Page 50 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Finally, he bounded up the steps, in the midst of the rest of the breakfast-goers. Only Frederick stepped down, applauding his quick instincts. “She nearly took quite a tumble, didn’t she?” he asked, his eyes large. “I dare say, she’s like me. She’s spent the majority of her life away from people. She probably isn’t sure how to handle being in the midst of all this chaos.”
“And you?” Peter asked, forcing himself to deliver a firm smile, one that was meant to translate eternal confidence. “How are you holding up?”
“To be frank with you, Cousin,” Frederick said, “I sipped a bit of champagne just now, as a means to a bit more confidence. All I am required to do is dip through the rest of this breakfast. And then, we’re home free. Off on our honeymoon. I won’t be required to put on a smile for anyone.”
Peter chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of that champagne to pull me through.”
“It must be a tiring thing for you, as well. These affairs always are,” Frederick said. “Let’s go in and see what the cooks have mixed up for us, shall we? If a man is ever allowed to eat, I imagine it must be when he’s at his own wedding. And you had better tuck in, as well, my dear boy. After all. Who knows how many more maidens could take a tumble into your arms?”
The stunning, antiquated ballroom had been decorated for the wedding breakfast. Peter inhaled sharply at the vision of it. Long, wooden tables stretched across the gorgeous marble, lined with vases of flowers. Above, the chandeliers glittered in the morning light. It was a rare thing, being within the ballroom prior to noon. It lent a sense of expectation, which was perhaps essential for the life ahead for bride and groom.
The wedding guests filled in the various seats. The bride and groom were stationed at the far end of the ballroom, at a table perpendicular to the rest. Ella’s seat rested alongside Tatiana’s, while Peter’s had been prepared next to Frederick’s. Their parents would sit at the table directly beside. Peter’s mother and father remained at a table in the centre. Already, they’d begun stunted half-banter with other members his father recognised from Parliament and business affairs. Always, it was an issue of business, with his father.
Peter stretched his legs towards his seat, careful to keep his eyes away from Ella’s. He felt he would receive no contact back in return. The thought of it hung heavy over him, and felt too horrific to affirm.
The enormous table on the other side of the room featured the wedding breakfast itself — something Peter was surprised to have missed, as though his mind hadn’t a care at all for the very thing he so craved (many, many servings of breakfast, if he couldn’t have love itself).
In the centre of the table sat the mighty wedding cake. Multiple tiers, cake and frosting stacked one on top of each other, with stunning, real flowers lining it. On either side of the cake sat the heartier fare: breads and rolls, jams and cheeses, multiple other baked desserts, sausages, eggs, along with bottles and bottles of wine and champagne. Now, several of the mansion staff had begun to roam about the various tables, pouring champagne and wine. With burrowed brows, they ensured every member of the wedding breakfast was lent a level of comfort that, Peter knew, would be “discussed for years to come,” when people compared weddings amongst themselves. Ah, the gossip of the Londoner. In the midst of all of this, Frederick’s parents sat back, their eyes like cats, watching every little drop of champagne, every dot of the wine glass back on the tablecloth. Everything had to be prim, proper. Surely, for anyone who operated out of line at the wedding breakfast would be fired the moment the cast of characters — bride, groom, and wedding guests — abandoned the breakfast for the day.
It was difficult not to be pessimistic in the wake of all that had happened. Peter shifted into his seat next to Frederick. Frederick gave him another wry smile and placed his hand upon Tatiana’s atop the white tablecloth. She was in the midst of some sort of raucous tale, making Ella laugh in that ridiculously good-natured way of hers.
“All right, old chap?” Frederick asked.
“Just hungry,” Peter returned, knowing that that sort of response would “fill in the blank” and require nothing else from him.
“Me too. I think I’m allowed to get fat, now that I’m married,” Frederick commented.
Tatiana heard the words and jutted her elbow into Frederick’s rib. “As if you could ever become plump,” she teased. “You’re just skin and bones.”
“And a bit of muscle!” Frederick protested. “Tell her, Peter. Tell her how once — albeit, just once — I beat you at a round of arm wrestle.”
“We were but eight years old,” Peter said, trying to play along. He forced an eye roll, although it seemed to elevate his exhaustion. He felt he’d never been more fatigued in his life.
“Oh! I’d love to see something like that,” Tatiana chirped. “Ella and I used to attempt to do things like that. But we always devolved to giggles and ended up doing one another’s hair.”
Ella dipped her head a bit forward, so that Peter could just make out the glow of her eyes. Seeing them felt like a stab through his belly. He swallowed hard.
“You always played crooked, Tatty,” Ella said. “Always cheating.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Tatiana giggled. “Although I dare say your memory is far better than mine. Always has been. You’ll have to be the one to help me raise our children, won’t you? We’ll have a whole passel of them, won’t we, Frederick? Perhaps Ella will be the only one to remember all their names.”
“I wasn’t aware we were building an army, darling,” Frederick teased.
“And why not?” Tatiana asked, flipping her long black mane. “We’ll have that big beautiful house, before we arrive back at this one. And this one deserves many different children, to fill all the rooms. Imagine it! Children, scampering about. Their little feet padding across the hallway rugs.”
“That’s not to say that Ella herself might have a passel of children,” Frederick echoed, lending Ella a wry smile.
“Oh, it’s far too early to think of such a thing,” Ella said, her cheeks blotching pink and red. Again, her eyes turned towards Peter. Peter met her gaze for only a moment before Lord Chesterton ambled forward, drawing his enormous palms across the head table. He beamed down at his eldest daughter.
“Darling, I was hoping to make a bit of a speech, prior to the feast,” he boomed.
Tatiana gave him a glowing smile. “Father, you don’t always have to make such a scene.” She used a teasing, lilting, girlish voice — one that ensured he very much DID need to make a scene, in order to honour his daughter in the best way.
“Don’t be foolish,” he said. He pulled his glass of champagne from his table, along with a fork, and clacked at the side, forcing his new audience to spin their heads towards him. The hubbub of conversation lulled.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, all,” Lord Chesterton began. “I suppose it’s rather fitting that I say a few words about my daughter and my brand new son, Lord Frederick Braxton. It’s a strange thing for a father to bring in a son to the fold. All my life, I’ve wanted a son. Someone to lend my wisdom to, whether that wisdom be about Scotch or business or politics. It seemed a rather difficult task to ever fold this information into Tatiana’s consciousness, as she was always ambling away at the pianoforte, explaining to me that she couldn’t quite hear me over the sound. I now see that that was quite a clever diversion tactic. Perhaps dear Tatiana SHOULD have taken up with politics, after all.”
At this, the crowd erupted in a false-sounding, ringing laughter. Peter’s stomach clenched. He felt he could either eat half the banquet table, or nothing at all, such was the manifestation of his anxiety.
