Page 49 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Just before hobbling into the carriage after his brand-new, gorgeous bridge, Frederick took Peter’s arm, gripping it with more strength than Peter had ever seen him offer. HIs grin was enormous, almost wary.
“What did you think, cousin?” Frederick asked breathless.
“It was the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever seen. And I’m a cynical old chap, as you know,” was Peter’s answer. He grinned, matching Frederick. “I’ll see you back at the estate. Remember that today, you got everything you’ve ever wanted. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t for a second,” Frederick returned. Then, he burst up the steps of the carriage, flinging himself next to Tatiana. She let out a little shriek of excitement, beaming at Frederick, before turning her eyes towards Peter.
“Peter, you were marvellous today,” she said. Her smile was like lightning. “I don’t know what we would have done without you up there. You and my sister, you’ve been such a strength to both of us. Thank you.”
Peter felt uncertain of what to say. He licked his lips. He felt the weight of the life he’d wanted for himself — a life alongside Tatiana. But it seemed so sour, that potential reality. If he’d actually been given it, he wouldn’t have known what to do with it. It would have surely rotted out.
Then, Frederick clipped the carriage door closed. The horses bolted forward, carting the husband and wife towards the Braxton estate. Peter felt a strange, eerie sense of longing, a feeling that he — unlike Frederick — would never have the sort of happiness he’d dreamed of. He flinched, casting his eyes towards his father, who seemed to be watching him. Within his gaze remained his promise: that soon, he would pull Peter from his sun-drenched existence and take him into the world of professionalism. How incredibly wretched.
Ella had already boarded her carriage with her parents. Peter’s mind remained fixed on the glowing black door of that carriage, willing it to open once more so he could hold the vision of her. The white lace of her dress had cinched perfectly at her waist. Her hat had accented her red locks perfectly, making them curl wildly down her back. She’d been a portrait of freedom, in the midst of so much pomp and circumstance. Several times throughout the ceremony, he’d held a vision in his head — imagining himself bolting across the aisle, drawing himself upon one knee and asking her, in perfect poetry, to be his forever.
But he knew that she was swimming with her own anxieties, all of them revolving around Frederick. For while Peter knew that what he’d longed for with Tatiana was void of any true happiness, he couldn’t be the same about Ella’s feelings about Peter. For her, perhaps she’d felt at a kind of funeral: one for which she’d been made to smile and act the part.
Peter’s mother and father boarded their carriage. Peter’s mother swung her head back out of the opening. An eyebrow arched high on her forehead, seemingly demanding what was taking him so long. Peter stabbed his hands into his pockets and rocketed up the steps, landing across the carriage from his father. His mother murmured something about the “beautiful ceremony,” about the “perfect couple.” They were the sorts of things one was meant to say, in the wake of such an affair. Peter hadn’t the energy to perform the charade any longer.
“Say something, Son,” his father uttered, twirling the end of his moustache with a set of nicotine-stained fingers.
“What would you like me to say?” Peter asked, coughing.
“Aren’t you pleased for your cousin?” his mother demanded, her voice taut.
“Of course I am. I’ve already told him,” Peter returned. “I dare say it’s not up to me to tell you my feelings regarding the wedding. You were there. I was there. We all clapped our hands and greeted the husband and wife into the beauty of marriage. I don’t think I have to keep it up here, in the privacy of our carriage.”
His mother and father exchanged glances. Peter knew he’d acted raucously, out of character. His cheeks burned. It was impossible to describe the swirling chaos in his own mind.
“It’s a good thing you’ll be travelling with me soon,” his father muttered, seemingly under his breath. “You’ll be some sort of good to someone. Perhaps you’ll even give a woman the time of day. Someone who will be a proper wife.”
“Could we simply allow this day — this day alone — to belong to Frederick and Tatiana, rather than make it all about your devastating opinions about my life?” Peter sighed. He allowed his shoulders to fall back on the seat and spun his head, watching as the carriage rattled out of London proper. Still, the sky was blissfully blue, almost falsely so. He imagined heaven looked akin to this, after a particularly devastating death. It would seem almost cruel, how it laughed in the face of the life you left behind.
When the carriage arrived at the Braxton estate, Peter popped from the carriage before his mother and father, making sure to hold open the door — playacting the duty of their proud, “wonderful” son. His father sensed he was mocking him, and his gaze burned into him. But Peter ensured he kept his lips tightly closed.
To Peter’s mild horror, Ella had positioned herself on the steps of the grand mansion and was in the midst of conversation with Frederick — the married man himself. Of course, Frederick hadn’t a single clue what brewed behind Ella’s eyes. But from Peter’s orientation, he felt her every laugh, her every grin to be an indication that she wasn’t over him. She flipped her hair back with a tender whip of her little hand, saying, “Oh, yes. You absolutely must watch her. She’ll absolutely destroy you in chess, Freddy. She plays dumb, making you think that just because she doesn’t necessary fall in love with the pursuit of knowledge, she won’t beat you. But she sneaks up on you. A crafty one, absolutely.”
“What is it you’re speaking about?” Tatiana chirped, marching from the mouth of the mansion. She thrust her hands on her thin hips, beaming at her husband and sister.
Peter, off to the side, only the viewer, felt completely invisible. Tatiana’s smile broke wider. Perhaps she would never know the love that brewed in her sister’s heart. Perhaps that would be Ella’s lifelong con.
“Shall we go inside for breakfast?” Tatiana asked, sweeping her arm through Frederick’s. It was her turn to plant an enormous kiss upon his cheek. He nipped his nose around, so that her eyelashes cut across his cheeks. The motion was tender like watching two little animals nuzzling. Peter’s heart felt squeezed.
Ella strode up the steps alongside Lydia, the other, sour-looking bridesmaid. Lydia tumbled a bit on the edge of her dress (a gown Peter felt rather certain had come directly from Ella’s own hand), and gripped Ella’s arm, tugging her back a bit.
It all happened quickly. Ella let out a little shriek and waved her arms back and forth, looking like a wild bird. Her face lost all of its colour. Peter hardly felt the instinct. It jolted through him, making him toss his entire body forward, outstretch his arms. Seconds later, Ella all-but poured into his arms, narrowly avoiding smashing her head on the steps. Several people around them drew their hands over their mouths, gasping.
He’d got her. Red curls spilled down his forearms, towards the stairs below. Her face was white, strange, making the freckles look increasingly dark on her bright skin. Slowly, she licked her lips, struggling to find her footing beneath her. Finally, she tapped a heel on the stairs, then a second one, drawing her shoulders forward. Peter helped bring her light form to standing. Without really wanting to, he brought his fingers away from her skin. For a soft moment, they shared a gaze, one that was impossible to read.
“You saved her!” Frederick cried, using the voice of a child.
“My goodness, how clumsy you are.” Tatiana sighed.
“Lydia tripped you,” Peter murmured, speaking only loud enough for Ella to hear.
Ella looked flustered, like a woman at the edge of the cliff, feeling the wind whip around her. Again, she snaked her fingers through her hair, seemingly trying to think of the right thing to say. Tatiana trampled down the steps and gripped her sister’s hand, tugging her along. Peter longed to blare out,No! Please. Keep her with me.But he hadn’t the energy to show his heart so plainly. It would make him seem a complete imbecile, surely, revealing his incredible love. He had never planned to feel such texture for anyone. The world no longer belonged to him.
Ella gave him a final, longing look (at least, in Peter’s eyes, he imagined it was longing), before allowing herself to be led into the mansion. Peter’s arms still ached with the memory of holding her. He couldn’t remember being so close to her. His nose held her scent — floral, yet subtle. Would he ever be so close to smell it again?
