A/N: Of course, the characters of Erik and Christine are not of my creation; endless thanks to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber for them. The others, though, belong to me-- for better or worse.

Nothing But Love

Chapter Two

Erik raised his head at the hesitant knock on the open door of his study. "Yes, Stephen, what is it?"

"May I—may I come in, Erik?" He had never called the older man by anything but his given name. Although Erik loved him as his own, he knew the lad did not reciprocate his feelings.

"Certainly. I was just looking at the breeding book." In addition to his other business ventures, Erik bred and raised riding horses, selling them only after carefully investigating the prospective owners. "I've been thinking that it's time you took on a little more responsibility with the horses—if you want," he added quickly.

The hint of a smile that flashed across Stephen's face was all the answer he needed. "All right, we'll come back after dinner and I'll tell you what I am planning."

At the mention of 'dinner', Stephen's face fell almost comically. "Ummm . . . I want . . . need to apologize for my behavior this morning," he finished in a rush. "It was . . . unforgivable, what I said to you." Ashamed, he stared at the floor, unable to look Erik in the eye.

The older man blew out a breath. "Well." Unsure of what to say, he reached out slowly and put a hand on Stephen's shoulder. He felt the boy stiffen slightly and he gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. "The next time, will you do something for me?" The unexpected request brought Stephen's head up and he stared curiously. "Before you let your temper, or whatever it might be get the better of you, remember how lucky you are to have your mother."

Erik said no more, only looked at Stephen expectantly and the youth nodded slowly. "Good! Now, let's go find out what is causing that wonderful smell coming from the kitchen."

Side by side they walked to the dining room, finding Christine and the other children already seated at the table. Stephen couldn't keep the smile off his face as he heard his brother chattering away as usual.

Christine sat at one end of the eight-foot rectangular table, with Annaliese and Marie-Lorraine seated to her right and Nicolas to her left. Stephen slid into the empty seat next to his brother and Erik took the chair at the head of the table.

Glancing at the four children seated before him, Erik fought to keep a proud smile off his face. Not all were of his blood, but each one owned a portion of his heart. Stephen was indeed the image of Raoul, and Erik knew deep down he was a good lad. Annaliese was a sweet combination of Christine and Raoul, but Erik knew that she loved him without reservation. She had inherited her grandfather's skills with the violin, but had shown no real interest in music. Marie-Lorraine had more than a touch of Erik's temper, but with the firm guidance of her parents, she kept it well under control. She had been blessed with her father's talent on the piano. And Nicolas—he was Erik's image, tall for his age with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. He had been gifted with Christine's and Erik's talents for singing, often able to sing a complicated melody after hearing it only once or twice.

He was also the worst chatterbox on the face of the earth, according to his sisters. And at this moment, Christine was in complete agreement. "Nicolas!" she said sternly. "Hush!"

"But, Maman . . ."

"Nicolas." Erik spoke quietly, but his voice cut through all the noise, and the seven-year old boy fell silent immediately. "I believe it is your turn to say grace," continued Erik, adding, "And do not elaborate."

Christine coughed to hide a laugh, and suddenly the girls were extraordinarily interested in their empty plates. Stephen hid a smile behind his hand while he rubbed his nose as though it itched. The last time Nicolas had said grace, it had become a narrative of nearly five minutes.

"Yes, Papa," said Nicolas meekly, knowing better than to argue or disobey in any manner. Bowing his head, he spoke the familiar words in a subdued voice. "Bless us, oh Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive through Thy bounty, and Christ our Lord. Amen."

A chorus of "Amen" echoed around the table and Christine picked up the bowl of boiled potatoes that sat in front of her plate. After taking one, she passed the bowl to Marie-Lorraine. Standing, Erik picked up the carving knife that lay beside his plate and began to carve the enormous roasted turkey on the platter.

For the next several minutes, the only conversation around the table consisted of "Please pass" and "Thank you." Erik glanced toward his son and saw him fairly bouncing in his seat in excitement. Hoping fervently that he would not regret it, he asked, "Do you have something to tell us, Nicolas?"

Before the boy could respond, his mother said to him, "Remember, we are eating dinner."

"Yes, Maman. Guess what Stephen and I saw in the pond today, Papa? Pollywogs!" he exclaimed without taking a breath. "And Stephen said in a few weeks they would turn into frogs!"

Knowing all too well not to let the boy expound on the subject of pollywogs and frogs, Erik said, "We'll have to go and find them in a few weeks, then, won't we?" Immediately he turned his attention to his daughter, asking, "Marie-Lorraine, have you finished memorizing the rest of the sonatina you've been learning?"

She swallowed a bite of turkey then said quietly, "No, Papa, not yet. I am having difficulty with the last section. I cannot get the fingering right—my fingers end up all tangled."

"We will work on it together tomorrow morning." He and Christine had agreed that he would teach the children music only if they showed an interest, and only as long as they were interested. Christine had remarked on his patience yesterday, and he had merely shrugged in reply, before reminding her with a grin that she had been his prize student at one time.

