Chapter 37 - The Convention

Grasping her traveling bag with one hand, Meg wound her free hand around Erik's arm as they approached the desk clerk. After arriving in the magnificent city of Brussels and setting her eyes upon the opulence of the Hotel Belgique, she felt excited and awed. Not to mention to be traveling with Erik on what she considered a honeymoon of sorts, one they had already begun much more privately in her godparents' home. Waiting for the hotel clerk to give them his attention, they held onto each other, somewhat tense but nevertheless basking in their newfound love.

Glancing up at the bandage covering Erik's deformity, she sighed at its worn appearance but knew there was nothing they could do about it. Hopefully it would last until their appointment with Dr. Jean, who she looked forward to seeing again, as well as dear Rosalie. They had them to thank for not only a private time together, but to their accommodations and travel to this place. She only hoped that they would see in Erik all that she had seen. As she worried about this, she saw him turn his head and look down at her.

That heated dark green gaze of his bore into her, making her blush as her heart began to pound. His nearness did strange things to her stomach yet made her feel as if she had come alive for the very first time in her life. As she noted the slight lift of his brow she reddened even more, for he seemed to detect every detail of her state and seemed to glory in it. Although they stood in a noisy, crowded hotel foyer his gaze fired hot as it assessed her features, causing desire to sweep up and over her. Pleasantly flustered, she glanced down at her soiled gloves and brushed her free hand over her wrinkled dress, still feeling the weight of his gaze. She was aware of him bending to place his bag at the foot of the desk and therefore released his arm. He straightened and she felt his hand touch hers. Her attention shot to him and she saw the amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Your bag?" he prompted softly, a slight smile tilting the corner of his mouth.

She realized she gripped her bag so tightly he could not relieve her of it. Loosening her fingers, she felt his fingertips caress her hand before he took it and placed it next to his. His hand lifted to her back, flustering her even more, yet she gave her attention to the clerk as he finally turned to them. He was a middle aged man, stout and a bit frazzled in appearance, yet when he stared up at Erik a sarcastic smile spread over his face. Meg resisted the urge to slap him even though Erik stretched to his full height and placed both hands upon the polished surface of the desk. The clerk was forced to lean backward to hold Erik's stern gaze. His silence was even more intimidating, Meg smiled to herself.

"May I help you, monsieur?" the man finally asked, disdain clear in his voice.

"We would like a room," Erik stated simply, "preferably one with a view."

"All of our rooms are taken," the clerk answered with a too polite smile. "Unless of course you have a reservation."

"We do not."

The man transferred his gaze to Meg, who gripped Erik's upper arm. "The only beds which are available are in the shared rooms."

Feeling her anger mounting, Meg knew he was dismissing Erik in favor of dealing with her. Beneath her hand Erik's arm tensed.

"Shared rooms?" her husband said quietly, "surely you have something else, perhaps with some additional incentive."

The man stared greedily at the folded bill Erik drew out and half hid in his hand, but shook his head and affected an offended expression. "We have several concurrent activities in our city this week," he told her, nodding his head toward Erik. "Of which the medical convention is only one."

She glanced up at Erik, noting the nerve that jumped in his cheek. Taking a step closer to him, she leaned closer to the man. "Surely there are other hotels—if you might direct us there? We are new to the city."

The clerk smiled at her. "Everything is full," he shrugged innocently, "But we can put your name on our waiting list and notify you should anything become available."

Erik glanced down at her, as if waiting for her assent. She caressed his arm, holding his gaze. "Please?" she whispered to him. "I'm very tired."

He put his arm around her shoulders before turning back to the clerk. With forced smile he leaned closer, taking her with him. She had to grip the counter to maintain her balance.

"My wife and I will register here, but add our names to your list," he said meaningfully, emphasizing the word wife.

The man sighed indulgently but copied their names at Erik's dictation, checking the spelling of their last name several times. Keeping his arm around her, Erik reached for his billfold and pulled out the required amount. This was grabbed rudely, as was the extra tip Erik had offered.

