Previously on Improbable Dreams: Carlynda's brother makes an appearance. Erik and Carlynda had their first fight when he jumps to the conclusion she is sleeping around. He finds out Carlynda is a countess. Erik apologize for the fight, but the air seems tense between them still.

Chapter 9

She didn't know. How did she not know? Erik gripped his quill tightly as the same few thoughts floated around in his head. After making his rounds around the opera house, trying to still his troubled mind, he found himself right back to where he started, his desk with a quill stationed in his hand. He dropped the quill, not minding the ink stain on the note he was trying to write to his maestro, M. de Lair. Somehow Carlynda never figured out how he felt towards her. She didn't know that he loved her and she, apparently, didn't return the feeling. After everything he did to try and show her, she didn't know. To her this was still just an arrangement to feel less alone at night. He was suddenly glad she didn't pick up on his feelings towards her. If she didn't love him in return, he didn't think he wanted her to know how he felt.

"I am not your fiancée or your wife. You're not even my suitor. You have no right over me, mind, body, or soul."

It wasn't as if he wanted to own her, but it did hurt that she didn't see him as something more than a friend. No right. But didn't he have the right to be concern, worried when she failed to meet him in his office?

He shook his head and picked up his quill again. He had to stop this. Fretting about it would not solve anything. He turned his attention back to the letter.

Tell Pierre-Louis Lefèvre in the trombone section to do his job or I shall personally fire him. The chorus girls are not there for his pleasure. They have a job to do and so does he. For that matter, tell those chorus girls to do their part and not flutter their eyelashes at the men in the orchestra pit.

He wrote before his mind started to wonder again. Would Carlynda ever love him? Was it even possible for someone to love someone like him? He was beginning to think not.

He threw his quill down on his desk and rubbed the side of his face without the mask. What was he expecting? Fate to show kindness to him now that he turned over a new leaf? What he was doing now wouldn't erase what he did in the past. Karma was getting its laugh over his misfortune again. He loved someone who didn't return his love. Why did he start to believe his dream to come true? That he found a woman who would love him despite everything? Was he destined to forever love without having love in return?

She was still hiding something, like the reason she ran away from home. It obviously wasn't because of her brother. They seemed to get along pretty well from what he had seen last night. Was it her parents or a man? Maybe another family member? He wished she would trust him enough to say something. He stopped himself from thinking too much of that. It wasn't like he was so forthcoming to his dreadful past. Surely she wasn't on the run from the law. He couldn't picture her doing anything illegal.

A knock on his door disrupted his thoughts. He stood, closed the window curtains on his side of the room and went to the wall. He pulled back a lever that unlocked the door before sitting back down. "Enter."

The door opened and Count Bellamont walked in with his cane in one hand and a white bag in another. Erik inwardly sighed. He hadn't been expecting the man and he really didn't want to deal with Carlynda's brother at the moment, the indirect cause of the fight last night. "Monsieur Geroux," the man greeted as he closed the door behind him.

"Count Bellamont," he greeted back. "If you're looking for your sister, I believe she is at her bakery." He eyed the man. The count was aggravated about something. His jaw tense, his eyes alert. His hand was tight around his cane.

"I know. I just came from there." His tone was short and to the point.

Did Carlynda tell him about their fight? One thing he didn't need to deal with when he was chasing Christine was family interference. He really wasn't looking forward to experiencing it.

"She asked me to drop this off to you." He held up the white bag. "And this note." He put his cane in between his arm and his side as his hand search his coat pockets, finally pulling out a folded up note.

"Is everything alright, Count Bellamont?"

The count grinded his teeth with impatience. It was not the best show for someone who wanted to become his patron. "Yes," he said with a bit of a bite. He let out a sigh to calm himself. "If you can just tell me where to put these, I'll be on my way. I need to get back to…I need to go."

"There's a stand by the door."

The count turned around and saw the coat hanger on one side of the door and the wooden stand on the other. He placed the objects down before giving a faint goodbye nod and leaving the room quickly.

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Erik pulled the lever to lock it and went straight for the package. Inside the bag was a few pastries. His lips twitched, taking the sight of the pastries as a hopeful sign. She must not be too angry with him anymore. He reached in, picked up a rather powdery pastry, and took a bite. It was good. Delicious even. She really was a talented baker. His lips twitched. Never did he think he would fall in love with a baker. A singer, a dancer, a musician, perhaps, but he never thought he would fall for a baker. He set the pastry down and picked up the note. His last name was written on the top. He unfolded it.

