TAL
Chapter One.
"Madame de Changy?"
I snapped my head up to stare at the maid beside me. Across the table, my husband set his wine glass down with a clink.
"Y... yes?" I said, shaking myself from my trance.
"Post for you, Madame."
I frowned as she handed me the envelope, unable to form words as the silky texture fell into my hands.
"Thank you," I managed to whisper. The maid curtsied - something I still wasn't, and indeed might never be, used to - and left me in the company of my husband and two children at the dinner table.
"Christine," Raoul said as the boys bickered over the last slice of chicken. I looked up from the letter at him. "Dear, you've been staring at your plate for seven whole minutes now. What in the world has taken you so far away from us?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but it closed again just as quickly. Sweet Raoul. Good, kind, generous Raoul; how could I tell him I'd been remembering the sweet, sweet sound of my Angel's voice, the way his fingers drew spellbinding melodies from the pipe-organ in his room, or the horror beneath his mask?
"Nothing much," I smiled, leaving the last of my trance. I set the letter aside and tidied up my cutlery. "I was simply... thinking about Christopher's birthday."
"It's my birthday too!" Philippe whined, shaking my arm. "Maman, tell him! Tell Christopher it's my birthday just as much as his!"
"Boys," Raoul said, putting the firmness I'd been teaching him to use into practise.
"It is both of your birthdays," I smiled, combing Philippe's silky golden hair back with my fingers. He grinned a toothy smile. "Five years old," I chuckled. "My, my, you two are growing up fast!"
Raoul lifted his wine glass to his lips again, his eyes smiling at our two handsome boys, who looked just like the little Vicomte I remembered from my early years.
A rush of exhaustion washed over me.
"Oh, forgive me!" I moaned, my head falling into my hand. Raoul stood, his chair scraping the hardwood floor.
"Christine-!"
"I'm alright," I insisted, waving him back to his chair. "I simply feel overwhelmed. I think I should retire for the night. Will someone fetch Caitlin to braze my bed?" Caitlin was my Irish-born maid, staying with us to earn for her starving family across the waves. "Ask her to light the fireplace in the master bedroom. Christopher, you're young and strong: run and fetch her, child!"
The eldest twin hopped down from his chair and disappeared into the servants' hall at top speed.
"Christine-" Raoul said again, ignoring my instructions to sit back down and coming to my side. I snatched up the letter as he took my hand, his free one on the small of my back. He walked me to the stairs in the hall, helping me up one at a time to the master bedroom on the landing.
"Dearest, what's the matter?"
I sat on the bed, propping myself against the headboard, and stared up at the canopy above me. An overwhelming sense of guilt flooded my senses. I'd started having these headaches and rushes of guilt when the boys had their third birthday and seen a man in a cloak and hat that looked remarkably like my Angel. Guilt that I'd left a dying man with severe heartbreak, ready to perish at any moment, and not looked back. Guilt that I'd hated his entire being, his very soul, when he wouldn't relent his decision to marry me. Guilt had built up over the past five years within me, and I'd only realised why two years ago. It hadn't been this bad at first, but now...
"Get some rest," Raoul said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I sat there, not moving, as he headed for the door. It creaked open a little way, then: "I worry about you, Little Lotte."
The door closed.
I grabbed the letter from the dresser and tore it open, scrabbling with the paper until it unfolded in my hands. I wasn't sure why I was being so secretive with the contents. Perhaps the envelope jogged a hidden memory, or perhaps I was simply paranoid.
But what I read sent shivers to the depths of my very soul.