Loved the reviews for the last chapter. All you lurkers feel free to pop one in too. - Leesainthesky
Re-cap: Erik and Gabrielle receive an invitation to dinner at his partner's home…
Ch 37 The Dinner guests
Dressing for dinner was a monumental chore for late nineteenth century upper crust folks. I yearned for the days when I could throw on a nice pair of jeans, maybe a designer sweater, a dab of make up and—batta-bing, you were ready for dinner. In 1877, everyone dressed to the nines even when dining at someone's home rather than a restaurant.
After Erik and I bathed, dressed and attended to our individual toilet, it was already eight o'clock. Fortunately, the Mangeot's townhouse was not far.
Erik, always a fine figure in his evening attire, looked particularly splendid tonight. He wore a dark tails with velvet trim. Silver threads wove through the design on his black brocade waistcoat and a more fashionable, thin black silk cravat graced his neck. His flesh colored mask was in place.
I had to wear the same lavender dress from the night before since I owned so few frocks that would fit on what Erik lustily called my ripe new figure.
"It will be nice to own new clothes that actually fit without having to cinch the rib-breaker so tight," I alluded to my corset.
"Don't fret, you look lovely and the yellow rose adorning your hair is fetching. The Mangeot's would be fools not to approve of you Gabrielle; you'll find them most amiable people."
Erik touched a finger to my chin and tipped my face up toward his. "I've a little something that will add to your evening ensemble." Erik drew a small blue velvet box from his cape and handed it to me.
"What have you done Erik?" I eyed him suspiciously.
"Cease the conjecture and open the box."
Gingerly, I took the oblong box from him. The hinged lid opened with a snap. Inside was a necklace of tiny pearls. An oval diamond was set in the center of the piece.
I lifted the necklace from its stays and ran the milky pearls across my teeth.
Of course they're real silly girl, this is Erik after all. Dear lord these must have cost a small fortune!
"What, pray tell are you doing? They are for wearing, not eating, dear."
"Just checking to see if these were the real deal."
"Why, of course they're real; do you think I would give you paste? How absurd."
I held the necklace between my index finger and my thumb, glancing from the gift to Erik. "These are breathtaking, Erik, I've never owned real pearls. I hope you don't think I expect expensive gifts from you all the time. I love being pampered, but, oh I don't know, this feels so weird to me."
"Nonsense, I do this because I wish to. Gabrielle, most of my adult life I have been a man of substantial means, yet had no one to spend my fortunes on. The act of choosing gifts for you is a monumental privilege for me; I do hope you are not insulted."
"Oh, no, no, no, don't misunderstand me, Erik. I more than appreciate your thoughtfulness. Here," I handed the necklace back to him, "will you help me put these on?"
I turned so he could drape the pearls around my neck and work the clasp. The feel of his warm hands on my neck caused a delightful chill to flutter down my spine.I had to admit I did enjoy receiving lavish gifts from Erik.
"There are earrings to match…"
"Erik, this is too much!"
"You have to be fully accessorized, mademoiselle."
"Well, this is true. Let me see them!"
Erik retrieved another small velvet box from his cloak pocket. Inside the box rested an exquisite pair of matching pearl and diamond earrings.
Quickly I removed them, walked over to the vanity mirror in the boudoir and clipped them onto my ears. Polite women did not pierce their ears in 1877 Europe.
Erik's reflection appeared behind me. Seeing his approving smile made me glow with affection.
I spoke to this image in the mirror, "Thank you my love. No one has ever treated me so well in so many ways, well maybe my dad, but that's a little different than one's lover."
I turned and stood on my toes to kiss Erik.
"My lover," Erik savored the words. "I hadn't put a great deal of thought into what we are. You and I are lovers aren't we, Gabrielle?"
"You are correct Monsieur Dupuis, we are lovers of the most sincere and passionate sort."
Erik and I stood facing each other with our toes touching and gazed deeply into each other's eyes. We existed in a of freeze frame moment where you remember forever exactly what you wore, thought, said and felt in that instant.
Re-animated, Erik took my lace covered hands in his leather clad ones, "We must depart my lover. I need to stop for flowers for Emily and a fine Cuban for Monsieur Mangeot; he does so love those things."
"You're talking cigar aren't you? Would you get one for me too? In 2005, it's nearly impossible to get your hands on a Cuban cigar since we stopped trading with the country."
