Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 44: Chapter 44
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 44: Chapter 44. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Elena's face was blank, yet her heart was already cold ashes.
Who was wounding whose heart? They had a gift for twisting truth upside down. Ever since Annabelle came home, scenes like this had become routine; she had grown numbed to them.
Once everyone left, the bedroom lay in silence and disarray.
Elena pushed herself upright, but a shard of porcelain was still embedded in her knee.
The shard had driven in so deep it was only a breath away from scraping bone.
Elena Bennett clenched her teeth, wrenched the splinter free, then rolled up her pant-leg; her knee was already a mess of blood and raw flesh.
Moving stiffly, she fetched a broom and a mop, cleaning the shards from the floor in silence.
Late the next morning, Victor Whitmore arrived.
Annabelle Bennett looped her arm through his and settled with him on the sofa, her eyes drifting—whether by accident or design—to Elena.
Mr. and Adaline looked far from pleased. Adaline said in a low voice, "Mrs. Woods, brew Victor a cup of Blue Mountain."
"Yes, Madam. I'll do it right away," Mrs. Woods replied.
Annabelle called after her, "Wait, Mrs. Woods."
She turned to her mother and Victor in the same breath, smiling sweetly. "Mom, Elena used to make the best fruit tea. Whenever Victor dropped by, she'd brew a special pot just for him. Victor loved it. Elena, would you make us a pot now, please?"
Elena answered without expression and walked into the kitchen.
While she worked, she could hear their conversation drifting in.
Lawrence Bennett's frustration spilled out. "Victor, that postponed engagement banquet was your fault. How could you hold it before your grandfather had agreed?"
Victor pinched his brow and stayed silent. The blame was his; he had no defense.
Lawrence went on, "I watched you grow up. I'd only feel easy handing my daughter to you. Your grandfather never watched Annie grow; he doesn't know her and has his prejudices. We won't quibble with him, but you're her fiancé—you should mediate between them."
Victor dipped his head. "You're right, Uncle Bennett."
Julian Bennett cut in, "I won't waste words. Give us a straight answer—how soon can you win your grandfather over? The longer this drags on, the more damage to my sister's name. What will the whole of Riverton think of her?"
Victor's lips pressed into a hard line; he had no precise answer.
Just then Elena approached, carrying a porcelain teapot.
She set it down, poured cup after cup, and placed one before each person.
Victor's mind was in turmoil when a hand chapped with chilblains suddenly entered his field of vision.
His eyes twitched. A memory flashed: a lively girl once coaxing him to drink fruit tea she'd brewed herself.
That slender, fair hand no longer existed, and she no longer clung to him calling him Brother Victor.
Annabelle saw exactly where his gaze had landed and how completely he ignored Julian's question.
She clenched her fist; beneath her lashes, malice fixed on Elena's hand.
Elena offered Victor his cup.
Annabelle reached to take it—then flicked upward.
Elena hissed; her hand jerked, and the cup smashed against the floor.
Scalding tea cascaded over the back of her hand.
Who was wounding whose heart? They had a gift for twisting truth upside down. Ever since Annabelle came home, scenes like this had become routine; she had grown numbed to them.
Once everyone left, the bedroom lay in silence and disarray.
Elena pushed herself upright, but a shard of porcelain was still embedded in her knee.
The shard had driven in so deep it was only a breath away from scraping bone.
Elena Bennett clenched her teeth, wrenched the splinter free, then rolled up her pant-leg; her knee was already a mess of blood and raw flesh.
Moving stiffly, she fetched a broom and a mop, cleaning the shards from the floor in silence.
Late the next morning, Victor Whitmore arrived.
Annabelle Bennett looped her arm through his and settled with him on the sofa, her eyes drifting—whether by accident or design—to Elena.
Mr. and Adaline looked far from pleased. Adaline said in a low voice, "Mrs. Woods, brew Victor a cup of Blue Mountain."
"Yes, Madam. I'll do it right away," Mrs. Woods replied.
Annabelle called after her, "Wait, Mrs. Woods."
She turned to her mother and Victor in the same breath, smiling sweetly. "Mom, Elena used to make the best fruit tea. Whenever Victor dropped by, she'd brew a special pot just for him. Victor loved it. Elena, would you make us a pot now, please?"
Elena answered without expression and walked into the kitchen.
While she worked, she could hear their conversation drifting in.
Lawrence Bennett's frustration spilled out. "Victor, that postponed engagement banquet was your fault. How could you hold it before your grandfather had agreed?"
Victor pinched his brow and stayed silent. The blame was his; he had no defense.
Lawrence went on, "I watched you grow up. I'd only feel easy handing my daughter to you. Your grandfather never watched Annie grow; he doesn't know her and has his prejudices. We won't quibble with him, but you're her fiancé—you should mediate between them."
Victor dipped his head. "You're right, Uncle Bennett."
Julian Bennett cut in, "I won't waste words. Give us a straight answer—how soon can you win your grandfather over? The longer this drags on, the more damage to my sister's name. What will the whole of Riverton think of her?"
Victor's lips pressed into a hard line; he had no precise answer.
Just then Elena approached, carrying a porcelain teapot.
She set it down, poured cup after cup, and placed one before each person.
Victor's mind was in turmoil when a hand chapped with chilblains suddenly entered his field of vision.
His eyes twitched. A memory flashed: a lively girl once coaxing him to drink fruit tea she'd brewed herself.
That slender, fair hand no longer existed, and she no longer clung to him calling him Brother Victor.
Annabelle saw exactly where his gaze had landed and how completely he ignored Julian's question.
She clenched her fist; beneath her lashes, malice fixed on Elena's hand.
Elena offered Victor his cup.
Annabelle reached to take it—then flicked upward.
Elena hissed; her hand jerked, and the cup smashed against the floor.
Scalding tea cascaded over the back of her hand.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 44. Continue reading Chapter 45 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.