Page 60 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Peter scrubbed beneath his armpits, ruffled up his hair. He paused at the mirror, which reflected back a particularly early morning out the window. What time was it? Did it matter? When he recognised the weight of his love, wasn’t that the time to blare it to the one he loved the most?
He scribbled a note to his father, slipped it into an envelope, and passed it to one of the butlers, who would send it within the hour to Brighton. The note said simply, “I had to return for complicated reasons, Father. Know that I respect your business; I respect your life. I just simply don’t believe it to be the one meant for me.”
He saw no reason to worry his father with the events of the previous night. He didn’t want to rip him from his affairs, all for something that remained in the past. He had to bury his fears.
Peter trampled out the door of the estate, rushing back towards the stables. The hotel’s horse had been tended to: his saddle removed, his mane brushed out. He was now chewing at grains, his glistening eyes cast somewhere across the moors. Peter paused for a moment to sweep his hand across the horse’s head. “You saved my life,” he murmured to him. “I wouldn’t be here — and certainly my tongue wouldn’t be — if not for you.”
This seemed to please the horse very much. Peter cut him his finest smile and hollered for the stable hand to treat the horse “extra special,” before rounding towards his usual horse and guiding him out of the stables. His heart beat wildly with passion. He felt he couldn’t make the horse ride fast enough. He yearned to be upon the steps of Ella’s estate in mere seconds, rather than the 20 minutes he knew it would take. Such was the way of life: always just out of grasp.
His black horse cantered across the moors. His grip on the reins was loose, as his fingers had strained far too tightly over the late night ride, making them weak. His stomach quaked with sudden hunger, but he shoved this feeling aside. It would have to wait.
The Chesterton estate appeared on the horizon: dominant, beneath the sweeping trees, which tossed their leaves to and fro to show their soft white underbellies. Peter’s breath caught. Was Ella somewhere in her bed, stirring? Could she feel him drawing closer?
Now, Peter was awash with the memory of just weeks ago when he’d ridden this precise path to come to the Chesterton estate to tell Tatiana a very similar, burning thing within his heart. At the time, he’d felt that was the only thing on which he could cling. The reason he awoke in the morning; the last thing he considered at night. Now, he recognised that as a last-ditch effort to uphold values that no longer belonged to him. He’d transformed, in the wake of that day. He’d become the sort of man he thought belonged with someone like Ella.
Of course, he hadn’t a clue if Ella thought the same.
Suddenly, Peter’s horse stalled at the front steps of the Chesterton house. He bucked off, his legs quivering beneath him. The house seemed far more massive than it had in previous weeks, the door two-storeys in height, dark and shadowed despite the light of the summer morning.
One of the stable boys appeared towards the side of the house, zipping out a whistle. He collected Peter’s horse, just as he had all the previous weeks, and bowed his head. Peter couldn’t help noticing that the boy’s eyes lingered on him for a longer moment than normal, seeming to deduce a strange energy within Peter.
“Good morning,” Peter said to him, uttering it a bit too late. He knew this assuredly elevated the strangeness. He took this as a sign to take his first step towards the staircase, trying to operate as the kind of man who knew the rules of the world.
In actuality, he was making everything up as he went along.
When he reached the door, he rapped at it twice with firm knuckles. Seconds later, one of the maids opened it, blinking at him. She lent him a wry smile. Peter paused for a moment, his mind tracing the various names of maids he knew in the Chesterton house.
“Tiffany,” he finally said. “You’re Tiffany, aren’t you?”
“It’s been my name since I’ve known it,” Tiffany affirmed, acting coy. She seemed to operate above him, as though she understood what he was going to do before he did it. It was an eerie, otherworldly feeling. But Peter leaned into it, uncomprehending of the powers of the world at that moment.
“Tiffany, would you mind if I speak to the lady of the house?” Peter asked.
“I don’t suppose you mean Lady Ella Chesterton?” Tiffany asked, her eyes glittering.
Peter gaped for a moment. “No, of course not,” he said. “I mean of course, Lady Chesterton herself. I shan’t imagine having a private meeting with Ella.”
Tiffany smirked. She cast the door open a bit wider, allowing him to enter. After flipping her hair, she sauntered back towards the end of the hallway, seemingly demanding Peter to remain where he was. After a night of racing away from bandits, of riding his horse across the wild moors, he now felt smaller than he’d been in his life. He shifted his weight, turning his eyes across the various finery in the attached dining room. The antiques were perched alongside the antique chest, harkening back to another time. Each was glossy, as though the maids spent a bit of time each day polishing. It was a strange thing, to Peter — that which we upheld, all for now-forgotten memories.
It was up to him to create new ones. He knew that required the most bravery. Nostalgia was a passive force.
Tiffany returned to tell Peter that he was requested in the sitting room with Lady Chesterton, that the two of them would have tea. Peter couldn’t very well imagine perching on any such soft chair and sipping tea like a civilized person. But he sensed this was the final gateway.
When he appeared in the doorway of the sitting room — one very much similar in form and function to the one his mother used in his own estate — Lady Chesterton hardly blinked up from her sewing. Her near-black hair, so much like Tatiana’s, glittered with grey strands. Peter wondered if her husband, Lord Chesterton, had ever ached with such apprehension, yearning to ask her hand in marriage. It was difficult to imagine such hesitancies amongst men and women of greater age — so set they were in their lives.
“Good morning, Lady Chesterton,” Peter said. He was surprised that his voice didn’t quiver.
Lady Chesterton stuck a needle through the fabric, clucking her tongue. She positioned it to ensure it wouldn’t tear away in the midst of their conversation, and then swept the fabric to the side. She clasped her hands over her lap and nodded towards the chair across from her, as though she were conducting an interview. Peter took the necessary steps and sat, ensuring his posture remained sturdy and firm.
“Good morning,” Lady Chesterton responded. Her eyes were cat-like, seemingly peering through his body and into his heart. How much could she possibly sense in him? “For what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you, Lord Holloway? The gossip is you’ve joined your father in his business matters. In fact, I didn’t imagine I would see you for quite some time, in the wake of Tatiana’s marriage.” Her eyes flashed. “For quite a long time, I imagined you’d be the first to swoop her up, you know. The pair of you always had such similar sensibilities…”
Peter’s lips parted, waiting to protest. But Lady Chesterton placed her palm skyward, demanding continued attention.
“That’s not to say I’m not thrilled about her match with Frederick, your dear cousin. In fact, the closer I grew to the situation, the more I understood. He was patient, kind, articulate, soft, all in ways Tatiana never was. It truly is a beautiful balance. One that I couldn’t have imagined you lending her. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Lord Holloway?”
Peter yearned to toss his eyes back, lend her an eye roll that spoke of the many annoyances churning in his heart. At this moment, he felt he understood precisely who Tatiana would transform into, in her older years. Further, he understood the force Ella was up against, while residing in this house. He felt a renewed drive to draw her out of it. To protect her from a world that couldn’t fully understand her.
“Lady Chesterton, I do hope you’ll understand. While Tatiana is an absolutely lovely girl — now a part of my family, in many respects — I am not here to discuss her,” Peter said.
