Chapter Summary: A quiet spring morning. Cups of steaming tea. And a conversation between two brothers.

CHAPTER FOUR

Philippe rose early in the mornings, meeting the sun as it came over the white-capped mountains to the east. He quickly slipped on a pair of pants, a casual shirt and scuffed shoes. It was not the Comte de Chagny that the denizens of Paris were used to seeing in their opera houses, their cafes, their gaming halls and with ladies from all walks of life. It was not the elegant gentleman escorting eligible young woman through the respectable venues while making them feel as if they were the most important part of his life. It was not the gentleman lounging at the card tables, seemingly disinterested in the pile of money growing before him. It was not the gentleman laughing at a barely dressed girl who sat upon his knee, twirling her fingers in his hair. This was a different Philippe, a new Philippe, a Philippe who had willingly surrendered his position in Paris society to his young brother and new sister. This was a Philippe who happily retreated to the country where he was near childhood friends and the uncomplicated, truthful people of the village. It was here that Philippe found a sense of peace, a sense of purpose as he actively managed lands that had been managed by other Comtes de Chagny dating back almost six hundred years.

The door to his bedroom suite opened and Philippe slipped out the door and moved quietly, with catlike grace, down the hall. He carefully walked past the two doors on opposite sides of the hall where Raoul and Christine slept, shaking his head and making a mental note to lock the two youngsters in a room until they came to their senses. Philippe reached the top of the staircase and his feet lightly stepped on the Persian runner that covered the highly polished wood. His step was gentle and Philippe made no noise as he moved down the turning staircase. He reached the bottom of the stairs and acknowledged with a nod the valet who waited by the front door.

"The day?" Philippe wanted to know.

"A bit chill for a spring morning, Monsieur," the valet replied.

"Thank you," Philippe said and noted the look in his well-trained valet's eyes. "What is it?"

"I do not wish to pry into family issues but Monsieur le Vicomte rose two hours ago and is on the back portico," the valet said.

"Ah," Philippe replied and nodded his thanks to the man. Since arriving almost four days previously, Raoul had taken to rising before anyone in the household to sit quietly and alone on the back portico. Philippe decided to try to draw out his young brother, offer him the wisdom of a lifetime and - if necessary - take the silly child over his knee until Raoul saw reason. He turned on his heel and walked down the hall, moving past the dining room and going down a small flight of stairs that lead into the homey warmth of the huge kitchen.

"And what brings you to my kitchen at this hour?" the middle-aged housekeeper, Mathilde, wanted to know. She had begun working for Philippe's mother two years before Raoul was born and had stayed to oversee the household that her employer had loved. Mathilde now considered herself almost as a mother-figure to the Comte and she tolerated his intrusion into places where he should normally not be found.

"I crave your pardon," Philippe replied with a small bow and a crooked smile; he enjoyed disturbing his staff's carefully laid plans. "May I please have two cups of tea?"

Mathilde shook her head - the Comte had not changed in all the years she had known him - as she moved toward the huge wood-fired stove. She reached for two small china cups that sat upon a nearby cabinet.

"No," Philippe interrupted her and gave Mathilde a dazzling smile as she turned toward him. "May I please have two of the larger cups that you use?"

Sighing, Mathilde opened one of the upper cabinets and pulled out two large, hand-created cups that one of the upstairs maids always brought with her when she returned from her village in the Pyrenees. Mathilde turned back to the stove, pouring ready-brewed tea into the two mugs. She walked over and handed them to Philippe who beamed at her, causing her to blush. He was too irritatingly perfect, Mathilde thought to herself as she watched Philippe ascend the kitchen stairs.

Philippe carefully carried the cups as he walked toward the back of the house. He stood by the French doors leading to the outside and saw his brother seated in one of the rocking chairs. Raoul had one leg openly crossed over the other, the foot resting on the stones moving the chair in which he sat back and forth. His arms were crossed over his chest and Raoul was staring off into the distance, over the formal gardens covered in a cool spring fog that hugged the ground. Philippe took one hand and carefully eased one of the doors open, pushing it fully open with his shoulder and slipping out onto the porch. He moved to his brother, noting that Raoul had not changed position, almost as if he had not heard the opening door or the footsteps upon the stone portico.

"I thought you might like one of these," Philippe said as he extended one of the cups.

Raoul raised his face to look at his brother and took the cup into his hands, wrapping them around the hand-crafted porcelain, feeling the warmth reach into cold fingers. "Too bad it cannot warm a heart," Raoul muttered as he stared into the amber liquid. He turned his attention back to Philippe. "Thank you," Raoul said, returning his attention back to the formal gardens as Philippe sat in the chair next to him.

"I thought I might find you out here," Philippe said as he leaned back in his chair. "This was always your favorite spot when you came home."

"There is something so ethereal about the gardens when the mist hugs the ground," Raoul told him. "When I was younger, I would imagine it was the mist from an evil sorcerer who was seeking me out, trying to get me to tell him the secrets of my magic."

