Chapter Text
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you didn't catch the previous update, which I only published last week, go check it out. All you need to know about Alfred Dreyfus is that he was a Jewish military officer falsely accused of treason. It was a big deal in France at the time.
RAOUL
When he returned home, humming under his breath, he was relieved to learn Clémentine was still asleep. He couldn't help but be swallowed by the acute guilt that he left her side, even if only for the better part of an hour, and even further unease that he had spent the time with Christine. The only consolation was that they were on better terms.
Erik had walked Léna home, so his daughter was alone in her bed, small and fragile and easily the most precious creature in the world.
As Raoul settled back into the chair in the nursery, Durand brought him some cheese and bread and a letter. It wasn't until he set eyes on the food that he realized he was ravenous. He scarfed down his dinner, eyeing the envelope with considerably less eagerness. That was his elder sister Constance's handwriting.
Durand had helpfully provided a letter opener, so, not wanting to prolong the tension, he sliced the envelope open.
It read:
Dear Raoul,
If you remember how distraught I was when you told me you intended to abandon your family in Paris, I'm sure you'll be able to picture the shivering fit I had this morning when I counted how many weeks it has been since I've last heard from you. Not a letter, not a visit, only a cheeky response to our brother's telegram. Even when you were serving in the Navy (which I specifically advised against) and were gone for months, you still wrote faithfully, even if the letters weren't as frequent as I would have liked. How can you have lost maturity in the ensuing years?
Yes, what happened at Euphémie's engagement party was horrid, but I certainly didn't let it ruin the whole evening, nor should you let it ruin your whole life. We need you here desperately, after all, it was your sisters and brother who raised you and you can't be functioning well without us.
Phillippe's companion Madame Sorelli is going to give him another "godchild" soon. You know how reckless he is, and if he hasn't married by his age, God knows if he ever will. That's why the duty falls to you to produce an heir to the title (and a little brother for dear Clémentine).
My dearly departed sister-in-law would want you to move on. After all, I spent more time with Manon than you ever did, so I can assure you I know her wishes. That's why I've included an annotated list of thirty-nine eligible brides for you, with my notes. I've given you a broad range, whether you're looking for a widow (who perhaps could lend you a shoulder to cry on) or a maiden who would bring far less baggage.
I'll see you at Christmas (that's non-negotiable by the way).
I'm sending lots of love, please tell little Clémentine that Tante Constance misses her dearly, surely she's going out of her mind from boredom. I'll have to visit soon with presents.
Love,
Constance
Raoul let out a harsh, barking laugh. Incredible. Clémentine stirred but did not wake. Sheepishly, he turned the letter over.
P.S. Ignoring this letter will break your poor sister's heart.
Not sparing more than a glance at the second page of the letter (although he did catch a glimpse of Constance's florid description of a woman's "sapphire eyes and well-turned ankles), he crumpled it up and threw it in the fire. She knew very well he wouldn't— couldn't— remarry, not ever.
He truly had no desire to return to Paris anytime soon, if ever. His siblings could be tolerable on their best behavior and in reasonable doses, his nieces and nephews he truly did miss, but the massive crowd of cousins, aunts, uncles, half-relations, and relations-in-law were too much for him to handle. Everyone wanted a piece of him, cutting and cutting away until there was nothing left. It wasn't the life he wanted for his daughter, and if it was required to be subjected to their every whim, it wasn't worth it to be a Chagny.
After a few hours of deep thought, all while watching over Clémentine to assure her safety, he must have succumbed to sleep. For when he awoke, daylight was streaming in through the window and his daughter was sitting up in bed, examining him with curiosity.
"Papa!" she giggled. "You look so silly. Why are you sleeping in a chair?"
Rubbing his eyes, he put on a smile and rose to give her a kiss. "I had to make sure my princess was safe. How is your arm feeling?"
"It hurts a lot," she grimaced. "But I'll try to be brave, Papa."
"You are always a brave girl, my darling," he said. "So brave. But you must always tell me if you're in pain. What would you like to do today?"
"I wish Miss Christine would come to see me. And Léna. And Monsieur Erik."
"I'm sure they'll come to visit. Monsieur Erik said he would be over this morning to supervise the new wallpaper on the guest rooms. I'm sure he'll have some sort of surprise for you."
