Page 53 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
“Ha. I assumed so,” Lydia said. “I imagine it takes quite a bit of effort to fall in love with Frederick. Although Tatiana seems to have done it seamlessly.”
“They were meant to be,” Ella murmured, her voice soft, edged with sadness.
“That they were.” Lydia coughed once. “I suppose I’ll take that cue to return to my own home. I shouldn’t stand around here with you, bemoaning my life of celibacy. We can do that separately just as well.”
Ella opted to wander back to the Chesterton estate via the old paths from the Braxton estate, through the moors, past the old familiar, crooked trees. Her white lace dress lined itself with seeds, with torn-off flowers, with grass. At the creek, she paused for a moment to tear several purple droplet-like flowers from various twigs and construct a small crown for herself, which she donned before sweeping her way through the belly of the forest. In their youth, she’d thought these woods to contain multiple universes — all of them ready for her and Tatiana to play for hours on-end. Now, the wood was meant only for her. She felt her age slipping over her skin, lining her eyes. She couldn’t fathom a world in which someone would love her the way Frederick loved Tatiana.
But she forced herself to thank God above for her surroundings: the way the sunlight cut through the green shards of grass; the bubbling creek, ducking around rocks. Frogs leapt from stone to stone, their throats bulging out, their eyes straight forward, showing the severity of their mission to get wherever it was they were off to.
Ella was grateful no one awaited her arrival at the estate. Her mother and father were surely still in the midst of post-wedding banter with the Braxtons, all of them glowing, their skin shining with drink and excitement. As Ella mounted the steps, she undid her buttons, one by one, until she stood in her doorway in just her slip, her dress swept over her arms. It seemed to stare up at her with apology, all muddied and grassy. The day was finished; all excitement was complete.
Ella attempted to steady her mind, to tell it what to expect over the months ahead. “There is going to be a lot of time to read,” she whispered to herself, half-chuckling at the ease with which she spoke out loud to herself. She would have to keep herself company. It was what she needed to survive.
Chapter 24
When Ella awoke the following Monday morning, the house quaked with the severity of a strange summer wind. Ella’s eyes traced along the horizon, watching the trees toss themselves towards ground level. Her fingers found a morning dress in the wardrobe and unconsciously buttoned it up her back, tossing her red curls behind her back. The previous day, she hadn’t spotted a single soul, had spent the entire day within the walls of her bedroom, allowing her heart to drip into the strange caverns of her belly. It was no way to live.
Ella tapped down the steps, her nose filling with the scent of baked bread, of bubbling porridge. She arrived in the dining room to find a familiar sight: her mother, cupping some tea with two hands, pursing her lips over the hot liquid. Her deer-like eyes peered up at Ella, seemingly diving into her very heart.
It was then Ella noted that her mother was, in fact, sitting in her father’s chair.
“Where’s Papa?” Ella asked, surprised at how easily her voice fell from her throat, after so much disuse.
“Your father went to Central London to meet with members of Parliament,” her mother announced, sounding like an authoritative figure, announcing it to a much larger audience, rather than just her daughter. She lowered the cup of tea back upon its saucer. Beneath her, her breakfast steamed, but she had yet to touch it.
“Are you planning to join me? Or do you think you’ll spend yet another day up in your room, avoiding the world?” her mother asked.
Ella felt the words like a punch. She swept forward, drawing her hands beneath her dress to sit easily across from her mother. On cue, Tiffany hustled into the room and dropped a platter of breakfast before her. Ella’s stomach turned at the sight.
“You’ll eat with me,” her mother said, her words heavy, like an order.
Feeling child-like, Ella reached for a butter knife and swept it through the pad of creamy yellow, watching as it melted across her toast. The sound of the serration scraping across the toasted bread echoed through the room. She wondered what one was meant to say to one’s mother when one felt so void of purpose.
“How did you find your sister’s wedding?” Lady Chesterton asked, asking it as though she was wondering about the weather instead.
“Oh? It was. It was rather. It was rather fine,” Ella said, feeling as though the words had thrown themselves up.
“Rather fine?” Lady Chesterton arched her brow. She lifted a sausage with a fork and turned her teeth over the edge of it, taking a tender bite. “Hmmm.”
“That is. Tatiana looked beautiful. Everyone had a marvellous time,” Ella continued, speaking a bit too quickly.
“And then where on earth did you achieve the description of ‘rather fine’?” her mother demanded. She took another slight bite of her sausage. Ella felt she might be stuck on that sausage forever, so slowly she worked through it.
For her part, Ella still held onto her piece of toast, feeling as though a single bite might destroy her allegiance to the silence and hunger within her. Her mother gaped at her, seemingly guiding her hand. Finally, Ella snapped her teeth along the crisp outer edge of the toast. The butter oozed down her tongue, caking along the back of her throat. She thought she might gag.
“For my part — and I know I’m just a ridiculous old woman,” her mother began, “I thought it was perhaps the finest wedding I’ve been to in my life. And many Londoners have reported this. In fact, I dare say we had better stop whilst ahead, don’t you? Don’t bother yourself with marrying anyone. This wedding will be all they’ll associate with our family. And it’s for the best.”
Ella swallowed her toast. Tiffany returned to the breakfast table, pouring them each another cup of tea. Her mother’s eyes burned towards her, seemingly challenging her.
“Is that what you want?” her mother demanded, her voice rising.
Ella dropped her teacup back upon the saucer. She questioned if she had the adrenaline to fight with her. “I don’t suppose there’s much of an option,” were the words she allowed to fall.
This didn’t seem to be proper. Her mother dropped the remainder of her sausage on the plate. “I dare say, I didn’t imagine this morning to be so wretched. I thought — perhaps we’d sit here together, not as friends, but as mother and daughter. No, you’ll never look at me the way Tatiana did. You’ll never regard me with the same sort of love. But I thought we could at least be civilised.”
Ella allowed her shoulders to drape forward. She recognised that she wasn’t the favourite daughter, that her mother assuredly ached with saying goodbye to Tatiana for good. But Ella hadn’t the strength to fill the gaping hole Tatiana had left behind.
“I miss her, too,” were the words she chose, before ambling back from her chair, her belly still aching with emptiness.