"Annaliese, how are your studies in Italian coming along?" She had come to them with a request to learn Italian and German, in addition to the English all the children were studying. After only a few weeks, she had mastered a considerable list of vocabulary terms and several verbs in the present tense.

"Molto bene, Papa," she replied with a smile, and Erik nodded at her and winked. "Signor Albinoni has complimented my accent several times, and says I am the best pupil he has."

Across the table, Stephen tensed. It always angered him when he heard her call Erik 'Papa'. He is not your father! he thought hotly.

A voice in his head chided him, He is the only father she has ever known, to which he had no reply, save to glower at his plate.

"Don't you agree, Stephen?" The question caught him by surprise and he shook his head.

"I am sorry. My attention was elsewhere. Do I agree with what?"

"That the owner of Autumn's Rose will be a most fortunate person." Erik hid a smile as he looked at his stepson; he had already discussed the matter with Christine and she had had no objection. He would give the pretty bay mare to Stephen for his birthday in a few weeks.

"Yes, indeed," replied Stephen immediately, a touch of sadness in his eyes and in his voice. He had helped raise the filly from the time she was born; he had fallen in love with her as soon as she had gained her feet in the moments after her birth. "So you have decided to whom she is to be sold?" With effort he kept his voice even, but his heart was in millions of pieces. He knew Erik had received several generous offers, but still he wished . . .

Making only a hmmm of agreement, Erik changed the subject of the dinner conversation yet again, asking Christine how Meg and her new husband were getting along. She in turn relayed the contents of a letter she had received from Meg a day or two ago, and also told the family that Marie would be traveling to Venice to visit them in a few weeks' time.

The remainder of the meal passed in relative calm, and as soon as he had eaten a few bites of the chocolate mousse dessert, Stephen wiped his mouth and placed his napkin next to his plate. "May I be excused?" he asked his mother, who simply nodded in reply. He picked up his plate and went into the kitchen without another word.

Annaliese watched him leave the room with a slight frown between her eyes. "Maman, is something wrong? Stephen has been acting strangely the last few days."

Sighing, Christine looked at her eldest daughter and blessed her sweet, sensitive nature. "It is nothing to worry about, ma chére. You know how he loves Autumn's Rose; it's the thought of her leaving and never seeing her again, I think." She glanced around the table and saw that the other children had finished eating and gave them permission to leave the table.

The girls rose immediately and took their dessert plates into the kitchen, chattering about the horses and the assignments they needed to finish for their tutor. Nicolas remained at the table, looking first at Christine and then at Erik. "Do you have something to say to us, Nicolas?" asked Erik, knowing full well that literally anything might come from his younger son's mouth at any moment.

"I know what you're going to do!" the boy announced gleefully. "You're going to give Autumn to Stephen!"

"And what makes you think that, mon fils?" replied Erik, carefully keeping any inflection or emotion from his voice.

His son smirked at him. "I just do," he said, grinning wickedly, and to Christine's practiced eye, looking exactly like his father.

Before Erik could respond, she said in a no-nonsense tone, "You will keep your ideas to yourself, will you not, Nicolas?" Staring meaningfully at him, she waited until he nodded, and then she continued, "Good. Now take your plate to the kitchen and you may check on the puppies."

She waited until they had heard him pass noisily through the kitchen and slam the door before she said, "You had better go ahead and give Stephen that horse soon, before Nicky blurts it out."

Sighing, Erik pushed back from the table and laced his hands together across his washboard-flat belly. "Yes, I know," he murmured, shaking his head in dismay. "I suppose we should have known it would happen," he went on, making her look sharply at him.

"We should have known what?"

"That, after having three relatively malleable children, we would end up with one like Nicolas." She balled up her napkin and tossed it at him, which he dodged easily with a chuckle. Rising from his chair he walked purposefully toward her, and she sat calmly until he had nearly reached her.

Suddenly she bolted from her chair and almost made it past his reach, but his long arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Laughing, she reminded him, "We just finished dinner," and he merely growled and nipped her neck where it met her shoulder.

"Excuse me." Stephen's voice from the doorway made the both of them look up, wide, affectionate smiles on their faces. Erik straightened but left his arms around Christine's waist. She covered his hands with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"You said we would look at the breeding book after dinner."

"So I did." Reluctantly releasing his wife, Erik looked down at her and she nodded. "Stephen, your mother and I would like to give you your birthday present now. We've decided that Autumn should belong to you."

After a moment of stunned silence, a huge smile covered the boy's face, chasing away the melancholy look that had been his constant companion for weeks. "Autumn . . . Autumn will be mine? Oh, Maman! Oh, Erik! Thank you, thank you!" Pulling Christine into his arms, he held her tight, blinking back tears. He looked up at Erik and whispered, "Thank you."

Simply nodding in reply, Erik thought, You are most welcome, son.