Chapter VI: Secrets Revealed

Christian's father, a tall, elderly man with a severe beard, gravely took his son's hand in his own and shook it as casually as one business associate might do to another. Satine searched his face, but saw nothing in it that would link Christian to him as his son. Christian's mother was a little better--she was small and slender, with soft, greying brown hair and large blue eyes, but instead of dreaming and sparkling, her eyes were quiet and filled with hidden meaning.

Satine murmured, nodding to her mother-in-law. The woman paused and stepped forward, hesitantly touching Satine's hand with her own.

She does speak English, doesn't she, Christian? Christian's father interrupted, giving Satine a black look. She raised an expressive eyebrow, and was tempted to sprout off a rattle of French to him, but stopped herself.

Yes, I do, Mr. Everett. Her voice was chilly in response to their continual frowns.

he paused for breath. His wife filled the gap after an awkward moment had passed.

I am. . .very glad to meet you at last, dear.

Yes, Satine, I often wondered if I'd see you at all. He pronounced it as satin,' and Satine threw a despairing glance at her husband.

It is Satine, Father, Christian said quietly.

Oh, well, I never did understand French names. Margaret! Margaret! Come greet your brother and his wife! Margaret followed her mother. She was a bit taller than her parent, and her hair did not have the streaks of grey, but otherwise, she was exactly as Christian had described her--exactly like the mother.

she whispered, giving Satine a dubious smile which slowly blossomed into the real thing. Satine blinked with surprise. Margaret was not at all unattractive when she smiled. Her thick hair was flatly pulled back into a hard little bun, and she wore black cashmere like her mother, but Satine suspected that she was a pretty girl when out of the horrible costume she was contained in.
And William! The tall, brown-haired man pacing in the back of the room gave her a polite nod.

And, of course, Peter. Satine gave Peter her first genuine smile as he took her hand and bowed over it. He resembled Christian about the face, but his hair was far lighter.

Enchanted, my dear sister, said with an easy grin. And Christian--good to see you back! Christian smiled wanly in response.

Thank you.

Well, let's go. The carriage is waiting.

The ride to Christian's family's home was very quiet--Peter was the only one who spoke directly to Satine the entire time, and his father just stared moodily out the window. Christian kept quiet, ostensibly because he had no opportunity to speak, and in reality because he wanted to watch Peter. He did seem changed, but it didn't ring quite true with Christian. From his experience, Peter never did anything unless he knew he would come off the better for it. But being kind to the wife of the black sheep returned home would hardly fall under that category, would it? Temporarily relieved, he followed his father's example and looked out the window. Had he still been watching a few moments later, when Peter gave a brief, twisted half smile as Satine bent down to brush off her skirt, he would not have rested nearly so easy.

Christian, I would speak with you in my study, his father announced as they entered the large, middle-class home of the Everett's. Christian gave a brief sigh--he had been expecting this, after all. Peter touched Satine's arm as the door swung shut behind them.

Come sit with me and Meg in the library, he said. I think you'll find we're all not ogres in this family, after all.

I hardly would have expected that, Satine smiled, ignoring the half-truth of the statement. Your mother seems very kind.

Ah, yes, Mother. Well, she's not a bad sort, a bit like my silent sister here. Margaret had seated herself at the piano and smiled wryly at Peter's statement.

Do you play, Satine? she asked softly, sorting through her sheet music. Satine shrugged and sat down on a chair near Peter's.

A little. . .nothing like what Christian can do, she said matter-of-factly. I can sing, though, my. . .friends used to delight in it.

Well, then, you've got to entertain us for a while! Peter exclaimed. Meg, play something that our new sister can sing.

Margaret said gently. This is hardly the time. Perhaps after dinner, Satine? she added, shyly smiling.

Perhaps. . .if you think your father will permit it.

Oh, don't mind him, Peter said in an exasperated tone. He's in a bit of a hard place now with Christian, though--what to do--

Margaret snapped. Satine turned in surprise to look at the girl. She was pale, but two spots of red burned on her cheeks.