"Dear lord, Gabrielle, what would you want with a cigar?"
"Um, to smoke it?"
"You're joking. Only renegade women engage in such masculine pursuits."
"Ah…yes, joking Erik. Disregard my ramblings." I could tell I was treading into weird water again. I had promised to behave tonight.
Once a florist and a cigar store were located and the gift items purchased we were finally off for an evening of nineteenth century socializing.
In the carriage, Erik was a gentleman. He nuzzled my neck and complemented me on the fragrance I wore. We necked like crazy and murmured endearments but Erik refrained from fondling me as he had during last night's carriage ride. Erik hadn't made any amorous overtures toward me all day, not even while we napped together in the same bed.
Had his physical interest in me waned? I wondered if his sudden change in demeanor was due to an interest in furthering our relationship, or something more.
Because of the success of Erik and Eugene's architectural firm's, the Mangeot's were able to afford the townhouse and summer cottage, de rigueur for most well to do Londoners. This summer the Mangeot's choose to stay in the city so Eugene could be closer to the firm's latest project, an enormous department store that was to be in the center of town.
Inside of thirty minutes, we arrived in front of the Mangeot's stylish brownstone, in the Knightsbridge section of London.
Once out of the carriage, we ascended the front steps. Erik engaged the ornate doorknocker.
"Gads, how Dickens-esque," I remarked. The doorknocker was a brass gargoyle. It reminded me of the one on Ebenezer Scrooge's door.
There was a whoosh as the heavy door opened. The Mangeot's butler ushered us into a long hall decorated with paintings reminiscent of Marc Chagall. The fragrance of lilac permeated my nostrils, and then I saw Madame Mangeot. Emily was a petite woman in her mid-twenties with upswept blonde hair and hazel eyes. She wore a powder blue silk gown adorned with organza and many ruffles descending from the bustle to the floor that rustled as she moved. The woman reminded me of a hummingbird; buzzing about checking on every one and everything to be sure all was taken care of. Her voice was light and melodious.
"Erik, how generous of you to accept our invitation," she curtsied to the both of us. "Why this must be Gabrielle! So nice to meet you, and what a darling you are. Come, meet my husband and then we will join everyone in the parlor. Supper should be ready in a short bit."
Erik flashed me his trademark rakish smirk and linked his arm in mine. We followed Emily into the parlor where her guests were chatting.
It surprised me to see two other couples present: A balding middle-aged man and a slender hawkish woman of about the same age. They conversed with a demure brunette and a slightly younger man wearing a dark suit with a western string tie around his collar.
"I'd like you all to meet our esteemed guest, the composer and Eugene's business partner, Monsieur Erik DuPuis, of Paris, and his friend, Madame Gabrielle Thomassen of America. Forgive me, the name of your town escapes me…oh yes, Chicago."
We bowed and curtsied to the strangers. Emily gestured to the middle-aged couple, "My sister, Lady Constance and her husband Lord Byron Hunter. And these fine people are George Eliot and her companion, Mr. George Henry Lewes, both acclaimed authors.
"My pleasure," I curtsied again.
"Please, call me Mary Ann, George Eliot is my nom de plume."
"And I insist you must all call me Gabrielle."
Mundane chit-chat was exchanged covering subjects such as where are you from, what is it like to live there and what do you think about the latest invention, blah, blah, blah. I observed Madame Mangeot's relatives to be rather stuffy; however, the famous Ms. Eliot and her companion were very unconventional. Ours was a mismatched gaggle of folks indeed. Supper conversation would be interesting.
Madame Mangeot stepped out of the room momentarily, and then returned shortly to announce dinner, "The children have been fed and nanny Grace is getting them ready for bed. Now we adults can sup without interruption. Shall we proceed to supper?" she smiled enthusiastically and directed us to the dining room.
Madame Mangeot situated me on the corner to her right with Lord Hunter on my other side. Erik was on the far corner next to Monsieur Mangeot at the head of the table and Lady Hunter at his right.
While a servant poured wine, I snuck a fleeting look down the table at Erik. He gave me a quick wink, and then gave my wine glass a sideways glance as if to say, "Remember our agreement?" I smiled prettily at him in reassurance of our little pact.
The first course followed the wine. It was a rich lobster bisque.