She nodded excitedly. "He said to keep it a secret from her but he's making Léna a present… oh dear, except I forgot. I forgot what he said it was."
"I'm sure you'll find out once he's finished. Now, shall I get you some breakfast?"
"Yes, Papa!"
After they finished their eggs, he left Clémentine with Apolline for a few minutes while he consulted with Erik. The poor man kept yawning and his gaunt face looked exhausted, his thin hair sticking up in every direction.
"For God's sake, you didn't need to come if you couldn't sleep last night," Raoul said.
"I didn't sleep by choice," Erik replied. "I had to finish Léna's present. Clémentine told me she hasn't any toys, and I thought she was so brave and helpful yesterday that she deserved a doll of her own."
"That's very considerate of you, I'm sure she'll appreciate that."
"But then, I realized Miss Clémentine needed something of her own to cheer her up, so I decided to build her a dollhouse. I only got around to drafting it on paper, but if I work every night for two weeks, I should be able to get it done by the time she's feeling a little better. In the meantime, I've started on the miniature dolls."
He fished a little wooden box out of his pocket, revealing a tiny clay sculpted head. Although it was unpainted, the expression and scarred cheek immediately revealed that it was based on Christine.
Erik seemed proud of himself. "I'm creating the house in miniature, so I'd figure I'd create all the people that she knows. I'll make you, Christine, all the staff, anyone you'd like. I'll even make an unfortunate looking one to represent me."
Raoul tempered his excitement, "That's far too kind, Erik. I don't want you to overwhelm or overwork yourself on this."
Erik spoke with complete honesty. "I've truly come to care for little Clémentine, you must know that," his eyes burned with intensity. "She's unexpectedly become one of the people I care for the most in this world. Her unhappiness is my unhappiness, as I'm sure you can relate."
"Of course…"
Erik placed the box back in his pocket. "I seldom see my sister's two children, she moved with her husband to Brussels. But I am told I make quite the entertaining… uncle-type? I hope I'm not too presumptuous in saying that."
Raoul's heart grew lighter. "Not at all, Clémentine is quite fond of my older brother, he spoils her endlessly. But I'm afraid he'll never measure up to your magic tricks, at least in a five-year-old's eyes. I think she's very lucky to have you to depend on… as am I."
It was a foolish, impulsive thing to say, to express such open affection for this man who had been a stranger scarcely a few weeks ago. Vulnerability, at least externally, was not his strong suit. But the gentle smile on Erik's face assured Raoul he had said the right thing.
With a clap on the back, Erik said "Good, I'm glad we are on the same page. Now, as for the wallpaper… we'll have time today for the guest rooms, but it will take a day for the wallpaper paste smell to dissipate. I don't suppose you have any overnight guests coming anytime soon."
Raoul suppressed a laugh. "No, no plans for that, although I half-expect my whole family to descend on this place like a plague of locusts. I wish they were in Brussels and not a simple train ride away in Paris, truthfully, there's always the incipient danger they make an appearance."
Erik furrowed his brow. "I miss my sister desperately, although we did not grow up together, she's seventeen years my junior. You don't get along with your family?"
"I love my siblings, I really do. They've just been impossible these last few years… overbearing to the point that I feel smothered. I mean… I mean-" he paused, rubbing his temples. "I hate to burden you with this. I apologize."
"Raoul," Erik placed a hand on his shoulder. "You needn't worry about burdening me. Especially when it appears you have very few people to confide in."
"Yes, well, thank you, but never mind my struggles. I actually do have a question for you, though. Only a few weeks until Christmas, correct?"
Erik stiffened for some reason. "I hardly ever keep track of dates like that, but I suppose December is in a few weeks. Why?"
"Well, you are welcome to spend Christmas Eve here, if you'd like. Your friend Sassan too. Unless you have other plans."
"Of course, thank you for your generosity." Still, Erik seemed ill at ease.
Feigning nonchalance, Raoul spoke again. "What… what plans does Christine usually have."
"She'll go to Christmas Eve mass, then spend the evening with me, perhaps. Why do you ask?"
He could feel his face reddening. "Well, I intended to ask her to come here. Now that we're getting along again. She could come after mass, of course. Do you think-"
"I'm sure she'd say yes. I'd stake my life on it. You'd probably be more festive company than me."