Oh, I'm sorry, Peter said, looking a little ashamed. Afraid we're all bound to secrecy on that point-- at least for the time. An awkward silence fell over the group until he spoke again. Well, can you tell us a bit about France, Satine?

Satine nodded, but she made a mental note to interrogate Peter further when Margaret was not around. It was already clear that he was the only one in the family she and Christian could depend on.

You must be at a loss for all of this, Christian's father said to him in the study. Christian sat patiently on a hard chair--he knew it would only annoy his father if he chose a softer one--waiting for the judgment to come down on his head. He frowned at his father's conciliatory tone.

Why, yes, Christian admitted. He frowned inwardly at his father's conciliatory tone. Father had been downright civil to him and Satine. . .the welcome, the money. . . Something was not right. His father paced to the window and back again.

Do you remember your aunt Churchill?

Christian asked, interested by the memory of the woman. Yes, of course I remember her. She was always very kind to us all. He remembered his fragile little aunt, who read to him through her thick spectacles.

She was very fond of you, his father continued, perhaps more fond than any of us realized. Enough for her to leave her entire fortune to you and you alone, that is, on one condition. Christian raised his eyebrows.

And that being?

We approve your marriage. I don't think she ever anticipated you running off to a village of sin in Paris, but she was concerned about your obsession with love. The will specifically states that I must approve your marriage for you to inherit; otherwise, it all goes to charity. Christian opened his mouth, but was cut off by his father's next words.

Now. Your wife is prettier than what I consider very proper in a woman, and her taste in dress suggests an indulgent nature. However, she seems to have a little propriety that reassures me that this isn't someone of, shall we say, lesser persuasion. I must say, I'm very pleased to discover you're not wasting your life with a can-can dancer.

Christian glanced nervously at his collar, and tried to speak. This was not was he was expecting in the least--to think that Aunt Jane had actually left her money to him and on such an absurd condition!

I am astonished, Christian said steadily, after a few moments.

I expect, of course, that you will lend some financial support to the family company.

Of course, Christian readily agreed. That made sense. His father was willing to try and make amends because he needed the money. The older man must have noticed the expression on his face, for he scowled.

Don't even begin to think that I would approve your wife if she were anything less than genteel, he said sharply. Christian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

The thought never crossed my mind, Father.

That night, Christian sat on the foot of Satine's bed as she brushed her hair. His mother had placed them in separate chambers, but all that resulted of that was Christian getting a bit of exercise before bed.

What do you think about all this? he finished, looking over at her. Satine was quiet for a minute.

We must be careful, for one thing, she murmured in French.

Yes, but it's still very strange, Satine, he replied in kind. Satine shrugged.

Do you think so? I don't. An eccentric old lady dies and gives her money to a favorite nephew, who has a tendency towards romance. She makes an arrangement with the father to prevent him from ruining his life. It's unusual, but not really that strange, my love.

When you look at it like that, it's not, Christian replied, feeling some relief. Satine, what do you think of Peter?
He's very kind, Satine said absently. He seems to be the only one willing to talk about things. . .not what I pictured when you described him, she added, putting the brush down. Christian rose and paced to the window.

I don't know if I trust him yet.

Satine said dryly, coming up behind him and putting her arms around his waist. This from the man who came into the Moulin Rouge and trusted the famed courtesan to not betray him.

And I wasn't right?

It was a bad example, she readily conceded. But I don't think we ought to talk about that. . .not even in French, darling.

And you say I'm suspicious. Really, Satine.

That, my dear, is my job. Christian twisted his head to look at her.

Satine nodded briskly.

she said, giving him a brief kiss. I'm going to get my nightdress on.

Satine laughed at his innocent tone.

You don't think I'll need it, Christian?

Not really, no. He tried to remain serious, but broke out into a wide grin. Is the door locked?



He let the curtain fall to the ground and turned to her.

You seem to be doing that a lot lately, Satine whispered as she fingered the top of his shirt.

I enjoy it quite a bit, Christian replied, grinning mischievously at her.

Satine tried to put a note of shock in her voice, but she just giggled as Christian pulled her onto the bed beside him.

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Author's note: Still don't own any of this-- not even Christian! :pout: except the Everett's. Only I don't own Christian's father. Humph.