Hi, folks! I hope you all are staying healthy and safe during this stressful time. I just wanted to thank you for all the love this story has been receiving. It makes me so happy to hear from you all, and I'm so glad this story can be somewhat of a bright spot right now—working on it definitely makes me feel better. We only have a handful of chapters left, but I'm bringing you an extra long chapter today, and next week's chapter is somehow looking even longer. All the better to escape into!
Thank you so much for reading!
Christine could not recall ever studying her reflection as carefully as she did now, but she supposed that the occasion called for it. To her surprise, she was not particularly nervous; she had remained steady and optimistic for Erik's sake, and perhaps she'd managed to convince herself that this was how she actually felt. Or perhaps it was a result of those few days in Newport, now nearly two months ago but seeming more like a lifetime ago, that gave her confidence about tonight. If people had been polite enough then, even friendly, then surely she and Erik had nothing to fear tonight. The Harrisons had only ever been kind to them, and while she certainly could not blame Erik for his discomfort, she was sure that the situations he feared would not come to pass at the ball that night.
Still, it was important to put her best foot forward. There would be many more people there tonight than they had visited with at Newport, people who could easily make an impact on her career or Erik's. So she had taken special care with her appearance, arranging her hair into an artful pile and blending the faintest bit of rouge into her cheeks and lips. The gown that she wore had been ordered just for this occasion, and she couldn't help but be enchanted by the drapes of blush-colored silk, the swathes of soft tulle embellished with tiny sequins that caught the light when she moved, the way the folds of the puffed sleeves resembled the roses that grew just below her window. The effect was soft and dreamlike and she was sure it was the loveliest she had looked in her entire life. She could only hope that her appearance would make it easier for her to come across as the graceful, charming young wife and artist that she intended to be tonight. If she looked like she was meant to be part of society, perhaps she might actually fit.
Satisfied with her appearance, she headed downstairs to find Erik in his study, seated at his desk. "Are you ready to go?" she asked gently.
His gaze flicked up to her and he opened his mouth to speak, but it was a moment before the words formed. "Yes, I'm ready."
His eyes lingered on her, and she ran her hands over her skirt self-consciously. "Is something wrong?"
"No." His voice was soft, and he came to stand beside her and he finally met her eyes. "You look lovely."
Something about the softness of his voice made her cheeks warm. "Thank you. You look quite elegant yourself."
"It's kind of you to say that." Offering her his arm, his smile faltered for just a moment. "I suppose we should go, then."
Christine rested her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow, running her thumb up and down his arm in what she hoped would be a reassuring gesture. "It will be fine."
He gave her a slight, unconvincing nod. "I'm sure you're right."
The night was cool as they climbed into the carriage—the first night of the season that hadn't been completely permeated by the summer heat—and Christine wasn't sure if the chill that ran up her spine was from the temperature or the anticipation. It was nothing to worry about, she told herself. Everything had been fine in Newport, and everything would be fine tonight. They would go and be friendly and sociable and get along just fine with everyone, and then they would return home and return their focus to preparing for the opera season. Perhaps Erik's nerves were rubbing off on her after all.
Even if she hadn't been nervous before, there was an unmistakable stab of anxiety when the carriage stopped in front of one of the grand stone mansions that graced Fifth Avenue, larger than even the boarding house that she had inhabited with a dozen other women. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Erik and found him looking back at her, his lips pressed into something that was not entirely a smile and not entirely a grimace. She hoped that her answering smile was more reassuring.
As soon as they entered the mansion, they were met with a burst of light and commotion, the strains of the orchestra playing in the ballroom mingling with the buzz of conversations and bursts of laughter. The ballroom itself was a dazzling blur of color and merriment. Guests danced gaily at the center of the grand, gilded room, with others all around them observing and visiting over readily supplied champagne. The sight of it all was almost too much for Christine to take in. Erik stood still beside her, and she wasn't sure if, like her, he was simply overwhelmed by the scene or if, also like her, he wasn't quite sure what to do next. They didn't have to wonder long, though, as Lydia Harrison swooped to their side, greeting them with a friendly smile.
"I'm so glad you both could come," she gushed, although Christine noticed that she was looking mostly at her when she spoke. "It seems like ages since you stayed with us, and I know that everyone from Newport is eager to hear all the latest news from the opera."
"I don't know that any of the news we have to share would be particularly interesting," Christine laughed. "But we have been looking forward to seeing everyone again just the same."