"You will be informed," the clerk answered without looking up, sliding a key toward Erik, another toward Meg.

The second Erik slid back to him. "We will not need this," he stated quietly, staring at the man until he glanced back up.

"Hotel policy is that shared accommodations are separate for men and women," he added, sliding the key back toward Meg. "As well as divided on different floors."

Erik grinned dangerously. "I commend you on your attempt at joking," he stated, sliding the key back. "We are married and therefore stay together."

Meg noticed the lull in the activity around them, but decided that making a scene was excusable in light of the man's obvious prejudice toward Erik. By now the clerk was fuming at Erik.

"It is no joke," he insisted; "all newly arriving guests are given the same arrangement...hotel policy, as I stated."

She felt Erik's arm leave her shoulders as he straightened once again. "Then you are not discriminating against us, as I assumed?"

The man's expression changed again. "Certainly not, monsieur!" he gasped, glancing at the other hotel personnel who were watching their interaction with great interest.

"You could have fooled me," Erik said quietly, his stare prompting the others to resume their work. Finally the held up a hand for them to wait before he turned away.

"There is a message for you," he said over one shoulder. When he returned he extended a note toward Erik, who snatched it from his fingers. "When something becomes available a porter will let you know…dinner is at half-past six, a masked ball tonight. Masks will be provided in each room."

Pursing his lips, Erik pocketed the unopened note. "How convenient," he sneered. "Do let us know when that vacancy becomes available," he warned, bending and snatching up their bags. He stalked off without a backward glance as she lifted her skirts and hurried after him. Ignoring the interested stares of the other guests crowding the huge lobby, her boots clattered over the floor tiles as she followed him to the opposite end of the room. He did turn several times to catch her eye, yet apparently the effort to withhold his anger was proving too much after a long and arduous train ride. As they plowed through the crowds she saw many other patients in the lobby, some with canes or crutches, two in wheelchairs and others with bandaging about their heads. In light of their discovery the clerk's rudeness cut more deeply into her heart. She even entertained the idea of filing a complaint with the man's supervisor just for singling Erik out.

She saw Erik set their bags down at the foot of a brown upholstered loveseat tucked into a secluded corner. Fewer people were congregated there and a partition shielded it from the main entrance. He put a hand to his head as he turned to wait for her. When she reached for his hand and slid onto the loveseat he allowed her to pull him down at her side. With a mighty sigh he closed his eyes and leaned back, threading his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to leave you—"

"I know, and don't you dare apologize," she said quietly, leaning back and nudging his shoulder with hers. "Maybe something will become available soon," she said, her mood nearly as dark as his.

"I doubt that, judging by the size of this crowd," he commented, turning to study her for a moment. "I should not have let him provoke me."

"He was horribly rude," she insisted, leaning her head against his shoulder and laying a hand on his thigh. He stretched his long legs out before him with a sigh and closed his eyes. After a moment she heard his soft chuckle.

"This is quite cozy," he breathed intimately. "I am tempted to nap with you right here, beneath this auspicious gallery of haughtiness."

She glanced up at the portraiture of frowning citizens of the city and giggled. "How scandalous, but tempting—we might have that long a wait."

His eyes half opened. "I truly looked forward to our own hotel room…a novel experience, for both of us."

She lifted her brows hopefully. "Maybe we could sneak out of our shared ones later on," she whispered, gently squeezing his hand.

His expression lit with hope as he leaned close enough to bring his lips near hers. "Are you propositioning me, Madame?" he whispered, flashing a smile,

She lifted a fingertip to the cleft in his chin. "What do you think?"

He leaned his head farther back to study her face. "Now that is an offer I find impossible to refuse," he whispered. "Name the time and place."

She stretched up to kiss him gently on the lips, right there in public. "To be announced—nor would I have accepted a refusal," she added, straightening as a porter caught her eye and nodded to Erik.

"I had no intention of refusing," she heard him say before he got up to greet the man.

The porter was young, but he smiled and bowed as they got to their feet. "Sir, Madame," he greeted with a genuine smile. "Thank you for your patience—I am pleased to announce that we have two openings in shared rooms, if you will allow me to lead the way."

