Page 12 of The Lord who Captured Her Innocent Heart
“What makes you say that?” Ella asked, her words sizzling with sarcasm.
Peter waited, sensing that her entire being was about to catch aflame. He guzzled the rest of his wine, knowing. And sure enough, this fiery redhead showed her worth, smashing her fist against her thigh and causing her skirt to shake. For a swift second, Peter ensured that the people on the outskirts of the garden hadn’t noticed her outburst. They – his second-aunt, or maybe his third cousin? – remained with their heads downturned, muttering to one another. Whatever it was Ella was about to say would remain between them, thank goodness.
Wasn’t it funny, Peter thought now, how very little privacy the world had? Gossip fled fast across the moors, ruining lives as it was cast this way and that.
“What makes me say it?” he asked then, guffawing. “I suppose it’s the fact that you’re laying by yourself in the middle of no one. That you’re terribly moody. That you don’t even bring yourself to look me in the eye, just now…”
Ella’s eyes seemed to burn with an inner rage. She again smacked her skirt, then forced herself to stand erect, firm. She set her chin and said, “If you must know…”
There was a long pause. Peter waited, anticipation brimming. Although he’d been having a wretched time, a horrific week, he simmered with the glory of this, of seeing someone else struggle.
“If you must know, this wedding isn’t exactly what I expected,” she finally said.
“Expected?” Peter asked, coaxing her. He sensed even more brimming beyond the surface. He crossed his arms, waiting. She was certainly not the child he’d felt she’d been before. She was electric with vitality, angry with spitting words. “Please. Explain yourself.”
“You would surely think it’s idiotic,” she returned. “I know you, Peter. I’ve known you since I was a girl. You’re always apt to declare everyone else an imbecile. Why, I remember last summer when I tumbled off my horse! I was busted up, bruised, and you told me that I should really be more careful. You essentially blamed me for…”
“You’re covering up the reality of our conversation, Lady Chesterton,” he said, teasing her. “And I dare say I don’t have time nor the energy to truly live in a conversation as long as this. If you’re not going to tell me…”
“Fine! I’ll tell you,” Ella said. She set her chin, glaring at him. “If you must know, Peter, I don’t believe that Tatiana and Frederick are right for one another. In fact, I couldn’t have imagined a worse match for my sister!”
Ella tossed herself back, sitting at the edge of a bench. She drew her hands across her cheeks, scrubbed her nails into her skin. Peter had a sudden longing to hold her against him, to whisper that everything would be all right. He hadn’t a clue where this inclination came from.
“Why do you think that?” Peter asked, his words a bit lower, now. His eyes cast towards his second aunt, still praying that the crowd near the corner hadn’t heard Ella’s words. Still, it seemed they were in the clear, alone.
“I think that because – because I spent my life growing up alongside both of them!” Ella blurted. “I spent my life knowing the intricacies of Tatiana’s needs and wants. And also… I suppose I know Frederick, through and through, as well. I couldn’t have imagined that Frederick, apt to spend an entire afternoon with a book in hand, having a single conversation with my sister.”
She trailed off, tossing her eyes to the ground. Peter tried to read the subtext. He tilted his weight, choosing to take this moment to speak up.
“If you must know, you’re not the only person here thinking the same,” he offered.
Ella perked up, blinking at him. Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s apparent. Tatiana and Frederick are entirely different people, with different wants and needs,” Peter continued, momentarily frightened at how easily he spoke to Ella the inner turmoil of his heart. “I grew up alongside Frederick, and know Frederick to be a greater introvert than even he can comprehend. He doesn’t have the stamina to live alongside a girl like Tatiana.”
“Precisely!” Ella cried, her voice growing high-pitched. “Tatiana and Frederick have never expressed a similar mindset about the world. And I’ve been on the receiving end of countless of their little moments of self-expression. Frederick, telling me just exactly the way a poem makes him feel. Tatiana, telling me just how it is for her to be the belle of every ball. How she loves her social life! How the world loves her in return…”
Peter sniffed. “It doesn’t seem that you necessarily feel the same as the world?”
Ella’s cheeks grew flushed. “It’s not that. I love my sister far more than anyone else. And that’s just a fact. One I will never refute.”
“Then what is it?” Peter demanded. He felt like a hunting dog, circling prey. He took a slight step forward, praying he wasn’t frightening her.
Ella’s face crumpled. She swished her hands upward so that her palms faced the sky. Tears began to whisk down her cheeks. Peter’s heart felt strangely squeezed. Had he said something wrong? Although, when was the last time he’d said something wrong and actually cared about it? Never, he knew. Ordinarily, he didn’t mind stomping all over everyone else’s feelings and opinions, sometimes for his own selfish enjoyment.
It felt different, just now.
“I’m sorry,” Ella murmured, swiping hurriedly at her tears. “I really didn’t mean to fall apart like this. It’s just. My entire life. I’ve really been in love with…”
She trailed off. Peter gaped at her, suddenly sensing the hollowness within her. Was it possible that the pair of them had very, very similar problems?
“Don’t tell me. You’re in love with him. Aren’t you?” he asked.
Ella let out a soft sob. Peter was surprised that he didn’t consider the sob pathetic, that, in fact, he felt a bit of his own soul within the noise. In many respects, he wished he had the sort of strength she did to cry and cry and cry, about his love for Tatiana. But he couldn’t possibly generate such a pathetic response. Not in public, certainly. Even at home alone, crying seemed something meant for a young girl, rather than a 27-year-old man.
“I can’t possibly do anything about it,” Ella murmured. “She loves him, and he loves her, apparently. It’s absolutely wretched. I never imagined that this would happen. I thought when he returned from Bristol that he would finally tell me – tell me he felt it too. The love brewing between us. But instead –”
Ella gestured toward the far garden. Another song swept up from the violins and cellos, meant to stir up emotion in every dancer, every family member, every friend. Peter’s inner soul felt empty, hollow, almost echo-y.