Dear Erik, it read.

You may not believe me and I understand that, but this has nothing to do with what happened last night. I would admit I had thought about it, but I decided not to go through with it. Things changed though. I just wanted you to know that I will not be coming tonight. Once again this has nothing to do with last night. I will be spending the night at my brother's manor. Everything is fine between us. I'll see you tomorrow night.

Carlynda

Erik didn't know how to feel. She had every right to see her brother, but he wanted her here with him. Carlynda assured him it wasn't about last night, but why else would she not come?

He glanced back at the letter and narrowed his eyes at her handwriting. It did not look as smooth and graceful as it usual was, but shaky. She wrote this in haste…he blinked…or fear. Her hand must have been shaking when she was writing this. But why? The image of Count Bellamont's tense form enter his mind. Something was going on with the Bellamonts.

He folded the note and placed it in a pocket before grabbing his cloak from the hanger. He would just make sure Carlynda was alright and safe.


The manor was just as Carlynda remembered it. Just a mile away from Paris, huge and spacious. The red brick residence contained fine terra-cotta ornaments in stylized leaf shapes. It was also distinguished by its conical roofed tower with fish-scale slate shingles, which extended from the second level to the attic, and by cut-brick chimneys. Large, white columns at the front entrance, sash windows. There was a bay window where the library was located on the first floor. The turrets and rounded porch give the manor an almost castle-like look.

The double doors opened as Lucian led her up the porch. A maid with oddly red curls, which was pulled back into a bun the best it could, curtsied to them when they entered. "Margot, can you ready the room across from mine for our guest?" her brother said to the maid as he handed her Carlynda's and his cloak.

"'es, mon'sir," she responded in some heavy accent before disappearing up the large stoned steps.

"It looks the same as when father had it built," she noted, looking at the alabaster walls decked out with landscape paintings, a random mirror, a plotted plant, and a stand or two.

Lucian stood next to her and nodded. "I haven't been here long enough to make any changes. What it needs is a woman's touch, wouldn't you say?" He grinned at her.

She let out a chuckle and shook her head. "Then marry, my dear brother, for I am not living here with you. Besides, I don't want to be here when mother and father visit."

He shook his head. "If they ever visit. They both seem quite content in Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire? As in England? Why in all creations are they there?"

"One of mother's many siblings past away and they went to visit her family and never came back. That was last year. I can't say I'm complaining." They chuckled before Lucian went to glance out the door window.

She frowned. "Were we followed?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Are you sure it was him, Claudette?"

She hugged herself, as if that would protect her from the memory. "He looked straight at me, Lucian. It may have been a spit second, but I know I saw him. I know it was him. I know he was there. I know he saw me. He recognized me."

"Alright, alright." Lucian took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Calm down. It's alright, Claudette. He won't get you here. I promise." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his chest, trying to calm her racing heart and shaky nerves.

"Maybe I would have been safer at the opera house," she mumbled.

"If he followed you, he would know where you go after work. At least, here, I know who to look for and why. Until you are ready to tell your friends, I don't see how you could be safe there. They don't know to watch out for him." It was the argument he gave when he visited her at the bakery and saw how jumpy she was. That was right after she got a glimpse of M. L'Angley watching her through the bakery window. He was standing across the street, by the doorway of a gentlemen's club, smoking a cigar. She knew it was him. It was his lean, but strong form, long wavy greying-brown hair tied back. He was watching her with his penetrating blue eyes. She swore she saw him smirk when he caught her looking at him. Then a carriage passed and he was suddenly gone, but he had done his job of frightening her.

She pulled back slightly. "I know. You're right, but Erik, he wouldn't let anything happen to me. He may not understand it, but he would keep me safe. He knows every nook and cranny of the opera house. He's helped rebuild it with his own hands."

"Erik? Is that the manager of the opera house? Just how close are you two?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "Focus, Lucian. That's not the point and he's just a close friend, one who I care for and who cares for me, as a friend."

"Right, sorry for my older brotherly moment, but the opera house is a public place. Someone like Luc L'Angley might not stand out. Here, he would."

She shook her head. "You're wrong. He would stand out. Erik has this uncanny ability to know everyone who enters his domain. Had he saw M. L'Angley there, he would find it suspicious and investigate. If he didn't like the reason he's there, he would throw him out."

"Throw him out? Is that all this Erik would do? Because I doubt L'Angley would stay away just because he was thrown out."