"Well, then, I will let you make the rounds. I believe I just saw—yes! George and Dora are just over there."
Christine followed Lydia's gaze until she spotted the couple, George looking quite bored as he sipped his glass of champagne, and Dora's face appearing measuredly serene until she caught Christine's eye and broke into a genuine smile. Lydia was already rushing off to greet another guest, and so there was nothing to do but to speak with Dora and George. Christine had to admit that she was glad to see Dora, even if she could do without her husband.
"You look so beautiful, Christine," Dora gushed as they approached. "That dress suits you wonderfully."
"Thank you," Christine smiled, taking her hands and accepting the light kiss to her cheek. "You look lovely as well."
"We must find time tonight to catch up, just the two of us."
"I would like that." Christine looked up as George came to stand by his wife's side, although she thought it would be more accurate to say that he loomed over her. Without thinking she took a step back until her shoulder brushed Erik's, and she was grateful for the steadying hand he placed on the small of her back.
"Mason," George greeted, not entirely warmly. "How's the music world treating you?"
"Perfectly well," Erik replied evenly.
"Sounds to me like some high-pressure work. Can't say I envy you."
"It certainly is, but I find that the work is its own reward. Especially when it allows me to work with talented artists like Christine."
Christine smiled and shook her head at this. "I am the fortunate one. Erik is putting together an absolutely dazzling season, and it is an incredible thing to witness."
Erik glanced at her, his lips quirking, and the small expression made warmth bloom in her chest.
"I suppose the most fortunate thing," Dora cut in peaceably, "Is that you found each other. The two of you make a formidable team."
"I suppose we do." As much as Christine itched to get away from George and this conversation, something in Dora's words made her pause and appreciate the truth in what she'd said. She had long known it was a lucky thing for Erik and her to have found each other, for this arrangement of theirs to have turned out so agreeably. But sometimes it hit her afresh just how lucky they were, and now, seeing the way George stared down Dora, his expression a facsimile of agreeableness but his eyes cool, was one of those moments. Erik spoke up just then, and her fondness for him at that moment only increased.
"If you'll excuse us, we'll have to catch up later. I believe Christine was quite keen to dance."
And then he was whisking her away toward the dancing, and she gave him a playful smile.
"I'm not sure we can dance enough to avoid conversation for the entire night," she said lightly.
"But we can dance enough to avoid conversation with George Wright," Erik replied lowly. "I do not care for that man."
Christine could hardly blame him—aside from the obvious arrogance, there was something else in George's manner that she couldn't quite identify but that unsettled something in her. Dancing with Erik sounded far more pleasant than continuing to force uncomfortable conversation with him.
They fell into step easily, despite Erik's supposed lack of skill, and Christine quickly felt swept away by the bright waltz. The room around them was dizzying, with couples swirling all around them and the joyful music filling her senses. She met Erik's eyes as they moved across the floor and found him watching her with a gentle smile, and the expression sent a burst of warmth through her that made the merriment around them fade into the background—none of it seemed to matter as much as that soft smile of his. She could feel her own smile grow in response, her heart beating a little faster as if to match the count of the music. She had tried not to think about what these feelings were, what they meant; if she did not acknowledge them, then they could not be significant. But she was finding it harder and harder to tell herself that the feelings meant nothing, and even more dangerous, she was beginning to find that she didn't want them to be nothing. It was so pleasant to give in to these feelings, and Erik was so gentle and safe that sometimes she could feel her fears easing just a little, her guard beginning to drop. And sometimes she found that she could even convince herself that perhaps Erik felt this way, too.
Like when he looked at her the way he was now.
The song ended and they danced another, and then another, and all the while Christine was examining his expression, searching the curve of his mouth and the crinkle of his eyes for an answer to her question. It would be so much easier if she could only see his face. Sometimes she forgot that she hadn't actually seen his face, as if the mask was all there was. But sometimes it would strike her with force and she would have to bury the urge to ask him about it, about what lay beneath the mask and whether she might ever see it. And then she would think about how he shrank from the gazes of others, how much he isolated himself, and there would be a stab of guilt for even wondering.
Someday she would ask him. She would find the right time; she would wait until she was certain he trusted her enough to discuss something that was clearly so painful. Until then, she would work to gain that trust, work to put him fully at ease with her.
