Page 48 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Ella gave her an enormous grin, flashing her teeth. Always, her sister had been the queen of perfection, mad with anger if something was amiss.
But perhaps Frederick had allowed her to see the beauty in imperfection.
At the front of the church, Frederick stood, seemingly trying his hardest to ensure his posture was upright. He tugged his shoulders back, his eyes swimming around the crowd. Peter stood beside him: a bit taller, a bit more firm of muscle. He muttered something in Frederick’s ear that made Frederick blush and guffaw. Peter’s smile was crooked in response, making him look devilish, handsome. Ella forced herself to blink away. If Peter had met her eyes at that moment, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to walk down the aisle after Lydia.
But all too soon, it was her turn. Ella gripped her flowers, forcing a wide smile between her cheeks. The music propelled her down the aisle. She prayed no one noticed the severity with which her legs shook beneath her dress.
As she approached the front of the church, she felt Peter’s burning gaze. It was akin to a burning house. Ella couldn’t avoid it. She blinked towards him, allowing her lips to fall. The moment felt like another reality, a kind of infinity. She felt they locked eyes forever.
But within seconds, she arrived next to Lydia, spun towards the crowd, and set her shoulders back. She was now on display, watching as Tatiana made her firm trek down the aisle, arm-in-arm with their father. Tears squeezed themselves out of Ella’s eyes, marking little tracks down her cheeks. Tatiana seemed to have forgotten all about her minor illness. Her skin was the sort that angels dream about: like buttermilk, glowing in the light that screamed in from the painted glass windows. The women in the aisles shifted, jealousy beaming off of them. Ella sensed they were looking for anything, anything at all to nitpick, but found nothing. As long as Tatiana didn’t let out a single sneeze, they were in the clear.
Ella was so captivated with the daydream vision of her sister that she very nearly forgot to glance at Frederick. When she did, she found herself looking at a man absolutely swimming with love. He tilted a bit forward, seeming to reach for Tatiana, to pull her towards him faster and faster. It was as though their brand-new forever couldn’t begin quickly enough. Tatiana’s eyes beamed up at him beneath her cap. They seemed to affirm what he so needed: that she accepted him, beyond anything.
The music halted when Tatiana arrived at the front of the church. Lord Chesterton and Frederick shook hands, which was a bizarre sight. After all, Frederick had been a boy in the Chesterton house, just the neighbour kid coming to muck up trouble. Now, he was taking the eldest daughter. Such was the way of the world.
The ceremony began, just as it always did. The preacher who’d told them what to do with their lives, how to pray, how to live, for the previous years of their life, announced to the congregation, “Good morning,” and his voice echoed out across the many heads and hats. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God,” he continued, “to uphold the desired union between Lord Frederick Braxton and Lady Tatiana Chesterton.”
Ella’s eyes skated across Tatiana’s shoulder, towards Peter. Peter beamed back at her, seemingly unable to look anywhere else. Ella shivered, lending him a small smile. She hoped her smile conveyed her inner heart: telling him that it was quite all right that he loved Tatiana, that he loved others. She didn’t expect anything from him. She felt an undying level of gratitude towards him, for assisting her on the path of discovering she hadn’t been in love with Frederick, after all. This had freed her.
Slowly, Frederick slipped the ring over Tatiana’s finger, murmuring, “With this ring, I thee wed. To have and to hold from this day forward. Hereto, I plight thee my troth.”
The “I dos” were said. In the midst of hers, Tatiana allowed a slight sneeze to escape. But the moment was so tender, so pregnant with potential, that it seemed no one bothered about it. More tears escaped down Ella’s cheeks, a reminder of the purity of the moment. Nothing and nobody could rip it away from them.
The bride and groom were introduced as husband and wife. The congregation took this as their cue. They prayed for the couple, and then clapped, watching as Tatiana and Frederick locked arms and rushed towards the back of the church, where they would sign the registry. Frederick and Tatiana’s parents followed them down, as it was customary that they sign it, as well.