"Well," Raoul said. "It's settled. She said she'd be over today, so I'll ask her then. I think we could have a nice Christmas together. Much better than if I were to go to Paris."
There was a short pause, and then Erik spoke.
"Er… Raoul, I think I must tell you something."
"Of course."
"Well," he awkwardly touched his face."The reason I don't keep track of Christmas or go to mass with Christine… perhaps you might not care to keep my company, but Sassan and I are not Catholics. Not even Christians. I'm a Jew and he a Muslim."
Raoul smacked his forehead. "I knew your friend was from Persia, I should never have assumed. I assure you, that does not make one iota of a difference to me. I served in the Navy, you might remember, and met all sorts of people. You're welcome to come anyway, but I understand if you prefer not to."
The tension in Erik's body dissipated. "I'm glad, thank you. The whole business with Alfred Dreyfus… has put me on edge, to say the least. I keep my heritage close to my chest, I'm afraid. I know many members of the aristocracy might not care to receive me."
"Those members are not people I care to associate with. My whole family, despite their flaws, are Dreyfusards, thankfully. Erik, you needn't hide anything from me. I promise to accept whatever you are."
Erik grinned. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you. Now, I must really attend to the wallpaper."
"Thank you."
Upon Erik's departure, he returned to Clémentine's side. He knew she was due for another dose of laudanum, which would put her out like a light. Cariou had written that after the first few days, he could switch to brandy for the pain.
His daughter, propped up in her bed by half a dozen pillows, greeted him excitedly despite her pain.
"Papa, when do you think Miss Christine will come?"
"Soon, I shouldn't wonder. How about some medicine and a nap in the meantime?"
"I suppose, she said with adorable graveness. "If it will make MIss Christine come faster. You just have to wake me up if there are any visitors. Or presents."
"I suspect you'll be receiving several of both in the next few days."
After giving her a kiss and her dose of laudanum, Raoul settled in the chair. Although the idea of giving into his family's demand appalled him, he figured he could at least send a brief response to Constance's letter. Hopefully, that would at least keep them off his back a little while longer. Apolline was kind enough to fetch his stationary so he could continue his watch over Clémentine.
He scribbled out a brief missive.
Dear Constance (and whoever you choose to share this letter with).
I'm perfectly fine. Clémentine is perfectly fine. We're all fine.
There's no need to badger me incessantly, this is precisely the behavior that caused me to leave Paris in the first place. I can't promise daily correspondence, but I can at least update you every now and again. I think some distance between myself and the rest of the family will do us all some good.
As for your insistence that I remarry, that is not your decision to make. Once was enough for me. I am no longer the little boy clinging to your skirts, desperate to please you and Amalie-Louise and Philippe. You're categorically not my mother and even if you were, you can't dictate what I can and cannot do as I am a grown man. I don't see how a lack of an heir to the title of Comte de Chagny is any concern of mine, or truly anyone in the world's problem but Philippe's. He's the one you should be after, not me. Perhaps if his friend La Sorelli has a son, Philippe can make her an honest woman and that child can inherit.
NO ONE IS TO MAKE AN UNANNOUNCED OR UNINVITED VISIT TO PERROS.
I still love you all even though you are all driving me absolutely mad. I suppose that's just what brothers and sisters do, but I need you to all do better. Love,
Raoul.
Once the ink was dried, he sighed. He just knew something even worse was on the horizon, but he couldn't put a finger on what it might be.
CHRISTINE
Sleep did not come for many hours that night. Still, the next morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted, Christine bundled up prepared herself for her lessons. She tried to push away the awful memories of the night before, clinging to the fact that Raoul had apologized. They were on good terms again. That was something.
She didn't have a fully packed schedule today, which was just as well considering she intended on spending the afternoon with Clémentine. She regretted that she hadn't any gift to offer the little girl on her sickbed, then remembered with delight the scrapbook she kept in her memory trunk.
Truthfully, she hadn't opened it for years, it was too painful to look at some of those memories, but she seemed to recall a daguerreotype of herself and Raoul as children, taken by a traveling photographer at the fair. Perhaps that might interest Clémentine.