And there had undoubtedly been progress on that front already. Ever since their trip to Newport, it had seemed to be a little easier for him to reach out to her. He enjoyed her company just as she enjoyed his; the companionship that had developed between them was comfortable and secure. Then there were the moments when she wondered if he might feel more than that, and that possibility made everything between them at once seem more substantial and more uncertain.
After the third dance, Christine noticed something over her shoulder catch Erik's eye, and she glanced back to see a group of men standing around, some of whom she recognized from the group who'd auditioned her in Newport. They were looking in Erik's direction, their faces serious, and one of them motioned for him to join them. Turning back to look at Erik, Christine found him glancing uncertainly between her and the men.
"Go and see what they want," she said softly, giving the hand that she still held a gentle squeeze. "I can entertain myself for a while."
"I hope not to be gone long," Erik replied. She gave him an encouraging smile and let him go. Then she paused for a moment to survey the room, suddenly remembering how lost she had felt in Newport without Erik at her side. But then she spotted Dora again and, glad to see that her husband was not currently with her, hurried to join her at the edge of the room.
Dora grinned when she saw her coming. "I do hope you're coming this way to visit with me."
"Of course I am," Christine said. "I'm afraid that my husband has been distracted and I am in need of a friend."
"I feel honored to be your second choice of companion after your husband," Dora laughed before lowering her voice a little. "You know that the two of you make quite a lovely couple. I must admit that I envy you for how well you seem to get on. Don't misunderstand me—I do love my George dearly," she added hastily, "but there's a certain ease between you that I imagine is rare to come by."
"I understand what you mean. I do feel that we share a… a natural connection of some kind. I admire him quite a lot."
Dora laughed again at her shy admission. "I should hope so. But perhaps the admiration is different than what most new brides feel for their husbands."
"How long have you and George been married?" Christine asked, suddenly a bit self-conscious and hoping to move away from the topic of her relationship with Erik.
"About three years," Dora told her. "I remember how, when we met, I thought he was the most dashing man in the world. I couldn't get him out of my head for a moment. We only courted for a month before he proposed, and I was so head-over-heels in love with him that I swore to my parents I would never marry if they would not allow me to marry him."
She glanced away for a second, and Christine thought her smile turned a bit wistful.
"Of course you get to know a person much differently when you're married, and I think we both realized that there was more to the other than we'd thought. And that can… complicate things sometimes. But I vowed to love him for the rest of my life, and I don't think I could stop if I tried."
Christine felt a pang of pity for Dora as she spoke—undoubtedly she did not mean for her voice to grow as sad as it did—and again, she was filled with gratitude that her situation with Erik was different. She had not been blinded by infatuation only to realize once it was too late that her husband was not the man she thought he was. If anything, it had been just the opposite for her. The more time she spent with Erik, the better she liked him, and despite having gone into this arrangement expecting very little in terms of actual companionship, she somehow found herself very happy. And while she could not quite imagine how Dora could have found George to be so charming that she'd fallen insensibly in love with him, she could only imagine what the past few years had been like for her as she had come to see him differently. Christine wasn't sure whether it would be worse to fall out of love with the man she had married or to be unable to fall out of love even when she wanted to, even when she realized that the man she'd fallen in love with was not the reality of her husband.
"I have to admit," she said, her voice low, "that that frightens me sometimes—caring for someone more than you should."
A confused look crossed Dora's face, but she seemed to consider before answering. "I like to think that something good will always come from loving someone, even if the circumstances are difficult and it only seems to cause you pain. In the end, I can only hope that I'm a better person for loving George."
Before Christine could decide how to reply, the man they'd just been speaking of appeared at Dora's side, giving them a grin that made Christine feel slimy. "You two look like you're talking about something important."
"Not at all," Dora replied breezily. "Just remarking on the couples dancing."
"I'm surprised your husband abandoned you so quickly when you were looking forward to the dancing so much," George said to Christine. "Perhaps I can offer you a dance in his absence."
"Oh, dear, I believe Christine wanted to rest for a few dances," Dora cut in. "You know how all of this excitement can overwhelm a person."
Christine wasn't sure if Dora had seen her discomfort at the suggestion or if she was simply more aware of her husband's character than she let on, but she was grateful to her either way. George, however, was clearly not one to be dissuaded easily.
"Nonsense, I insist. You young ladies live for dancing, don't you? I would hate for your first ball to be a disappointment."
