Chapter Twelve
"Proof?" she repeated stunned
"A divorce cannot be granted on the terms of adultery without evidence supporting the claim." Nicholas clarified as he crossed his arms and look down thoughtfully.
"They will not accept my word?"
"I'm afraid not, Countess." The stern attorney declared.
"What of his ill treatment towards my daughter?" Nicholas inquired.
"We can attempt to argue cruelty; however, it is rarely enough to sway the Holy Synod. If I may be frank?" Nicholas nodded. "Divorce is rarely granted, and when it is, the outcome is rarely in favor of the woman."
"I'm well aware." She remarked with a sharp edge to her tone.
"I'm merely doing my duty to inform you of the challenges you will face regardless of the outcome."
She frowned at the man. Naturally, she had known a divorce would not be easily obtained. She had been prepared for a tedious drawn out process, however she had not expected for her own attorney to be against her.
"My daughter and I are very aware of the stigma attributed to divorce. We would not be seeking this route unless we had just cause, Petrov."
"Understood." Petrov gave a solemn nod. "We will need witness. Anyone who can sustain the claims. Given the delicate nature of the alleged infidelity committed by Count Feodrov, we will need more than one witness."
"No one will come forward." She looked at her father. "No one would ever admit to such a thing without implicating themselves."
"The Count may be swayed to avoid scandal by admitting his adultery without specifics." Petrov frowned thoughtfully. "We could persuade him to admit fault and in return we will not voice the unsavory accusations in official court documents or in private."
"In other words provide him with a way to walk away without soiling his name." The very idea seemed unjust and somehow cruel.
"It may not please you, but it could yield the outcome you desire."
"Tatiana, I understand your hesitation, however we should look at all of the cards available to us."
"I require time to think."
"Of course." Petrov stood from his chair. "I will begin preparing your case and await your word on how to proceed."
"Thank you. If you will both excuse me, I wish to rest for a moment."
She retreated from her father's study unable to remain in the room a minute longer. Having to recall disturbing personal details to a stranger had been as distressing as it was humiliating. Compounded by Petrov's apathetic demeanor, she had felt exposed and worse judged. Logically she believed Petrov was doing his duty to assess the case by the facts, yet her logic could not dominate her emotions. The shame of the experience would linger for some time. A feeling of suffocation plagued her as she headed towards the small terrace. She inhaled deeply as she finally stepped into the open air.
"I take your consultation has concluded." She turned to see Madame Giry sitting in a corner of the terrace.
"Yes."
"Be patient." The older woman advised.
"I wish to be," she admitted, "I'm afraid I did not inherit all of my father's finer qualities."
"You did, you simply do not realize it yet." For some reason her words somehow comforted her. Despite physically resembling her father, she would be the first to concede she had failed to adapt his temperament and gentle mannerisms.
"Thank you."
"There's nothing to thank me for."
"Madame Giry?"
"Yes?"
"My father is fond of you." The unmistakable pink tinge appeared across Madame Giry's face. "I do not mean to embarrass you; I simply wish to be open and sincere."
"I understand," she looked at her hands which were resting on her lap. "I also understand it appears foolish for someone of my age-"
"Never be ashamed of being loved." She took a seat beside the woman who had helped her when she had been under no obligation to. The same woman her father had been longing for over two decades. "My father is revived by your presence."
"He is overjoyed at having his only daughter returned."
"Is it so hard to believe a man can rejoice at having his child and beloved near him after a long separation?"
"I'm not his beloved." She whispered uncomfortably.
"You are, and I do hope you believe me, when I say I'm thankful for your presence and the effect it has had on my father."
She had been respectful and kept her distance as she watched her father and Madame Giry cautiously dance around each other. It was easier to feign ignorance however she felt somehow committed expressing her approval somehow. Her father made no attempt to conceal his affections and although Madame Giry was more discreet, it was evident she returned his sentiments.
"Thank you Tatiana. You are very kind to me, and to my daughter." She gave a slight laugh. "I'm well aware my daughter is not the most adapt pupil. Your patience will be tested."
"She needs to only apply herself."
"I have been echoing the same statement to her all her life, but alas, she's is hopeless. I suppose my expectations where somehow lifted because of Erik. He always craved knowledge and absorbed everything with such easy, a sharper mind one could not ask for."
"You educated him?"
"Yes."
"I applaud you for his education and manners are far more refined than one would expect-"she paused as she realized her faux pas. "Forgive me, I did not mean to imply-."
"I know what you meant. There is nothing to forgive. Frankly, Erik has always been a wonder to me in that regard. We are not wealthy, titled yet Erik's education and manners are very much that of an aristocrat." She smiled slightly. "Although, I will be the first to admit, his temper sometimes undermines his better qualities."
"I believe we are all guilty of allowing our temperaments get the best of us at one point or another."
