We Have All Been Blind
How can she bear to be near him?
As he battled the fury that threatened to rout him, the Vicomte de Chagny called forth the reserves of generations of de Carpentiers, willing his body to remain proud and erect in his chair across from them. The last few days had been hell with the brimstone smoldering even more intensely today. This murderer, this thing was to inherit his father's title. He could endure that bit of kismetic legerdemain but what he could not endure was this interloper's objective to make her his Comtesse. What did it matter that de Carpentier blood just as surely flowed though this creature's veins as it did his own—all this fiend knew was the shedding of it. As for his lovely Christine, God have mercy on her, she had attached herself to this mask of death, unable or unwilling to see the peril. Better she had succumbed to the throes of fever than meet a worse fate in the offing.
Others may admire the sleek veneer of urbanity on your oh-so-elegantly masked face but I yet see all the arrogance of the devil who lashed me against the portcullis. He pays me scant attention, his body poised in challenge, daring anyone to dispute his ownership of Christine. God, does she not understand?
"Their Royal Family is interested in your father's connection to the Bernadotte family..." The Archbishop's last words derailed Raoul's train of hate, beguiling him to consider other avenues. Christine has ties to the Swedish Royal family? Can I use this to my advantage?
§
"Mademoiselle, do you know anything of your paternal grandmother?" Cardinal de Bonnechose leaned back in his high-backed chair, watchful for any signs of dissembling on her part. His tenure as a district attorney had provided him with more than one asset useful in his current employment.
Her brow furrowed in concentration, the jeunne femme struggled to retrieve memories long since put away.
"Your Eminence, my father told me only that she died when he was born and her name was Jeanne. Of her husband, I only knew that my grandfather was descended from Daaé's who had emigrated from Norway to Sweden centuries before. As a luthier, apprenticed in France, he wished my father to follow in his trade and was disappointed but philosophical at his son's decision to become a musician instead."
The Archbishop nodded in encouragement, adding his own confidences.
"She had a last name, my child, and a history. Her name was Jeanne Bernadotte, a Gasconne from Pau. Her father was Baron Jean-Evangeliste Bernadotte. And her uncle was Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte who was a marshal of Bonaparte and King Karl of Sweden. Your late father was the second cousin to the current monarch, King Oscar."
"Furthermore she did not die in childbirth. She died nearly twenty years ago in her hometown near the Pyrenees. The townspeople at her funeral thought of Mlle. Bernadotte as a spinster who doted on her nephews, content to live quietly with her mother who outlived her and died four years later."
"No one but her intimate family knew that while visiting her royal uncle with her brother Gustave, she had met and contracted a marriage to a one-time apprentice luthier of Claude François Vuillaume by the name of Christer Daaé, who was returning from France to his native soil to ply his trade. Mlle. Bernadotte wished to surprise her favorite brother with a new violin. Instead, in short order, she surprised him with a brother-in-law. At the time of the coronation the Bernadotte family had divided on the issue of religion with the French-born King converting to Lutheranism and the Baron's family remaining solidly Catholic. On one point, they agreed. This entirely unsuitable marriage was to be annulled quickly and quietly, even though Frau Daaé was with child. Christer Daaé loved his new wife but he could not fight the power of the King of Sweden, even in Church matters; the very fact that he, as a native Swede had entered a Catholic church for the marriage ceremony was grounds for his expulsion from the country. The Holy See still entertained hopes of pressuring King Karl to abandon the Lutheran sect and bring Sweden back in the Church fold for the first time since the sixteenth century. To that end, it eased all roadblocks, but with one condition—the child would be baptized and raised in the Catholic faith of his mother. The Gascon Bernadottes countered by insisting that the child be raised by the father and his family and told nothing of his mother's family."
"Christer Daaé agreed to the baptism but had no intention of raising his son in the Catholic faith as long as they lived in Sweden, with its oppressively entrenched Lutheranism. Little Gustave was raised as a Lutheran and remained so until your mother's death. It is only when he left Sweden that he embraced his mother's religion for himself and you. There is a record of your baptism and first communion at Saint-Jacques le Majeur in Perros-Guirec, named thus because it was a shrine on the pilgrim road to Spain for St. Jacques de Compostela. Do you not remember it?"
Christine's stared at the Archbishop, trying to absorb his insinuation. The King of Sweden? Perros-Guirec? Yes… There was a baptism at this very odd-looking church that smelled of incense and ocean mist. She did not understand why that as a big girl of nearly seven she was being baptized. Weren't only babies baptized? What had Father said? That there was no record of her baptism so the priest would do it again?