Christine opened the book and found her memories of the picture correct, there the pair of them were, all sunburnt and windblown and wild. Flipping through the pages, she remembered that she had faithfully preserved every letter he'd written her on those long winters apart. She'd always delighted in his funny stories vividly recounting his life, accompanied by caricatures of his family and friends. Raoul was actually a passable artist, although he'd often claimed to not be artistic minded. He had even drawn the two of them in the old chestnut tree that still stood beside the cottage, although it had long since died and stopped producing chestnuts.
Realizing she needed to make haste if she were ever to get to her first appointment in time, she closed the book, resolving to return for it later, as it would be too heavy to tote around.
After her first lesson with poor little Bernard, still recovering from his cold, she made her way to the Robillards, who lived next door to Lise Moigne. Keeping her eye out for the cat Aubergine, she instead found Lise in her garden.
"Hello, Christine!" she called, pulling a parsnip from the ground. "Any luck catching Aubergine last night?"
"No, unfortunately, but I'm sure he'll make an appearance soon. I think I might have found a home for one of the kittens, though. The Vicomte de Chagny's little girl just broke her arm, and he wants to give her one."
"Oh yes, I heard from my cousin," she said. "He was called on to treat her.
Christine bit down hard on her lip to hide her overwhelming horror. So Daniel had been the one to treat Clémentine's arm. He had been near that poor little girl. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she knew in her heart his threats to tell Raoul about what had happened between them weren't empty and could actually be realized. It took all her effort to not vomit.
"Are you all right?" Lise tilted her head. "I apologize for bringing him up, I know you're not on the best terms with him."
Lise didn't know what Christine had endured at the hands of her cousin and nor would she ever. God willing, it would stay between the people who were actually present.
To avoid making a scene, Christine straightened her posture and pretended to be in good spirits. "No matter and no need to apologize. When do you think the kittens will be able to leave their mother?"
"A few weeks, I should think. But the Vicomte's daughter is welcome to visit this week and pick out which one she'd like."
"Thank you Lise, I'll tell him. I teach her music lessons as well, I'm actually going over this afternoon… would you mind… not sharing that with your cousin?"
"Of course," she nodded. "All our conversations are between us and us alone."
After bidding Lise goodbye, she had three more lessons, all of which went surprisingly well despite her distracted mind. Then it was time to go see Clémentine. And Raoul.
On the walk over, she nearly tripped over the loose sole of her right boot, finally admitting to herself that her boots were beyond the point of no return. There was no way they'd hold together longer than a few days. She had been so responsible and saved the money Raoul had quite generously paid her. Perhaps she could finally invest in a sturdy new pair of boots. And maybe a new frock as well. It would be a good investment for her business if it would allow her to look more presentable. When was the last time she'd bought something nice for herself? She couldn't remember.
The walk to Raoul's seemed to take no time at all. There was no one at the door when she rang and no one appeared to let her in even after she waited for five minutes. She tried the doorknob and found with amusement the door was unlocked. She let herself in, hadn't Raoul always said she was welcome at his house any time?
She went to put her cloak in the closet, only to walk in on a woman and a man ardently kissing. She shrieked in surprise and the two lovers frantically parted. She realized it was Raoul's valet and Apolline the nanny. The two had flushed cheeks and near-identical guilty expressions. Christine knew she had stumbled into something she shouldn't have again.
After a long moment of silence, Apolline spoke up.
"You're not going to tell the Vicomte, are you?"
Christine's mouth felt dry. "I have no reason to. It's no business of mine or his. Although, I know he wouldn't sack you over it, if that's what you're worried about."
"I just mean…. We'd be in your debt if you kept this to yourself."
"Of course… I'm just going to leave my cloak and go see Miss Clémentine."
"Let me take that for you," said the valet whose name she couldn't remember at the moment.
Dumbfounded, she handed him the cloak. "So sorry to interrupt, don't mind me. Have a good… time."
She slinked away, ashamed of herself, although a part of her deep down knew she had no reason to be.
In the nursery, which charmingly had the same wallpaper as when she was young, Clémentine was awake but groggy and Raoul was nowhere to be found.
"Hello, Miss Clémentine," she said. "How are you feeling, I heard you had a nasty fall."
"Miss Christine?" the little girl perked up. "I'm sorry I broke my arm, now I'll never learn piano."
