Page 51 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
“Regardless, it truly is a pleasure to see my daughter, absolutely glowing with happiness, in the wake of a summer of engagement parties garden parties and other parties that all-but bled me dry, in terms of money in the bank. Only kidding, of course, darling.” He lifted his glittering champagne, so that one of the sunbeams from the enormous ballroom window thrust through, before scattering to the ground. “To my daughter, Tatiana, and her new husband, Frederick. I, and everyone else, wish you all the happiness in the world.”
The audience murmured their agreement, an assurance that all was well. Peter felt his own throat utter something — something frog-like and strange, before he tilted his champagne glass back and swallowed the entire amount within. The champagne was sickly sweet, tossing bubbles across the back of his tongue. He locked eyes with one of the kitchen staff, who immediately ambled forward and poured him another round. He thanked her with a broken voice, praying he wouldn’t fall apart.
“Oh, but you have to imagine it.” Tatiana sighed, minutes later. Her fork stabbed through a sausage and drew it towards her mouth. “Frederick, you’ll be upstairs, struggling with all your might to fill the children’s heads with as much knowledge as you can. And I’ll be downstairs with them, playing music, throwing paint. We’ll see one another in the evening, and I’ll be a dirty, wild mess. And you’ll be glowing with intelligence, as will whichever child is most like you.”
“Are you saying that only one of our children will be like me?” Frederick asked, chuckling.
“I’m saying that you and Ella are atypical in absolutely the best way. Would I wish that mindset on all of my children? Absolutely not,” Tatiana tittered. “However, a select few. One, perhaps two.”
“Perhaps two? You see how she thinks of me?” Frederick asked Peter, his lips cutting out a wide smile.
Peter knew he had to play along. He forced a guffaw, slicing his sausage with a butter knife. The motion was wild, almost too quick, and the sausage splintered in half, the lighter part flashing itself towards the ceiling. Silence fell at their table, a contrast between the four of them and the crowd before them.
“Well, I think everyone is having a marvellous time. Don’t you?” Tatiana asked, her voice bright and false, an attempt to mask Peter’s strangeness. “Ella. You’ve hardly touched your meal.”
“That’s not true,” Ella said, sweeping her fingers across the scone and lifting it. She tucked her teeth around the edge, giving Tatiana a light shrug. “I’ve been eating.”
“You haven’t been. We’ve been attending to our figures for weeks. I, for one, am going to eat as much as I can, until I spill from this dress. Frederick, I hope you’ll allow it,” Tatiana said.
“As though I could ever force you to do anything,” Frederick teased.
“Correct answer,” Tatiana said.
The conversation made Peter feel as though the world was shifting on its axis, projecting them forward to a reality he didn’t fully understand. He tried to imagine a reality in which he could grip Ella’s elbow, guide her towards the hallway. He would gaze into her eyes, in the silence of the inner belly of the mansion, and demand why they couldn’t be as friendly as they’d once been. But what would be her reaction? He imagined her saying, “Peter, darling, you have it all wrong. You know I’ve loved Frederick, that I’m still in love with him. You know I’m struggling to move past it. Don’t overcomplicate things by adding your love to the mix.”
That sort of refutation could destroy him.
Peter shoved the rest of his plate away, coating his tongue with another dollop of champagne. It was perhaps 12:30, and the majority of the guests had stuffed their bellies and were now cast back in their chairs, sanding their palms over their rotund frames. His mother and father — always prim and proper — tapped their napkins across their lips. He imagined them saying whatever it was one was meant to say: “Truly, what a marvellous meal. Yes, we enjoyed every drop. God has truly blessed this man and wife.”
Suddenly, Peter thrust his knees to the side of his chair and stood to his feet. He rocked a bit, to and fro before trampling towards the side of the room. Several footsteps bulleted behind him, forcing him to spin back. He discovered his father, grey-faced, his pupils surrounded with red, angry veins.
“What on earth has gotten into you?” his father whispered. He maintained a firm smile, one that assured the surrounding guests that everything was fine and proper, just the same as any other day.
“What do you mean, Father?” Peter returned. He didn’t bother to match his smile.
“You look as though you’ve just witnessed the death of your dog,” his father spat back.
“Father, I’m perfectly fine. Just exhausted. It’s been a rather long day, what with eternally marking time with Frederick, assuring him, over and over, that he’s making the right decision. That Tatiana is the one for him. The old drill.”
“Don’t be a fool,” his father retorted. “You ask me to believe such a thing? No. If I had to guess. I think there’s something in your heart tied to this. If I had to guess …”
“Father, why don’t you do me a favour and leave it alone?” Peter shot back.
The conversation swirled across the room, growing tenser, louder. Peter crossed his arms over his chest. Still, his father maintained that ridiculous smile. Peter’s mind felt shadowed, as though he’d locked it away in a cave, where it would never receive sunlight again.
Standing there, he had a full view of Ella. Just like him, she, too, had burst up from her seat, so quickly that she’d caused a few pieces of silverware to scatter to the floor. Apologies swirled from her lips. Tatiana stood up, as well, swatting a spare bit of food from her silver dress. Her brows were furrowed.
“Tell me. You’re in love with the bride, aren’t you?” Peter’s father murmured, his voice low. “You know you can tell me.”
“Father. I’ve never been able to tell you anything at all,” Peter returned, his eyes still heavy upon Ella. “Why do you suppose I would start now?”
Chapter 23
Ella felt she would vomit. She teetered on the edge between consciousness and wild, swimming, manic thoughts. It was only seconds later that she fully realised she’d stood at the wedding table, casting dribbling from her plate upon her sister’s dress. She glanced at her own fingers, sweeping themselves across the very dress they’d stitched together, attempting to mend the damage.
“I’m so terribly sorry, Sister,” she muttered, scarcely able to recognise her own voice. “I truly didn’t mean this to happen.”
“What’s gotten into you, darling?” Tatiana asked, her voice hoarse. “You’ve grown deathly pale, you know. I don’t suppose you’re coming down with the same thing I had this morning?”