Erik nodded stiffly. "The lady's suite first," he requested, taking her arm as the porter took their bags.

Proceeding back across the lobby and under an archway, they followed the porter through streams of people at every turn. Many people waited in lines, conversing loudly and looking bored and impatient. Slowly making their way across the foyer, the saw the porter turn and point his finger.

"To your left is the grand ballroom," he indicated. "Do you know about tonight's masquerade ball?"

"Yes, thank you," Erik replied distractedly. "Where does the medical convention convene?"

He pointed in the opposite direction. "The main dining area—lectures continue all week, beginning at 10 o'clock each morning through Saturday, with lunch and dinner included for registered patrons."

Erik nodded, taking out the note left for him as they walked along, dodging people along the way. Meg guided him with a hand on his arm as he read the note, thinking that the hastily scribbled writing looked familiar.

Erik glanced up. "There has been a change of plans," he told her. "Our appointment has been moved to today," he stated, handing her the note as they came to a juncture in the corridor. They had to stop and wait as an elderly woman walked slowly across their path, balanced with a cane and the support of a younger man who smiled apologetically at them. Erik nodded back while Meg took the opportunity to read the note herself.

"Erik – our appointment for 4 o'clock tomorrow has fallen victim to conference demands - if you could, please meet me today at half-past five, room 302. Looking forward to meeting you and seeing Marguerite again…Jean Hommes."

Tucking the note into his breast pocket, she met his look of surprise with a smile. Her formerly loner of a husband still found it disconcerting when she did such things, but judging by the pleased glint in his eyes he was becoming accustomed to it. They continued on, following the porter up a sweeping staircase up to the second floor. Turning right, they faced a long hallway of closed doors and started down it. She leaned closer, tugging his sleeve.

"This is turning out to be quite an adventure," she said quietly. "The arrival of the carriage to take us to the train station, driver unseen, the long train ride interrupted by a dangerous crossing—all quite thrilling."

He laughed shortly. "A bit too thrilling—we nearly swerved off the track."

She smiled up at him. "You caught me the moment I stumbled, and quite expertly! Who knows what injury I might have suffered, had your reflexes been slower?"

"At least there we were able to sit together," he stated blandly, directing his gaze ahead. "Separate rooms and floors—I'm seriously considering a walking tour of the other hotels just to find a double room."

She sighed, turning again with him as they followed their guide into the deeper recesses of the hotel. "All I can think of is freshening up and resting a bit."

"That may not be possible in a shared room," he said by way of reminder.

"Then at least I might wash my face and change into a clean dress."

He nodded. "It was good of your mother to pack more clothing for us and have it delivered to the house before we left, although I wonder how she managed to find anything of mine."

"Mother has ways of managing we can only dream of," she sighed. "The butler even took time from his day off to deliver them—we must mention that to Jean when we see him later."

"How could we have delivered them, without being heard or seen?"

"Georges it the perfect servant—virtually invisible unless summoned."

"Reminds me of my former life," he stated, averting his gaze to the porter's back. "Which did, by the way, have its advantages."

Erik's courage in coming thus into the public realm astounded her, particularly in light of the rude treatment he had long suffered when doing so. Something told her, however, not to dwell upon it, nor be too obvious in letting him know of the overwhelming admiration she felt for him. Instead, she looked up at his stern profile with a teasing smile.

"Are you thinking of becoming a butler, then?" she stated with feigned shock.

He glanced down at her. "What, you don't think I can humble myself enough?"

"I would have a hard time envisioning you taking out the trash, Erik."

"I've had worse jobs, particularly in my earlier years," he said, looking ahead.

Her smile faded. "Well I would prefer you did neither, for it would be an incredible waste of your talents."

"I don't know about that," he answered distractedly, watching the porter slow and halt before room number 294. "I do admit I must learn the art of planning ahead, at least in terms of making a reservation."

"We could never have anticipated the entire city being so crowded," she answered, watching the porter knock, listen and slowly open the door.

