Christine,
My dearest friend, it is with great regret that I inform you that Raoul does not wish Erik's presence at our wedding. I would have had no problem with it at all, but he is most firm on the matter. We got into our first real argument over it, and he quite frightened me with his vehemence. I suppose Erik's presence would remind him of terrible memories, or so Maman says, but what these terrible memories are, besides his loss of you, no one will tell me. They all say it is his place to decide when and if I should know, but it does concern me dreadfully that I am marrying a man with a past of which I know nothing about.
I am being ungrateful, I know. Here he is, giving me the life that I dreamed of, a life I never thought I could have, and I am complaining because he does not open his heart to me. He does not love me, I know, and it is hard, to marry a man I care so much about, knowing that he feels very little for me at all, except perhaps fondness, and pity. Pity is worst of all, but women of our class cannot be choosy. To marry a Viscomte is to ascend high above my station, and I know I should be grateful and not carry on so.
Do come anyway, dear Christine. I'm sure Erik would understand—he is ever so much more understanding than Raoul. I would simply die if you were not here, Christine, I do so want you to be one of my attendants. Do say you can come! I miss you so dreadfully, and I wish you were here now. The other rats are little help, they either giggle madly and offer nothing but their empty-headed ideas, or the more sensible ones speak of strange rumors and warn me of what I am getting myself into. I wonder sometimes if I should not listen to them…
But there I go again! I am really a terrible girl, to carry on so! Do write quickly Christine, and tell me if you may come, so that I can have you a dress made. The wedding is soon!
All my love,
Meg
-
Christine stared down at the letter in her hand, then folded it and lay it aside with a little sigh. "Oh, Meg," she mused, tapping her fingers against the wooden writing-table.
"What is it, Christine?"
Erik came up behind his wife, laying his hands on her shoulders and bending, ostensibly to kiss her cheek. Christine gasped a little as he nibbled at the lobe of her ear, and leaned back into his embrace.
"Meg has written us, Erik."
"Oh? Does the boy say that we may come to his wedding?" Sarcasm laced his voice, but Christine chose to ignore it, thinking frantically of the best way to pose her request.
"Raoul…" she paused delicately. "Raoul does not wish you to come, Erik." There. It was out, and she braced herself for her husband's wrath.
It came quickly.
"Me! Does not want me to come! Well then, by God, if he cannot swallow his damned pride, neither of us shall go!"
Christine stood and faced him, her cheeks flushed. "You can't do that, Erik! It means the world to Meg for me to be there! We have known each other since we were children!"
"But I mean nothing? I am your husband, if you have not forgotten it!"
"I have not forgotten it." Christine answered quietly. "But Meg does not know you well, Erik. She knows you are the man I love, but she bears no great love for you herself, asides from the acquaintance she shares with the man who is my husband. But she is my only and dearest friend, and you must see how much it means to her that I attend her at her wedding. She would wish it no matter whom she were marrying, be it Raoul or no."
Erik clenched his jaw. "I don't like it, Christine."
"Do you think I do?" She reached up to touch his cheek. "Do you think I want to go back to Paris alone, and face Raoul, with the memory of my betrayal fresh in his mind, my belly swelling with your child? For I did betray him, for love of you, Erik. I would give all the world to never look upon his face again, but I would make this sacrifice of myself to be there for my friend, who never abandoned me, despite all that I did and all that I have done. Do not fear that anything will pass between me and Raoul, darling. I love you, and I carry your child. I will not even speak to Raoul, unless propriety demands it. What was between him and I was over long ago."
Erik turned away and walked to the window, staring out over the canals of Venice. His fists thrust into his pockets, he seemed to consider for a long moment before nodding, his jaw still hard with restrained anger.
"Very well, my dear. You may go. But I wish you back as soon as possible, and know that this is not easy for me, nor is it what I wish." He forced a smile. "But I do understand."
"Oh, Erik!" Christine embraced him joyfully. "Thank you!"
He smiled, and sighed inwardly at his foolishness, knowing that he would give her anything she asked, just to see that delightful smile.
-
Dear Meg,
Erik has agreed
to let me attend the wedding without him, however, he is far from
happy. I will not be able to stay as long as I had hoped, but I will
be taking a train into Paris as soon as I am able.
I am sending a paper with my measurements in this letter. I have grown a bit larger in these last few months.
Love,
Christine
Christine smiled mischievously as she sealed the letter. She couldn't wait to see the look on Meg's face when she realized exactly why her friend had gained weight.
-
Meg's world had been a flurry of activity. Madame Giry had taken it well in stride, handling the decorations, the cake, the wine, the dinner, the reception—which would be attended by all of Paris's highest society—as well as assisting her daughter in choosing an appropriate gown and the dresses for the attendants. Along with all of that, a new prima would have to be hired immediately.