No record of a Catholic baptism. She had been baptized a Lutheran in Sweden.
Raoul stirred slightly at the mention of St. Jacques. He remembered the summer with his mother's aunt, the widow of a naval captain and the Daaé's after his great-uncle's death, making him the Vicomte de Chagny. It was a strange church, built of pink granite quarried from the rocky coast, looking like a cross between a mosque and a cave. He and Christine had thought it quite magical. Could it be possible they were ever that young and innocent?
"It is a mystery why Daaé began practicing the faith in which he was baptized later in his life. Perhaps the surviving Bernadottes may have a clue," he reasoned, wondering if the jeunne femme knew more than that passive Swedish face was revealing
Or perhaps a ballet mistress who accepted responsibility for a dying man's daughter might know. Perhaps it is time to ask the right questions of her, she mused.
"Mademoiselle, I do not know if you have seen any pictures of the late King but you do have many features in common with the family. They, too, possess dark eyes and curly dark hair, along with being tall and slender. You differ in the paleness of your complexion; they are a rather dark-skinned bunch, likely due to their Spanish ancestry."
She had never understood her dark coloring is a country of blue-eyed blondes, only that it was similar to Father's with even lighter hair and paler skin. Nevertheless, her complexion was not the lovely peaches-and-cream that she so envied in the other children. It was ivory.
Erik turned to stare at her in disbelief and comprehension. She had been baptized at a church shrine on the St. Jacques de Compostela road? The same road on which the chateau at Bezancourt had its beginnings as an inn for its pilgrims? The road that led to Spain and to her ancestors?
My God, you were Aminta.
§
A slight flush spread over her cheeks as Christine became aware of the stares directed at her, compelling her mind to be emptied of all but the need to grab Erik's hand and flee as quickly as possible to Bezancourt. To the chateau, to the comfort of Mme. Giry and Meg, to Suzanne, Mme. Dumont, Mme Gobert, Allegra… In those safe walls was the promise of love and laughter, of relief from the boorish and spiteful attentions at the Populaire of would-be admirers and fellow employees. There she would not be plagued with the thoughts of children cruelly separated from their mothers.
De Bonnechose saw her anguish, feeling compelled to act in his duties as a priest of the Church, while not forgetting his obligations as one of its princes.
"Mlle. Daaé, I would speak to you first, and then Erik, in private. Madame, might I use your library?"
Madeleine nodded her assent, watching Christine lead the Archbishop away from the salon. Both of these children needed comfort.
§
Christine closed the door behind them for privacy. It might not be a confessional but it would serve the purpose.
"Mademoiselle, I realize the shock of learning of your and Erik's past. We cannot change that but must look to the future. I was watching the young Vicomte and consider myself a fair judge of body motions. He believes that the discovery of your noble antecedents and royal connections will not favor a marriage to the new Baron de Carpentier but would rather promote his own suit. After all, your betroth's past, while somewhat mitigated, is distinctly unsavory, especially for contemplation of marriage to the great-granddaughter of a baron and the cousin of a king."
Standing proudly erect, she answered him coolly.
"Your Eminence, my Bernadotte relatives will only know what I wish to impart, unless you, Erik, or the de Chagny's tell them otherwise. The wedding will go on."
De Bonnechose smiled thinly at her willfulness. She would need it in the coming years.
"Mademoiselle, I speak for the Church which has an influence on what your betroth and the de Chagny's will say or won't say."
"I have been in frequent correspondence with the Holy Father over this issue. It was the Church's position that should Erik offered for your hand then this marriage would be sanctioned. Yes, we discussed the likelihood amongst ourselves. It is our form of confession."
The words of argument bubbling at her lips dissipated in the air. He agreed with her?
Inwardly chuckling at her transformation from proud mademoiselle to confused girl, he added.
"I see you expected a different answer. The Church operates on its own logic, primary of which is the insurance of its survival for the next millennia in order to claim souls for the Kingdom. Erik de Carpentier fits into those plans. How often is a man of his intellect born? Once every century or two? How often does the Church have an opportunity to influence the direction of that intellect? Da Vinci laughed at us behind his back, while he did Pope Alexander and Leo's bidding. John Stuart Mill's father made sure the Scottish Calvinists never had a chance with him, much less the Church of Rome. The Church found Erik in the bowels of Hell and pulled him out. Unlike the others, he has experienced the Grace of God and is unlikely to forget it."