The poor thing's voice was hoarse, she must have truly had a rough time of it yesterday.
"Oh, Miss Clémentine, I promise I'll teach you, once your arm feels better. But we can practice singing soon."
"Good," she yawned. "I love you, Miss Christine."
Christine paused. Of course, she loved Clémentine, but she was uncertain if it would be proper to say it back. Luckily, Raoul came into the room at that exact moment.
"Hello Christine, wonderful to see you," he said, running a hand through his hair.
He wore no jacket, just his unbuttoned waistcoat over his suspenders and shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The intimacy of seeing Raoul like this made her cheeks color. God, why was she always blushing around him?
"Of course, Raoul," she awkwardly smoothed her dress. "Anytime for Clémentine." Or for you.
"I think she'll be more lively in a few days when she's off the laudanum," he gestured to Clémentine, who was struggling to keep her eyes open. "Perhaps you'll come to see us again then."
"Of course… would you like me to go?"
"No!" he said, almost forcefully, before abashedly shoving his hands in his pockets "I mean… sorry, that was too aggressive. I only mean, you're welcome to stay, I'd wish you'd stay, I can ask them to make a plate for you at dinner. If you'd like."
She nodded. "I'd like that, I would like that very much."
"Then, it's settled," he said with a broad smile on his face.
Christine got the distinct feeling Raoul didn't know what to do with his hands. He removed them from his pockets to fix his unruly hair, only succeeding in making it worse, so she took his hand in hers instead, intending to quiet his nerves. It was perhaps a too familiar gesture, they had only recently been reacquainted, but the warmth of his hand in hers was intoxicating. His eyes widened in shock that quickly abated, replaced by a warm expression she recalled from their days listening to Papa's enchanted violin.
He squeezed her hand and Christine thought she might swoon and fall to the floor like a heroine in a cheap serialized novel. But she just allowed herself a moment to hold Raoul's hand in hers, to imagine the life she had dreamed of at age fifteen. No words passed between them and Christine grew too shy to look him in the face, but it felt consequential. The moment probably only lasted half a minute, but perhaps it was an hour. She couldn't really tell.
But all wonderful things must come to an end. She heard footsteps in the hall and wrenched her hand out of Raoul's, much like the two lovers she had walked in on earlier. She evidently drew away too slowly, as Erik entered, raising one eyebrow but not remarking on what he had seen otherwise. The fierce look she gave him would hopefully keep him at bay.
She turned to Raoul, who looked at his sleeping daughter, rubbing his shoulder with the hand she had held. Oh no, she must have offended him in some way, perhaps by being too presumptuous. For who would ever want to hold hands with her?
"Hello, Christine. Hello, Raoul," Erik said. "The wallpaper's done, thankfully. What a headache. Those are some oddly shaped rooms."
"Thank you, Erik, truly," Raoul turned back to face him. "I hope it wasn't too much of a hassle."
"It was worth it, there are few better feelings than knowing a difficult job like that is over. Perhaps I'll help myself to your liquor cabinet, though."
Christine could tell from the twinkle in his eye that he was entirely joking, but Raoul, evidently not fluent in the nuances of Erik's strange sense of humor, nodded eagerly.
"Go ahead, you deserve it."
Erik laughed. "I just might. I'll leave you two be. Miss Clémentine's present is calling out for me to work on it."
He cast a look at Christine that told her she would have to explain herself later. She merely hung her head in absolute embarrassment. Once she and Raoul were alone, neither knew what to say.
"So," Raoul clasped his hands together, breaking the ponderous moment of silence. "What shall we have for dinner, do you think? I usually let the cook decide, I believe this morning she said roast chicken, does that agree with you?" He looked at her with concerned eyes.
"Yes," she said. "Sounds more hearty than what I usually eat anyway."
"Had I known you were staying, I would have allowed you to choose, but there should be some cake for dessert. Little Lotte was always fond of chocolate…" he beamed.
Her stomach growled at that. Christine hoped he didn't hear. But if he did, he was too much of a gentleman to acknowledge it.
"I haven't grown out of my sweet tooth, of course," she gave a haltering laugh. "Chocolate is always the right choice."