"Your room, Madame," he announced, stepping back to let them enter ahead of him. "There are, as you can see, several other women sharing this one...it appears they are out for the day."

Slowly they walked in, Erik halting just inside the open door. Surprised at the clothes and accessories strewn about the room, she saw that the beds were unmade and overflowing with more clothes, some spilling onto the rug.

"Yes, I can see," she answered, noticing one small bed in the corner alcove, upon which she watched the porter set her bag. He offered her a slight bow before going to Erik, who nodded to him in thanks while he pressed something into his hand.

"Thank you, Monsieur," he smiled. "Would you like me to show you to your room now?"

Erik drew his attention from the untidy furnishings to his face. "That won't be necessary," he said, holding his hand out for his key. "I will find it on my own, thank you." He was given the key and the porter handed over his bag.

"Take a left from here to the staircase, go up one floor and turn right; it is two doors down," he was instructed.

"I appreciate your help," Erik said, nodding as he closed the door behind him. Leaning back against it, he caught and held her gaze. She gripped her hands tightly as he smiled faintly. "Alone at last," he whispered, watching her expectantly.

Rushing up to him, she threw her arms around his neck as he scooped her up against him, bestowing upon her a ravenous kiss. She gripped his shoulders as a flame of desire ignited between them. It seemed that it grew stronger and stronger every time they touched, Meg sensed, overwhelming them with need. It had been a long day spent in public and now, faced with another separation, they took advantage of what might be their only chance to be alone together for a few days. That is, if Erik agreed to the surgery Jean offered.

He pulled her back with him as he leaned back into the wall, touching his forehead to hers. "I've wanted to do that all day," he breathed, his fingers shifting restlessly through her upswept hair.

"I have too," she sighed, kissing him briefly before peeling off the fake bandages concealing his face. "What are we to do?" she complained, kissing him hungrily. "I don't want to leave you."

He kissed her in earnest, lifting a hand to the buttons of her jacket collar. "Maybe we can think of something," he whispered, deftly releasing each its confinement.

Following his lead, she pushed off his jacket as they kissed greedily, frustrated by their need and lack of expression. Gripping both their jackets in one hand, he backed her toward the nearest door and pushed it open. They were in the bathroom, she realized as she pulled up the tail of his shirt and touched his skin. Sliding her hands up and around him, she reveled in the warm strength of his body, hearing the door kicked shut. When he lifted her suddenly she squeaked in surprise, feeling the hard countertop beneath her as she gripped his shoulders for support. He ducked and fastened his lips over hers, leaning into her as he grasped her waist.

"What are we doing?" she breathed, kissing him between huffs of shared laughter.

He tilted his head to kiss her teasingly, grinning up at her from his half bent position. "Making love, I hope," he growled softly, kissing the side of her neck. She shivered and hooked her ankles around the back of his knees.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she panted, kneading his chest beneath his half opened shirt. When he captured her lips again she was surprised by the intense hunger for him that swept through her, robbing her of thought and intent other than to be with him. It shocked and unsettled her, but he seemed to relish it, indeed, he seemed determined to watch it grow. For a few frustrated moments they struggled and bumped their elbows and knees, then he lifted his head to look deeply into her eyes.

"I'm willing to risk it if you are," he breathed, smoothing his hands along the outside of her thighs before he paused to see what she would say.

"Someone might come in," she half breathed, half laughed.

"We need not be long," he gasped, laughing at himself as he kissed her greedily.

"Oh, Erik," she moaned, sliding her lips across his, "this is…truly…scandalous…"

"Which makes it even more exciting—" he said into her ear, his voice a soft laugh.

"We're being silly—" she sighed, tasting this side of his neck. "Like children playing where they know they shouldn't be."

He kissed her teasingly. "I never had a childhood," he breathed.

Loving the passion in his voice, she teased his bottom lip with hers. "I could teach you to play," she whispered, laughing when he flashed a smile.

"I can hardly wait."

She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. "Is the door locked?" she whispered, kissing him hungrily.

