Chapter fourteen

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Christine

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It had been three and a half weeks, nearly a month, since the 'consummation' of our marriage and still my husband has not seen fit to tell me his name. This had become taxing and I was now concerned for my sanity at this point for the more I lived with the man the more I wanted to kill myself. He was not brutal in his actions towards me but his words never ceased to cut me deeper every time he spoke it was to tell me that he was off to god only knows where and that was all. The pain was deep not because of him alone but at my father as well for setting up the match in the first place. He had not seemed to care about who he put me with just as long as he was wealthy and made me financially comfortable.

My husband was indeed very wealthy to be sure, although to the extent of his fortune I cannot attest but the house in which we lived was proof enough to show he was well-off. I was never in want of anything material. The problem was more in the relationship though I had never expected a fairytale romance for I am not an idiot. I know that there is no such thing as prince charming and I am no longer a naive little girl who dreams of things like that although they would be nice if they could be real and I will not lie, my imagination has more than once cooked up the vision of a dark sorcerer whenever I'd had the misfortune to see my spouse.

What really conjured these daydreams was that these brief encounters happened at such irregular intervals, that it gave me the impression of him disappearing and reappearing at will. Like he had evaporated into thin air and could become solid again wherever or whenever he desired. The thought made me shiver for more than one reason it made it hard to sleep at night as I pictured two moonlit daggers piercing me though the darkness as though I were a target they intended to kill Curse my parents for fostering such a vivid imagination in me and moreover curse me for my inability to control it!

There was also his music, oh it was beautiful to be sure, very. It was just the way it sounded as though he were sobbing when he played but also as though he screamed. It made me want to weep and go cower in a corner all at the same time, it made me pity him and fear him all at once. As if this weren't strange enough, he was always hiding in some place or another, I sighed, why could not my father had wed me to a normal man? I knew the answer to that question, my father being the storyteller he was had been too thrilled by the aura of mystery which seemed to cling to this man like a second skin that he had been bind to all else.

I put my face in my hands, would my father never learn that some situations required logic and not the dreams of romanticism? That was a foolish question of course he would not, being a traveling fiddler for most of his life until he met my mother and now after she died, that is until this illness had taken him. He would never change and for the most part I was okay with this, but this was just ridiculous. The man had lost his mind due to his wasting fever, that was the only explanation I could give for his rash behavior I sighed again and sipped at the tea which the butler had brought me. Where had my real father gone and would I ever get him back before the virus took hold?

I decided to take a walk in the garden with Elijah trailing close at my heels. Looking around at the roses I thought of my mother and her perfume of lilacs and peppermint and her love for white roses. How she had used to put them in my hair as a child saying that it added a little light to my dark hair and my father would put red ones in her hair so that it added a little darkness to her golden locks. I remembered the sound of her laughter, a soft bell that carried on the wind and the smile on my father's face. Cool and crisp in the sunlight, like dancing pearls framed in his handsome pale face. His chocolate curls dancing in a soft breeze as he looked into her tawny-golden eyes, preparing to kiss her.

A single tear made its way down my cheek, warming my cold skin slightly as I remembered their courtship that lasted even after they were wed. How he used to tell her that she was the love of his life and how every year on the anniversary of their marriage he would by her a arraignment of lilies and forget-me-nots. Or on her birthday a box of her favorite English sweets and how she would smile and tell him that he must stop spoiling her and he in turn would say that she had given him everything he'd ever wanted and that she deserved it. I remembered on my birthday she would make me a new dress or a new bonnet and father would play me the 'Happy Birthday,' song on his violin.

We had been so happy then. I closed my eyes, knowing that I would never have that kind of family with Monsieur D'Aubert, he did not love me and I did not love him. Hell, I did not even like him, he had done nothing to impress me and then he had the nerve to touch me in the ways a lover does. But there was no point in wishing for things that could never be, no point in fighting the way that things were for they were the way they were for a reason. After all does it not say in the holy book that our lord works in mysterious ways? Perhaps he had a plan for me and I was not meant to figure it out yet. One could only hope...

Elijah broke my thoughts by jumping in my lap and meowing for attention. I could not help but laugh and flipped him gently on his back as I began to tickle his belly. I loved the cat, he was loyal and loving and I could always go to him for comfort. He was so unlike his father, and he was everything I wished my husband twas.

I stopped petting him and began to sing a lullaby that the Angel of Music had taught me. Where was he when I needed him... but then my father had told me that I was only going to hear him until I had found an earthly love. Well I did not love the man so therefore I should not have lost him, but when I went to the chapel that day he had not been there. It had not mattered to him that I had wept for he had been long gone to me. My father had taken my right to fall in love and at the same time had cost me my angel. I began to feel tears building pressure behind my eyelids and I blinked hard to keep them at bay but two of them escaped and before I could stop them. The kitten licked them away. I smiled.

I felt ill then and bending forward became violently sick all over myself, Elijah had the good to get off my lap then. The last maid whose name I had name I had learned was Justine ran to me and gently lifted me to my feet as she led me inside. She changed me into a clean gown and then laid me down on the bed where I passed out. When I woke again it was dark in the house and the sound of someone walking in the dining room was easy to hear. I tried to get up but felt so weak that even moving was exhausting, the feeling was so overpowering that I fell asleep the moment I fell back on the pillows.

A soft voice woke me and I looked into the eyes of Marguerite sleepily when she handed me a cup that was warm to the touch. I smelled it, warm chocolate, I took a sip and the warming in sensation was so soothing that it made me want to fall back to sleep. The good woman propped me up and began feeding me chicken broth like a mother would to her babe. I lurched forward and threw up again and she shushed me and mopped up my mouth with her handkerchief as I began to weep uncontrollably. She pulled me into her arms and sung me to sleep as she put a cool cloth on my forehead.

This went on for several weeks, I would wake up in the mornings and become ill, sometimes I would eat and others I could not stand the very sight of food. There were times when I could only eat certain foods and times when I wanted foods I couldn't stomach. I was constantly exhausted and sometimes without knowing it would sleep through the whole day and wake up feeling drained afterwards. Often I would fall victim to inexplicable crying spells and nothing could calm me. What was wrong with me? The answer came to me one night and I was woken up by it... no it couldn't be that... it was. The question now was how to tell him. I got out of bed and went to search for Monsieur D'Aubert only to bump into the butler who told me that he was in his music room and did not wish to be disturbed. I assured him that it was urgent he looked at me skeptically but afterwards led me down the hall where a small yellow light shown through the bottom of the door.

I did not bother to knock knowing he would not answer if I did. I simply stood there in the doorway and listened for a moment. The song was like nothing I had ever heard, a sad balled which seemed to scream in agony and swoon in pleasure all at the same time. It intoxicated me to the point where I very nearly forgot why I had come in here to begin with. Once I had broken from my trance I came to him and touched him on the shoulder and when he didn't turn I tapped him. He slammed his fingers down on the keys, make such an atrocious noise I had to cover my ears. I gulped when he stood up and demanded to know what I wanted and I knew I was not allowed in here and how dare I interrupt his music and so on and so forth.

I tried to answer him, but It would seem that in the midst of his rant he had closed his ears. I could not seem to get a word in and waited till he had finished but even then he'd gone back to his music and seemed to forget I was in the room. I went up to him and tapped him again to which I received the same response. By now I just stood there and let him rant for at least fifteen minutes before I began to cry. It was then that the most peculiar thing happened, he came up and gently wiped my tears with the palm of his hand before offering me his handkerchief. I took it and thanked him, he nodded slowly and asked me for the third time what I needed.

I answered him, "I am with child."