Disclaimer: These characters are the sole
property of Stephenie Meyer. I am just messing around with them.
A/N I don’t have a pre-reader or a Beta or
anything of the sort. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
-x-X-x-
A Love So Beautiful
Martha’s Vineyard,
United States of America 1890
I look at the sails as they move across the horizon and I imagine the
freedom the people on those sailboats must feel as they glide over the waves,
driven only by the force of the wind. In recent months I’ve felt similarly
adrift in the ocean of problems that threaten to sink me.
I’ve always loved the design of Aunt Leah’s manor. Simple, warm and
elegant, it is the complete opposite of the cold British castles I’ve become
accustomed to. Of all the places in aunt Leah’s home, my favourite one has to
be the veranda in which I’m sitting.
The structure made of wood, glass and iron is sober and unpretentious.
Yet, the way the sunrays filter through the ample glass walls that cover it
make it the most luminous and warm part of the house. Even in winter—as long as
the temperature cooperates as it does this morning—I’ve always preferred to
have my breakfast served in this very place where I can observe the sea at my
leisure.
It’s an enchanting view I’ve often plastered in aquarelles using my
limited talents as a painter. The results never quite lived up to the beauty of
the landscape that surrounds me.
Today though, I would much prefer to abscond myself in my rooms than to
face Mrs Rothschild and her son.
In a brilliant struck of genius, my aunt decided that my next meeting
with Mr Rothschild should be in a neutral territory, under the supervision of
responsible matrons such as her and Mrs Rothschild. I am still suspicious of my
Aunt Leah’s intentions but I’m willing to indulge her and befriend Mr
Rothschild as long as there is no expectation of anything beyond friendship.
From our brief interaction so far, I’ve gathered that Mr Rothschild is a
remarkably conceited gentleman. He has an air of someone who feels entitled to
the very best the world can offer, and I’m sure that his looks and impressive
fortune have afforded him everything he has desired in the past.
However, I feel somewhat safe to meet him, even alone. Men like Mr
Rothschild don’t tend to bother with virginal demoiselles such as me. They tend
to prefer the widows or married women—such as Mrs Denali—who can afford to have
a lover and not see their reputations ruined in the process.
I’m certain Peter Rothschild will flirt with me in some measure. Simply
because it’s in his nature to be the centre of every female’s attention. I’m
confident that in the eventuality that he oversteps his boundaries at some
point I’ll be able to discourage his attentions without the help of my aunt or
his mother. Nonetheless, I’m grateful for the opportunity to observe his
character in the presence of Aunt Leah and Mrs Rothschild so that I’m afforded
the opportunity to study him as he has been studying me the last few times we
have been in vicinity of each other.
I wish to determine if my aunt’s intuition is correct and he has
suffered a similar lost to mine, or if he’s merely a spoiled child that has
only recently started to show his real inclinations.
I’m taken out of my musings by the voices of my aunt Leah and our
guests.
“Bella, darling. Let me introduce you to Mrs Mary Rothschild and her son
Mr Peter Rothschild whom you already had the pleasure of knowing yesterday.”
Mrs Rothschild shocks me by embracing me before I even have the time to
reply.
“Oh, I’m sorry Miss Bella. I’m just so happy to finally meet you. I feel
as if you’re family already since your aunt has regaled us with stories about
her niece ever since you were born. You and Peter already met when you were
children. Leah, did you tell her the story of how little Bella pushed Peter
into the mud when he was being a brat with her?”
I smile broadly as I see Peter Rothschild’s cheeks flush slightly at the
exuberant behaviour of his mother.
“Mother, I’m certain Miss Isabella is not interested in hearing about
our play dates when we were naught but babes. Why don’t we take a seat? If I
remember correctly Mrs Black’s cook is astounding and I’m quite looking forward
to what she has prepared for brunch,” Peter interjects as he guides his mother
towards a chair.
I stifle a giggle as I prepare to take a seat before the table as well.
Peter approaches me silently and pulls my chair so I can take my seat. I notice
how tall he is as I watch him do the same for my aunt.
He’s indeed handsome but he has an air about him that makes him look
unreachable. If I had met him in London I would have probably avoided him. He
seems like the sort of man my mother would steer me away from, but under these
odd circumstances I’m being pushed to get better acquainted with.
“What a lovely day,” my aunt comments, breaking the awkward silence that
has fallen between us after Mrs Rothschild outburst. “It’s not often we see the
sun in the Vineyard at this time of year.”