He grinned wickedly. "Of course." Then kissing her with practiced determination, he made her world fall away until there was no one else but him. He slowly plucked the pins from her coiffe and shifted his hands through her hair, spreading it around her shoulders. She heard the soft jingle of hairpins clipping the countertop as she massaged the back of his head, loving the thick softness of his hair. Grasping his head between both hands, she guided his mouth back to hers, feeling his sigh against her lips even as another sound invaded their world.

"Sarah?" a distant voice called, followed by a few knocks upon the outside door. "Are you in there, Sarah?"

They froze, staring into each other's eyes. Tightening her fingers upon his shoulders, she realized they were about to be discovered. Pushing him away at the same time he righted his shirt and straightened, she gripped his arm and slipped from the countertop.

"Sarah? It's Mrs. Brigham—" they heard her knock as Meg piled her hair up and jabbed pins into it. She nearly laughed at the way Erik had buttoned his shirt and donned his jacket, hiding the disarray beneath. Slow footsteps traveled the distance close to the door and they heard it shut. "I'm sorry to interrupt you dear, but really you must come down and see—oh, I think we have another guest!"

"Mrs. Brigham!" Meg called out, quickly fastening the top of her dress, "you do," she identified herself, watching Erik tuck in his shirt and begin to fasten his collar. His eyes were dark green and heavy lidded with passion, and she thought he had never looked more desirable. "My name is Marguerite Destler—"

Shrugging back into her jacket she watched him scoop his up, plastering himself against the wall next to the door. Nodding his head toward the doorknob, he smiled and laid a finger over his lips.

"You can't hide in here!" she whispered, grasping the knob nevertheless.

"Just get her out of the room for a few moments," he whispered back.

"What did you say?" the woman called, her voice closer now.

Erik was struggling to loop the bandage around his head as she gripped the handle and turned.

"Destler!" she introduced herself, smiling as calmly as she could and stepping into the room.

Mrs. Brigham was a very stylishly dressed older woman, her white hair twisted becomingly into a neat coiffe. She wore a burgundy gown, many jewels and a suspicious expression.

"I thought I heard voices in there," she said carefully, peering around Meg's smiling face.

"Oh—I sometimes talk to myself," she confessed, realizing it was true most of the time.

The woman's eyes narrowed upon her face, shifted over her mussed clothing and untidy hair while she smiled broadly. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance—I assume you are my room mate?"

Mrs. Brigham's expression relaxed a bit. "You are positively glowing, young lady—let me guess, you are expecting, aren't you, dear? That is why you took so long in there."

"Well, thank you, I—don't—know what—"

"Allow me to introduce myself," Erik said formally, stepping up behind her and touching her waist. Mrs. Brigham laid a hand over her heart and took a step back, dumbfounded.

"Goodness gracious—" she gasped, her tone a mixture of wonder and surprise as she looked from Meg to Erik. His tall, muscular frame filled the threshold as he guided Meg a few steps into the room and extended his hand past her.

"Marguerite's husband," he said, politely shaking her hand gently before releasing her. "My name is Erik Destler."

Mrs. Brigham stared at him a moment, her critical examination taking in his crookedly fastened cravat and jacket, the loose tendrils of Meg's hair and finally the sparkling ring on her left hand. When she lifted her eyes to Erik's a knowing smile crept over her wrinkled features, lighting up her face most becomingly.

"Erik Destler," she sighed, tilting her head to study him. "Why is your name familiar?"

He straightened. "It is a common enough surname, Madame...?"

"Angelique Brigham, nee Courtemanche," she stated absently. "Which physician are you waiting to see, might I ask?"

"Dr. Jean Hommes," Meg interjected, pulling Erik's arm around her and holding it close. "He is also my guardian, along with his wife Rosalie."

"Haven't met them," Mrs. Brigham stated, straightening her shawl. "I'm here for a skin surgeon, myself."

"We hope it is nothing serious," Meg said politely, her heartbeat finally slowing.

"Only a minor surgical need, my dear—well, forgive my interruption, I was just looking for one of our other room guests who fled in tears somewhere else, apparently. She is always weeping about something insignificant."

