Hey, so good news! There will be an epilogue! *coughsoonasIwriteitcough* Here is chapter four anyway, enjoy! Happiness! EDIT: Thank you judybear236 for the PM pointing out all my blatant mistakes! Ugh. Ashamed of myself. What I get for writing at 11 at night and not spell checking.
The next morning at quarter to ten, Marguerite stood inside near the entrance waiting for Raoul. He had been instructed to use the private drive at the rear of Phantasma leading to Erik's home behind the park but within the park gates. Here she stood in the foyer, Madame Giry fussing with her veil. In her hands she clutched a bouquet of white tulips and yellow roses. When Erik and Christine came down, he paused for a moment, for he realized he had never seen a woman dressed as a bride before. He had seen carriages in Paris that must have bore bridal parties but not once had his curiosity been piqued to look within. Not even Christine had worn a wedding gown when they were married; she said it wasn't fitting, wearing white twice, so he had not pushed. Yet here today in his foyer, standing in the morning's glorious light pouring from the windows stood Marguerite Giry dressed as an honest-to-goodness bride. Breathtakingly radiant, the morning's glow suited her. Her frame held erect, her wedding gown smooth as paint over her arms, tailored to her slim figure and the very latest fashion. Her veil of gauzy chiffon woven and pinned to her ebony hair draped elegantly over her back and rested over the narrow bustle. He was reminded of the Willis in Giselle, but of course this time there would be no jilting of the bride. Erik was quite certain he had not seen anything so lovely as Marguerite that morning, and he keenly wished Christine had worn white to their wedding. He thought of his symphony then. Her skirts rustling as she turned for her mother sang like music, and he thought he heard a cello, low and clear the beginnings of inspiration. Hearing Christine's sigh of delight at her friend brought him back to the present. Smiling as she turned, hearing them on the stairs, Marguerite looked down at her white slippers poking out from under her hem then back up at them.
"How do I look?"
"You look beautiful!" Christine said, delighted, "Truly, white never suited anybody so well!" she looked from her husband to her friend. "Doesn't she look breathtaking, Erik?"
"She does indeed." Erik said. "I shall be pleased to walk such a fine lady down the aisle." And Marguerite smiled at this.
"Why is he meeting you here?" Madame Giry asked, "It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding!"
"Oh mama I don't believe in that silly nonsense." Meg said, "Besides it will be nice for all of us to ride together."
"I'm sorry I can't be more turned out." Christine apologized, "I wish I'd known sooner, I could have had something made especially."
"You look lovely as always." Meg said kindly, "Nobody could ever manage to look as beautiful as you always seem to be." Christine was quiet then. She had not meant she wanted to outshine Marguerite, for today was her day. She felt as if she'd taken the limelight from her sister for long enough, so she kissed her cheek and stepped away, as Erik circled Marguerite to inspect her appearance, mumbling his approval, clearly unused to so many well-dressed ladies in his prescence. The sound of a carraige pulling up to the steps made them all look. In another moment the bell rang and Christine hurried to open the door. Raoul stood there, a boutonnière was in the lapel of his new suit. It matched Marguerite's bouquet.
"Oh that reminds me, here is the other for Erik!" Christine said, Raoul held the box with the other flower pin, but he had not heard Christine, his eyes riveted on Marguerite. Finally realizing that the soprano was asking him for the other boutonnière he gave her the box, but turned his attention back to Marguerite, crossing the foyer quickly.
"You look beautiful." He said, "I'm afraid I couldn't possibly do you justice."
"Don't be silly." She murmured.
"I wanted to match you somewhat," he said, seeing her look at the flowers pinned to his suit. "I had to threaten Christine with a promise to bribe Gustave into getting me the information if she didn't comply and at least tell me what flowers you were carrying." He said, and they laughed then.
"We should go." Erik said then, "Or else we'll be late, it takes long enough to travel from Brooklyn to Manhattan."
The four of them and Madame Giry made up wedding party, aside from the Priest. Raoul was quite taken by Marguerite, seeing her shine before him. He felt as though his heart was fickle. Hadn't he felt the same when Christine was in her place ten years ago? But it was all so different now. He must not think of what his life used to be. His life could be just as good with Marguerite. He didn't want to ruin the day with such gloomy thoughts so he squeezed Marguerite's hand and swore before those in attendance and before God who his wife would be from now on. Divorce to Raoul was humiliating. As if they had not tried hard enough. He felt as if they hadn't. Now more than ever he wanted this marriage with Meg to be his last. He meant the words with all his heart "Until Death do us Part". Marguerite heard the conviction in his voice, his eyes trained on her, and she wondered if he wanted to look at someone else in the room. He didn't though, and when she had repeated her own vows, they exchanged rings, and shared their first kiss as husband and wife. All throughout Erik stood in silence, pondering the wonders of life. It was true, he had let Marguerite go, with his blessing, and while she had not been much to him before Christine had returned, Meg had been a constant presence these past ten years. It would be very different without her. Erik disliked change, but for Meg's sake, he put on a smile and congratulated them, applauding as Madame Giry cheerfully tossed flower petals over the new couple, seemingly oblivious to Christine's clearly awkward forced smile behind her. Raoul shook Erik's hand and kissed Christine's cheek. She didn't seem to know how to accept it, wondering if she should return it. She was surprised at his ease, his comfort at taking Meg's hand so quickly, settling her hand in the crook of his arm. That was where Meg stood now. Christine knew of course that she loved Erik, but having been at Raoul's side for so long, she did feel a stab of fickleness in her heart as she saw her friend blush and smile at the man who she once called 'husband'.
