Prologue

—August 27th, 1890, a ship crossing the Atlantic on its way to New York from France. 12:30 PM

Philip de Chagny peered over his book to see how his younger siblings fared. Armand was sleeping in his cot. He turned his gaze to see how his sister was and started.

"Armand wake up," he said after marking his place and whacking his brother.

"What time's it?" Armand asked groggily.

"Charlotte's missing."

Armand woke instantly and grabbed his coat as did Philip before they ran out of their cabin and onto the deck.

"Monsieurs de Chagny," a skipper addressed, tipping his hat. Philip turned to him.

"Have you seen our sister?"

"Yes, Monsieur," he said. "Mademoiselle de Chagny is at the bow," he said pointing behind him with his thumb. The brothers jogged further and saw Charlotte, in her green petticoat and dress, a tiny gloved hand, keeping hold of her wide brimmed hat while the other held onto the rail. Her bright blue eyes were wide with delight and the wind blew her yellow hair, making it fan out behind her like a cape and tangling.

Philip breathed a sigh of relief while Armand fumed.

"Argh! 'Lotte!" Armand shouted. Charlotte turned to him and blinked, her smile gone. "We told you not to wander off! Ungrateful girl!"

"I didn't wander off. I talked to one of the cabin boys and he told me that we're getting closer to New York, so I wanted to watch our progress."

Armand growled while Philip rubbed his eyes, fighting off fatigue. "You still should have told at least one of us."

"If I did that then neither of you would have agreed without one of you coming with me. I wanted to be alone. I was planning on going back to get you when I was hungry."

Philip sighed and checked his pocket watch. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. "Well, since 'Lotte brought it up, let's go eat."

"I said I would get you when I was," Charlotte mumbled, following her brothers to the dining cabin.

Philip, the oldest child and heir to Count Raoul de Chagny, was refined and cool tempered. Some believed him to be stoic and uncivil at times as he preferred to keep himself to his books, but he was twice the gentleman as some once you have come to witness it yourself. He had his father's amber brown hair and square jaw line. He was tall and sinewy and quite handsome.

Armand was truly the uncivil one; quick of temper and quick to judge. He would seem polite and genteel to the elite, but once when a lady found herself alone with him, she screamed for help when he attacked her. Father was rather displeased at this and Armand was found locked in his room for the next five balls after that. He was also tall and sinewy, but his hair, though strait like his father's, was golden. His features weren't as strait as Philip's, holding a softer, rounder tone that held some sort of masculine beauty.

As for their little sister, Charlotte, named specifically for the purpose of Father calling her Little Lotte as he used to call Mother, she was nothing like Armand and almost exactly like Philip, making her Father's favorite amongst the three of them. Whether he still called his wife such, none of his children knew. Charlotte was an exact replica of her mother as a child: lithe frame, loving to dance and sing, bright blue eyes, delicate mouth, and tangled curly hair that, in contrast to her mother's nutmeg color, was as golden as the sun. Charlotte was cool tempered like Philip and preferred the eldest brother to her elder brother.

The three of them were on their way to New York for their education. Philip and Armand have been attending Christian Brothers' Academy since they were each ten. Now their sister would be joining them at an all girls school: Academy of the Sacred Heart in Amherst.

They entered the dining cabin and were led to a table. Taking seats, they looked through the menus before making their preferences known. Once the waiter left with their orders, Philip and Armand asked Charlotte for the thousandth time whether she was ready for this. After reassuring them that she was…again, she played with her napkin and folded her hands in her lap, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Philip smiled at his sister's display of modesty and ladylike civility. His smile vanished when a lad from his and Armand's school caught his eye. The boy beckoned the brothers to him.

"Isn't that Richard of Bretagne?" Armand asked.

"It is."

"What does he want?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Philip said. "Stay with Charlotte, I'll be right back."

Philip went to Richard's table. "Glad that you decided to join me, Philip," Richard said, shaking Philip's hand. "I was wondering who that angel is at your table. A relation, perhaps?"

"She is my sister."

"Then maybe I am inquiring the right person."

"Inquiring?"

"That is, providing that she isn't promised to someone in your Father's circle."

"I am honored that you deem my sister worthy of your attention, Sir," Philip told him. "However, neither my brother nor I intend on allowing any man offer himself to our sister unless he has taken the subject up with our Father. She is his favorite out of the three of us, after all."

"Then maybe you could suggest me to him as a potential suitor for your sister," Richard stated, swirling his glass of wine, his gaze occasionally shifting over to Charlotte.

"I beg your forgiveness, Richard," Philip said. "But out of my younger siblings, she is in my favor as well and I certainly won't approve of the match even if my father does. Therefore, if you wish to suggest yourself to Father, be my guest. But I will not suggest the likes of you to even a shopkeeper."

Philip stood and headed back to his respective table. Glancing over at Richard, he couldn't help chuckling. Richard was scowling and red. Glaring at the de Chagnys, he finished his wine, stood and stormed out of the dining cabin.

"What did he want?" Armand asked with raised eyebrows.