“Lovely, indeed,” Peter adds looking fixedly at me.
So the games begin.
-x-X-x-
I’m certain Peter fancies himself a master of seduction, the king of
rakes, a veritable blackguard, when in fact, after much observation I’ve
concluded Aunt Leah is right. He’s just a lost boy trying to draw attention to
himself by being inappropriate and flirty.
After being exposed to true rogues in all the sense of the word during my
last season in London, I can’t help but notice how unpractised Peter’s
seduction stratagems are and how innocent he really acts.
I’m sure that he must have some experience from his time in New York but
from what I can tell he’s nowhere near as debauched as he wants me to think.
I may be wrong in my observations, but after hearing Aunt Leah’s opinion
I’m inclined to believe I’m correct.
After brunch, aunt Leah invites Peter—who is apparently a very
accomplished pianist—to delight us with his skill.
I sit in a corner of the conservatory and let myself be swept away by the
notes he manages to extract from the long forgotten pianoforte.
As much as I try to avoid it, I’m taken back to a music room in England
where Edward would play the piano for me. He always indulged me and played my
favourite songs since I never was particularly talented with the instrument.
I imagine myself splayed on the carpet, like when Edward and I were
children, listening to the twinkling notes only Edward was able to coax from
the Cullen’s pianoforte. Edward is so musically talented that if he hadn’t been
the heir to an Earldom I would have guessed he would pursue a carrier in music.
Peter’s skills far surpass mine, but it does not sound as Edward’s playing
so I’m brought back to the present as he’s finishing a tune.
Aunt Leah and Mrs Rothschild applaud animatedly at Peter and I
roll my eyes as I notice his smug expression at the general approval of his
playing. He looks in my direction, and I see his eyes fall a little when he
realises I’m not as impressed as the other ladies in the room. I’ve heard
Edward play before; Peter is just not up to pair with Edward’s talent.
I comprehend in that moment why Aunt Leah felt I could be friends with
Peter and maybe help him stir away from the bad company he has kept as of late.
I’m immune to his charms.
What would make a normal girl my age swoon in Peter’s presence has no
effect on me. I’m still too attached to my past with Edward. Peter is used to
getting his way, charming his mom, my aunt Leah, every female in the vicinity
into buying his lies and the mask behind which he hides. I’m not likely to fall
for said charms, so my aunt feels I can be the one to bring back the old Peter
she knew.
Peter appears rather sullen at the discovery of my immunity though, and I
smile evilly.
He takes a seat next to mine as my aunt replaces him in front of the
piano.
“Not a fan of music?” he asks, as if that’s the only explanation of why I
wasn’t impressed by his playing.
“No, actually I’m a great fan of music, especially piano. However, I’ve
heard better performances before,” I reply, infusing a cool disinterest in my tone.
I’m not going to be one more of your
admirers, Peter! I add in my mind.
“That’s a rather impolite thing to say. I would expect a woman of your
rank would be polite enough to lie,” he says, wearing a smirk that I’m sure
works on most girls this side of the Atlantic.
“I think you need some honesty in your life. You seem to have a grand
opinion of yourself and I wouldn’t want your ego to get too unmanageable.”
“My ego!” He scoffs. “I do not have a big ego. I simply know when a lady
is interested and when she’s not. You seemed rather interested during Mrs Vanderbilt's
ball.”
I glare in his direction, “I would say I was more appalled than
interested. It’s not every day I encounter a young man cavorting in the dark
shade with a married woman at least ten years older than him!”
He smiles at me and says in a low voice, “Cavorting? Interesting way to
describe what Mrs Denali and I were doing, although it fails to convey the
level of pleasure it brought me.”
I blush. I can’t avoid my cheeks from staining a pink colour when he’s
deliberately taunting me. I know though that this is one of the many tactics he
uses to deflect or intimidate ladies. He probably thinks I’m going to be
scandalized by his words and avoid him at all costs or so intrigued I may ask
for a demonstration. He’s mistaken on both accounts.
“I have no doubt that whatever your activities with Mrs Denali were they
must have been really pleasurable to you. However, I have to wonder what a
woman of Mrs Denali’s age is doing toying with a boy that mustn’t know anything
in comparison with her previous lovers.
I am no expert, but from what little I saw of the gentleman in London
you’re not interesting enough to risk one’s marriage.”
