Page 9 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
Minutes later, Ella stomped back to the garden, holding onto yet another glass of wine. Her eyes were downcast, watching as skirts swirled past, as long-legged men swished along beside them. Her shoulders draped forward. She felt like a decrepit woman.
When she reached the turn into the garden, she nearly stumbled directly into Frederick. He bumbled back, laughing, swatting at his suit jacket to ensure it remained in place, not creased. Ella blinked at him, noting that a small droplet of red wine had scattered to her breast. She prayed he wouldn’t notice.
“Ella!” Frederick said. He dropped down, placing a very sterile kiss on her cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you. I’m sorry it’s been so hectic. I haven’t had much time to sit down.”
Ella cleared her throat, feeling a bit woozy. Here he was: the man she worshiped, his eyes directed only towards her.
“You haven’t given me what I want the most,” she offered, her eyes broadening.
“What’s that?” Frederick asked.
“You haven’t given me your stories about your trip to Bristol,” she said, stuttering slightly. Of course, she’d yearned to say something else. “I wanted to know all you learned. I wanted to know the gritty details of it all. You know it’s my dream to live in a library for months on-end, learning as much as I can.”
Frederick seemed to look at her with more intensity, now. Ella had craved this, this correspondence that could only exist between them.
“To be honest,” he began, “it’s been difficult to find anyone who even wishes to hear about it. Since I returned, of course, it’s been all talk of the wedding. Nothing more.”
Ella nodded with a ferociousness. She swallowed hard, leaning tighter towards him. “I understand. And …and Frederick, I’ve been writing even more poetry, lately. And it’s as though no one cares at all that I have so much to say. Frederick, my mind is awash with creativity. And the world wants me to hush.”
Frederick echoed her look. She felt they were two souls, latched together, whilst the world spun around them. But after a moment, Tatiana slipped past them. Her smile was enormous, showing wide, gleaming teeth. She blinked first at Ella, then at her fiancé. It occurred to Ella that perhaps her sister was a bit too daft to understand the link between her and Frederick.
Did this make Ella evil, thinking this?
“What are you two up to?” Tatiana asked, again slipping her slender arm through Frederick’s. Frederick seemed to stand more erect, at this moment, as though he needed to prove something. “I don’t suppose you’re on about books again, are you? You know this is a party. I don’t want to have to forbid it, but…”
“Ella here was just telling me about her writing,” Frederick said. He gave a strange smile, one that was nothing like the cosy one he ordinarily gave her. “Tell us, Ella. Are you going to spend your entire life in your room, writing your poetry, never allowing anyone to court you?”
“Don’t tease her.” Tatiana sighed, making matters worse. She reached for Ella’s forehead, flicking the little curls. “Oh, dear me. Frederick, did I tell you what I did to the poor girl? I feel absolutely wretched.”
Ella felt she could curl into a ball, die upon the ground. She blinked several times, baulking at the tears growing behind her eyelids. She couldn’t show such weakness, not in front of her sister, not in front of Frederick. She swallowed hard, waiting.
Seconds later, there was a clanking. She spun round to see her father smashing his fork against his glass, alerting the crowd to look at him. He gave a wide grin, one that showed the boyish nature that he’d never left behind, despite his age.
“Good afternoon. Nay, evening, isn’t it? My goodness, the hours just fly by.”
Several people gave half-chuckles in the crowd. Ella remained poised, her embarrassment still lurking on her shoulders.
“I wanted to take a moment to give a toast,” Lord Chesterton continued. His face was flushed above his beard.
Tatiana and Frederick moved to the head of the crowd, standing to the side of Ella’s father. She tried and failed to read Frederick’s expression. Was this sort of attention what he wanted?
“It’s a thing a father thinks of, throughout the many years leading up to it. What will it feel like when your daughter finally falls in love? What will it feel like when she decides on the man who will become her husband? Admittedly, it feels a bit of a nightmare, at times, or did, until Tatiana hinted to me that once Frederick arrived home from his stint in Bristol, that he might have a question for me.”
At this, Ella’s father rubbed his palms together, his eyes flashing. So, Ella thought: he’d known about Tatiana’s love for Frederick far before Ella, perhaps weeks before. What kind of best friend, sister, was Tatiana, anyway?
“Of course, my daughters grew up with Frederick,” her father continued, casting a glowing glance towards him. “And I couldn’t have imagined a better suitor for my daughter. Certainly, he’s a bit bookish, a bit too smart for his own good. But I dare say my daughter will whip him into shape. She, the first to laugh, the first to make a joke. And of course, the first to uphold love over all things. She’s my darling daughter. My first born.”
Ella’s father lifted his glass into the air, making it glint. The audience followed suit. Ella took a big step back towards the edge of the garden, then another. The violins and cellos swelled once more, and Tatiana and Frederick joined together for a dance. Tatiana tossed her head back, mid-laughter. Her white teeth shone bright. Ella spun around, gripping the gate and casting herself into the little alleyway between the gardens. Her feet scuttled across the stones. The world seemed strangely blurry, chaotic – the colours melding from oranges to reds to yellows, depending on how often she blinked. She felt unsure if she was having some sort of panic attack.
Ella lurched towards the final garden. Her tongue was like sandpaper. She craved another glass of wine, couldn’t comprehend just how she was so terribly sober after attempting to guzzle back as much booze as she could. How dare Frederick ask her if she was going to read the rest of her life, rather than finding a suitor? Wasn’t the entire point of life some sort of question for education? Hadn’t they had endless conversations about this, ones that had assured her that they were looking for the same things in life?
She gasped, dropping to the grass beside her favourite rose bush. The roses were a flurry of various colours: yellow and blood red and violet. She reached forward, drawing her fingers around the soft, too-delicate petals. Tears swept down her cheek. She prayed for something better for herself, casting her eyelashes to her cheeks. She prayed for a life of love, of laughter, of intrigue, of zest. She prayed for the life she’d always dreamed of. Yet she knew, inherently, that the life she prayed for already belonged to her sister – and thus, any life she yearned for was tied up in her sister’s unhappiness.
She hadn’t any idea of what to do. So she sat. And she waited, listening to the soft swell of string instruments from the far garden. She felt utterly doomed.
Chapter 6
Idiotic. Absolutely atrocious. Above all, odd. These were the words that surged through Peter’s mind as he stood, his arms latched across his chest, whilst his cousin Frederick and his beautiful, sunny fiancé twirled around the garden, seemingly lost in the daydream of one another’s eyes. Was it possible that they were truly, “forever” in love with one another? Peter absolutely doubted it – and he was certainly one to trust about the situation. He’d spent a great deal of his youth at the Braxton estate, riding horseback alongside the likes of Frederick, Tatiana, and that little sister of hers, whatever her name was. Never, ever had he suspected an attraction between his bookish, rather nerdy cousin, Frederick, and the electric, sophisticated, and sociable Tatiana. Never!
