Disclaimer: Erik is still not mine, much to my dismay. Only original creations belong to me.
AN: Well, here is another chapter. This goes out to a certain reader of mine who has been giving me advice concerning Southern Belles, behaviors, and courtships in her reviews. I'd name you, but the website police might try and take down this story if I did. But still, thanks a lot!
Chapter 9: Discoveries and Enchantments:
For days after the kiss I had shared with Erik, everything seemed to float by me in a haze. I could not stop thinking about how beautiful and how loved Erik made me feel, even after Lillian had thrown those horrible words at me in town. I suppose that being a man with an abnormal face would give him a sense of understanding and compassion for me, but the emotion that he had put into our kiss made me believe that Erik truly loved me.
'He loves me…of all the available women in town, Erik loves me!' I thought as I brushed out my hair.
I had no control over my actions or my mind. My thoughts constantly drifted towards Erik and all of the time we had spent together, even as my hands did things that I could never remember doing later on. As my mind was elsewhere, I still managed to eat meals with my family, sit quietly in the parlor with them for the evening, and undress myself before going to bed. How I did it, I'll never know, but I suppose that this was the norm for people in love.
Biting my lip, I tried my best to think of a way to meet Erik again before the next ball. There was nothing happening before then, so I would now be forced to wait for at least a week before we could see and touch one another again. In the meantime, I would have to keep myself occupied by reading, riding Sunny, or finding something to help time fly. It would be difficult, but I had done so before, and could do it now.
Grabbing the mother-of-pearl clip Erik had given me, I pulled my hair up and prepared to face the day. I immediately headed to my wardrobe and pulled out one of my white dresses, this time with a pale pink sash as the only spot of color. True, pink is not one of my favorite colors, but if it is moderately part of my dress, I don't mind it. For today, since it was only a pink sash that wrapped around my waist, I was willing to wear it, if only because it added some color to the white material.
Once I was dressed, I quickly headed downstairs for breakfast, a smile on my lips that hadn't left in days. As I sat down at the table and dipped my spoon into my morning oatmeal, it slowly dawned on me that the meal was unusually quiet. Glancing up, I noticed that Mama and Papa were alternately glancing at one another before turning to look at me. The look in their eye was unnerving, so I carefully set down my spoon and dabbed the corners of my mouth with my napkin before speaking.
"Mama, Papa?" I said, looking at them. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"
I knew that if I did not make the first attempt, they would likely never tell me what, exactly, they were up to. Thus, my question as to why they were so quiet when they should have been laughing and joking about nothing in particular. It was Papa who spoke first.
"Sweetie," he began, putting down his cup of coffee onto its saucer. "We need to talk."
My body instantly went cold. Papa only called me or Mama "sweetie" when it was something serious. On closer inspection of my father's face, I realized that he looked rather upset and angry about something, and I could think of only one thing that could make Papa's eye twitch like that, and that would have to be Erik.
Inwardly, I winced. "What did you want to talk about, Papa?" I asked, attempting to look both confused and innocent at the same time.
"Erik Rousseau," was his blunt reply.
"What about him?" I asked, trying to calm my nerves as I silently pleaded, 'please don't let him forbid me from seeing Erik.'
"Clara, dear," Mama said, giving me a somewhat strained smile. "Your father and I have noticed a few things have appeared in your possession, such as your fan and hairclip. I know for a fact that they have not been purchased by you, so we both assume that Mr. Rousseau gave them to you as gifts of his admiration of you. Is that correct?"
I swallowed. "Yes, Mama," I replied, twisting my napkin in my lap.
"Clara, your mother and I hope you realize that, by accepting gifts from a man like Mr. Rousseau, you are virtually telling him that you are willing to accept any future offer of marriage made by him." My father looked me directly in the eye. "Are you willing to accept an offer of marriage made by Erik Rousseau?"
My mouth went dry. Me, marry Erik? The whole idea made my breath catch in my throat. Would such a wonderful man ask me to be his wife? He had been so kind and attentive to me, always being supportive when Lillian and her friends were cruel, and giving me such thoughtful gifts. Could those signs alone lead to a marriage proposal? Would I accept if he asked for my hand in marriage?
"Yes," I whispered aloud before I could stop myself.
My parents looked surprised at my answer, their reactions soon fading to a different emotion that I could not put a name to. However, they quickly looked at each other, somehow using their eyes to say what they wanted to say and keeping me out of it all. It was frustrating, but I got no chance to interrupt their private conversation before Mama turned to look at me.
"Well, then, I suppose that we might as well have him over for dinner," she said, looking down at her plate and sighing.
"It's just to get to know the man better, of course," Papa said at my surprised expression. "After all, we barely know anything about this Frenchman, and I'd like a talk with the man who has my little girl so high up in the clouds."
I merely smiled as I turned my attention back towards my breakfast.
Erik could only stare at the invitation in his hands, unable to fully comprehend what was neatly written on the expensive white paper.
'The Savoy's want me at their house for dinner tomorrow evening?'
For the hundredth time that day, Erik repeated that thought over and over again, wondering if it was real or merely a hallucination. He could think of no reason for Richard and Camilla Savoy inviting him for dinner other than to discuss the possibility of his marrying their daughter. True, it was rather soon for them to be thinking that way, but then, Erik had been actively courting Clara for well over two months.
"Perhaps they believe I am moving too quickly," Erik muttered to himself. "Perhaps I have been too forward in my courtship?"
Well, that seemed rather ridiculous; after all, in some countries, the bride and groom met for the first time on their wedding day! Then again, Erik knew hardly anything about American traditions and courtships; perhaps he was going at a scandalously quick pace while courting Clara and her father wished to politely ask him to curb his forwardness in the matter.
'But I cannot help myself,' Erik thought as he paced the length of his music room, the invitation still in his hands. 'I feel so different when I am close to her, I feel as though I am actually human, a true man and not a monster!'
A hand automatically went to the right side of his face, the side that bore the mask and his curse. He would eventually have to show Clara what lay underneath it, have to watch her doe-brown eyes widen in shock before she ran away from him in terror, begging for him to not come near her or her family again. He could not bear that, to see another woman he loved turn away from him in tears. It would break his heart, and this time, Erik was sure that it would kill him.
The feeling of something wet sliding down his face made him realize that a tear had escaped his eye. Wiping it away with the back of his hand, Erik took a deep breath to calm down. He needed to send a reply to the Savoy mansion as soon as possible, accepting their invitation. Most importantly, he needed to speak with Clara before their relationship went as far as he so desperately wanted, no, needed, it to go. He had to know if she could truly love the man that had once been the Phantom of the Opera, a man who had done such terrible things in his past that they would likely haunt him well into his future.
Before that, however, he needed to do a few things. Taking a deep breath, Erik went to his writing desk and pulled out a pen and paper.
I was on pins and needles for the rest of that day and the next. I could not believe that Erik would be coming to our home for supper, and I did not know how I managed to keep from working myself into a fret. However, I managed to keep my sanity by going through my wardrobe and finding a gown that I believed Erik would like. I knew that he liked me in red, but my new red-and-gold colored gown was for the upcoming ball, so I would have to wear something else. Instead, I pulled out a deep violet dress that that went well with my coloring (or so Mother said).
The night of the dinner, I took well over two hours getting myself ready. A flower-scented bath and a great deal of fussing over my hair took up most of that time, as well as choosing the right jewelry for the occasion. After adding the fan and hairclip Erik had given me, I felt ready for the evening and descended the stairs to the formal dinning room, which was reserved for certain events such as tonight. My parents wore their best, though I hardly noticed; all I could think about was how handsome Erik looked in a black ensemble that brought out the crisp white of his shirt and mask.
Once we were all seated, the servants proceeded to bring out the various dishes as my parents made small-talk with Erik. First, Erik remarked at how close the two plantations were, and how he would have called upon their lovely home sooner and more often, had he known that our plantations were so near one another. Then Mama asked what, exactly, Erik did for a living, to which he replied that he was a composer who had made his money through the opera houses all over Europe. Papa had snorted at the idea of Erik's livelihood, but kept silent on the matter, instead turning towards the conversation elsewhere, for which I was very thankful.
Once dinner was over, Papa took Erik into the study, likely to 'question him' about his intentions towards me. Meanwhile, I played cards with Philip and Mama in the tiny game room that we had right next door to the study, trying not to think about what Papa might say to frighten Erik away. Finally, half an hour later, Erik emerged from Papa's study, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. Once he set eyes on me, however, the serious look vanished as a smile took its place. Seeing that our game was finished, Erik offered me his arm.
"Would you care to show me the gardens, cherie?" he asked, green eyes begging to say yes and take us out of there as soon as possible.
I quickly smiled and stood up, accepting his arm without a word or glance at my mother or Philip.
Never in his whole life had Erik been so happy to be outside as he was now. The 'talk' he had had with Monsieur Savoy had been less than pleasant, the older man practically telling Erik that he was not good enough to court Clara in any sort of way.
"What sort of life can a composer provide for her?" Mr. Savoy had demanded of Erik. "Clara is used to the finest sort of things: clothes, flowers, jewelry, horses, and food. How many commissions have you had while in the States? None, from what I have heard. What happens when the money you have now, money left over from a move from Europe, runs out?"