"I've been taking my meals here in the nursery, instead of going to the dining room. Hopefully, Clémentine will join us in consciousness soon. You don't mind the lack of a formal dinner?:
"Of course not," she said. Recalling the scrapbook she left at home, she internally chastised herself. "But I'll just duck home first, I promise. It will be quicker that way, and I'll be back before you know it."
Raoul peered out the window. "I think it might rain tonight. Why don't you wait a bit and I'll get the car ready? Or the carriage, if you prefer." Eager to not be a burden, she declined. "I'll only be a moment, I promise, it will be quicker this way and I'll be back before you know it."
"Christine, I insist-" he started, then shook his head and evidently changed his mind. "I'll defer to you on this one. Please just be careful."
"Of course," she said as she left the room. "I always try to be.:
She found her own cloak in the closet, thankfully Apolline and Durand (Durand! Yes, that was his name!) were no longer occupying it. Showing herself out, she dashed down the driveway and out on the road, mindful of the fragile condition of her boots. Thankfully, Raoul wasn't there to nearly hit her with his car.
But perhaps she should have asked Raoul for a ride, she thought as she heard thunder rumble in the distance. She nearly jumped out her bones when lightning lit up the sky, so she doubled her pace. She had a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach, one she couldn't explain. It began to drizzle and she wondered how on earth she'd get back to Raoul's without getting soaking wet. Still, Christine did not turn back. She was nearly there, after all. It really wasn't too bad of a storm , she thought as the wind ripped branches from the trees.
When the cottage was within sight, she breathed a sigh of relief but not for long. As if she were in a particularly vivid dream, she watched the old chestnut tree sway dangerously in the wind. She tried to run towards, foolishly believing there was some action she could have taken to prevent the inevitable, but her limbs felt heavy. With a sickening snap, the dead tree split in two, the upper half crashing into the roof and leaving a gaping hole.
Oddly calm, she took in a deep breath. As if nothing were wrong, she unlocked the door and let herself in.
The damage was expensive, she could tell right away. Already, water was puddling on the floor as it poured in from the sky. Still, she did not cry, though she knew the situation was dire. Even with the money she had saved, she'd never be able to afford a new roof.
Carefully, she gathered the most important things she owned, things that reminded her of her Papa and of happier times, most of which were already stored in her hope chest. She tried to dry the water with her threadbare linens, although she knew it was a futile effort.
The roof groaned under the weight of the tree, and logically she knew she should leave. Her umbrella had been thankfully spared, and she grabbed it with one hand, using the other to drag the chest out of the house. She plunked herself down on it, put her head in her hands, but did not weep. She had no tears left as she looked at the ruins of the house she had share with her father.
RAOUL
Tapping his foot, he anxiously awaited Christine's return. How often had he longed to have supper with her, a proper meal to catch up? He only wished he could offer her more.
When he checked his pocket watch and realized nearly three-quarters of an hour had passed by with no sign of Christine's return, he grew concerned. A dark, bitter part of his brain wondered if she ever intended to return at all. But Christine was a sweet girl, opinionated and strong enough that she probably would have declined the invitation outright.
Casting an eye at the gloomy sky, he hoped she was dry, at least. Perhaps she was simply trapped inside to avoid the rain. Well, there was no use taking the open-top car to go investigate, he figured. As much as it pained him to disturb the coachman, if Christine wished to return to him, she should be able to stay dry.
Raoul didn't bother to dress for the rain, not even bothering to throw on his coat. Abeles, the coachman, agreed to take him the short distance, rapidly preparing the pair of horses.
Along the way, Raoul kept his face pressed to the window in case Christine was still walking. As they neared the cottage, Raoul could sense something was terribly wrong, cursing under his breath, The tree they'd passed so many hours in as children had finally given out and created a gaping hole in the roof.
Fearing for Christine's safety, he leaped out of the carriage. But there she was, hunched over and soaking wet. It was then he wished he had brought a coat, not for his own sake, but to lay over her shoulders.
"Christine?" he called, raising his voice to be heard about the storm. "Christine, please, I've got the carriage. Are you all right?"
She must not have registered his voice immediately, so he was about to speak up again, but she turned to him at last with an utterly blank look on her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to the punch.
"It… it wasn't even a bad storm," she said, lower lip trembling as her placid demeanor crumbled. "It wasn't, Raoul."
