A/N:
Here is the wedding chapter. The wedding night scene, as always, will be posted in the subsequent chapter. If you don't wish to read it, you may skip it, but it may contain some information that will be necessary to the plot, although you can make it without reading the chapter. I try to keep it as tame as possible, as always.
Please review!
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Chapter 8: I Thee Wed
Meg fairly trembled as she looked in the glass the next morning, clad in her silk stockings and chemise, awaiting her mother and Christine to do her laces and dress her in the magnificent gown that she had chosen for her wedding day.
She felt small and weak when she thought of what the day would hold. Beyond the frightening prospect of pledging her life to a man she hardly knew in a few hours, she would have to face the elite of Parisian society at a mammoth reception, and then—the wedding night.
She recalled the conversation she and Christine had shared in the dark the night before. For the occasion, Madame had allowed them to occupy Christine's old room, as the new diva was frequently occupying other lodgings of late. Lying next to each other in the dark, Meg had nervously questioned Christine about married life.
"Is it so bad, really, Christine?" Meg asked, blushing furiously in the darkness. "Does it…does it hurt terribly?"
Christine laughed softly. "It does hurt rather dreadfully at first. With Erik, it hurt especially, as he is rather…well-endowed."
They began to giggle, and Meg felt as though they were little girls again, lying awake in the darkness and whispering about mysteries that they couldn't begin to understand.
"Really, it is not so bad. Raoul is a gentle man, and I am sure he will be as careful as possible. There are ways to make it better." Christine explained at Meg's urging, and Meg gasped aloud, blushing even further.
"Is it…fun?" Meg asked, her voice hesitant. "Some of the girls say that it is something to be borne, and a necessary evil, but well worth the rewards of having a happy man. And yet, the others seem to enjoy it very much, even go out looking for men who will sleep with them!"
"I have heard both as well." Christine agreed. "But from my own experience I can tell you that with a man you love and desire, and who loves and desires you as well, it is a wonderful thing." She was quiet for a moment, and Meg did not have the heart to tell her that Raoul was not in love with his fiancée, that he still loved Christine.
"Then I needn't be afraid?"
"Oh, no. I was terribly afraid as well, when Erik made love to me the first time, but it was so wonderful, and after I was never afraid again. He is a terribly considerate lover, you see." Christine grew serious then. "Never be afraid to tell or ask me anything, Meg. Write to me at any time, my correspondence is my own, and Erik will not see it. If you have questions, or fears, of any sort, I am there to listen, even if we must converse only through letter."
The two girls embraced then.
Meg sighed. She feared very greatly what the night might bring, but there was no escaping it now. She could only pray that Raoul would be gentle with her, even if he did not love her.
-
Two hours later, Meg stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Is that really me?" she whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock.
Her dress was of white silk, with a scooped bodice edged in lace and embroidered with seed pearls. The sleeves were long, and the bodice was tight, ballooning out into an impossibly wide skirt with tiered waves of pure white silk, edged in more seed pearls. A long silk train spread out behind her, and falling in frothy layers to the floor behind and in front was Meg's veil, attached to a circlet of silver and pearls.
"Don't cry, Meg!" Christine exclaimed. "You look beautiful."
Christine was dressed in a lovely pale green satin gown, slightly off-shoulder, and carried a smaller version of Meg's bouquet, pink and white roses. Madame Giry was dressed in a matronly gown of dove-gray silk, the first time in over ten years that she had worn anything but black.
"Are you ready, my darling?" she asked, smiling at her beautiful daughter.
Meg took a deep breath. "Yes, maman." she replied. "I am ready."
-
Meg saw Raoul standing at the altar, resplendent in his own wedding finery. He stood straight and tall, with none of the doubts and fears that assailed her showing in his eyes. She walked slowly down the red-carpeted aisle, not daring to look at any of the people in the church.
There were not many. The wedding was a small affair, the reception would be much larger. Andre and Firmin were there, as was several members of the corps. Meg had chosen four of the girls that she was closest with to attend her along with Christine, and the others stood with the rest of the wedding guests.
