Chapter Twenty-Four: A Gallant Proposal
"Please be seated, Mademoiselle Daaé. I shall inform his Lordship of your arrival."
"Thank you," Christine smiled as she sat down upon the lush chaise lounge within the familiar salon.
"Of course," Georges, the dear butler, replied. "Shall I inquire for refreshment while you wait?"
"No, thank you."
Georges simply nodded then turned on his heel to go when he suddenly stopped, turning toward her.
"We miss you here, mademoiselle," he unexpectedly declared, a smile upon his face, "his Lordship especially." He then turned once more, and without another word, swiftly left the room.
Tears misted Christine's eyes at Georges's words. She certainly hadn't expected his furtive confession. It warmed her aching heart.
After a moment she let out a long sigh, absentmindedly twisting Erik's ring about her left finger.
It'd been a week since she'd lost him, since he'd forced her to leave him in order to save her life. It had been one long, miserable week, and Christine was still torn between despair and anger toward Erik.
She was still upset with him for leaving her. He should have escaped with her and Bernard and the others when he'd still had the chance. Damn him for wanting to be the hero! She'd never forgive him for leaving her, knowing he'd be one step closer to his imminent doom.
Damn you, Erik, I hate you for this! I hate you for leaving me when you know how much I need you, how much I love you.
Christine wiped the frustrating tears that began to fill her eyes as she despairingly thought of him.
Was this how he'd felt after I left him?
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She couldn't possibly imagine how he'd felt when she had left him all those years ago. He had let her go to be with another man, had let her go because he truly believed she hadn't wanted him, had let her go because he loved her.
And once again he'd forced their souls apart because of his love. Yet not because of her love for another man, but because he'd wanted to save her life, and in return she'd selfishly hurt him with her cruel words.
You don't love me as much as I love you! Erik, I will never forgive you for this!
Christine cringed. They were words she hadn't meant but had proclaimed because she was scared of losing him, because she wanted him to stay with her for just a few moments longer.
Now he was gone. And this time he wasn't coming back unless the one man who she'd hurt, perhaps even destroyed, could help her, could protect and save the one man he'd been fated to despise.
Christine clenched her rose colored dress at the impending situation.
It had been a decision she'd made with the Girys once she'd returned to them after she'd escaped with Bernard and the others.
Tears filled Christine's eyes once more as she thought of that heartbreaking morning, her frenzied thoughts slightly altered to even more desolate ones.
Within moments of Erik forcing her to leave him through his secret labyrinth, the gendarmes had found him in his bedchambers. Soon thereafter she and Bernard heard a gunshot, followed by another, terrifying Christine, causing her to escape Bernard and return to Erik. Yet Bernard had fairly comforted her when he'd confided to her that he'd released an insane Yves and that it'd been him. He was sure of it.
And sure enough, Bernard had been right. Within days of furtively returning with Bernard and the others to Paris it had been discovered of Yves's murder of Geneviève and then himself, and the capturing of the infamous Phantom of the Opera, the gendarmes now Parisian heroes. Word had spread quickly throughout Paris, the papers reporting upon nothing else. It infuriated Christine. But she hadn't expected anything less.
The President himself had allegedly wanted to speak with Erik personally, to learn of his murdering crimes firsthand and whatever other crimes it was believed he'd committed.
Hence the delay in Erik's sentencing, it being death surely, and Christine's desperate attempt to save Erik's life.
Once Bernard promised her that he and the others were safe, he helped her return to the Girys' home on the outskirts of Paris where she'd stayed for sometime before the three of them agreed that she must return to Paris and seek out Raoul and his brother, in the hope that they'd have the ability to use their power and prestige to persuade the President to release Erik.
If it hadn't been for the Girys, Christine would have never found the courage to return to Paris and pursue Raoul. She'd cried for days, locking herself within a bedroom in their home, not allowing Meg or Madame Giry to comfort her, until they'd forced themselves into her room one day, revealing their plan that would hopefully save Erik.
They had wanted to come with her but Christine wouldn't allow it. She hadn't wanted anyone else involved in this unless they absolutely needed to be. And the Girys certainly didn't need to be. They were her sanctuary now. They were all she had left in this cruel world and if they were found to be alleged conspirators in all this then it'd truly be over.