"You don't know Erik like I do, Lucian. Erik is a worldly man. He never talks about his past, but I get the sense that he is a survivor." She thought back on his temper and that night he rescued her. "He is a powerful adversary and an equally powerful friend. There is something about him that seems almost mystic." She once again thought back to the whispers she heard that night. She had yet to ask Erik about it. Maybe a part of her was afraid to find out that they were real. She didn't understand how he could have done those whispers.

"Mystic, Claudette? Get your head out of the clouds. He is still just a man."

She raised her brow and folded her arms. She glanced at him up and down before flashing him a look. "So are you."

"I am, but I'm one man with a whole bunch of footmen and a butler who retired from the British navy several years ago. And you said so yourself, if M. Geroux saw L'Angley at his opera house, he would investigate. Do you want him to find out everything you've been trying to keep hidden?"

They stared at each other, almost challengingly.

" 'xuse me, mon'sir. Thee room 's ready." The lean, redheaded maid stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Thank you, Margot." He turned to his sister. "Everything will be fine," he whispered.

She eyed the maid and whispered back, "Shouldn't she be calling you 'my lord'?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "First time a maid and, you know me, I'm not picky." He turned back to the maid. "Why don't you show our guest her rooms?" He turned back to her. "I'll make sure my footmen know to keep an eye out for Luc L'Angley."


The room was just as beautiful and richly decorated as the rest of the manor. Large four post bed with velvet pink and white sheets. A dark pink rug over a light brown woodened floor. A fireplace with a white mantel. White walls with paintings of pink flowers and a pinkish sunset. The double doors and the sash window had light pink curtains. It was a very bright and girlish room, one she loved when she was here last, but grimaced at now.

She untied her bonnet and set it down on the pinkish vanity. "I had really poor tastes," she said to herself as she looked inside the washroom and noted the pink bathtub and white counters with a pink wash pail. She shook her head and went to her old armoire, hoping she left some clothes here that would still fit.

Well, she did leave some clothes at least. Carlynda pulled out a fancy pink ruffled dress and frowned. Was she ever so young? She placed it back in the armoire and looked through the rest of the bright and overdressed gowns. "No, no, and defiantly not." She could see why she left these dresses behind.

She had nothing to wear. Besides, they didn't look like they would fit her anymore. The last time she was here was almost ten years ago. She'd gotten a little bit fuller in some areas. She shook her head and glanced down at the dress she was wearing. It was a brown dress, the hem was frayed and she had drops frosting on her sleeve. However, it shall have to do for dinner. Her brother won't mind.


He didn't even seem to notice as they talked over bowls of soup during dinner. She leaned over once the footmen took her empty bowl and plate. "What did you tell the staff about me? Do they know? Do you have any of the family staff here?" she asked quietly once they were alone.

He chuckled at her many questions. "Don't get so paranoid, sister. They know. I had to tell them the truth. I rather they know the truth then believe you're my special friend."

She nodded slowly. He had a point even though she didn't particularly like it. However, the less people who knew the better and now a whole household knew. It made her a little uncomfortable and it seemed wrong. A household full of strangers knew, yet her friends didn't. "Yes, I don't like the idea of people think we are together that way."

He chuckled again. "More proof of your difference. Three years ago you wouldn't know what 'special friend' meant. I actually did use that on you once or twice."

She narrowed her eyes at him as she leaned back in her chair. She was trying to remember what he was talking about. Her eyes suddenly widened. "My word, that blond haired, brown eyed singer from London. You called her your special friend. Oh, Lucian, I didn't need to know about your conquests."

He laughed. "She wasn't my special friend, Claudette. I only told you that to see if you knew what I meant. I have better morals then that."

She laughed. "So, you're telling me you're a thirty-four year old virgin?"

He gaped at her, making her laugh harder. He stood back. "I am not having this conversation with my sister!" He made a move to leave the dining room when he suddenly turned back to her. "Wait a minute. Are you still a…you know?" He had that gleam in his eye that told her that she better have her maidenhood intact.

She stood up and stretched. "You're right. I'm not going to have this conversation with my brother."

"My lord, you're not, are you? Did L'Angley…?"

"No!" she quickly said. "No, he never…no." She turned to leave the dining room.

"Claudette…" Lucian called after her, but she ignored him. "Claudette!"

She stopped at the doorway and turned. "Do you know where I can find a nightgown that isn't one of my old ones from ten years ago?"