"I do hope you enjoy shellfish. If it is not to your liking I'll have chef bring you another selection," said Emily.
An uneven chorus of no's sounded around the table, and we all waited for the signal from Eugene to begin supping.
Lord Hunter initiated the conversation, "Dupuis, Mangeot tells me that you and he have your work cut out for you with this new project. The commerce commissioner is giving you a bit of noise over your unusual building design."
Erik shrugged indifferently, "They will oppose any design that does not reflect the tedium of the past masters. Our design is unique in its space efficiency, structure and artistic design. These are not attributes that you will find in many of today's English architects."
Lord and Lady Hunter frowned.
"Ah, but if not for the English, you and my dear brother-in-law would not be so well heeled, now would you DuPuis?"
Erik glowered at the man, "I do not think that Monsieur Mangeot and I would suffer if the Empire decided they no longer needed our services."
"Ah yes, dear fellow, I recall that you are also what…a musician is it?"
I sipped my wine as instructed, observing the heated ping-pong match between opposite ends of the dining table.
Erik's face turned the shade of the white mask he no longer wore. Eugene caught this and intercepted, "Monsieur Dupuis is a most exceptional composer, who can master any instrument placed in his gifted hands. It was just this past season his opera, Requiem for a Lost Soul, played in the West end to sold-out houses for two weeks."
"Indeed," interjected Emily, "the Village Voice dubbed the opera 'a sublime production that combines the eloquence of the old masters with lively, fresh ideas. Monsieur DuPuis' work plunges the audience into emotional depths as deep as Hades itself and soars to a heavenly zenith.'
"I rather recall the Gazette stating the production was nothing more than a turgid bit of mismatched notes and garish images. No offense my good man, I'm only reiterating what the music reviewer had to say."
"I don't always comprehend why young people feel they must do things different than their predecessors, but I suppose it must be done or nothing would ever change. One of the ladies in my social club, Lady Gerard, saw the production. She said the soprano was of passable voice, but would have preferred to hear the divine diva, Madame Christine de Chaney in the part of Caroleena. She still tours on occasion, you know," remarked Lady Hunter.
The Mangeot's and I froze. I could see they wanted to check the expression on Erik's face as badly as I did, but no one dared call attention to Lady Hunter's oblivious faux pas.
Lady Hunter seemed please with her interjection into the conversation, as if she were in the know when it came to tasteful art. I stole a peek at Erik whose eyes were dangerous slits of fire.
"Nonsense Hunter," Mr. Lewes Cross spoke up. I believe music the caliber of Dupuis' require fresh voices. DuPuis, my friend, your compositions could rescue the failing opera from certain obscurity."
"Here, here darling, I concur," added Mrs. Eliot.
"I fear it will take more than one of my musical creations to rescue the English opera, so many are flocking to those horrid music halls for entertainment, or what I call the lack thereof such," Erik said bluntly.
"I do wish I had been here when for your opera's run, Erik, alas, I was in Chicago at the time," I said.
Erik's countenance had softened slightly; I smiled at him from the far end of the long dining table."
"Don't fret Madame Gabrielle, the Lyric in France plans to perform my latest opera come fall. I must, of course finish the work first,' he added with a touch of droll humor.
"More wine anyone?" Eugene summoned the wine steward, "Stedman, bring the Boudreaux again please, my good man."
"Chicago, what is it like living there Madame Gabrielle? I know nothing of the town though I imagine it is most untamed and savage territory," quipped Lady Hunter.
"Actually, Chicago is burgeoning American city. We have the best rail system in the world, a substantial arts community and many tall buildings, why I wouldn't be suspired if the world's first skyscraper won't be build there within the next ten years."
"You don't say, a skyscraper? It sounds dreadfully American," Lady Hunter snorted.
"Isn't she the cleaver girl to know so much about dull subjects like architecture," Lord Hunter condescended while leering at my breasts.
"What did your people do in Chicago, where they prominent Madame?"
"My father was a magistrate and my mother was from a Russian family, Bashkirtseff…ever heard of them?"
"Aren't they related to the royal family Gabrielle?" Erik added catching on to my game.
"Why yes, I don't like to make a big deal of it. My mother was estranged for marrying a commoner and then moving to America with him. But yes, I do have the Bashkirtseff blood in my veins."
"Such a modest young lady you are, Gabrielle."
"One does not choose one's parentage, Erik."