Peter laughs but I can hear a tone of anger, or maybe annoyance in the
timbre of his voice when he replies, “Young men have their advantages. Like you
just admitted you’re no expert, but trust me when I say that what I can give
Mrs Denali none of the refined men you’ve met can give her. She’s very well
aware of that fact.”
“You’re doing it again,” I say, unaffected by his tactics.
“Doing what exactly?” he questions.
“Trying to intimidate me, to scare me. I saw you do it at Mrs
Vanderbilt's ball whenever a respectable girl was introduced to you. I didn’t
think much of it, but now that I’ve had time to observe you I’ve realised that
you use it as a defence. You engage in clandestine relationships with married women,
knowing full well they can’t ever hinder you or tie you down since those women
are already attached.
“However, as soon as your mother introduces you to a respectable girl you
try to scare her. You should not be concerned on my account. I have no interest
in you in that regard, nor do I anticipate that will ever change. So you can
spare me the theatrics and act as yourself.”
I’ve stunned him. I can tell by the why he gapes at me and how his eyes
grow large. I suppose that the old Bella, the one who lived in a fantasy world
in England, the one who dreamt of a summer wedding to her best friend would
have never spoken like I just did. There’s something very liberating when you
have nothing left to lose. I realise I’m not scared of being improper in Peter’s
presence because I don’t quite care what he thinks of me.
He turns the other way and is intent in paying attention to my aunt’s
playing. I smile triumphantly because I know that this must be one of the first
times someone has bested him on his game.
-x-X-x-
“How lovely of you to visit! We should do this more often!” Aunt Leah
says excitedly as we are saying goodbye to our guests in the foyer.
“We would love to!” Mrs Rothschild replies with equal amounts of enthusiasm. I
grin and shake my head at their conduct. Peter has been pensive ever since our
exchange and I can tell they are being extraordinarily animated for his
benefit.
“Don’t you agree, Peter?” Mrs Rothschild questions her son trying to coax him back
from whatever world inside his mind he has retired to.
“Of course,” he replies automatically. I know he’s not being sincere and
so does his mother who loses her bright smile and turns sad. My heart breaks
for the woman who is trying so hard to reach out to her lost son. I hope there
was something more I could do but I don’t know how to help someone else when my
own heart is still broken.
Aunt Leah and Mrs Rothschild lead the way to the door as I walk behind
them with a very quiet Peter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as frightening as you, Isabella
Swan,” Peter suddenly says.
I look at him perplexed by his statement. I’m frightening?
He stops and turns to me. “You’ve seen through all my charades and this
is only our second official meeting. I feel very transparent and vulnerable in
your presence. I’ve come to learn in recent months that any type of vulnerability
is very bad for one’s own wellbeing.”
I nod, because I happen to agree with him in that regard.
“What scares me the most,” he continues, “is that even though every
instinct in me tells me to walk through your door and never come back, there’s
a part of me that is already anxious for our next visit. You’ve opened a door
and I am not ready to close it.”
I blink, stunned by his confession.
He bows and takes one of my hands in his which he politely kisses. There’s
no spark of electricity like when Edward touched me. There are no jittery butterflies
fluttering inside me, but I’m still affected, touched by his sincerity.
“Until we meet again,” he says before releasing my hand and walking
towards his mother.
-x-X-x-
Dear Edward,
It’s been eight months since the last
time we have spoken.
I often wonder what you’re doing. I
create innocent images of you playing your piano in the old music room. And
then I imagine you playing for Victoria like you used to play for me.
I know it’s not healthy for me to be
so attached to your memory. I know that I should let you go. However, there
will always be a part of me that will care for you, no matter if we are
together or apart, no matter the miles or oceans between us, no matter the time
that passes.
I’m not ready to relinquish you yet.
I’m not sure I ever will. I hope you’re faring better with this separation than
I am. Even if that means that I’ve lost your heart to Victoria.
I love you, I truly do, with all my
heart, and your happiness is all I care about.
Are you happy? I beg to the heavens
that you are, because if you’re feeling an ounce of the pain I’m feeling my
heart would shatter even further on your account.
Your dear friend,
Bella
-x-X-x-
So, what do we think of Peter now? Do
you think aunt Leah is right? Is he heartbroken like Bella is? Will they be
able to help each other? Do you want them to?
0 comments:
Post a Comment