All he could do was crouch beside her. "I know, but we'll get it fixed. I promise. And in the meantime, you can stay with me."
"Oh no," she demurred. "That's far too kind."
"Please," he offered his hand to allow her to get to her feet. "Just for one night, even."
She took his hand, standing up and wobbling in her boots. "All my memories with Papa… oh!"
Christine let out a sob and buried her face in Raoul's chest. His shirt was quickly becoming translucent in the rain, but he wrapped his arms around her ever so delicately. It was a gesture of intimacy that made his head dizzy, even more so than holding her hand earlier.
"There's not much we can do tonight," he glanced at the sky. "I'll send the workmen over tomorrow to see what they can do. Please, just come home with me."
She nodded through her tears, allowing him to help her into his carriage. Abeles helpfully loaded her trunk inside. She sat across from Raoul in the carriage ride, staring out the window but occasionally taking looks at him. Raoul, for his part, tried not to look at her too much, but truly couldn't help but sneak glances at her. Just to make sure she was all right.
When they reached home, he heartily thanked Abeles and hustled Christine inside.
"Do you have another dress in your trunk?" he asked. "You'll catch a cold if you stay in those wet things."
"Yes," she rubbed her nose. "My Sunday dress. And a nightgown."
"I think I'll put you in the room where my sister Amalie-Louise used to sleep- oh, except all the rooms were just wallpapered and no one can sleep in them."
"We can resolve that later," she shivered. "Let me just get into a dry dress."
God, he was an idiot . She showed herself to the washroom and emerged a few minutes later, dry except for her hair. He took the opportunity to put on dry things himself.
"I suppose dinner is the furthest thing from your mind, but I think it would be good for you to eat something," Raoul said.
She agreed. The supper prepared for them was growing cold, but once they were settled in the nursery, they picked at their plates until most of it was gone. Clémentine slept soundly the whole time, and they only spoke of her. It wasn't the dinner atmosphere he had planned, but it was good enough to know the two most important women in his life were safe beside him.
When Christine yawned, he decided to broach the topic of sleeping arrangements again, although she was clearly still shaken from her ordeal.
"Well, you can sleep in my bed," he said, prompting them both to blush. "I mean- without me in it. I'll be here with Clémentine anyway, so you'll have the whole room to yourself."
"Oh Raoul, I couldn't accept that, you've already done too much."
"Well, I won't force you, but please consider it. Otherwise, my bed will go empty, because as I said, I need to keep watch over Clémentine. I feel bad enough that I've been away from her so often. I know it's not ideal, but once the guest rooms are ready tomorrow, you can stay there until your roof is fixed."
She sighed. "All right… truthfully, I'm exhausted. I might go to bed now."
"Of course," he took her hand again. "Of course."
After she assured him she didn't need any further help, he returned to his post. But that night, there was no reprieve from sleep, as he was kept on edge from worries about Clémentine and Christine and what Manon would want. The time passed quickly and by the time it was nearly dawn, he fought the impulse to go check on Christine, ultimately losing that battle. As he crept down the hall, hoping to pass unnoticed, he assured himself he was doing the right thing.
When he opened the door, Christine was bundled up in his covers, with her head on his pillows. The sight of her fast asleep in his bed produced a warm, fuzzy feeling he preferred not to name. Content to know she was all right, he turned only to run face-first into Marthe, the scullery maid who lit the fires every morning.
The girl, who couldn't be more than twenty, made her apologies which Raoul quickly quelled, informing her she was perfectly fine, it was his fault.
Marthe turned her head to see Christine asleep in his bed. She covered her mouth with her hand in shock.
Realizing the (incorrect) conclusions she must be drawing, Raoul panicked. Christine's reputation was at stake. Trying to be firm, he spoke under his breath.
"Nothing transpired between us, I assure you. You are to keep this to yourself, please."
The girl nodded. "Of course, Monsieur le Vicomte. "
After she had lit the fire, Raoul watched her leave. He wondered if he should wake Christine up to tell her, but decided to let her sleep for the time being. He did not have complete faith in Marthe, but surely she could keep her mouth quiet on this topic. Surely.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was inspired to make Erik Jewish because of madame_faust's fic "Strange Sweet Sound"! Go check it out!