Meg knew that the Comte Philippe was in the church, in fact, she had seen him in the first row, but she avoided his eyes especially. She had tried to make Raoul introduce them prior to the wedding, but he steadfastly affirmed that their introduction would be better made after the wedding day.
God, help me. She prayed silently, and wondered, if the wedding was this terrifying, how would she brave the reception?
"You're doing wonderfully, Meg." Christine whispered, walking next to her friend, as matron of honor.
Before Meg knew it, she was facing Raoul, and numbly repeating her vows to Father Clare, the same priest that had wed Erik and Christine. The look that Raoul gave the elderly priest was none too kind.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God and man to witness the joining of these two, Marguerite Giry and Viscomte Raoul de Chagny, in the bonds of holy matrimony. Viscomte Raoul de Chagny, will you take Marguerite Giry here present, for your lawful wife according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
"I will." Raoul answered, his voice steady.
"Marguerite Giry, will you take Viscomte Raoul de Chagny here present, for your lawful husband according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Catholic Church?"
Her voice wobbled a tiny bit. "I will."
"Now repeat after me. I, Raoul de Chagny."
"I, Raoul de Chagny."
"Take thee, Marguerite Giry."
"Take thee, Marguerite Giry."
"As my wife,"
"As my wife,"
"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
Meg breathed in unsteadily. "I, Marguerite Giry, take thee, Raoul de Chagny, as my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
Raoul reached for her hand and slid a golden band, along with the sapphire engagement ring, onto her finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to thee my troth, Marguerite Giry."
She slid a golden band onto his finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to thee my troth, Raoul de Chagny."
Father Clare lifted his hands and made the sign of the Cross over the couple.
"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. I pronounce thee husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
With calm hands, and dispassionate eyes, Raoul lifted Meg's veil, and touched his lips to hers.
Meg found herself recalling the kiss that Christine and Erik had shared at their wedding, and she fought back tears. Erik had kissed his bride passionately, as though he could hardly wait to take Christine home and begin their wedding night—begin their life. Raoul only brushed her lips with his own, a cold kiss, hardly the beginning she wished for this day—and this life.
They turned, hand in hand, and faced the small gathering.
Raoul smiled at her, a collected smile, and Meg felt a small burst of anger that he should be so calm, so poised, when she felt as though her nerves were shattering.
"I will see you this evening, my wife. You have much preparing to do."
And, as soon as they were outside the doors, they parted, Meg back to the Opera House to prepare for the reception, and Raoul to the estate de Chagny.
-
The reception was held in the ballroom of the de Chagny mansion. Meg arrived by means of a carriage sent by Raoul, and as she exited, soon joined by Christine and Madame, she saw from the corner of her eye the carriage containing her things, which the servants would be arranging upstairs all the while the reception was being held.
Meg was attired in a fashionable midnight blue watered silk, her hair swept up with diamond clips, a silver and diamond necklace about her neck, and diamonds hanging from her ears. Christine offset her beautifully in a daring dark red velvet, her hair, throat and ears jeweled similarly, but with rubies instead of diamonds. Madame Giry wore a black silk gown, lower cut than most in her wardrobe, and her ornaments were dainty pearls.
Raoul met Meg at the door, and gallantly took her arm, while Christine walked with Madame. The herald announced them as they entered the grand ballroom, Raoul allowing Christine and Madame Giry to enter first.
"Madame Christine Couturier and Madame Antoinette Giry!"
Raoul smiled comfortingly at Meg, and she took a shaky breath as the wide doors swung open for them.
"The Viscomte Raoul de Chagny and Viscomtess Marguerite de Chagny!"
Her breath left her all in a rush, both upon hearing her new title and married name, and at the sight of the ballroom.
For Meg, it was like entering a whole new world. Lights dazzled overhead from magnificent chandeliers, the tables glowed with candelabras, and a sumptuous feast was arrayed along one wall, food and drink to be partaken of at one's pleasure. A full orchestra played brightly from the pit, and a swirl of fine fabrics and glittering jewels adorning the elite of Parisian nobility swamped one's senses and filled the room with luxury far beyond anything little Meg had ever seen.