"Wh…what?" he stuttered at the sudden change of conversation. His mind was obviously still on what she accidentally revealed.

"I thought not. I'll just wear one of my old ones I suppose." She left the room while he was still trying to process what she said.


Erik quietly hopped off the windowsill and closed the window to stop the cold air from coming in. It was dark. The only light came from the stars and moon outside, but it was just enough for him to see. She was tossing and turning in her sleep from some nightmare. He watched her in concern as she made a whimpering sound. He stepped up to the bed and knelt before it, his hands reaching to stroke her hair from her sweaty forehead. "Carlynda," he whispered. "Carlynda, it's just a dream. Wake up, love. Wake up."

"No, no…" she grumbled as she thrashed away from him.

"Carlynda," he said as loud as he dared. He reached up and touched her cheek.

She jerked away quite suddenly. Her eyes were unfocused, still lost in her dream as she darted away from him fearfully. She coiled up in a ball on the other side of the bed.

"Carlynda, it's alright. It's just me. It's Erik." He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He lowered his voice to a more hypnotic pitch, trying to calm her. "It's Erik."

Tears escaped her eyes and the faint sight of them almost broke him. She hiccupped. "E—Erik?" Her voice was small, like that of a child reaching out for comfort and afraid it wasn't there, so hopeful.

"Yes, my dear."

She flung herself at him and he quickly wrapped his arms around her, placing her on his lap. She buried her head between his neck and shoulder. He could feel her body shaking and the wetness of her tears. He held tightly to her, kissing the top of her head. She'd been crying way to often lately. What he wouldn't do to make sure she never cried again. "I'm here, Carlynda. Everything will be alright. I'm here." He continued to whisper nonsense words into her ear, trying to comfort her.

Finally her tears subsided and he felt her body relax against him. It was quite the feeling, having her ease alongside him. It was a sign of trust that he never experienced freely before she walked into his life. The only time he felt it was when he hypnotized Christine, but this, what Carlynda gave him, was not forced or coerced. She willingly gave him her trust. It was almost as good as having her love. He didn't want to do anything to break her trust of him. Maybe that was the main reason why he would never tell her who he was and what he had done in the past.

She lifted her head from his chest, wiping away her tears. "Erik?" Her voice was a little hoarse from her crying. She coughed to clear her throat. "What…what are you doing here? How did you know where I was?" she whispered.

He cupped her cheeks with his glove-covered hand and stroke it with his thumb. She laid her head back on his chest, over the beat of his heart. He kissed the top of her head. "Your brother looked anxious when he delivered your gift and letter. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't too worried until I saw your note. Your handwriting was shaky. You were afraid." He rest his chin on her head. "I had to make sure you were safe."

"How did you find me?" She spoke softly against his chest and he could hear the exhaustion in her tone. He knew he was not going to get any answers tonight. She needed her sleep.

"Your brother is a count. It didn't take long to find his home." He kissed her head again. "Is everything alright?"

She nodded and hummed sleepily. "It is now."

His lips twitched. Not only did she trust him, but she felt safe with him. That was quite a feeling to have. He couldn't remember the last person who felt safe with him. He didn't think there was anyone.

He frowned. "Carlynda, about last night…"

"Shh," she interrupted, "It's alright, Erik. We both were in the wrong. You shouldn't have yelled or accused me and I should have let you know I'll be late."

He nodded before taking a note of her yawn. He shifted to place her back on her pillow. "I'm glad to see you safe. Goodnight, Carlynda." He made a move to get up, but she quickly grabbed his hand. He glanced back at her in question.

"Stay, Erik, please. I don't want to sleep alone. I don't want the nightmares to come back."

"Gladly, my dear." She had him wrapped around her finger. How could he ever deny such a request from her?

She moved away to give him room. After stripping of his shoes, cloak, shirt, and pants, leaving only his long drawers, he slid under the covers with her. As soon as he was settled, she immediately coiled up beside him, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He reached up and grasped her hand, holding her there, where she belonged. This was where he belonged as well, with her.

"Erik?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad you came."

"So am I. Sleep now, my dear."

"Goodnight." She fell quickly to sleep, her dreams peaceful now.

By the first light of day, Erik was gone. The only sign he had been there was the indent of his head on the pillow.


Sorry it took soooooo long! I'm in my last year of college. Loads of essays and big assignments. I have no idea how long it will take me to update again.

Please Review.