAT,” Tatiana uttered to the maids, sounding authoritative. Again, Ella was reminded of that raucous day at the garden party, when Tatiana had stalked off, issuing yet another temper tantrum in the midst of the croquet game. Perhaps it was her beauty that allowed the world to treat her with such patience.
Now, Ella’s eyes traced out the front window of the estate. The occasional carriage cantered past, filled with a neighbour Ella recognised, various members of Society she’d grown up alongside. Occasionally, their profiles echoed back men she imagined she might fancy, if she hadn’t carved out so much of her heart for Frederick, and for Frederick alone.
Tiffany the maid stalked past the sitting room, muttering, “You’ve held that needle aloft for the previous five minutes, Lady Chesterton. I dare say you’ve gone mad.”
Ella’s cheeks burned. Tiffany was the only person who knew Ella had been up to something, for the brief amount of time she had been. In the wake of the wedding chaos, along with Ella’s seeming insistence to spend the majority of her summer’s days indoors — sewing, reading, on repeat — her parents had given up on the daydream of her marriage to Lord Holloway. She’d heard nary a mention. Only once, her mother had murmured, “If you don’t draw yourself out of those books, my dear, you will never find yourself a proper husband. You can mark my words.”
Suddenly, a horse galloped across the front of the estate. Upon the horse, Peter sat: regal, his hands gripping the reins, his eyes scanning the horizon. He looked like a general, poised to attack. Ella shot up from her chair, still holding the needle aloft. Despite her shock at seeing him (and my, how her heart began to flutter!) she wasn’t one to forget what she was doing. She wouldn’t tear her sister’s dress, not even if the world was ending.
Immediately, she stitched up the last of it, swept her fingers across the wayward curls near her ears, and scampered towards the door. Peter cast himself to the side of the horse and began to lead him towards the stables. Ella wasn’t entirely certain of why Peter had made such a sudden appearance, in the middle of the afternoon, but she did ache with a specific kind of worry.
Her stomach clenched with apprehension. She forced her legs to stretch longer, her feet to scamper faster. She tore out of the mansion and towards the stables. Peter delivered his horse to the stableboy and then spun back, sliding his hand across the top of his hair. His cheeks were edged with red, showing the quickness of his ride. His sturdy shoulders surged upward as he moved. Ella wished she could reach forward, draw her fingers through that hair, sculpt across his muscles. How ridiculous to have these thoughts. They did very little for her situation.
Ella knew that if she and Peter were spotted speaking alone in the back garden, a scandal would ensue. But it was the sort of thing she had to risk if she was going to save the wedding.
“Ella–” Peter began. His face was difficult to read, his cheeks slack, his eyebrows furrowed.
Before he could continue, Ella wrapped her little fingers around his upper bicep and pulled him to the side. He staggered back, nearly tumbling. Ella maintained her grip and led him towards the edge of the garden, where bright red roses wafted to and fro in the summer breeze. They seemed to have faces, smiling up towards the blue.
“Ella, my goodness. Don’t you know what you’re doing?” Peter muttered. His eyes glittered with apprehension. He was very much as clear on the rules of Society as Ella was, yet seemed to appreciate her daring.
