A Place in This World

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I appreciate every sound word of advice that is given. The lovely words of encouragement make all the hours of typing worth it.

cinafran; thank you for your suggestion. I had tried to break the paragraphs up in chapter 14, but I did it even more in this chapter. I hope this helps! Thanks for reading! Here is your update! P.S. I hope I fixed the spelling 

Mominator124; You know, I looked at that word and thought, "That just does not look right." But then I left it there without any further scrutiny! Shame on me! Thanks for indulging my interests and reading my story. I appreciate it!

MastersofNight; I miss you, I have not heard from you since chapter 10. Are you still with me? Any suggestions or aggravations? As for your comment about Erik and women, so true; but I feel that he has no luck because he has never allowed himself to be available to women. He has always felt that they could not tolerate him. I hope to remedy that in my story. After all;…HE IS !GORGEOUS…at least my Erik is

miffster; I haven't heard from you for some time either. Are you still interested in my constant droning? Let me know. Your opinion is invaluable to me.

DarkSecretLove; Where are you? You seemed to like it to begin with. I even tried to increase my chapter length for you. If you're still with me, let me know.

CHAPTER 15

Strangers always attract a great deal of attention in a small community. Although Paris was not a small city, the "cities" within the city were quite small.

The dark stranger sat guarded in the corner of the small café. All eyes were on him, for his presence in the corner café produced quite an extensive list of questions from the patrons.

His dark, intelligent eyes searched every face he encountered to see if there was any sign of familiarity. Most were too young or to self-involved to pay this aged stranger any mind. He felt certain that his identity was safe. (It has been a long time since I was here, perhaps no one remembers me.) Under different circumstances, he may have taken the time to uncover his past in Paris; but he was here on a mission from the heart. Nothing would deter him.

The morning paper, which would have enlightened him to the events of the city, laid at his right hand; unread. The server approached him, her steps were wavered; sore feet perhaps, and she had a slight scowl on her face; but she tried to force a smile. "Is there anything else that I can get you?"

Those dark, consuming eyes lifted to hers. She could not help but notice that the face that framed those eyes was extremely handsome. He was an older man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties; but he seemed younger. Although his dark hair was silver at the temples, it was full and wavy.

It was his eyes however, that pulled you in. They were full of pain; an old pain that had taken on the guise of friend. If one took the time to look closely, one could see the faint flicker of hope pushing its way into the deep brown crevices of his eyes. Upon closer examination, it was clear that a thin layer of green framed the brown of his eyes. They were unique in their color, making them memorable.

He seemed to hold himself in a regal manner, making everyone around him believe he was of the aristocracy. When he spoke, his words were heavily accented and educated. French was not his native tongue, but he spoke it…fluently. "No my dear, I am quite finished. Perhaps you can provide me with a bit of information. I am in search of a certain individual. I believe she resides somewhere close to here. Her name is Madam Margarite Giry. Do you know her?"

Lizzie knew exactly who he was talking about. Up until a few short days ago, she had been a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire. "Yes Monsieur, she resides just down the street about three blocks. You must pass by the fountain and then her house will be the first one on the left."

The stranger's face lit up, making him appear even younger. "Thank you child, you have no idea how helpful you have been."

When he stood up, Lizzie was impressed, if not a bit intimidated by his height. He was a good six feet tall; his shoulders were broad and he most definitely carried himself with regal poise.

Lizzie could not stop herself from asking, "May I inquire as to what your name is Monsieur?"

Lizzie had the good sense to be appalled at her own abruptness; but the gentleman just smiled and gave an elegant bow, "Of course, Lord Alastair Lauchlan, third Duke of Berwithshire, at your service." (I knew it; I knew he was titled.) Lizzie curtsied, but knowing her station in life, did not continue to make eye contact.

Alastair noticed this and tried to be gracious, although he did not feel that it was necessary for her to subject herself to him. "Rise child, you do not even know if I am worthy of your respect. Thank you for the information. I promise it will be used for the good."

He bowed again, sweeping his arm across his waist. With a "swish" of his expensive cape, he was out the door. Lizzie thought there was something vaguely familiar about the way he walked and carried himself, but she didn't dwell on it; after all, most aristocrats looked and acted the same.

Alastair found himself staring at Madam Giry's door. (Why am I so nervous? This could be another dead-end; there have been so many over the years. This last bit of news seems so much more promising than the other times.)

He gave the door a loud knock and stood ceremoniously still, waiting for an answer. As the door inched open, Alastair immediately bowed. He removed his hat so that his entire face was visible.

The lady standing at the door seemed taken back by the fact that she had a visitor, but she inclined her head to acknowledge his presence.

"I seek an audience with a young lady named Madam Giry, does she reside here?" The lady's head once again inclined to the affirmative. "My name is Lord Alastair Lauchlan, third Duke of Berwithshire. May I come in?"