"You, too, were brought back into the fold of the One True Faith by your father. I, like the Almighty, do not believe in coincidence. Erik needs a helpmeet such as you, not some fickle daughter of the nobility, but a strong and faithful daughter of the Church who will serve as an everyday reminder to him of God's mercy. You have looked past his face."
"As I stated, the Church looks to the future. If it is God's will, you will bear him children raised in the Faith, undoubtedly touched to greater and lesser degrees by his immense gifts and your not inconsiderable ones. While the Hierarchy deplores entertainment which seeks to placate rather than elevate, it has not gone unnoticed by the priests of the Madeleine your attentiveness to the sacraments, your care of the younger children at the opera house, and your virtuous example to them in spite of a dubious occupation. France is becoming a horror with its absent fathers and inattentive mothers but I do not think that will be the state of affairs with your children."
"In any case, the Church needs them, also, for its survival."
Christine opened her mouth to protest only to think better of it. Her pragmatic Scandinavian blood understood the practicalities of survival, be it humans or institutions. Her newly discovered French/Spanish blood decried the seeming ruthlessness of it. Callous or not, the Church was still powerful enough, even in France, to protect Erik if the need arose. And all of her blood demanded that.
De Bonnechose nodded in approval at the evidence of her deliberations, which played across her face. She would be Erik's anchor in the coming years.
"Mademoiselle, I do not know whether to pity you or envy you your future. Ultimately, it is in God's hands. But the Holy Father would tip the scales in your favor. He has charged the Premonstratensian abbé général to instruct the White Canons at St. Martin de Mondaye to offer prayers in perpetuity for the de Carpentier de Chagny family. This is most irregular and indicative of the Holy Father's seriousness"
"I wish to speak to Erik, now, and knowing him, he is not very far from the vicinity of the library door."
Christine gently opened the door, only to notice his presence some distance down the hallway. He had respected her privacy but only to an extent. But his face—was there doubt there, doubt that she thought had been erase days ago in a dressing room with the ring on her fourth finger? She ran to him and kissed him passionately.
Slightly breathless, he queried, "You were there longer than I expected."
The doubt was still lingering in his eyes.
"Oh, he was just reminding me of my duties, waxing on with all the enthusiasm of a district attorney instructing the jury. The gist of it was quite simple."
Erik cocked his left eyebrow at her and faintly smiled, "Duties?'
Unconsciously slipping her hand over her stomach, she feigned a levity she was not sensing.
"Yes, that I am to be a meek and dutiful wife and devoted mother."
He chuckled low in his throat, surprised that he could laugh at anything this day. There was a look of triumph on the boy's face when the Archbishop mentioned Christine's royal connections. De Chagny had not given up on her, the young fool, and was angling for any advantage to tear Christine from him. He pressed his lips against her forehead in relief; de Bonnechose had delivered the Church's verdict in his favor.
Christine embraced him tightly with an infinitesimal shudder of relief at the comfort she found there. At the moment, both were too full of sad regrets to reconnect to their joy.
"Go to him, Erik. I need a breath of fresh air after this."
Loathing to be separated, he asked.
"Where will I find you?"
Running her forefinger along the line of his eyebrow, she answered.
"I will be at the stables to visit Allegra's dam and to check over the new foals born since my absence."
Erik touched her cheek trailing his thumb down the ribbon tied under her chin, connected to the delightfully frivolous maroon confection on her piled-up tresses. She would always find comfort in her Dala horse.
Tearing himself away from one last kiss, he entered the library as she went to the foyer to request her dark blue paletot for the walk outside.
Had Erik not been so distracted he might have noticed the presence of a shape in the shadows at the other end of the hall, watching them unseen.
§
"Erik, come in. Let me congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. May it bring the joy and peace you desire."
Erik looked at de Bonnechose measuredly. The former prosecutor did not indulge in polite conversation.
"Yes, I know, I will get to the point. I assume Mlle. Daaé has informed you of the Church's blessing on the arrangement despite what you and I know that young pup is thinking. He can have his pick of any number of young, noble ladies—she is for you. Not that my opinion matters with you, I fear."
Erik's self-satisfied grin of agreement caused de Bonnechose to clear his throat of the laugh caught in it.
