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| Peter Rothschild |
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.
I want to give a big squishy hug to enchanted-mind who was kind enough to make me an awesome banner for my little story. It's gorgeous! She's so very talented! You can view it by clicking here.
A Love So Beautiful
Days soon turn into weeks, weeks into months and before I know it, it is almost New Year's Eve.
My aunt is constantly insisting in including me in her social activities at the various clubs she is part of. With my parents' by my side I've attended a few functions in the last months but I can't muster the necessary enthusiasm to appease my parents' concern.
My aunt seems to be the person who understands my plight the most. She provides me with the space and time I need, never questioning my silences or the many hours I spend alone at the beachfront.
My parents are not as understanding. My mother has tried to talk to me about the subject of Edward several times over the last months.
Around a month after our departure from England I started receiving correspondence with the Cullen crest. When the first letter arrived, my parents tried to keep it from me. However, after my aunt's intervention and advice they relented and surrendered the letter in my hands. It was from Alice.
My mother did not miss my disappointed eyes when I realised the letter wasn't from Edward nor did she miss my tears when in subsequent letters Alice skidded around mentioning Edward entirely, not providing me with a single news from him. She was not privy to the true reason behind my tears but was shrewd enough to recognise it was related to the content of the letters.
One afternoon in particular mother invited me to join her in the library under the guise of wanting to share a cup of tea with me. I acquiesced in the hope that I could assuage her fears in regards of my mental and emotional state by participating in what she considered a normal activity.
After a few minutes of idle chat— in which I mostly replied with noncommittal grunts and nods— she attacked me with questions over the exact content of Alice's letters.
"Mother, you can't possibly ask me to surrender information that was given to me in confidence. What Alice writes in her letters is for my eyes only," I had said in supressed anger.
"Bella, you know precisely why I'm concerned about the content of those letters. I fear that Lady Alice may be encouraging you to hold on to hope when all your father and I want is for you to recover from that dreadful experience."
"Mother, it's none of your concern, but Alice has been regaling me with tales of her travels through Europe, news of the most recent London season, even some of her marriage woes. Not a single word about her brother has been written in any of those letters. You'll be happy to know Alice agrees with you and father and refuses to even acknowledge she has a brother!" I'd finally yelled at my mother.
Ever since that day my parents' have returned to their quiet observations of my behaviour.
-x-X-x-
One of my favoured activities as of late—besides avoiding the watchful eyes of my parents—was riding horses on the beach and writing letters. At first I had started writing replies to Alice's correspondence. In time though, the letters and the beach became the outlet of my pain.
It's December the 27th and as I sit on my desk, writing a letter that I will never send, I realise my words have become my only confidantes in the absence on my one best friend.
Sometimes I feel foolish for pinning over Edward so steadfastly when it is easy to conclude that he may be actually enjoying his new circumstances. But there is a part of me that refuses to let go of him, a part of me I've come to hate.
I allow a lonely tear to stain my face before I focus on today's letter.
-x-X-x-
Do you often think of me? I must confess that in spite of my best efforts I can't quite make myself forget you. My parents think that I'm young and shall recover eventually from the disappointment.
Some days like today, I feel I will, eventually. However, if past experiences can be relied upon, I may feel differently as soon as this evening.
Do you remember that time when we were eleven? You were upset because Alice was fawning over a boy she had met in London. You confessed to me that he had stolen a kiss from Alice and she could not stop talking about it. Remember that you dared me to steal a kiss from you? Remember I did? It was an innocent, chaste kiss. I think that was the beginning for me. I will always wonder when was the beginning for you. I never had the opportunity to ask.
Our time was cut too short.
Your dearest friend,
Bella
-x-X-x-
It's a night for lovers and romantic tales to be spun. However, as much as I appreciate the beauty of the night I can't help but let my mind wander into the possibilities that have tormented me thus far.
Is Edward in a similar ballroom across the Atlantic dancing elegantly with Victoria wrapped in his arms? Are they smiling at each other, laughing at something the other said? Or worse, maybe they are hiding in an alcove, hidden from everyone, enjoying the benefits of their newly engaged status?
I feel tears stinging my eyes and decide that maybe it's time for me to take a stroll in the fresh night air. I slip out undetected while my parents continue their discussion with some friend I did not even bother to acknowledge enough to remember his name.
The air is chilly and I shudder at the breeze that washes from the shore. I look out at the night, admiring the beauty of the moon high up on the sky. Her loneliness and stillness reflects my current situation too perfectly.
I wonder if like me she misses the sun, her companion in her dance across the horizon. I speculate that perhaps like me, the moon sighs every night, imagining what the sun is doing at the other side of the world. Does he remember you, moon? Or is he too busy shining his light upon another luminary across the sky?
I decide to walk inside when I hear a giggles coming from the bottom of the stairs that lead to the beach. I know from past balls I have attended in London that some couples hide under the cloak of shadows to engage in clandestine trysts.
I make haste, trying to avoid an awkward encounter when I hear masculine laughter followed by a feminine one not ten paces behind me. Foolishly, I turn and meet the eyes of a gentleman I haven't encountered before. He has deep blue eyes, is not wearing a mask, and looks to be around twenty years or so. His eyes widen at the sight of me standing by the door and I blush when I notice the blonde lady wrapped in his arms.
Finally, I find my composure again and hurry inside, away from the unknown lovers.
"Where were you, Bella?" My mother scolds in a soft murmur when I re-join them.
"Having some fresh air," I reply in a meek voice, still startled by what I almost witnessed outside.
"It's December, Bella. I don't want you to catch a cold standing outside in this freezing night. Please, if you feel breathless let me know and I'll accompany you to one of Mrs Vanderbilt's private rooms."