"And please excuse my use of your lavatory," Erik apologized with a slight bow.

"He has yet to find his own room," Meg said, smiling up at him. "He only wished to see me to mine."

"Separate rooms?" Mrs. Brigham huffed. "A ridiculous practice, especially for young married couples such as yourselves."

"How did you know?" Meg blurted out before she could catch herself. Erik eyed her with gentle warning before she shifted her attention back to Mrs. Brigham.

Mrs. Brigham smiled up at Erik with twinkling eyes. "It shows, my dear," she whispered, turning to cross the room. "Well, while I'm here I might as well look for my glasses, which I seem to have misplaced yet again."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brigham," Erik said curtly, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. He lifted a hand to hold the sliding bandage in place. "I will be back to escort you to dinner," he said to Meg.

"Would you mind terribly if I go down with you?" Mrs. Brigham asked sweetly, turning to throw Meg a hesitant look.

"…of course not!" she answered, looking to Erik for confirmation.

"I would be delighted to escort you both," he offered, "assuming Mr. Brigham is unavailable?"

Mrs. Brigham came up and placed her hand upon his arm. "Unfortunately he is not, kind sir. I have been a widow for 12 years, but I prefer not to be alone...I'm sure that with some pause and reflection, you might understand my preference."

"Neither is needed," Erik stated, throwing Meg a look. If she only knew to whom she spoke, he seemed to be saying. "There is no fate worse than loneliness, in my opinion."

Eyeing him keenly, she nodded. "You are a very perceptive young man."

"Erik, what about your appointment?" Meg reminded him.

He nodded and pulled out his watch. "We have one half-hour before I'll be back for you," he told her, nodding to Mrs. Brigham. "Shall we call for you at 6 for dinner?"

"Seven would be better," Mrs. Brigham announced. "I thank you, sir—you are truly a gentleman to escort an old lady, and a stranger no less."

"Ah but we have introduced ourselves," he corrected her, turning to smile at Meg before he left, closing the door behind.

Meg looked at Mrs. Brigham, still somewhat embarrassed by their appearance. "I'm so sorry about that, Mrs. Brig—"

"He has wonderful eyes, your husband," she interrupted, reaching for Meg's hand. "An astonishing color...not to mention impeccable manners, and a fine build as well."

Feeling caught, Meg smiled nervously. "It is just that we are accustomed to sharing the lavatory—"

"I understand completely, my dear," Mrs. Brigham soothed, walking away but stopping to turn and smile. "If he were my husband I would do exactly the same thing…in fact, I should be asking your forgiveness for interrupting an intimate moment—but I've afraid I've never had a very good sense of timing."

"He shouldn't have been here, considering the hotel's rules—"

"Pooh on their rules!" Mrs. Brigham complained with the wave of her hand. "They should have made arrangements with another hotel or two in anticipation of the crowds—it is shameful, separating married couples this way, especially the newly wed."

"How do you know we are newly wed?" Meg had to ask, despite her embarrassment.

"I just know—go by the heart, dear, not the head. Remember that, and you will have a long and happy marriage."

"I will keep that in mind," Meg nodded. "But we're both horribly embarrassed."

"Don't be—that husband of yours has suffered enough, by the looks of him. He needs some tender loving care, I would say. And I do hope his injury is correctable, though even one side of that face is worth a lifetime of joy."

"Mrs. Brigham, please! You are making me jealous!"

"Good—don't be sorry and don't apologize for wanting to show that jealousy and love—it's what marriage is all about!"

Meg frowned and turned to go to her bag, busying herself with unpacking and laying out her gown and a dress for Erik's appointment. She listened distractedly to the woman's continuing story of her marriage and family, all the while looking forward to Erik's return and seeing Jean and Rosalie again. Once this matter of his surgery was discussed and they could sit down to dinner, they might be able to relax. Quite unexpectedly and thankfully, everyone else would be wearing a mask as well. Perhaps for the first time since leaving the parish they might blend into the crowd as any normal couple would. That, she vowed, no one would take away from them. Not if she could help it.

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt