Chapter 27- Expectations

Erik sat down in the chair and held his head in his hands. Life had grown so much more complicated. He thought hard, the idea of having another child with Christine tickled him but he did not let any of that show. In reality he prayed the baby was not his. Rosalie had been lucky in her appearance but this one might not be so lucky. What if the baby had his face? That would clear things up easily.

"Oh Erik I knew we should have been more careful."
Erik stood up forcefully, "You cannot blame me entirely Madame Countess!"
Christine bit her lip and looked away, "Erik I'm so scared."

"Christine are you certain it could be mine?"

Christine nodded and then looked pensive, "We had been, we had been…"
Erik tensed, "Alright, it is possible. It's possible. Well all we can do is wait for the baby to be born."

"But Erik that won't help, we'll never be able to know for sure."

Erik tensed, "Christine I'm certain that I will regret what I am about to say but I think that you should pretend that there is no doubt in your mind who the father is, I refuse to have anyone else go through what Rosalie has."

Christine's eyes widened, "But Erik what it's yours!"

"Christine, I don't want to do this anymore. Go back to your husband,
Christine. Go rejoice in the news and take Rosalie, I'll come by for her lesson tomorrow afternoon. I don't want to talk about this again."

Christine opened her mouth as if she would say something and then shut it. She walked away in search of Rosalie, grasping her hand and left Erik alone with his thoughts. Of these he had many and he needed time to sort through the mass of them. He sat in his favorite chair and sighed, he just wanted peace after all of these years. It seemed no such wish would be granted. As he began to sort through the events of the past couple days he heard a familiar knock at the door.

Not wanting to deny his sense of serendipity, he crept towards the door with the elegance of a nobleman and the cautiousness of a convicted felon. His long fingers gripped the door knob and quaked some as in conjunction with his arm, he opened the large oak door. There, dripping wet and shivering in the rain was Isabelle. Her hair, which had been in an aristocratic knot upon her head, clung to her face and neck in wet sagging curls. Any makeup now dripped down her face as if to by some gravitational pull. Her fine clothes were deepened in color and clung to her tiny body. Erik had never seen anyone look more beautiful.

Without a word, she stepped inside and enveloped Erik with the embrace of a woman who had found her love at last. Not resisting her cluth, Erik returned the sentiment with a warmth he had not felt in a long time. Her wet clothes seeped into his fine suit the longer they clung to each other. Her body shivered from cold and from the aching knot in her stomach.

Erik fumbled for the buttons on her dress with an unprecedented tentativeness. The wet cloth clung to her body but soon they both sat in each other's embrace on the floor by the large hearth in the main parlor. Wrapped in a large blanket they kept each other warm and shared a special bond much stronger than they would ever feel for anyone again. Isabelle fell asleep and Erik held her for the longest time gazing at her face which glowed by the light of the dying fire. He felt truly content regardless of the world around him; all was right and Christine had been forever purged from his heart.