Chapter One – Deliberations and Propositions on a Most Noble Matter
Paris 1874
"My Lady? My Lady!" The Baron van Oldenburg calls me from my daydreams. "My Lady Vicomtesse, this is a pressing matter! I highly suggest you pay the utmost attention." I nod politely to the Baron as his wife, Adrianne, pats my hand under the table.
"Lady Christine, I understand you're caught up with the ailments of your dear husband, Lord Raoul, but please pay attention. It involves the marriage of the Marquis of Luxembourg." I remain silent. Marquis Charlemagne Luxembourg is one of my least-favorite people of those I've met in the nearly four years since Raoul and I wed. He is young; my age; and the discussion of his potential bride simply bores me.
"We have," states the Marquis's widowed mother Samantha, "an offer from a lovely family native to Paris. There is no father, but there is quite the inheritance. The daughter, from what I understand, is a well-trained ballerina and has a decent voice."
"The name, Madame? We must know the name!" The Baroness exclaims.
"The Lady Marguerite Elisabeth Giry." I sit there stunned. Meg! My Meg may wed the Marquis of Luxembourg. I could die, and I very well may.
"Marguerite Giry!" I shout, though it is very unladylike of me and very unbecoming for a Vicomtesse or any noblewoman. "He simply cannot marry Marguerite Giry!" I remind myself not to call her Meg in the presence of these noble folk who look to wed into fine families with fine names. "She is not of the caliber!" I add, and I silently pray for Meg's forgiveness for nearly destroying her noble reputation in such company.
"Why, Lady Christine, do you say such things? Pray tell!" Lady Samantha inquires. "Her mother is quite the divine lady, is she not?"
Stumbling across my words, I reply, "Antoinette Giry is most certainly a 'divine lady,' Madame Luxembourg, but is her daughter of a high enough stature to marry your son? She has neither noble title nor any prior relations to anybody with a position."
"Lady Christine," states the Baroness, "I heard from outside sources that you were nearly familial with Marguerite during your days as a ballerina at the Opera Populaire." I have never brought up my childhood at the opera during noble conversations. Now, however, it's inevitable that I will speak of it.
"I was, I daresay, 'familial' with the Ladies Giry, though I do not speak of them in high terms when it comes to the social order. They are high class, of course, do not hear me wrongly, but they are not of the stature to marry a Marquis, least of all your son." I curse myself for causing such destruction to Meg's social appearance, but it must be done. The Marquis of Luxembourg does not deserve her goodness, for he is as spoiled as a fat baby and stubborn as an ass.
"Well, if the Lady Vicomtesse says it, it must be so!" The Baron plainly states. "After all, she is the most worldly of us all, I suppose, when it comes to ladies of Society." I cannot say I disagree with this; I am most certainly one for entertaining and attending parties, though not always with Raoul, God protect him.
"Lord Baron," Lady Samantha starts, "if Lady Christine is so 'worldly' about ladies, why not let her choose a bride for my Charlemagne! I would like nothing more than to have such a lovely lady find an equally wonderful woman to wed my son."
"Lady Samantha," says the Baroness, "I despise talk of our ailing friends in what should be a joyous conversation, but it may not be in le Vicomtesse's best interests right now to choose a bride for your son. In fact, it would be taxing." I cast a glance to Lady Adrianne in quiet thanks.
"My wife, you are absolutely correct," the Baron replies. "We are all preoccupied now with le Vicomte's failing health. Maybe it would be wise to discuss Lady Christine's future as well. After all, it is mere days…"
"Baron Timothy von Oldenburg, I am ashamed of you!" Lady Samantha shouts at him with disgust. "Saying such things about an ailing friend! How dare you say such horrific prophecies in front of Lord Raoul's wife! Wash your mouth out with soap and go to the confessional, damn you!"
"Mother," the young Marquis says calmingly, "he is correct. We would not want Lady Christine to be on her own when the time does come." The Marquis's statement offers me reassurance, and though I do not care for him as a person or a husband for Meg, I have new respect for him. That is not to say that I like him, for I do not in the slightest.
"Why, Lady Samantha, I have a most glorious idea!" The Baroness shouts excitedly. "I do not wish to clothe our discussion in sadness, but when the time comes for Lord Raoul to pass on to God, Lady Christine may marry your son!" I come close to fainting, but manage to stand up instead.
"I most certainly will not…" but the Lady Samantha cuts me off.
"Good Heavens, Adrianne, why did I not see it before! They are of perfect age for one another, young enough for a long, healthy marriage, assuming Lord Raoul does not recuperate, which I'm sure we may assume." I am tempted to drop to the floor in a cold faint, but I abstain, knowing that it would be highly frowned upon, though not at all unusual due to the presence of corsets on the ladies of Society.
"Then it's settled!" says the Baron von Oldenburg joyously. "We shall set the date straight away for three months hence the passing of his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny. That shall allow for mourning and wedding preparations. Are all parties agreed?" Knowing I cannot possibly get myself out of this as a woman without a father to fight for her rights, I nod my head sadly.
