Page 45 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
“It’s just nerve-wracking, you know. Marrying such a beautiful woman. Knowing that in many of the eyes of the people at the ceremony, I simply won’t measure up,” Frederick continued, drawing his chin upward to meet Peter’s eyes. “They’ll be muttering amongst themselves, marvelling at the fact that I won her. I won Tatiana Chesterton. It’s more ridiculous when I speak of it just now. But I know you know it’s true. In fact, I know you know the likes of you…”
Frederick halted, as though someone had snipped off his tongue mid-speech. He muttered to himself, words Peter couldn’t fully link together. He shifted his weight, loving the frenetic energy spewing from old Frederick. An anxious man, who required the likes of Tatiana to calm him, to excite him, to nurture him.
“Don’t be foolish,” Peter said. “These are the anxious, wild thoughts of a lunatic. Not of my dear cousin, Frederick. After all, who on earth would question marrying a Braxton? This estate alone. I know many women who would pretend to fall in love with you if only for that ballroom.”
This time, Frederick sensed the joke lurking behind Peter’s crooked grin. He jumped to his feet, flashing his white feet across the floor. “You really don’t know what it means to me, you coming here early,” he said. He whipped open the wardrobe in the corner, revealing his wedding garb for the day. Alongside it hung Peter’s, awaiting him with its thick material, its precise stitching. Peter beamed at it, for the first time allowing a vision of himself on the ballroom floor that evening. He would be handsome, a foreboding force — the cousin and closest friend of the groom.
Surely, Ella would take notice. And surely, she would notice that all the other women would pine for him, as well.
“What time is it?” Frederick finally said, drawing his hand across his neck. “Oh, goodness me. By noon, I’ll be a married man, Peter. I dare say, they don’t give a man enough time to think things over. Do you suppose — suppose I’ll be able to read all that I’ve wanted to read? To become the kind of scholar I was always meant to be? Do you think I can have marital happiness as well as a kind of inner intelligence? I can’t say it sounds likely.”
The morning wore on much in the manner that Peter had expected. At each turn, Frederick demanded of Peter whether or not he would truly be happy, whether he was making a mistake — and, at least a few additional times — whether or not he was too fat for the young maiden. Peter continually expressed the fact that Frederick was entirely worthy of Tatiana, that their lives would be forever linked and for the better. Frederick’s eyes grew continually glossy, lost in emotion. And at times, even in the midst of talking Frederick off of his many cliffs, Peter found himself foggy-eyed, as well: marvelling at the weight of emotion he felt. His cousin had fallen fully, completely in love. Wasn’t that something worthy of celebration?
By 8:15, the men had dressed in their suits, glossed their hair back with oils. They stood across the room from one another, their heads tilted. Peter was struck with a memory from their long-ago youth, when they’d been just a couple of ragamuffin kids, scrambling to run into the wilderness. They’d been dirty, their clothes torn in various places (most especially at their knees). Their eyes had shone with adventure. Now, their eyes lent a similar gleam, and yet: Peter knew that the gleam was meant for something else. It was meant for a future of families, of children, of grandchildren, of titles — of learning what it meant to age with someone, to find a timeline alongside someone.
“Are you ready to go?” Peter heard himself ask, surprised at how difficult it was for him to rasp the words.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Frederick murmured in return.
“The carriage is ready!” This voice rang up from the lower floor, coming from Frederick’s mother, Lady Braxton. “You boys run along first. We’ll follow in the next one.”
Frederick’s eyes burned towards Peter’s, seemingly asking him to take the first leap. Peter shrugged and spun quickly, not wanting to show Frederick a single moment of his own weakness. It simply wasn’t his way to show a hint of fear.
With that, they sauntered down the steps of the grand Braxton estate, towards the awaiting carriage. There was a strange, eerie quality to everything, something only exacerbated by the sun. Peter forced himself into the carriage, glancing back at Frederick for a moment before he boarded. Frederick’s eyes glazed over his family home, the place he would ultimately be leaving forever, very soon. This was his previous forever. Soon, he would be entering his next one.