I only nod and turn to look towards the door. Standing by it, is the gentleman I caught in a compromising situation. He's studying me with his cold, blue eyes and I feel flustered under his scrutiny. I turn and focus my gaze on my mother avoiding the man and trying to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched.
-x-X-x-
Happy New Year! I hope this New Year finds you in good health. Did you have a lovely New Year's Eve? Can you believe we are a mere decade away from the turn of the century? If I were with you I'm sure we would be discussing the ball at your parents' house. Lady Esme is a remarkable host so I have no doubt the ball was a veritable success.
Are you happy? Have you resigned yourself to your fate? Sometimes I feel as if I should close the door on my past with you. My aunt Leah says she has noticed a few boys interested in me at the balls we have attended to. I know I scare them away though. At each dance I make my utmost effort to appear sullen and uninterested. It's wrong of me to act in such impolite manner, but I know that I'm not prepared to give up on you yet.
I wonder when I'll be ready. It's been months since I last saw you.
I miss you.
Your dearest friend,
Bella
-x-X-x-
I hide my latest letter in the same box in which I've hidden all the past letters I've written for Edward. I may never send these letters to him, but I find a great comfort in writing them, so I do.
A soft knock on my door makes me grateful I finished writing before I was disturbed. My aunt peeks through the door and smiles at me.
"Hello, sweetheart," she greets when I invite her in.
She takes a seat near my desk and I turn in my chair to face her.
"Good morning, aunt," I reply with a soft smile of my own. As of late I've been reserving all of the smiles I have left for my family.
"How are you this morning? Rested from last night's ball? I saw you go outside for a few moments and I worried that you might not be feeling well."
I hurry to reassure my aunt, almost a reflex after months of doing the very same with my parents but she shakes her head before I utter a single word.
"No need to lie on my behalf, Bella. Like I said when you first arrived to the Vineyard I'm here to listen. You're the only one that needs to feel better. No need to reassure me with your improvements."
I sigh in relief. The kindness and understanding my aunt has given me has been one of the few things that have made the last few months bearable.
"Thank you, aunt."
"No need to thank me, dear child. I was thinking this was a lovely day for a little shopping. There are many balls in the upcoming weeks that your mother wants you to attend and you will be in need of a new wardrobe."
I look at my aunt and find comfort in her soft brown eyes like mine. The Swan eyes.
"I would love to, aunt."
My aunt smiles brilliantly and stands, "I'll meet you in the foyer then. Bring a coat. It's sunny but awfully cold. We don't want you to catch a chill."
"Of course, aunt."
-x-X-x-
I sigh at the unwelcome reminder of the life I'm trying to put behind me—albeit reluctantly.
"What is it?" my aunt asks bringing me back to the streets of the Vineyard.
"Nothing, aunt. I was just thinking about that shop you mentioned, the one on North Water street?"
"Oh, the one with the bonnets! I just mentioned to your mother that store the other day and she was looking forward to a visit. We should get her a few new bonnets, don't you agree?"
"Wholeheartedly," I reply with a grin on my face.
My aunt indicates our new destination to our driver and I can't help but feel a little excited at the prospect of losing myself in the new fashions and forgetting about the rest of the world.
My aunt descends from our coach first, and I follow her with renewed enthusiasm at the sight of the beautiful bonnets and coats on display in the shop's window.
I'm not paying attention while I walk towards the store when I stumble against someone.
"I'm so sorry. Please excuse me! I was not paying attention!" I apologize profusely as a pair of strong arms wraps itself around my waist, helping me catch my balance.
"You're most certainly excused," a soft masculine voice replies and I shiver involuntarily.
I look up and I'm met with the bluest eyes I have seen. Blue as the ocean in a bright, sunny day. I gasp in surprise when I realise I have seen those eyes before, last night at Mrs Vanderbilt's New Year's ball.
I push him away, lightly, and he releases me. I straighten and meet his curious gaze. Much like the night before, he seems to be studying me.
"I'm being remiss. Allow me to introduce myself. Peter Rothschild, at your service."
I gaze owlishly at this gentleman who dares to introduce himself to me as if we were old acquaintances.
"Oh my dear! You've met Peter!" My aunt exclaims from behind the gentleman, and I feel as if I was just lured into some sort of trap.
"Peter, dear. Meet my niece, Miss Isabella Swan," my aunt introduces me before I have time to recover.
"A pleasure, Miss Isabella," he replies gallantly bowing to me.
I find my manners and curtsey, "Mr Rothschild."
I see my aunt positively beaming at us and I know that there was nothing casual about our outing today. I was tricked into meeting this man.
(1) McCreery & Co Dry Goods Store - 801 Broadway: It was one of the biggest department stores back in 19th Century New York.For more history on this store click here.
Sorry for not posting since Friday. But I was at my sister's house with limited internet access and only had my phone—which is not exactly update friendly…lol
Also, in case anyone is wondering this is not a Peter/Bella story or even an Edward/Bella one. This is Bella's story and who she ends up with is a matter of fate and good timing :D
Let me just state I know absolutely nothing of Martha's Vineyard or England. I live in South America…lol I could make Bella move to 19th century Sao Paulo or Buenos Aires but that would not make sense so…this is between me and Google search.
I know actor Erik Odom is playing Peter and that canon Peter is supposed to be a blond BUT I'm invoking my artistic license rights and making Matt Bomer MY Peter. So yeah, whenever you need visual aid to imagine ALSB's Peter just google Matt Bomer pics. He's Edward's competition after all. In my mind you need to be seriously hot to even be in Rob's category…lol
Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading :)
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