As I do every day, I pray for Raoul to return to full health, though now it is to protect me from becoming the Marchioness of Luxembourg. I do not deny that such a title is great, though lower than my current name, but the company of Marquis Charlemagne Luxembourg as a husband is dreadful. I'd choose life in a cave before I'd choose that, but sometimes there is just no choice.
Later…
"What do you mean, you're to marry the Marquis?" Lydia de Chagny, my sister-in-law, exclaims a little too loudly.
"Hush, Lydia, you loud thing! Do you want your brother to hear you?" I snap back, angry with her for speaking about the new arrangements while my husband is in the next room.
"Oh, Christine, really. He's so long out of it that he'll never understand even if he can hear me! Christine, don't cry! Please don't cry!" She immediately turns around and takes me in her arms, holding me tightly. "You poor thing, this isn't what you planned at all, is it?"
"No," I admit with a sniff. "I thought I'd just go on to be a wealthy widow after Raoul passes away, but now everything's gone to the dogs!"
Lydia rubs my back comfortingly. "What about that friend of yours, Marguerite, was it?" I nod a little.
"Meg couldn't do anything! And what former Vicomtesse goes on to nothing? There's always something else, especially at my age. And it's truly difficult to find a husband for someone more than five years past coming to childbearing age. That's six wasted years for me!" I bury my face in my hands and start to cry uncontrollably, not only for Raoul but for myself.
"Well there's no use in sitting around moping. We're doing enough of that as it is with my brother's being ill." I stand up, straightening out my skirts with my hands.
"I suppose you're right, Lydia. I may as well mope where moping is needed," and I am off to Raoul and my bedchamber.
As I enter the room, one of the physicians, Doctor Rosier, stands and announces me, "Lady Christine! You are back so early?"
"Certainly, Doctor, my presence was far more needed here," I reply politely, trying very hard to ignore the fact that I'm already engaged before my husband even passes. The mere thought of it makes me sick to my stomach, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.
I walk over to Raoul's bedside and sit upon the marriage bed, simply looking adoringly at him like an infatuated schoolgirl. "Lady Christine, would you will it that we leave you in private for a short while? There is no sense in trying very hard much longer, I'm afraid, and for that reason our presence is unnecessary."
"You may take your leave, Doctor, thank you. I shall call for you when I am in no further need of privacy." I nod to them and Doctor Rosier bows as the physicians and attendants depart from my bedchamber. I bite my lip, very unladylike of me, and reach out my hand to stroke Raoul's sweat-licked bronze locks. "Oh, Raoul, come back to me," I say gently.
Aware that I'll know myself as a hypocrite, I state plainly, "Raoul, come back. I need you, Raoul. They want to marry me off to the Marquis of Luxembourg three months hence the day you pass. Please, Raoul, help me." When he does not open his eyes, I lay my hand across his heart; there is still a beating, though faint and irregular.
"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we, but please promise me that sometimes you will think…" I start singing softly, all the while stroking Raoul's hair.
"Lotte?" His gorgeous blue eyes, though heavy-lidded, flutter open.
"Oh, Raoul!" I exclaim, overjoyed to see him awake at last.
"You were singing to me, weren't you Lotte?" Raoul reaches out his hand to me and I take it, feeling its clamminess. "You were singing that song from Hannibal, the one you sang all those years ago at the Opera Populaire." His ability to speak in such long intervals is giving me slight hope, but I know it's false. I merely nod, and Raoul reaches a second cold, sweaty hand to me, touching the side of my face. "I love you, Lotte."
"Don't leave me, Raoul, please. I couldn't bear to lose you!" I start crying, my tears dripping down onto Raoul's hand.
"Christine, you and I both know that Samuel and Lydia will make a wonderful Vicomte and Vicomtesse." I cannot argue with him.
"Just because we know does not mean that we have to like it, Raoul." He closes his eyes a little and I squeeze on his hand, hoping it'll make him open his eyes.
"Christine, would you fetch Lydia for me? I wish to tell her farewell and give her my blessing." I lean my head over Raoul's chest.
"No, Raoul! You're giving up! Don't give up!"
"What's this shouting, Christine?" Lydia appears in the doorway of our bedchamber, her arms crossed. "Oh, my baby brother!" Lydia runs to our marriage bed and sits on it beside me, taking her younger brother's hand from my face and holding it tightly.
"Lydia," Raoul starts, coughing, "I offer you my blessing as the next Vicomtesse. Hold your position in good health, my Lydia, and tell Samuel the same."
"Raoul Harrison de Chagny, you stop saying things like this right now! What would Mother say?" Lydia is doing all that she can, I can plainly see, to not scream at Raoul, but it's proving rather useless.
"That she misses me," Raoul replies, his voice hoarse. "She would say that she's ready to see me again."
"Stop it," I murmur softly, hating how he talks as if he's going home by going to God. "Please, Raoul, stop saying such wicked things."
"Christine," he whispers, using my hand to pull me forward so I am nearly on top of him. "Little Lotte," he calls me, pulling me to him and kissing me on the lips, "I love you." With that, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny is no more.