"Are you certain you must go immediately?" she asked as Meg hugged her tightly,
"I'm afraid we must." Raoul interjected, "We're to be onboard at least an hour before the ship leaves port." Meg approached Erik, rising on tiptoe she swiftly kissed his cheek and hugged him, which he returned. It was only a brief moment, but Erik wondered if he would ever see her again, and the thought made him suddenly find it hard to swallow. He cleared his throat gruffly, bowing away so that she could move on to her mother and say her goodbyes.
Leaving the others at the church, Raoul and Marguerite whisked away to the docks, Erik urging them to take the carriage and assuring them they could simply call a cab. They had not bothered to even change, not caring if it was indecent to board the ship in wedding clothes. Raoul helped her remove the long veil from her hair and she carried it in her hands along with her bouquet. The tickets in his coat pocket, they pulled up to the dock and the footman hopped down, opening the door. A porter stood at the end of the gangplank, looking them over with some amusement. Raoul wondered if he should have insisted Marguerite change, she was bringing a good deal of attention, all in white, but she was all smiles and merry talk, accepting the shouts of congratulations from the lines in immigration. Still, as they reached the end of the gangplank and stepped onboard, Raoul voiced his concern.
"No." Marguerite said with a smile, "I like everyone knowing we're married now." She wore her gown as a medal of honor; her ring shining on her left hand caught the sun, proudly displaying her newly acquired status as his wife. It wasn't that she was now a Comtess, or that now she had money and Raoul knew it. It was that she was a wife now. She belonged to someone.
The steward that presided over the First Class cabins eyed them with a look of surprise and disapproval before showing them to their suite. Raoul looked at Marguerite's giddiness at the thought of staying in first class with amusement, and then at the Steward who looked ready to complain at any moment. The door unlocked, the key handed over, and the steward looked at them.
"You have made dinner reservations for half-past-seven, Comte de Chagny; I trust you wish to keep these arrangements?"
"Yes, and we'll take luncheon at one o'clock." He said. "Thank you." And the steward nodded,
"If you need anything, please, don't hesitate to ring for myself, or any of the other stewards operating this floor." He seemed loathe saying the first part of his well-memorized speech.
"I shan't forget, thank you." Raoul said, and the steward bowed, knowing he was dismissed. Kicking her train out of the way Marguerite turned to look at the cabin. Raoul stood back and watched, amused at her exploration of the suite. She wondered at the attention to detail, the richness of everything. Her little hands trailed along the edge of the table, her skirts rustling as she moved to look at the sitting room, fine bone china vases and a Wedgwood clock stood on the mantle, there was a little tray of brandy and sherry for after dinner drinks, in the drawers beneath there was a selection of cigarettes and cigars. Two writing cases, filled with fresh paper, the White Star Line emblem in the corner and envelopes as well. Across the fireplace, facing each other was a small sofa and two arm chairs, a table in between. It was like a little house!
"People travel like this every day?" she murmured, quite pleased. Setting her bouquet on the table, she admired the fresh flowers overflowing in the vase. Through an open doorway was the bedroom, she could see a rich cherry-wood bed frame and a blue and gold eiderdown coverlet.
"So I'm told." He said with a smile, hands in his pockets. "Would you like to go up to the launch?"
"Yes I would." She said, "First I think I'd better change. All the smoke and traffic may ruin my dress."
"I'll help you." He said, and her face turned to one of shock. "You haven't a maid yet." He said, "Soon to be remedied when we make port in Liverpool. I've put an ad in the London Times for a valet and maid." He said. "For now we'll just have to help each other." His hands made deft work of the long row of hooks down her back and she stepped from her dress. A gasp made her turn, and then she realized he'd seen her scars. Stage makeup had hidden them during performances and backstage, but today she hadn't thought since her back would be covered. She made to move, not wanting him to make a fuss. He pulled her closer to the light, near the mirror in the corner.
"Marguerite." His voice was sorrowful, "My God…" His fingertips traced over one long scar. The knife was sharp, it had cut deeply into her skin, it was a wonder they had not struck bone. He could see her lower middle where someone had carved a word: "MINE" She saw him look at the letters, and ducked her head.