Erik had been unable to answer him. Not because he couldn't; no, if he had, there was no doubt that Richard Savoy would have called upon the American law to hang a murderer and extortionist. True, Erik was from Paris, but he knew from experience that people loved to attend pubic hangings, and he had no intention of becoming the center of such a gruesome spectacle. The look on Clara's face as he faced his Maker was barely enough to help him hold his tongue.
In truth, Erik knew that he had enough money in his accounts to buy half of the plantations in Rockford. He could easily treat Clara as she deserved, easily take her to Europe and anywhere else she would wish to go and see for herself. In his mind, Erik could only imagine her beautiful form in the sunlight glinting off of the Mediterranean as they sailed to Italy or Greece. Perhaps he could take her to Spain and teach her some of their passionate, exotic dances…
Shaking his head, Erik brought himself back to the present and to Clara's hands on his arm. Yes, he could easily treat her like a queen or princess, but there was still one thing stopping him from doing what his heart told him to. Glancing around, the former Phantom saw that they were in a secluded part of the Savoy gardens. Surrounded by a tall stone wall with numerous white rose bushes, it was a rather broad, empty space with a single tree shading a stone bench settled right in the center of the ring of rose bushes. It was the perfect place to speak to her alone. Leading her to the bench, Erik waited until she was seated, her brown eyes following him even as he sat to her right, his hands clasping hers. Nervously, Erik licked his lips.
"Clara," he said, looking at her delicate fingers wrapped in his larger ones as he spoke. "Clara, you must have noticed that I am…different from normal men…that my face is different from others."
She merely smiled at him, a kind, sincere smile that had not often been given to him. "I know it is, Erik," she said, blushing a little as she looked down at their joined hands. "And I now know that I must confess something that I have been keeping from you for quite some time…ever since the night we first officially met at the Summer Ball…which wasn't really the first time we met."
He was confused. "I know we briefly spoke at the tea party at the Brooks' before, but…"
She shook her head. "No, Erik," she said, blushing even more in the pale moonlight. "I first truly saw you and spoke to you when you were ill at your home…after the Brooks' tea party."
Erik's breath stopped in his throat, his heart pounding like mad in his chest. She had seen him? A thousand thoughts and questions raced through his mind as his hand brushed his mask. She had actually seen his face unmasked and open to the world? His hallucination had, in fact, been real? Had Clara actually fed him soup and cooled his body and mind with her touch and presence? He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing emerged. He needn't have bothered, for it was Clara who spoke next.
"I know that you must feel separated from others, but I don't care what you look like," she said, looking up at him, a sort of desperation and love in her eyes as she pulled his hand away from his face. "You have treated me unlike any other, as though I'm special and beautiful, and…I love you."
The last three words had come out in a whisper, but he had heard them, nonetheless.
'Mon Dieu,' he thought, staring at her glorious face. This wasn't an angel, this was a goddess sitting beside him, her cheeks like the red roses he so adored. She did not need to know of the past, for that's what it was, the past. In front of them stood the future, one which he so longed to share with her forever.
Unable to hold back, Erik wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him.
The world fell away as Erik crushed his lips to mine. I hadn't intended on telling him I loved him, but I knew that the mask he wore wasn't just to shield and protect him from the world…it was to protect the world from him, from the difference it presented to the perfect faces of those around him. But I had seen it, and I knew that it was only a small part of him; as the saying goes, beauty is only skin deep, and I had seen his heart and soul the night I had cared for him, the night he had been his most vulnerable to me and to the world. It was that same man who now had his lips pressed to mine, begging for me to love him the way he loved me.
A large hand slid up my back and into my hair, removing the clip so that it fell in waves down my back. I sighed against his mouth, feeling his own smile that the reaction he had received from me. Erik's fingers proceeded down my hair and around to my shoulders, gently pulling me away from him as he looked me deep in the eye.
"My love," he whispered, one hand reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small box. "Lady of my heart, will you…" The box opened and inside lay a diamond ring set in gold, a rose design set over the top of the diamond. "Will you…marry me?"
I could feel my heart stop as I stared at the ring, the gem shining in the silver moonlight. Everything seemed to fade to white nothingness as I sat there in a rose garden with the masked man I loved. Glancing up, I looked into green-gray eyes that had turned to emeralds in the darkness of the night.
"Yes," was all I could get past my lips.
Those emeralds lightened with an inner fire of hope as he slipped the ring over my left ringfinger, his lips on mine, the two of us sealing our engagement as the stars above danced.
AN: Aw! Wasn't that sweet? Was it a bit too soon for the proposal? I couldn't help myself, though, it just slipped out. Don't worry, there's still more after this, I promise. Please review!