Andre and Firmin were not at all happy.
"First Christine leaves, and now you!" they had exclaimed almost in unison. "Marriage should be banned, I say, utterly banned. It's bad for business, I tell you, very bad!"
"We never had such problems in the junk business." Firmin had complained, rolling his eyes heavenward.
Andre had elbowed him sharply in the ribs and hissed: "Scrap metal!"
-
Christine arrived the day before the wedding. Meg rushed to the door, and looked her friend up and down. "You look so beautiful!" she exclaimed, taking in Christine's pale blue skirt and waist-jacket, with the starched linen shirtwaist and frilled jabot beneath. "And you are practically glowing!" She did not notice at first Christine's delicate condition, until Madame Giry embraced Christine, took a good look at her, and exclaimed: "My dear, how far along are you!"
Meg's mouth dropped open in an entirely unladylike manner. "Christine, you are…are…"
"Yes, Meg." Christine replied, smiling. "I am to have a baby in six months or so."
"The trip must have been awful! You should not have traveled! I would have managed without you, truly I could have…"
"Oh, Meg!" Christine exclaimed, embracing her friend. "You are such a darling, truly you are, but the truth is, it was no trouble at all. I am hardly pregnant at all, you see! It is hardly noticeable, and I have never been the vaporish sort. I'm fine, Meg, really."
Meg nodded, her blue eyes still wide. "I'm so happy for you, Christine. I can hardly wait until Raou…I mean, the Viscomte and I have children. They are such a blessing." She searched Christine's face worriedly. "Are you happy for me, Christine? Truly?"
Christine took both Meg's hands in her own white-gloved ones. "I am overjoyed, Meg. What was between Raoul and I is far in the past."
Lisette poked her head in suddenly. "Meg, the Viscomte is here to see you."
Meg looked nervously at first her mother, and then Christine.
"Send him in to my sitting-room, Lisette." Madame instructed. "We will receive him there."
Lisette nodded and scurried off.
Christine took Meg's arm and they walked to the sitting room, chattering lively the whole way.
-
Raoul entered the room, looking about for his fiancée. He espied her immediately, but stopped short suddenly when he saw the dark-haired vision in blue seated next to her, talking animatedly to both Madame and Meg.
"Meg." His voice rang sharply through the room, far harsher than he had intended, and he tried to soften it. "Meg, dear, may I speak to you for a moment?"
Meg rose hurriedly and stepped outside with him, closing the door carefully behind her.
"I thought you said they were not coming." Raoul looked down at her, his hands thrust into his coat pockets.
"I said Erik was not coming. I never said anything about Christine…"
"I assumed, Marguerite, that Christine would not come without Erik. Am I wrong?"
"Well…she is here… you see. Erik is not with her."
"Did it ever occur to you, dear, that it might hurt me to have her here?"
Meg's face tightened imperceptibly, and she answered Raoul sharply for the first time.
"Did it ever occur to you that it might hurt me to not have her here?"
Raoul stepped back. "I don't want to see her!"
Meg stared up at him. "You're not still in love with her, are you?"
"I told you what you could expect of me." He turned away. "You know how I feel."
"I did not expect for you to still feel exactly as you did then!"
"Damn it, Meg, I've loved her since I was five years old! It doesn't just go away! Yes, I still love her! I will continue to love her, and God help me, but I don't want her there when I give my hand to another woman!"
Tears rose in Meg's eyes. "Another woman? I do not mean to be ungrateful, monsieur, but in marrying you I had hoped that I might be more than just another woman!"
"You will be my wife, Marguerite, and I will give you all the honor a husband is due his wife, but nowhere does the law say that I must love you!"
"It says such in my Bible." Meg replied tearfully.
"Then perhaps I am a little less of a Christian than I once was."
"I still plan to marry you, Raoul…"
"I expected nothing less."
"But if I am to live a life without love, at least cede to me in this, that I might have my best friend attend me at my only wedding. Give me at least this much, Raoul, you cannot give me your heart!"
His mouth hardened, but he nodded. "Fine, then. Have your way, Meg. But it will not always be so. As my wife you will do my bidding, do you understand?"
"Yes, Raoul." Her voice was hushed.
"I want to hear no more talk of my loving you, do you understand!"
"Yes, Raoul." She fought back tears.
He turned back and saw the sorrow in her eyes. He took her in his arms suddenly, confusing her in the sudden change from harsh words to infinite tenderness. "I am sorry, Meg. I cannot help what I have become. I cannot help it."
"I know, Raoul." She buried her face in his shoulder. "I know."