"I understand Willekins warned you of your laical obligations. I am here to inform you of them. This year the Society of Jesus will consecrate itself to the Sacred Heart at the Shrine of the Sacred Heart of Jesus at Paray-le-Monial in Burgundy. Next year will mark the formation of a new confraternity to be named the Hiéron de Val d'Or. Its purpose will be the study of esoteric Catholicism and the possibility of forming a "Kingdom of Heaven" in Europe based on spiritual rather than social, political or economic foundations. The Holy Father has already appointed a French Jesuit priest, Victor Drevon and a Spanish baron, Alexis Sarachaga as its founders. The Baron is known for his devotion to the study of esoteric Christianity. They could use your knowledge and your skill as an architect in the planning of a future research center on the site."
Erik snorted in astonishment at the Archbishop's rush of words. Had Michel's fine wine gone to his head?
"Your Eminence, any casual scholar of antiquity knows that esoteric Christianity is code language for Hermeticism. If memory serves correctly, were not these same adherents put to the torch for dabbling in alchemy and astrology in the not too distant past? Isn't the Church involved in spiritual warfare against the Freemasons and occultists as we speak?"
"Mother of God, and the Holy Father approves of this?"
De Bonnechose arranged his face in its most serious expression. The Baron, of all men, needed to know he was as serious as a judge on this issue.
"Erik, the Catholic Church has suffered its heaviest losses of influence in France. We need a movement to counteract this trend. Baron Sarchaga has convinced the Holy Father of the righteousness of usurping certain hermetitic practices of our enemies for the benefit of the Church, rescuing them from depravity, and giving them a higher, holier purpose. This Age has itching ears; we will scratch them a bit with the Hiéron de Val d'Or."
Erik stared around him at the volumes in the shelves lining the walls. Such a conventional library might be found in any nobleman's residence. It in no way compared to his collection of ancient and esoteric knowledge at the chateau, part of which was kept hidden in a secret vault. The Church could very well wind up being burnt at the stake for allowing laypersons to dabble in what they did not fully understand. He would agree, if only to monitor its progress and control any damage. This was not new in the history of the Church. Another confraternity, the Compagnie du Saint Sacrement, had been disbanded in the seventeenth century by the Holy See under the weight of its rabid anti-heretical excesses. Then there was the Knights Templar who may or may not have been guilty of similar immoderation…
Still it was intriguing and not without a little irony. Hundreds of years ago, a young ruler bedeviled by a mask had wished for such a kingdom in the holy city of Jerusalem. The cynic in him doubted its likelihood but if it were only possible…
Yes, he would play their game, watching them from the inside. That is, only as long as no harm came to his family from the association.
§
Fresh air, indeed!
Still, the mixture of hay, oats, and manure was perfume to the suffocatingly genteel atmosphere of the salon. The stable was at least a reminder that other worlds existed, worlds that did not revolve around pain and betrayal.
Christine held her hand against the metal bars of the box stall, wishing she had a carrot or apple for Allegra's dam, instead of a gloved hand to rub her muzzle.
My fine lady, you will never understand how privileged you were to be allowed to care for your foals.
She turned around at the sound of the soft footfall only to inch back against the bars, feeling their cool metallic hardness against her back even through layers of clothing.
Raoul
His eyes were softer now, the hardness replaced by an avid glitter. She did not know which alarmed her more.
"Christine, I would have given you the world. I willingly gave you my love. All I asked for in return was your love."
Her lower lip trembled at the accusation. That he suffered was the drop of sorrow in her pool of happiness but its uncanny ability to pollute her world was terrifying.
Struggling to be understood, she whispered pleadingly.
"Raoul, how could I give you what was already given?"
"What you mean is that he took your love." The hardness returned momentarily to be smoothed over again. He moved forward, light touching her cheek, only to recoil as she jerked and turned her face away.
"No, he never asked for my love. You never asked what he said to me, if anything, when I went back to him after untying you. He said, "Christine, I love you." He never expected me to love him in return. It was enough for him that he could love me. At that point, my feelings were irrevocably set."
He sneered his response with caustic acuity. "You have an unusual way of expressing your love, Mademoiselle, abandoning him to that mob."
What had happened to her gentle childhood friend?
"Yes, I left him and swallowed the doubt of my actions. He could have been killed. But he would have died a slow painful death if he had come to me without learning to love himself a bit. I put my trust in God to protect him until I could claim him, for you see I never realized over a period of years that he had already claimed my love."
Raoul flinched at the bald honesty of her emotion. Whatever claim his cousin had over her, its duration, compared to his one summer at Perros-Guirec, could not be argued. However, what the man was away from Christine…
"But Christine, the type of man he is, the life he has lived…"
"Will be covered by the grace of God. Raoul, I do not expect it to be easy."
Pacing side to side, he turned again to her, declaring, "I do not believe he has changed."
"I do. I have no other choice." The pleading in her eyes nearly broke him but he could not give in to it.
"I can give you so much more than he can. Though I can never be the Comte de Chagny, your life with me would never pain you. We could travel, socialize in the best circles… What will you have with him? You life will be defined by the walls of his chateau, the fear that someone will reveal his past. That portrait of his father will haunt you, knowing that you will never the never see its handsomeness on your husband's face."
Christine right hand clinched to the point of bloodlessness. It took all of her will not to slap him at that last remark. Her answer, given in even tones, only hinted of her resentment
"You will never understand that I do not see the face you see."
Sweeping past him, no longer able to constrain her rage at present as well as past offences, she spat back over her shoulder, "If the positions were exchanged, would you wish me to be repelled by your hideousness or would you get down on your knees and thank God that I love your soul more than your face?"
§
Attracted by the sound of the now whinnying mare, he moved closer in order to calm her, dropping his head in pain at Christine's accusation. He did not think himself vain but his mirror did not lie. His face was handsome, his ancestry and title reputable, and his wealth respectable. But it had not been enough for a Swedish coryphée and diva. She chose to love a scarred-face murderer, never knowing anything about his except that he was her Angel of Music. His cousin's newly elevated status did not seem to matter a whit to her. She loved the man.
"Cousin, I may have been born a gentleman but hardly raised as one. As you were born and raised as one, I expect better of you than to keep vexing the lady. She has made her decision."
Raoul spun around at the low silky tones of the Baron de Carpentier, dressed in his customary black. Her Angel of Music was his Angel of Death. Raoul's hand reflexively grasped for the sword that was not at his side.
"Were you here all the time, Phantom? Perhaps in the rafters? I am surprised that you would lower yourself, having enjoyed the elegant comforts of the flys at the Populaire. Perhaps it could it be that a barn is more fitting for one with your inexplicable proclivities?
Erik shrugged at the insult. Nadir had said far worse and lived to draw his next breath.
"Sheathe that invisible weapon, Cousin. It serves no purpose."
"I will be the judge of that, would that I had the real weapon by my side. Who is to say that your fondness for loops of rope has never left you, in fact so much that one may be on your person as we speak?"
"Are you suggesting that I would garrote you, prop your body against that mare's stall, and then coolly take tea with your mother? De Chagny I never suspected you of having such a vivid imagination."
"Not imagination, Phantom, but common sense. A leopard does not change his spots."
"Ah, but a chameleon can alter his hue. Part of my personality may never change but I certainly have the ability and intelligence to indulge in a little protective coloration. The one gratifying element of today's revelation is the protection it affords for my bride. And speaking of protection… I have been informed of a certain laxity on your part concerning her well-being. The poisoning I might excuse as dunderheaded idiocy but the lying was self-aggrandizing manipulation at her expense. You did not serve her well and I take exception."
"You may take exception all you want but I still believe keeping her away from you is in her best interest."
The boy doesn't even have Nadir's clever tongue to recommend him. I wonder if Christine ever found him tedious.
"You may call me a leopard my boy, but you are in serious danger of favoring a donkey. The lady has made her choice and a true gentleman would not make himself a nuisance to her any longer."
Erik expected a spark of anger at his provocation but the boy acted as if he had not comprehended a word of the insult.
"You are correct when you say you were not raised a gentleman. You accuse me of lying to have my way. Did discovering that you are the son of a nobleman suddenly instill you with honor? Or are you still using your Phantom trickery to deceive and manipulate Christine? Even now, do you use your magician's voice to control her? At night, does she warm your bed at your hypnotic bidding in order to satisfy your rutting lusts?"
The blow to Raoul's solar plexus was inhuman in its swiftness and precision. As he struggled to work through the pain to regain his breath while pushed up against the stall bars, he became aware of hell-fire blue eyes and a white mask mere centimeters from his face, the iron forearm against his neck, the serpent like hiss of "Baise-toi, de Chagny" spewing between pitiless clenched teeth.
Digging his forearm a bit harder against his larynx, Erik reverted to a bland expression accompanied by an unnatural calmness.
"With minimal effort I could rattle off five ways to kill you right now with my bare hands and leave a beautiful corpse for your wake. However, as I have promised your mother, I will let some other bon gars have the pleasure when you again are inclined to make ill-advised remarks, as you no doubt will. After you have recovered, I suggest you vacate theses premises; they may have unduly influenced your decision to adopt the manners of a stable boy.
Retracting his arm and stepping back to let Raoul collapse to the ground, Erik straightened the folds in his cape with flick of insouciance and resumed his icy glare at the man crumpled in front of him, still sputtering and gasping for breath. His offer of a hand of support was met with a growl of refusal from below. It was just as well; Erik did not relish any additional physical contact with him, considering what he was to say next.
"If you ever again cast any aspersions on Christine's virtue or touch her without her leave—better yet without my leave which you will never have, you will find yourself invalided for quite some period longer than the few minutes it will take to regain your breath from the dainty tap I just gave your chest."
With that, Erik, Baron de Carpentier swept out of the stable.
§
Erik returned to the salon to find Christine in conversation with Madeleine and Michel. De Bonnechose had left for Rouen, satisfied that his role in the proceedings was an initial success.
To Christine's bewilderment he announced, "I have instructed the landau to be readied. We are leaving as soon as possible." She did not like the look on his face as he politely declared their intentions—it was too closed.
Madeleine put up her hand in protest. "Erik, Cook is planning a special luncheon for us so that you might become better acquainted with your cousin…"
Taking her hand and kissing it, he apologized, "Madeleine, another time, perhaps, when emotions are not running so high." Bowing to Michel, he offered his hand.
"Cousin, Christine will be departing at the end of next week for Paris. You will understand if I do not wish to discuss family issues until that has passed. Possibly the following week? I will send a telegraph suggesting an appropriate day if that meets with your approval."
Michel's eyes swept over him with an appraising coolness. Francois would become exaggeratedly polite while in the white heat of anger. His father told him it was preferable to his outbursts as a young man but this was unnerving nonetheless. While not knowing the cause of Erik's temper, he suspected it had something to do with his son. Both had been absent from the house for a period.
"Of course, Cousin, I am at your disposal."
§
Christine had said nothing to him, or he to her after announcing their eminent departure to the Comte and Comtesse. Sitting across from him in the carriage, she looked at him intently rather than the passing Normandy countryside, watching for some clue to reveal his state of mind. When she thought she could bear it no longer, he broke the silence.
"I should hate my father but how can I? Under the same circumstances, would I dare risk you? For if he felt a fraction for my mother of what I feel for you, I can too well understand the agony of his dilemma."
Christine leaned towards him in empathy, taking his hands between hers. "Erik, I pity his choice but his faith was not strong enough. He did not entrust your mother's wellbeing to God. Instead, he chose that role for himself, not considering the position was already taken. His pride was his downfall."
"Ah yes, his pride, which demanded perfection... I could hate him for placing that burden upon me but can I judge him for that since I, too, have sought perfection all of my life to replace what I could not find in my mirror."
Christine looked down at their hands in confusion, not knowing what to answer him. Why did that admission unnerve her so?
Giving her one measured look, he sighed, turning to look out the window but withdrawing to look into his misery.
If this were only about my parents. I heard what the boy said to her, about walls and the portrait now riding in the back of the carriage. She may never feel that way but others will and they will pity her.
Hatred, at least, has all the mercy of a quick knife between the ribs but pity is a slow poison, gradually draining the soul…
Curse him for pointing out the obvious. He always knows what dissonant chord to strike in me. Never with even the slightest fear, damn him. God, I wanted to kill him on the spot that night when he shouted at me that Christine would lie to save him. She would have.
I let her go once.
Please not again.
No word was spoken but she knew he had fled to his prison. It would not do. She would bring him back to her.
Deftly, she unpinned her hat and laid it on the cushioned seat beside her. One by one, the pins came out of her upswept hair, allowing it to cascade like a waterfall around her shoulders. All the while, his attention, distracted from the outside, now focused on her actions. Gracefully, she shifted across the carriage to sit beside him, to rest her palms on his shoulder and recline her head against his neck. Stiffening at first at her touch, he gradually relaxed, stroking her curls and allowing himself to melt in the comfort of her warmth and scent.