"Our sister's hand," Philip stated as the food came.

"You told him no, didn't you?"

"He wouldn't have stormed out in a fury if I didn't tell him no," he said, unable to keep himself from smiling.

Armand laughed and they began to eat, Charlotte occasionally wondering why her brothers looked so amused.

When they finished eating, the brothers and Charlotte headed for their cabin. "Who was that boy you were talking too?" she finally asked Philip.

"Just a classmate," he said, shrugging it off. There was no need to tell her that Richard was asking him for permission to court her.

The rest of the day passed in an eventless manner. Philip read, Armand slept, and Charlotte sewed embroidery. They ventured out of the cabin again at seven o'clock for dinner and afterwards explored the ship. Heading to the bow, Charlotte and her brothers watched their progress until they noticed something shining on the water.

"So we're almost back," Philip said. Armand nodded while Charlotte stared on as if she were at a fair.

The next day consisted of packing up their things and handing them to their servants. They left the ship and ventured onto the American soil before separating themselves into the carriages for their respective schools. Charlotte bid goodbye to her brothers and left for Amherst.

August 28th, 1890, Outside the Academy of the Sacred Heart, Amherst, New York, 4:45 PM

Ms. Newfield bade the servants to open the gates and she stood waiting for the carriages to pull up. Looking to her right, she sighed, letting her shoulders drop.

She wasn't, however, angry or disgruntled, but she was concerned. She knew Aaron Destler since he was quite young. A promising musician, most of his music self composed, Aaron was considered a genius among most of the boys his age. He was a dark haired, tall, and acceptingly handsome with his calculating hawkish eyes, strait, pointed nose, and thin lips. He also had the manners of a perfect gentleman, which at times made Ms. Newfield wish that he was just a few years older than fifteen. Then she wouldn't consider him as a nephew she held in highest regard.

He was sleeping in the cold again, his back to the fence and his hat covering his eyes as he snored. His violin was tucked behind his back and Ms. Newfield winced, wondering how he could sleep like that. His hands were folded on his chest and all he had to keep himself warm was his thin, worn tunic, a goatskin vest, brown trousers, wool socks and his brown warn out leather moccasins.

She knelt beside him and shook him awake.

"Aaron," she hissed. Aaron woke with a start and she laughed. "Poor boy, how many times have I told you to go home every once in a while?" she asked, helping him up.

"At least once a day, but your record was ten last Christmas," he stated, smirking. "But you know how Dad is. And Gran can be a bit worse than he is at times."

"I dare say I do. But he never turns you out of the house?"

"No, he doesn't. But you have to consider that his neglect as a child has rendered him unsociable. He doesn't want to publish his work as to earn money; he claims that it is inappropriate for human ears. I say that that's because it was written with his soul. And that's what makes a hit! He doesn't listen though."

"Haven't you published yet?"

"No, I'm still working on my own life composition. It's not as dramatic as an opera, but it would be great to hear at an orchestra."

"I'm certain it would be," Ms. Newfield said with a smile. "Are you sure you don't want me to buy you something a little more comfortable than those rags you wear?"

"Dad asks me the same thing considering that we're well off," Aaron stated, shrugging. "I don't care about my appearance as much as I should, I guess. But I can rough it out. If I really need new clothes, I'll talk to Dad about it. He says that since I have less of a chance of being shunned like he was that I should live life to its fullest. But considering what happened to him at my age, I don't want to feel like I had a superior upbringing than what he had."

"You're a kind boy, Aaron," Ms. Newfield said. And so he was. Aaron's father was deformed at birth and was shunned as a demon's child when he was actually a very kind soul. Manipulative at times, but understandably so, Mr. Destler was often misunderstood and it took Aaron's mother to convince his father that he wasn't the monster he always thought himself to be. When Mrs. Destler caught consumption, it was Aaron who helped his father move on. Ms. Newfield admired the bond between father and son that Aaron and his father shared.

The first carriages rolled up and as the girls descended, they giggled and blushed whenever Aaron bowed at them or tipped his hat. Some of the less bashful ones glanced at him flirtatiously, but he paid them no more attention than he did the other girls. One of the girls who stepped off curtsied in response.

This was rare and the girls usually didn't bother, so it was a little bit of a shock to both Ms. Newfield and Aaron.

This girl was a new student. Her hair was sunshine gold and her eyes were bright blue. She was an adorable little doll of a girl and Ms. Newfield began to wonder who she was. Not out of jealousy, but out of curiosity.

Leading the girls into the school, she looked at her list before assigning rooms.

"Charlotte de Chagny," she called out. The girl that returned Aaron's gesture stood. "Opal dormitory," she stated. Charlotte curtsied and headed to the girls in the opal dormitory.

Ms. Newfield smiled. The girl seemed rather well bred and of good nature. If ever Aaron was to marry, she would wish him to find a girl like Mademoiselle de Chagny.

I had this written for a while, but never posted it. Mostly because it feels like it goes too fast even though I put up dates to give chronological timing...hope you like it though.