But when Frederick boarded and slipped himself into the carriage seat beside Peter, he stared straight ahead, his face becoming stony. It was clear that the time for nostalgia was past.
Chapter 21
As a bridesmaid — one of only two (the other being Tatiana’s good friend Lydia), Ella awoke just before six, her heart fluttering somewhere in her throat. Just as she had after the garden party, Tatiana had slept in her bed, tossing herself to and fro throughout the night. She hadn’t wanted to be alone throughout the last night of her “youth,” and Ella had understood this, on some level, at least. “I wish I could stay with you like this forever, darling sister,” Tatiana had murmured, slipping into slumber. “I wish we could wake up and be girls again. As though none of this adult mindlessness had ever happened.”
“Oh, but sister. How much you love Frederick. You could never give that up for the world,” Ella had murmured — words that she might have said to herself had she still loved Frederick and been in the same position as her sister. But now, no. It all felt mouldy and aged. It wasn’t for her.
Now, Ella swept her hair behind her ears and marvelled at the ease with which her sister slept. She looked perhaps eleven years old, her eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks. Her skin was quite as white as the pillows beneath it, porcelain and gleaming. Ella wished she could preserve the image forever. But all too soon, she would watch her sister become a wife and a mother. She would be at the sidelines of her life forever, rather than in it.
Ella stood and walked to the wardrobe, opening the doors to find her white lace dress. Her sister’s silver, intricate one — the one Ella’s fingers knew better than they knew many things, after so many hours of sewing, was incredibly trim and beautiful, something that would be the envy of every soon-to-be bride across London. Tatiana’s shoes were absolutely immaculate, the very pride of the entire outfit, something only seen if looked at very closely. They were pointed, with a bit of a heel, bright white to match the bridesmaid dresses. Tatiana also planned to wear a cap, while the bridesmaids would wear hats. Ella simmered with a moment of excitement, knowing that she would look the best she ever had.
Now, she slid her fingers over the lace of her dress, knowing in mere hours she would slip it over her frame.
Tatiana stirred in bed, moaning a bit. Out of nowhere, she thrust herself forward, letting out a wild sneeze. Ella spun back, watching as Tatiana drew her hands over her nose, her eyes enormous.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” she murmured. She leapt from bed, pounding to the mirror, where she stared at herself for a long moment.
“What is it?” Ella demanded. Her simple reverie had erupted.
“This sneeze. I know it’s — it’s coming…” Tatiana erupted into a fit of sneezes and coughs. Her face grew blotchy. Tears peppered down her cheeks. “Oh no. I don’t feel well, Ella.”
Slowly, Ella inched towards her sister. Tatiana dabbed her nose and face with a handkerchief, mumbling to herself. “All this time. I’ve waited all this time.”
“Come, now. I’ll order us some tea,” Ella said, trying her hardest to find a semblance of normalcy. She rushed for the door and spun out, still in her nightdress, pounding down the steps towards the kitchen.
Tiffany was poised at the stove. She and the other maids and kitchen staff were hard at work, prepping the small breakfast Ella, Tatiana, and their parents would surely pick at, prior to the ceremony. It was customary to have a large breakfast after departing the church, but their mother had insisted on light fare prior to the ceremony. “I can’t have Tatiana fainting in front of our family and friends. Absolutely not,” she’d scoffed.
“What is it?” Tiffany asked. Her eyes glowed with a strange hint of evil, memory of the strange interaction they’d had in the closet. “I don’t suppose you wish to bribe me with yet another strange demand, do you?”
“I need tea,” Ella said, her voice low. “I need it as quickly as you can brew it. The bride — she isn’t feeling well.”
A shadow passed over Tiffany’s face. At first, Ella felt she would scoff, say that she hadn’t a care in the world for the bride. But in truth, the wedding was the single-biggest event the household had seen since its issuance. Tiffany’s hands raced to the pot of water, dropping it atop the flame on the stovetop.