"I am sorry to learn of your widowhood. Were you married long?" asked Lady Hunter.
"A mere three years."
"And no children, what a pity—with no man to care for you I suppose it you found it necessary to come to Europe for solace."
"Yes, Eugene is a second cousin to my father and my only living relative. When he found out his partner was in need of help, he suggested I assist Monsieur DuPuis at his manor. With the children, I fear there was no room for me here. I didn't want to be a burden," I smiled and nodded to Eugene and Annette.
"Poor dear it must be dreadful for you, being without family and penniless, and at the mercy of a stranger," Lady Hunter continued.
"I manage quite well Madame," I retorted sharply.
Silence claimed the room and I realized all eyes were on me. The heat of embarrassment spread across my cheeks and under my arms, causing my sweat glands to activate.
"Gabrielle is a most intelligent and capable young woman. She hardly requires my benevolence to survive, although it is a pleasure to have her in my home."
Well hello! It's Erik to the rescue.
"I'll bet it is a supreme pleasure indeed," whispered the Lord, a lewd sneer spreading across his face.
"You've no idea," I whispered behind my hand. "Monsieur DuPuis is hung like a stallion."
I enjoyed watching the color drain from Lord Hunter's face. It was his final lewd comment that evening.
Mary Annhad the wits about her to change the subject, "Madame Gabrielle, you appear to be an independent spirit. I find this refreshing in today's young women. So many ladies of your station focus exclusively on finding a wealthy and titled husband. They possess little identity of their own. Tell me, do you have an occupation or hobby?"
"Remember, I want you to call me Gabrielle—I am more comfortable with American informality. Actually, when I lived in Chicago, I interviewed dignitaries and entertainers for our local newspaper."
"As a woman? How splendidly unusual; one would never see a woman engaged in such bold activities here. It is not allowed!" exclaimed Emily.
"Well it is allowed, Emily, but under a pseudonym," said Mary Ann.
"Yes dear, you know all about twisting round those obstacles don't you," Mr. Lewes, her companion, smiled.
"It is dreadful not being able to practice my trade here in Europe; have you any tips for me Mary Ann?"
"It is the most difficult nut to crack, the nut of prejudice against women. Socrates once said that women could be as smart as men could if only they too had the opportunity for learning. Unfortunately, so risqué was his suggestion that he was encouraged to imbibe in the privileged death of self-poisoning. It is absurd that the declaration of a woman being equally intelligent as a man would cause such a stir!"
"Well I would never have the guts to venture out on my own as you have Mary Ann; you are an exceptionally intelligent and brave woman," Emily observed.
"Emily, you could aspire to whatever you wish to, but you make such a splendid mother, I cannot conceive of you doing anything else. That is meant as a sincere compliment my dearest," Eugene praised his wife,
"Taken as such, darling."
"That is how it should be, women are the vessels and men the instrument that fills them to make them whole. Without men to provide meaning, her life would have little purpose other than ornamentation," blustered Lord Hunter.
"Oh my friend, you had best hold your tongue, else the ladies have you for supper with a fork and a knife," Mr. Lewes Cross chuckled.
I was a hair's breath away from telling him just how archaic his drivel was, "Actually sir, you are physiologically incorrect. Scientists and doctors have known for some time that a man and woman share in the responsibility of conception, in fact I was reading in a medical journal Erik receives at the house about how scientists had discovered how a woman's eggs provide…"
"…Ahem, not quite appropriate conversation for dining, Gabrielle. In spite of her intelligence and breeding, my American friend can get a bit carried away and forget herself."
I started to glare at Erik, and then realized he was not simply warning me, but also protecting me. One slipper-covered foot was poised and ready to slip into my mouth at any moment.
"Forgive me, you are so right Monsieur. See what happens when you send a female to University for six years?" I acquiesced.
"Gabrielle, what is the manner of your work, your writing?" asked Mary Ann.
"Editorials, reviewing social events, theatre and such; I did do a piece championing the rights of homeless women and children when I lived in Chicago. I was fortunate to have a forward thinking family who supported my efforts."
"If you don't mind, I would love to take a look at your writing sometime."
"Oh Madame, having you critique my work would be an unprecedented honor, but I'm afraid most of my published work and stories are back in the States. I saw no need to bring them along with me."
"No matter, whatever you have is fine."