She'd have nothing.
Now here Christine sat, within the luxurious château she'd once called home, waiting for the man she'd loved since she was a young girl, the man she'd once called husband. The charming, wonderful man who'd let her go to be with the one man she was now asking him to save.
You selfish, stupid woman, Christine thought miserably.
She hated herself for seeking out Raoul, for forcing him to relive the past by asking him to do this. But she couldn't help it. She needed Erik in her life. And she selfishly hoped that Raoul would agree to help her, and desperately hoped that if he did, he'd succeed.
"Christine?"
Christine bit her bottom lip, her unshed tears now streaming down her flushed cheeks as she heard the soft, masculine voice behind her, interrupting her unpleasant thoughts.
She slowly stood from the chaise lounge and turned toward him.
"Christine," Raoul softly repeated, letting out a deep sigh, tears filling his eyes.
"Raoul," she breathed.
She laid her hand upon her chest as she keenly looked at Raoul. He looked magnificent yet a dark sadness filled his beautiful green eyes. It broke Christine's heart. She knew it was because of her.
It had only been a little less than a month since they'd last seen another, since they'd annulled their marriage in order for her to be with Erik. Yet seeing the man who once was her husband suddenly flooded her mind with sweet memories. She had truly missed him.
"Hello, Raoul," she spoke, timidly walking toward him.
She reached her hand out to touch his when he suddenly grabbed her, crushing him to his hard chest.
"Oh, Christine," he murmured, caressing her back. "I'm so sorry."
Christine clung to him, shaking within his consoling embrace.
"I need him, Raoul. They're going to kill him. I…I need your help."
"Shh, Christine, it's all right. I'm here."
They held another for some time, both softly sobbing, neither wanting to let go.
"Here," Raoul finally spoke, "you must sit, Christine."
Christine complied, allowing Raoul to walk her toward the chaise lounge, their hands entwined.
"What happened, Christine?" Raoul asked once they were both seated, his hand stroking hers. "How did they find him?"
Christine told Raoul everything. She told him of Erik and Geneviève's marriage, of Henri and Yves, of Bernard's heroism, everything. Her words were rushed, her body trembling. Saying it aloud, reliving those horrid memories to the one man who'd always sworn to protect her, to always care for her, disheartening her throughout.
He didn't deserve to become a part of this.
Yet Raoul carefully watched her as she spoke, never taking his eyes off her face. She knew her words hurt him yet she secretly wondered if he were indeed relieved that Erik had been captured, that he was likely to be killed within days.
Christine silently berated herself, her shattering thoughts completely ridiculous.
Raoul would never have such thoughts, especially if those thoughts involved hurting her. Yet it didn't particularly mean he'd risk his prestige within the aristocracy to help a criminal. One who'd been the sole reason behind their failed marriage.
"I need your help, Raoul," Christine finished. "I wish I didn't, but I do. I wouldn't ask this of you if I—"
"Hush, Christine. I will help you. How can I not?"
Christine jerked her head up, looking deeply into his eyes.
"You will?"
Raoul squeezed her hands in reassurance.
"You know I will. Though it's going to be difficult, Christine." Raoul looked shamefully away from her, as if he didn't wish for his possible failure to be discovered. "I cannot promise you anything," he murmured.
Christine laid her hand upon Raoul's face, forcing him to face her.
"I know, Raoul. Your wanting to help is enough for me."
Raoul tremulously smiled, taking her in his arms.
"Oh, Christine, I am truly sorry for what has happened. You indubitably don't deserve this."
"One week, Raoul. One week was all I had with him before—" She began to choke upon her words, unable to continue.
"It's all right, Christine," Raoul soothed, caressing her back.
"I love him so much," she blurted out.
Christine felt Raoul tense at her words. She immediately regretted them. He knew her love for Erik yet why had she declared it to him once more, knowing it would hurt him.
She slightly pulled away from him, looking down at the floor.
"I'm sorry. Forgive me," she whispered.
Raoul laid his hands upon her cheeks, wiping her tears. He shook his head, dismissing her mishap.
They were silent for some time.
"The gendarmes aren't after you, are they, Christine?" Raoul quietly asked.
Christine stiffened.
"I don't know." She looked hastily at Raoul. "Do you think—Oh, God," she cried, standing from the chaise lounge and walking toward a grand window. "If they find me, if they arrest me, then everything Erik did that morning to protect me would be in vain! I promised him to find myself safe! My God! I promised him!" She turned to Raoul. "I can't let them find me, Raoul! They'll take me!"
Raoul abruptly stood from the chaise lounge, quickly walking toward her. He gently took her in his arms as Christine simultaneously grabbed him to her.
She was emotionally spent, and the horrid realization that the gendarmes may come after her were terrifying. Erik wouldn't be able to protect her, to save her. And certainly Raoul would do what he could to protect her, but without his name any longer there'd only be so much he could do. Perhaps nothing he could do without the protection of his name.
"I won't let them take you, Christine." Raoul determinedly spoke, interrupting her thoughts.
Christine despairingly shook her head.
"You can't protect me, Raoul. You know this. I no longer have your name to protect me," she sighed, her fears coming to light as she spoke them aloud.
"Then I will give you my name, Christine." Raoul passionately declared, grasping her shoulders, looking down at her. "Marry me, Christine. If it means your protection, if it means saving your life, then marry me. I will have you as my wife once again, Christine."
Christine froze at his words, completely astonished.
"Raoul, I—" She paused.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. And yet, she could. She knew Raoul would risk his life, his reputation, to protect her. It frightened her that after everything she'd done to him, he'd do this for her. She wouldn't be able to give him anything in return, except gratitude and obligation. And those two circumstances certainly wouldn't justify for an everlasting marriage.
Christine would always love Raoul, he was her dearest friend. But he'd never have her soul and he knew this. She'd never be able to love him as he loved her. Yet he was willing to marry her once more, to spend the rest of his life with her by his side.
Christine bit her lip.
If they failed in saving Erik's life could she truly marry Raoul in order to save and protect her own?
Christine let out a long breath and began slowly pacing the room, fully aware of Raoul's eyes fixed upon her.
She knew Erik would want her to accept Raoul's proposal if it meant saving her life. It was incredibly heart wrenching. She hated it! Loving these two men had never been simple. The three of them were truly bound to another for always.
Erik had to of known that it would possibly come to this. But why hadn't he asked it of her when he pushed her through the secret labyrinth with Bernard? He'd made her promise to return to the Girys yet he hadn't made her promise to return to Raoul, to take his name once more in order to guarantee the safety of her life.
Perhaps he'd hoped that I'd come to realize it myself.
She looked intently at Raoul. Yes, Erik knew it'd come to this. He knew she'd return to Raoul or Raoul return to her. He knew the gendarmes would come after her. Her only wonder now was why he hadn't asked it of her before she'd escaped with Bernard.
Because he would be coercing you into a decision you hadn't want to make in the first place. Just as before, all those years ago.
Make your choice!
His haunting words echoed throughout her weeping soul.
Christine abruptly turned away from Raoul as the grim realization suddenly dawned on her.
Erik knew she and Raoul would find another once more. Perhaps he wanted her to return to him knowing that Raoul would protect her, and that he'd love her for always. Yet he hadn't wanted to coerce her into a decision, hadn't wanted to force her to choose, to defy him and their love. He knew her well enough to believe that she and Raoul would come together once more, that the gallant Vicomte would protect her for always.
Christine shuddered at the twistingly betraying thought.
She let out a long sigh.
No matter. She couldn't do this to Raoul. She wouldn't. She wanted him to move on with his life. To find another and perhaps fall in love again as she had, to find true happiness and passion once more, he deserved nothing less. And if he married her again then he'd never have that.
Christine wrapped her arms about her body. She stood still then looked fixedly at Raoul.
They stared at another for a long while, their soft breathing echoing throughout the regal salon.
Christine smiled at him, walking toward him. She laid her hand upon his chest, kissing him briefly upon the lips.
"You sweet, foolish man," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. "What have I done to deserve you, Raoul?"
Raoul gently grasped her arms, caressing them.