"Some of the others will fade easier but the word might not ever." She couldn't read his expression, and she grew afraid. She wanted to cover herself. How horrified he must have been! He'd never expected to have such a used and scarred woman for a wife. "I'm sorry." She said, and reached for her shawl, anything to cover herself. Instead she felt his hand on her arm.
Raoul couldn't bear to hear her apologize. He shouldn't have stared, but it couldn't be helped. Poor Marguerite! Her back was a maze of scars and lacerations. The letters on her back seemed to be the last straw, and he felt himself shaking with anger at the persons who did this to her. He took the shawl from her hands, tossing it aside, instead wrapping his arms around her, holding her as close as he dared. She seemed to fold up in the circle of his arms, fitting just so.
"You aren't angry with me?" she asked, looking up at him. Without a word Raoul pressed his lips to the closest scar he could reach, his fingers smoothing the skin, then he kissed another scar, and another, until he'd covered each one, his hand following his lips, smoothing the marred skin.
"You aren't ever to apologize for this." He said to her then, chin resting on her shoulder. His arms found their way around her waist again, holding her close. "I could not ever bear you feeling as if these were your fault."
"I will try." She said softly then. "It is difficult…the thought of belonging to one person now." She turned in the circle of his arms, facing him now. "Am I yours then? Only yours?"
"Yes Marguerite." He said, and kissed her at last. They forgot about going up to see the launch then.
~O~
Sometime later…
"This isn't how I wanted our first time to be." He said, her form curled up beside his. The afternoon sun poured through the bedroom windows of their cabin. Hazily, he recalled carrying her in there before they crossed the final threshold that joined them forever-more as husband and wife.
"How should it have been?" she asked, looking up at him.
"In the evening, well after dark. We'd have supper; we'd uncork a bottle of champagne before 'retiring'. That's the proper way anyway." He looked at her. "But this was nicer." He smiled down at her in his arms, she bore a rosy glow now and he thought of something then. "I never saw Christine in the daylight like this." He said, half to himself. "You are beautiful Marguerite." And she blushed redder.
"We'll be late for lunch." She murmured, as he leaned closer to kiss her again.
"I'll sort that." He said, and took hold of the pull, ringing for the steward. "Don't move." He said, and kissed her quickly, so she stayed where she was, beneath the heavy eiderdown coverlet. He hopped out of bed, taking his robe from the bench to answer the door where the steward stood knocking.
"You rang sir?" Marguerite heard him say.
"Yes. If you would be so good as to send our luncheon here instead."
"Sir?"
"And a bottle of champagne." And he shut the door again. He reappeared in the bedroom hands folded behind his back, "I trust that is satisfactory?" he said.
"Oh yes!" she said, quite pleased she wouldn't have to leave their pleasant room until dinner. "But won't people talk?"
"I don't care." He said, crawling back onto the bed, he settled his head in her lap, looking up at her. "If they wish to gossip about my staying in with my new wife, let them." He reached up, stroking her cheek. Her long hair, unbound, framed her face, tickling his face. "I've spent the past ten years worrying what people will think, treading along the narrow line that society draws, letting them dictate what is proper and what oughtn't be done until a certain time. I don't care a fig what they say now."
"Within reason I hope." Marguerite laughed and he nodded.
"I am a married man, and plan on enjoying all the blessings that come with it." He said and she smiled. "Christine often spoke of Erik and his home as a kingdom that he lorded over, a kind of Empire." He paused then, thoughtful.
"What will our little kingdom be like?" Marguerite asked softly, and Raoul laughed indulgently
"I haven't told you about our villa have I?" she shook her head, "It's a terribly romantic place, I do admit." He said with a smile. "I suppose I wanted to spoil you when I found it." He shrugged. "One can arrive by the road, there's a gate and courtyard for proper visitors and things like that, but the front of the house is tucked into a cove, and angled to face the open sea. One can arrive by boat, which is how we shall. There is a place for swimming, and shady trees growing on some of the terraces. It seemed a pity to uproot them, so I left them where they were." Marguerite sighed, delighted as she tried to picture what he described. It sounded marvelous. "A kingdom," He murmured then, to himself.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing," he said, "Only I suppose now that Erik and Christine are married, she does have her own empire; one does refer to great businesses as empires."
"I think I prefer our villa to her Empire."
"Yes." Raoul agreed. "And you must decorate it as you see fit, make it your own."
"I should like to make it ours." She said. "I don't see why you shouldn't have some say in the decorating."
"I think ladies have more patience for it." He chuckled.
"I'm not a lady."
"Yes you are." His tone was suddenly very serious then, "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're my wife and a Comtess now."
"But-"
"No buts." He said, and kissed her forehead. "We shall make our own life now, Marguerite. We must not dwell on the past."
"I do my best not to." She said, "It is easy to say that we won't regret what we did."
"There will always be regrets." Raoul said. "But I do not intend for our marriage to be one of them." He sat up now, facing her. "I am yours now, for better or worse."
"And you are mine." He bent his head, smiling as she brought her mouth to his
"Yes."