This left Lydia and Ella to retreat down the aisle, along with the music. Peter’s eyes burned towards Ella’s. His expression was difficult to read. His lips flickered a bit, as though they were giving over to a smile. But Ella turned her head swiftly, conscious that Lydia was tugging her along. “We have to go,” she said, her face tense. “We can’t very well remain at the head of the church, waiting for our own marriages. Goodness, Ella.”
Ella marched behind Lydia, towards the back. She watched Tatiana flourish her signature over the booklet, beaming up at Frederick a split-second after. Ella wondered if Tatiana’s mind was heavy with the responsibility of what had just occurred. If, when she looked at Frederick, his name was now replaced, internally, with the title, “husband. My husband.”
Peter swept past Ella at the back of the church, seemingly finished with his heavy gaze towards her. Ella felt a strange jolt of loss, as though she’d allowed him to pass away from her, and he wouldn’t now return. Again, Lydia baulked at her, at a loss for her stops and starts.
“It’s like we’ll never get out of here. Are you always so in your head?” Lydia sighed. “Oh, don’t answer that. I’ve been friends with your sister for years. I know you’ve spent the majority of your life locked in a book.”
Ella shook off the weight of what she’d said, choosing to dart out the door into the blistering sunlight. Already, the many members of the congregation had begun to board their various carriages. Those who had been invited to the wedding breakfast would meet them back at the Braxton estate, for the remainder of the morning celebration. The others would return home, ready to gossip about what they’d seen. Surely, there wouldn’t be much to say, although Ella didn’t wish to detract from the power of most Londoners. They could find a single ill-sewn stitch on a dress and create an entire conspiracy around it. Such was their talent.
Tatiana and Frederick burst from the church. The congregation that remained hailed them, calling their names and clapping their hands. Tatiana’s eyes glittered beneath her cap. Frederick drew his lips towards her cheek and kissed it, an act so tender it nearly sliced Ella’s heart in two.
Peter had somehow ended up behind the married couple. He cantered down the steps behind them, beaming at the crowd in front of the cathedral, as though they awaited him. Ah yes. That typical, brash arrogance, which Ella had worked hard to see through. She cast her eyes towards the ground, her heart thudding somewhere in her belly. It was impossible not to imagine herself and Peter, taking the same march Tatiana and Frederick just had, latched together, their fingers locked, their breath carrying whispers of their promises. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
“Come along, Ella!” Lady Chesterton called to her, sweeping her fingers outward from her carriage. As it had been discussed, Frederick and Tatiana would take the carriage that Ella had ridden on the way to the cathedral, which meant Ella was latched back with her parents — the eternal younger sibling. Lydia shuffled into the carriage after her, murmuring something Ella couldn’t completely make out. To her, it seemed like yet another insult towards Ella.
Ella made a mental note never to speak to Lydia ever again, after the ceremony. The entire affair with Frederick, with Peter, had affirmed something within her: whatever sort of person she was, whatever sort of person she wanted to be, she wasn’t the sort to accept any sort of hurled insults. It was a waste of time, allowing one to feel less-than, down, all because of someone else’s decision that you were lacklustre.
In the wake of realising that her love for Frederick had been nothing more than a passing fancy, Ella felt she’d grown leaps and bounds in learning about herself, about what she could possibly stand for in the world, and what she didn’t need at all.
The carriage door clipped closed behind her, casting Ella and Lydia in the shadow of the carriage. Lydia’s knees were positioned towards Lord Chesterton, while Ella faced her mother. The horses clacked forward across the cobblestones. Her mother dabbed a cloth across her cheek, muttering something about the sneezes Tatiana had exhibited at the wedding.
“It all could have been so perfect.” She sighed.
“Mother. No one noticed it at all,” Ella returned, almost spitting it.
Her mother glared at her, seemingly unaccustomed to any sort of fire from her youngest. She pressed her lips together, perhaps deciding that she couldn't muster the strength to fight with Ella on Tatiana’s wedding day. In response to this, Lord Chesterton drew his hand over her knee, seemingly thanking her for not making a scene.
What a reckless thing it was, having to exist in the environment of a family. And yet, it seemed that every woman’s entire dream was caught up in the desire to have a family of her own.
Perhaps Ella could find a better, more powerful mission for her life.
Chapter 22