"And now?" Philippe wondered, trying to draw his brother out.

Raoul took a sip of the hot tea. "Now I find it restful. I find I do not have to think to just sit here and rock while admiring the beauty of a spring morning."

Philippe nodded in understanding. "Now you know why I fled here from Paris." He also sipped his tea and shook his head. "There is something about this home, this land that soothes our souls. Sometimes, on mornings like this, I can almost believe the fog contains the spirits of all those who came before us, moving through our lives, giving us their approval." He sighed heavily and took another sip of tea. "It is so restorative."

"I did not realize you needed restoration," Raoul said as he turned to look at Philippe.

"You are still very young," Philippe replied with a small smile. "There is only so much wine, women and song that one man can take before the bubbles float away, the beauty fades and the music goes flat. And I had reached and extended myself beyond that point." Philippe decided to be the head of the family since it was obvious that Raoul was in no mood to share confidences. "That night, when I pulled myself out of the wet depths of the opera house ..."

"You will never know how sorry I am that you became entangled in the mess I created," Raoul said without turning to look at Philippe.

"Raoul," Philippe frowned; he, too, could not turn his head. "I chose to be there that evening. All I intended to do was to see you and Christine safely from that place. And when I heard that you had fled to the cellars to rescue the woman you loved, I had no choice but to follow you and do my best to help you." Philippe turned his head and actually smiled. "After all, I have been chasing you since you were a baby and cleaning up the messes you left behind." Philippe noticed that Raoul barely cracked a smile.

"That is true," Raoul replied. "I am sorry for the interruption," Raoul added. "Please continue."

Philippe loved his brother but there were times when he could be so irritating. "I was saying that when I had discovered that you and Christine had survived the fire and the cellars, I knew it was time. Time to leave Paris and our family's duty to that city in your capable hands. In addition you had something I never found."

Raoul turned to look at his brother, his brows creased in curiosity.

"You had a wife. You found the one woman you loved and you did not back down from anyone who questioned your choice. You loved Christine and she loved you and I knew both of you would be more than capable of stepping into my shoes."

"You loved once, if I remember," Raoul said.

"Yes, I did," Philippe replied, returning his gaze to the world that extended beyond the edge of the portico. "Once. But I did not have your courage and I would never have stood up to Father the way you stood up to me. I did not have the courage to fight for the woman I loved and I had to let her go."

"I do not see how Father could have objected to Monique." Raoul remembered the kind, laughing, dark-haired beauty of his youth and the stories his sisters would tell of her as he grew older. "I remember her as beautiful and very fun."

"Raoul, you were four years old!" Philippe exclaimed. "Of course you saw Monique as beautiful and fun." Now it was Philippe's turn to gaze into the distance. "But she did not have enough money to please our sire. It did not matter that we did not need the money, it was the honoring of convention that required the woman who would be my wife to bring a sizeable dowery to the marriage." He sighed. "And our father was nothing if not a slave to convention."

"I had no idea," Raoul replied, not knowing what else to say.

"That was a long time ago," Philippe admitted.

There was a great sea of silence between the two brothers.

"Does it ever bother you," Raoul asked, "to see Monique with Xavier?"

Philippe wondered who it was that Raoul was really asking about but he shook his head and spoke in the most honest tone of voice he could muster. "No, Raoul, it does not." Philippe turned to look at his brother who was staring at him in amazement. "Do not be so surprised. I loved Monique and I think in some dark depth of my soul I still do but I could not have her. Why would I not wish to see her happy with my best friend? Xavier loved her and, at least, I knew he would be good to her."

"Did Monique not know you wanted to marry her?"

"Absolutely not." Philippe was insistent. "I would not have dreamt of approaching her with a proposal of marriage without Father's approval! I never even declared my love for her. As far as Monique knew - and as far as I know to this day - we were just great friends. She had so many admirers, why would she have singled me out?"

Another wave of silence began to undulate, making itself known.

Philippe took a sip of his tea. "By the way, in case I have not mentioned it, Xavier and Monique are quite anxious to come to dinner. They cannot wait to see you and renew their acquaintance with Christine."

"I would like to see them again." Raoul stared into his tea, distant memories putting a smile on his solemn face. "They always indulged my every fantasy as child when you and our sisters were too busy. I remember them always sneaking little treats into my hands when you were not looking."

"Do not think I did not see that!" Philippe informed his brother. "I have stunned you again, I see." He shook his head. "It is something you will learn when you become a father."

"If ever," Raoul muttered but not softly enough so that Philippe did not hear.

Philippe placed his mug on the stone portico. "Raoul, I need you to look at me." He waited until his brother was looking at him. "I do not wish to pry into this distance that seems to be growing between you and your wife. I am sure, though, that the servants thought me quite mad for ordering separate bedrooms be prepared without knowing it was your request. This is France, after all, and not England where most aristocratic marriages are only for the begetting of a male heir or two. I knew you loved Christine and I let you marry for that love, giving you what I never had." Philippe grew quite solemn. "Do not let Christine go."