She edged closer to Christine the moment her friend caught up. "My God, Christine," she whispered, her eyes wide. "It's like another world."
"It is another world." Christine replied. Though Erik was by no means a part of the nobility, his burgeoning success as a composer was gaining them access to high Italian society. It, too, was like entering a different galaxy, as far removed from her life as a dancer, and even as a diva, as the east was from the west. "You'd do well to remove the awestruck expression," she hissed kindly but warningly. "They are like dogs, Meg. The quicker you stop looking like a frightened doe, the less likely they'll be to attack."
Meg nodded, and tried to smooth her expression.
"That's better. They love their own kind, Meg, so look confident, and carefree, as if you were born in silk and diamonds, and born to this life." Christine fell back then, leaving Meg alone with her new husband.
Husband. The word was as foreign as nobility to Meg. She felt an impostor already, a poor ballerina thrust into a world that was like nothing she had ever seen. Luxury was attractive from a far, but fairly smothering up close.
Raoul took her arm. "You must meet my brother now." His voice was far from cheerful, and Meg wondered why, though she bore the man an innate dislike for his treatment of Sorelli.
The man they approached was tall and clean-cut, handsome as the devil in his evening suit and silken cravat. He held a glass of wine elegantly in one hand, and was paying bored favor to a well-dressed young noblewoman who hung onto him like her salvation.
"Philippe." Raoul greeted curtly, and the man turned to face him, his blue eyes remaining entirely without expression.
"Brother!" He greeted Raoul enthusiastically, at odds with the impassivity of his face. "Who is this lovely young creature?"
Meg blushed, and went to curtsy, but Raoul tightened his grip on her arm. "Remember who you are!" he hissed sharply, and she halted immediately, flushing even further.
"This is my wife, the Viscomtess Marguerite de Chagny. Meg, this is my brother, Comte Philippe de Chagny."
His brother smiled, not entirely unkindly, but with a definite hint of malice. "Ah, I remember you. You were on the corps de ballet. You took La Sorelli's place as prima when she became…indisposed, did you not?" He nodded at Meg's shocked expression. "Oh, yes, I remember you. Beauty such as yours never escapes my attention for long. My brother is a lucky man, though I hardly think you appropriate as a wife." He waved a hand at Raoul before the Viscomte could speak. "Oh, spare me your hypocrisies and your anger, little brother. I'll speak my mind as I always have. She's no more fit to be a Viscomtess than that chorus girl was. Speaking of which, I thought I saw her at the wedding this morning? Did I? Oh, yes, there she is. Perhaps I'll say hello. Good evening, brother." He nodded at Meg. "Viscomtess." He walked off casually in Christine's direction, leaving the blonde woman looking utterly shocked.
"Is it…true?" she whispered, staring first at Raoul, then at Meg. "Were you really a…a ballerina?"
Meg averted her eyes, a blush of shame staining her cheeks. Raoul gripped her hand and glared daggers at the young noblewoman. "She is my wife." He hissed the last word out sharply. "And she is a Viscomtess, which makes her rank somewhat above yours, Lady Arlene. I suggest you leave her be."
He swept his young bride onto the dance floor, and Meg looked miserably up at him. "Oh, Raoul, I'm so sorry."
"It is not your fault, Meg. They were bound to find out sometime or another. It makes no difference to me."
She knew it did not, and it soothed her somewhat. But nothing could salve the pain she felt each time his eyes drifted to Christine, eyes suffused with jealousy each time he saw her in the arms of this noble or that. Though, for Meg's sake, he did not dance with Christine even once that night, Meg knew that he would have liked nothing better, and there was no balm for that pain.
At last, the clock struck eleven, and he took Meg's hand. He bid farewell to his guests, and as they began to filter out, he led Meg towards the mahogany staircase. Meg cast a frightened glance back at Christine, and her friend smiled encouragingly.
It will be alright.