Wow, George Eliot critiquing my writing—it was an overwhelming honor.
The entrée arrived, a roast spring lamb, relieving all from any more emotionally charged conversation.
I barley picked my dinner. I was nervous being around otherworldly folks and I wasn't too fond of red meat either. Gentlewomen weren't expected to have much of an appetite so no one noticed.
The normal after dinner tradition for Victorian folk was to herd the women into one salon for idle talk and the men to another for fine brandy, cigars and noteworthy conversation.
Not with this diverse crowd. Mr. Lewes suggested we all retire to the library and none of the men appeared to mind his suggestion, with the exception of Lord Hunter, who was obviously not used to mixed company unless it involved food or sex.
We talked of literature, the arts and such absurdities as women wearing corsets and the prohibition of walking about in the evening unescorted.
"If we didn't have to wear all those layers of cloth, we could move around free enough to defend ourselves if a rouge male dared attack us," I said.
"Yes, Madame Gabrielle knows a style of marital arts that could lay out any man bold enough to approach her," Erik offered with raised eyebrows.
"I love American's, you are so very interesting and brash," Emily clapped her hands.
The Hunters, naturally, were aghast.
When Emily held a dainty hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide a yawn, we knew it was time to relieve our hosts for the evening.
Eugene air kissed my hand and Emily begged me to come for a visit soon so we could shop and have tea and meet the children. I promised to send Mary Anna sample of my writing; the Hunters received a polite curtsey and good evening and nothing more.
"Do bring her back, Dupuis," said Eugene, "she's a delightful little spitfire."
"That she is," Erik replied while helping me into my cloak.
The ride home in the carriage was quiet and I wondered if something was amiss. "Erik, I hope I didn't embarrass you this evening."
He looked down at me and casually swung his arm around my shoulders, "Definitely not, but I'll have to say I rather enjoyed the look on Lord Hunter's face when you told him your mother was a Royal Bashkirtseff."
"Yeah, I trumped his ass didn't I?"
"Something to that effect…I did have a burning notion to strangle the man for peering down your décolletage the first half of the evening. What did you say to get the lascivious oaf to cease his ogling?"
"His snide remarks concerning our relationship within the manor began to grate on my nerves, so when you told the group it was a pleasure having me at manor; I whispered to him that he had no idea how pleasurable…"
"That's all it took to shut him up?"
"Well…you'll be angry."
"Gabrielle," Erik rolled his eyes, "Whatever did you do?"
"I told him that you were hung like a stallion."
"Good God, you didn't—how mortifying!"
In the dim light of the carriage light, Erik blushed.
"That was highly improper, dear."
"Oh admit it, you like being envied for your virility. You wouldn't be a man if you didn't, Erik," I nipped at his ear and he pretended to suffer my naughtiness, but I could see the sparkle in his jade eyes.
The remainder of the ride we laughed and talked easily as if we'd been together for years. I had never met anyone with a range of attributes as complex and diverse as Erik. Shy and unsure, intense and passionate, stubborn and occasionally condescending, yet compassionate and sensitive, he was also open-minded, pragmatic and generous. I was a very lucky lady.
Erik told me that over the years his sins had both destroyed and saved him. Despair and anger for what he could not have or control consumed him. It took the kindness of others like the Giry's and the Mangeot's to show Erik not all humanity was cruel; that there was hope for him.
He learned to employ a practiced patience with most of society and with himself. Even Christine's final act of selfless sacrifice affected him profoundly. That is why he made the choice to release her to her beau, the Viscount de Chaney. Erik saw that whatever she felt for him, it could never match what she felt for her boy. She belonged to the light, not the darkness, Erik would say.
It was imperative I remember where Erik had been, but even more important to recognize how far he had come and look ahead to a brighter tomorrow.
Unlike the evening before, Erik and I slept in the same bed. He molded his muscular body spoon-like against mine and held me close through the night.
I was surprised when he made no move to seduce me. In fact, he hadn't made a made an attempt to seduce me since yesterday—normally the man couldn't keep his hands off of me. Like the brave Scarlet O' Hara, I chose to think about it tomorrow, after all tomorrow is another day.
- O -
Okay you Erik lovers, give me a shout and tell me what you think. Thanks to you who have taken a moment to review my fic. Thanks to my beta Amy for her help. Interesting stuff is on the way.—Leesa