"I am not the one who wishes to let go," Raoul told his brother. "I am not even sure if Christine wishes to let go." He sipped at the rapidly cooling tea. "I wonder if either of us knows what we want."

It was a delicate subject but Philippe felt it needed to be broached. "Is it because there is not yet a child?"

"I don't know," Raoul honestly admitted.

"Would it make a difference if there were never any children?"

Raoul looked at his brother as if Philippe had suddenly grown horns and a tail. "What kind of question is that?" he nearly shouted.

"An honest one."

Philippe watched as Raoul also placed his mug on the stone portico before standing and walking to one of the many columns lining the portico's edge. Raoul placed a hand on the cool wooden column, staring quietly into the distance for a moment before turning around, leaning against the column, to look at his brother.

"I would not care if there were never any children," Raoul said. "I love my wife and all I want is to wake up each morning to see her smile. I want her to know that I am her safe harbour from all the dangers this world can present. I want her to know that she can trust me with anything!" He raised his eyes and shook his head. "I want to spend my life with her. I want to grow old with her. I want her for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health." He lowered his eyes and swallowed heavily. "I just want my best friend."

"What is it that Christine wants?" Philippe wondered.

"You do not think I wish I knew!" Raoul exclaimed. "If I knew what she wanted, I would give it to her! I would give her anything to make her happy!"

"Even if that meant seeing her in the arms of another man?" Philippe studied his fingernails. "A man in a mask, perhaps?"

"Even that," Raoul managed to choke out between clenched teeth.

Philippe snorted and shook his head in disgust. "Will you ever stop being such a saint?"

Raoul stood up straight. "Pardon?"

Philippe finally stood. "You fought against a madman to save Christine. You stood up to me to win her hand. Now stop being such a damned saint and fight with Christine to save what you have both worked so hard to gain!"

"How can I fight when I do not know what I am fighting against?"

"Have you asked?"

"I am not a fool!" Raoul told his brother in a dangerous tone of voice. "I have asked and asked and asked! Christine will not tell me!"

"Then she is a fool, as well!"

"Watch how you speak of my wife," Raoul warned.

"Ah," Philippe said as his lips curved into a half-smile. "A saint with a small temper."

"Philippe ..."

"Calm down, Raoul," Philippe said. "I would never think of insulting Christine as I am quite fond of her." He grew thoughtful. "Now, locking the two of you in a room until you settle your differences, that is another thought entirely."

"Is that why you sent the invitation to come down?" Raoul wondered.

"Is that why you came down at my invitation?" Philippe shot back.

The brothers stared at each other for moment before shaking their heads and breaking into soft laughter.

"It is good to have you here," Philippe finally said.

"It is good to be here," Raoul agreed. There was another silence between them. "Would you truly lock Christine and me in a room?"

"I am sorely tempted," Philippe replied. "But this is your marriage and you must work out this difficulty for yourself. I believe, though, that Monique wishes to befriend Christine."

Raoul looked exasperated. "Xavier and Monique know?"

"Their cousin Didier recently came down from Paris and he had heard rumours ..."

"From Henri," Raoul interrupted his brother and finished the sentence. "Is there anything our annoying cousin does not know?"

"Paris will talk, my dear boy."

Raoul grimaced. "I wish they would find something else to speak about other than my wife." He let out a long breath. "I take it that Henri and Didier are here?"

"Staying with Xavier and Monique," Philippe acknowledged. "But I have promised Henri that he would be welcome to stay here once you and Christine were settled in."

"I believe we are about as settled in as we will ever be with this distance between us." Raoul thought for a moment. "I think it would do Christine good to have Monique to speak with. She usually turns to Meg but that is not an option this far from Paris."

"Good," Philippe said with a nod of his head. "I shall send today to let Xavier and Monique know that we will expect them for dinner tomorrow night."

Raoul was a bit shocked. "Tomorrow night?"

Philippe laughed. "This is not Paris, dear child; things here are done a bit more casually between close friends. I cannot tell you how often Xavier, Monique and I dine at each other's homes."

"Perhaps casual is what Christine needs." Raoul thought silently for a moment. "Just some time away from the rigidity of Parisian society."

Philippe walked over and warmly clasped his brother on the shoulder. "A trip to the country is always pleasant and uneventful and rejuvenating for the soul."

"In other words, it can only be a good thing," Raoul replied.

"Precisely," Philippe said with a smile. "Now let us go in and get something hot to warm our bellies for if I stay out here another minute, I shall succumb to frostbite."

"Liar," Raoul said as the brothers laughed.

And the woman who listened to the voices drifting upwards from the columned portico bit back a sob and lightly closed the window. Christine lifted her eyes toward the clouds floating faraway in the lightening sky. "Please," she prayed softly. "Let it be good," she lowered her eyes towards her feet, "for all of us," Christine finished softly.