"Say yes, Christine. Please," he pleaded, leaning his forehead upon hers. "Say yes."
Christine shook her head.
"No, Raoul. I cannot. I won't do this to you. I won't do this to Erik, to myself."
"He would want you to, Christine. If it meant protecting you, we both know—"
Christine laid her hand upon Raoul's lips.
"You are right, Raoul. But I can't. I care for you too much to do this to you. It would destroy you and me—"
Raoul began to protest but Christine stopped him, grasping his face between her hands.
"No, Raoul. Once this is over I will return to the Girys. I shall stay with them until I feel I am safe, and then perhaps pursue life anew, as I had promised him."
"Christine, you cannot possibly mean to live a life of solitude. It's madness!" He passionately exclaimed, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Your life is too special for you to live it in hiding."
"I would have the Girys, Raoul. That would be enough for me."
Christine saw Raoul swallow hard, tears clouding his eyes. He kissed her brow.
"You'd have me, too."
Christine let out a slow breath at Raoul's devoted words.
"Oh, Raoul," she sighed. "Forgive me for bringing this upon you."
"Christine, please. I am forever yours. I will do what I can to protect you."
Christine warily smiled, looking down at the floor.
Raoul suddenly pulled away from her, rubbing his hands upon his face. He began silently pacing the room, inattentively picking different objects up and setting them down again.
Raoul's silence maddened Christine as she desperately wondered what he was thinking, his absentmindedness concerning her.
"Raoul—"
"Promise me," he boldly interrupted, his back toward her. "Promise me, Christine, that you will at least reconsider my offer. That you will think of it more intimately," he spoke softly, turning to face her.
Christine's eyes widened at his words but she silently complied nodding her head.
He then hastily walked to her, taking her face in his hands.
"Christine," he whispered, leaning his mouth toward hers.
Christine breathed deeply, a dark reluctance overcoming her as Raoul's lips lightly brushed hers. His soft whispers unwillingly entrancing her. She began to pull away but Raoul held her close.
"Christine—"
"Ahem."
Both immediately pulled away from another, Raoul thrusting his hands in his pockets, Christine smoothing her skirts.
"Philippe," Raoul shakily spoke through clenched teeth, visibly cursing his brother for his inconvenient appearance. "Whatever are you doing here?"
Philippe stood within the doorway, his arms crossed about his chest, his eyebrows raised.
"I came to see how you have been fairing, little brother. I hadn't any idea you were previously…engaged." Philippe replied, his eyes upon Christine. "Hello, Christine," he amiably greeted her.
Christine tremulously smiled.
"Hello, Philippe," she hesitantly greeted him, hoping he wouldn't be offended by her informality.
He sauntered across the room to her, taking her hands in his.
"I am sorry for what has happened, Christine," he whispered, kissing both her tearstained cheeks.
"Thank you," she said meekly.
"However did you come to be here? It must be dangerous for you to travel at this time."
Christine felt relief as she heard the concern in the Comte's voice. She truly felt safe as long as she had these two valiant men with her.
"The Girys have kindly allowed me to use their carriage. Thankfully it hasn't been recognized as of yet. Thankfully I haven't been recognized as of yet," she whispered, looking down at the floor.
Philippe tenderly squeezed her hands.
"When we heard of the news, Raoul and I immediately thought of what means would need to be taken to help you, Christine."
Christine looked up at Philippe, shock upon her face. She then looked over at Raoul.
"You mean—" She swallowed hard. "You have been planning to help me this entire time?"
Raoul amply smiled.
"Well, yes, of course," Philippe continued. "And why wouldn't we?" He laid his hand on the small of her back, motioning for her to sit. "You are family, Christine. I shall forever think of you as my little sister."
Christine smiled.
"Thank you, Philippe."
Philippe sweetly gripped her chin as she sat upon the chaise lounge once more.
"Think nothing of it, my dear."
The dashing brothers then sat upon the chaise lounge opposite her.
Philippe drew in a long breath.
"We must speak with the Duc de Pomeroy. He has much influence with the President. Not only are they political allies but they have known another for quite some time. They are dear friends." Philippe sighed, grasping an apple from the fruit bowl upon the exquisitely carved table. "If he cannot help us—if he won't help us—then all is truly lost."
Christine looked down at her lap upon hearing Philippe's hopeful yet disconcerting words.
"The Duc de Pomeroy," she breathed. "He sounds quite familiar. How well do you know the Duc, Philippe?" Christine asked.
Philippe sardonically chuckled, briefly looking up at the ceiling.
"Well enough. I loathe the man."
"As do I," Raoul fervently spoke, a look of disgust upon his face. "You shall recall our brief acquaintance with him, Christine, while we were still married? We only spoke with him every so often, and usually in passing, at soirées and small social gatherings and such."
Christine stared at the handsomely charismatic brothers, completely dismayed as she desperately tried to recall the Duc de Pomeroy.
"He is a most lascivious man," Philippe promptly chimed in.
Christine quietly gasped as she realized whom they were speaking of, Philippe's unflattering description of the Duc being one she'd heard numerous times throughout society while married to Raoul, though she didn't know much of him.
She crumpled her skirts in her clenched fists.
"I don't think I like the sound of this."
Philippe reached across the table, gently tapping her knee in reassurance.
"I don't wish for you to worry, Christine."
She uneasily laughed.
"How can I not?"
"Christine," Raoul soothed, "Philippe is greatly admired by the aristocracy—"
"Yes, but not by the Duc," Philippe interjected.
"Now, damn it, Philippe," Raoul breathed. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"Because it is true," Philippe bluntly declared, rubbing the apple upon his thigh. "I shan't give Christine false hope." He roughly bit into the delectable fruit.
"Yet you tell her not to worry! Come now, Philippe!" Raoul threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. He rose, walking to the fireplace that stood in front of them, leaning against it.
Christine stared miserably at Raoul.
"Raoul, please," she pleaded, holding her hand out to him as he turned toward her.
Raoul stared at her outstretched hand then nodded, taking it in his and sitting down beside her. Their hands stayed entwined, comforting Christine.
"What will you do, Philippe?" Christine asked, turning her attention back to the noble Comte.
"I shall speak with him, of course. Raoul you will come with me. Tomorrow we shall journey to his estate—"
"I'm coming with you," Christine declared.
"No!" Raoul and Philippe both bellowed.
"But—"
"No, Christine," Raoul softly reiterated, squeezing her hands, "it's too dangerous for you to be seen within society. Your coming here has been risk enough! And I certainly won't have you in the company of the Duc. I won't allow it."
"You cannot dictate to me any longer, Raoul. You are not my husband," she seethed, wrenching her hand away from his and abruptly standing from the chaise lounge.
Raoul looked down at his feet, her words visibly hurting him. Philippe stared at her incredulously.
Christine laid her hand upon her forehead.
"I'm sorry. My God," she whispered. "What is happening to me?"
Raoul stood, grasping her arms.
"Christine, it's all right—"
"No, it's not!" She cried, pulling away from him. "Raoul, if you had known my last words to Erik—" She paused, desperately trying to hold back her unshed tears. "It was horrible, Raoul. What I said to him. And now what I have said to you?" She wrapped her arms tightly about her body. "I hate this," she whispered.
"Oh, Christine," Raoul murmured, wrapping his arms about her.
Both stood there for some time. Christine slightly tensed as she felt another pair of masculine hands upon her then slowly relaxed.
"Christine," she heard Philippe's strong voice. "We will do all that we can."
Philippe wrapped his arms about her shoulders, Raoul's still upon her waist, Christine sobbing between them, their embraces comforting.
After some time, Raoul lightly lifted her chin.
"Come," he began, as Philippe pulled away from her but began playing with her brown curls with brotherly affection, "you shall stay here until this has ended—"
"Raoul—"
"I won't hear of it, Christine. You shall stay. And tomorrow Philippe and I shall speak with the Duc. Until then I want you here, where I know you will be safe."
Christine nodded her head as Raoul led her out of the salon. She then stopped, turning toward Philippe.
"Thank you."
Philippe simply nodded as Raoul wrapped his arm about Christine's waist once more, escorting her from the room, both glancing at Philippe over their shoulders one last time.