Margarite stood at the door and stared, rather unashamedly, at the man before her. He was very handsome and very tall; she knew she would have remembered meeting him; but still, there was something very familiar about him. He spoke in accented French but Margarite could not place him. (Why is a Duke requesting to talk to me?)

Margarite had to admit, her curiosity was peeked. "I am Margarite Giry, please come in, your grace."

Alastair eased by her, noticing that she was a very slight woman; from what he had heard about her fortitude, he had expected her to be a much larger woman. The house, though small in comparison to what he was used to, was very well kept and smelled divine; like fresh baked bread.

Margarite led him into the dining room where Christine and Raoul were seated around the table. They had all been amusing themselves with a game of hearts, but had put the cards up a few minutes ago. They were preparing to go to the hotel and visit Erik

The young couple looked up inquisitively as the stately looking man entered the room. Margarite was not very good at introductions, but did her best. "This is Lord Alastair Lauchlan, third Duke of Berwithshire. He has come to speak with me."

Margarite tired to disguise the nervousness in her voice, even though her stomach was tied in knots. Alastair inclined his head in greeting to the younger people, who in turn, stood and bowed to him.

Raoul shook the man's hand, noticing the strength in his grip. "I am Viscount Raoul de Changny, and this is my fiancée, Christine Daae. We are pleased to meet you, your grace."

At the mention of Christine's name, Alastair raised a well-shaped eyebrow. He seemed to know something about her, but seemed in no hurry to share. Christine could have sworn she saw a flash of anger swell in his intriguing eyes at the mention of her name. His features were very familiar to her. (Maybe I have seen him at the Opera. Many nobles from other countries visited the opera. He certainly is an attractive man, even if he is a bit older.)

Raoul recognized the man before him from some of the royal balls he had been to. Lord Lauchlan had always seemed uncomfortable at the royal functions; he never quite fit in. But here, in a small gathering, Lord Lauchlan seemed quite at ease and his presence seemed to demand respect.

If Raoul remembered correctly, Lord Alastair was in high demand for his architectural designs, for which many countries were soliciting his services. He had slowed down lately. His hands seemed to be stiffing up on him and his fingers just did not want to do the precise drawing that was necessary for his work. His fortune was intact however; he was considered one the wealthiest nobleman in Europe.

At the royal functions, it was his beautiful wife, Brianna, who graced everyone with her presence. She was a stunning beauty, even in her late fifties. She had the most alluring green eyes and golden hair; completely untouched by gray. It was her face, however, that captured everyone's attention. She had the face of an angel. Her skin was the color and texture of cream. She had perfectly carved cheekbones and a round, feminine chin.

She was exquisite; rumored to be the most beautiful woman in Scotland. She boasted exceptional musical talents that seemed to surpass even the most well-trained musicians. She could play just about any instrument she picked up – and sing – she could make the angels cry with her voice. Raoul was certain that her voice would give Christine a run for her money; but Lady Brianna seldom smiled, except at her husband.

The couple looked beautiful together; but there always seemed to be an underlying tone of sadness resting in their eyes and residing in their words. Raoul could not recollect the reason behind that sadness, although he remembered hearing the hushed whispers that always surrounded Lord and Lady Lauchlan. All he could recall was that it had been a long time ago, and the entire estate still mourned.

Raoul spoke with respect and admiration for the man beside him, "I have had the privilege of meeting you and your lovely wife on several occasions. Royal balls are always a way to mix and mingle with the aristocracy of other countries. I have been impressed with your business ventures lately. You are in high demand around the world."

Alastair found himself amused by the young man; he seemed to be informed, but not snobbish.

Alastair gave Raoul a reserved smile and a poised answer, "Yes, Brianna wanted to make this trip with me; but our daughter, Erin, has just given birth to our tenth grandchild; we have six granddaughters and four grandsons."

Raoul expected him to drone on about his business adventures and investments, which had undoubtedly made him a very wealthy man; but Alastair surprised him by talking about his family.

Lord Lauchlan had to stop for a moment, there were tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of his little Dierdre; she was so perfect"Brianna was hesitant to leave her, even with the hope of my success. I promised her that I would return with that which I came here for." There was a determined glint in his eyes, and his heavy accent seemed to accentuate every word; making him sound agitated but unwavering.

Thoughts of his beloved wife flooded his mind. That dreadful, mournful night so long ago had taken the life out of her eyes. All that stared back at him for so many nights was emptiness and longing. Thankfully, with the birth of each grandchild, dull embers had begun to stir in their depths; but he missed the light that had illuminated them all those years ago.

Margarite motioned for him to sit. As he settled himself in, Margarite ventured to inquire about how she could serve him. "How may I be of service to you, your grace?"

Alastair cringed at the use of the respectful words, "Please, my dear, just call me Alastair. I am terribly sorry to barge in on you like this, but I am most certain that you have some information that could make me a very happy man…" Alastair smiled a radiant smile and his eyes danced, "…a very happy man indeed."

Chapter 16 preview – Tragedy retold