"Indeed." They both her smiled at one another.
"Shall we order something to drink?"
"Yes, please. It would be lovely."
Meg ran her hands over the soft fabric of the gown Tatiana had gifted to her as promised. It was exquisite, she thought with glee. She would have to alter the dress as Tatiana was several inches taller than she, but she did not care, so long as it looked half as lovely as it had looked on her.
"You should not have accepted the dress." Her mother frowned in disapproval.
"It would have been rude to refuse a gift."
"It was a bribe not a gift."
"She said she would have gifted it to me regardless, mama."
"I do not understand why you reproach me yet say nothing to others."
"Do not take that tone with me Meg." There was an edge to her mother's tone, one she stubbornly refused to bow to.
"It is true! You say nothing of the generosity bestowed upon Erik, even when he does not deserve-"
"Enough you intolerable child!"
"Mama?"
"You know nothing of you speak, and understand nothing of what understandings and agreement may be in play around us. We are no one to assume, question or demand anything. Do you understand?" Meg slowly nodded; too hurt and angry to verbally respond. "You will not come down for dinner this evening. Sometime alone will provide you with enough time think very carefully over what I have said."
With one last disappointed glance, her mother retreated, leaving her to seethe in silence.
Consumed by his creative mind, he had forgone the pleasure of dinner. It was not the first time he had missed a meal, doubted it would be the last. Having devoted much of his afternoon and evening in the confines of his bedroom, he had left his room in search of fresh air.
During the day the estate was alive with activity, but during the evenings, it was notably silent. An eerie reminder of his previous nocturnal walks in a place he will likely never see again. He would adjust and adapt as he always had, however, in his heart of hearts, the Opera Populaire would always be held in grand esteem as his home. A home he was now exiled from.
He paused at the sight of the west wing. His steps had taken beyond the staircase towards an area he never ventured into. It was his understanding there was nothing of interest in the wing, except additional guest bedrooms. The prominent family coat of arms which hung over the entrance to the hall did not go unnoticed.
Aristocrats, even humbled ones, took particular pride in their lineage.
Even in a wing rarely utilized, if Nicholas was to be believed, the halls were adored with art. He wondered if it was fair for a select few in the world to posses such wealth.
He stopped at the entrance of what appeared to be a drawing room. There were no doors simply an open passage. Stepping into the room he noted the walls were heavily adorned with portraits. There were dozens of portraits, even a few scattered photographs. He noticed many of the subjects in these portraits shared two distinctive traits, the same colored eyes and hair.
"They're family," he whispered to himself as he focused on one portrait in particular. The portrait featured a fair haired woman with deep emerald eyes. Her features were soft yet unique, although she could not be called striking, neither could he label her plain.
There was something familiar about the woman, he concluded, yet the answer evaded him for several moments as he continued to admire the portrait in silence.
"I see you have met my mother." He turned to see Tatiana near the doorway. She appeared hesitant before taking a few cautious steps forward. Her movements were slow; graceful in way one would not expect for someone of her height. No doubt a practiced art, he mused.
"She is your mother?" He observed her features finding little resemblance to the woman in the portrait.
"Yes," her gaze turned to the portrait before them. He noted the light green dress she wore was casual and more than likely worn to fit the weather than a fashion statement. Despite its plainness, the color contrasted beautifully with her coloring. "She was a delicate beauty, or so I've been told."
"There is some resemblance, although it is clear you take after your father."
"And grandmother." Tatiana pointed to a portrait of dark haired woman with olive rose skin and one of the most enchanting gazes he had ever seen. She stood proudly, her head titled to the side, her long neck adorned with a diamond necklace. Her lips were slightly parted with one corner giving a hint of a smile. It was evident Tatiana had inherited much of her appearance from her father and grandmother. The resemblance was uncanny.
"There is a strong resemblance." He conceded as his eyes moved over the portrait.
Her long curls were styled to fall down her back as several diamonds were styled within her hair. The style was very similar to one worn by Christine when she debuted on the stage for the first time.
How beautiful she had been. His heart beat fervently within his chest at the memory. Beautiful, was not a strong enough word to properly describe her. She had possessed rare combination of innocence and radiance. He closed his eyes as the burning memory, desperate to suppress her memory.
"Is something wrong?" Tatiana inquired. He opened his eyes unable to see a puzzled expression reflected across her face.
"No." He lied.
Flashes of painful memories began to invade his mind. The moment Christine had removed his mask. The audience gasping in horror as he stood exposed. He had loved her. Given her everything he had to give his love, his music, his being, and she had turned him down. Opting for the handsome boy instead, who would never love her as he had loved her, loved her still.
"Excuse me I must leave." He rasped as his emotions threatened to overcome him. He refused to lose his composure in front of Tatiana. Not in front of her or anyone, never again, he thought bitterly.
"What happened to you, Erik?"