Christine wanted to refuse, but his gaze was so intense and direct that she could feel herself freeze. Unable to think of a polite way to decline, she hesitated for moment before stammering an acceptance. She tried not to shrink away when he put his hand on her back to guide her to the dancing, and she was certain that she'd caught a glimpse of an apologetic look from Dora as they'd turned away.
Her eyes swept over the room in search of Erik as she and George joined the dancers, and nerves began to pool in her stomach when she realized she couldn't find him. Still, she tried to calm herself; she could excuse herself after one dance and keep herself busy until she could find Erik again, and it wasn't as if George could try anything untoward in the middle of the crowded ballroom, if he even was the kind of man who would want to try anything. It was completely possible that he was unpleasant but perfectly harmless and she was being unfair to him. But she couldn't deny that she would be all too happy when this dance was over. It did seem to her that he was holding her a bit closer than was entirely proper.
"So, I hear that your Mason has given you a sizable role for your debut season," George was saying. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," she replied quietly. "I'm looking forward to it very much."
"That sounds as though it will be an important career move for you. But then I'm sure that was the hope."
Christine furrowed her brow. "Excuse me?"
George chuckled without warmth. "Oh, come. No one really believes that you and Mason are a love match. Well, perhaps Dora does, but anyone with half their senses can see otherwise. And don't worry—I can hardly blame you. In fact, I applaud you. It was an advantageous move."
It took Christine a moment to find the words to reply. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mr. Wright."
George was obviously not buying her shock at the suggestion that she and Erik had not married for love. "You could not truly have expected most people to believe that you are in love with that man—anyone who's met him knows that he doesn't exactly have much to recommend him. I suppose it's possible that he believes it, and if that's the case, then I have to say I like you even more. Some people just deserve to be taken advantage of, and I'm certain that you're earning everything you're receiving."
Christine was unsure she had ever been this angry before; the anger welled up in her so intensely now that she could hardly think, hardly string words together, and her ineffectiveness only frustrated her even more. Part of her was tempted to lash out and slap George, her palm itching to feel the sharp sting as she smacked that smug look off his face, but that would hardly help her image or Erik's. And so all she could manage to do was bite back a harsh retort, and George seemed to take her silence as confirmation that he was correct.
What made her even more upset was the realization that he wasn't wrong, not entirely. She had married Erik to help her career. But she was not tricking him or taking advantage of him, and she certainly did not think of him as coldly as George implied. And the suggestion that Erik deserved that, that he deserved to be used and hurt by someone he had come to care about… she realized how firmly her jaw was clenched and tried to relax her face, covering her anger with a mask of placid civility that she was certain appeared forced.
"I believe you have misunderstood," she said as evenly as she could manage. "Erik and I are very happy together."
"But you cannot honestly say that you are in love with him."
Christine hesitated. She hated herself for hesitating, and she also hated herself for even considering the possibility. Love was the very word she had never allowed to enter her mind, and yet coming from George, the suggestion that she did not love Erik seemed offensive. But how could she admit something to a man she could barely tolerate when she could not even accept that thing herself?
George gave a satisfied smirk when she did not immediately argue. The look made shame well in her.
Mercifully, the dance was soon over, and she was quick to excuse herself. Her face was hot with anger and embarrassment, but she made herself steady her breathing and, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray being carried past her, she found that a healthy drink of it did seem to calm her a little. Just when she had fully composed herself, Erik appeared at her side.
"There you are. Sorry to have been away so long."
"That's all right," Christine said, glad that her smile did not feel entirely forced. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, it's all fine," Erik told her. "They had been rethinking a small matter that we had discussed before. Nothing to worry about."
"I'm glad to hear that." She looped her arm through his, the champagne glass in her other hand now empty and her head feeling just a little bit lighter. If people wanted to gossip about them, let them. But tonight they'd see a couple very much in love.
Erik took her over to introduce her to a few of the men from the opera whom she hadn't met before, and she tried to push aside the lingering traces of her irritation to greet them warmly. As they stood and visited, she stayed close to Erik's side, keeping a hand on his arm and occasionally glancing up at him brightly, as though he was the best thing she had ever seen. She danced a few more dances, and when she danced with others she made her relief to return to Erik clear. She did not need to exaggerate her preference for the dances they shared; when she was in his arms, the tension that had built up in her at the thought of how they were being watched and spoken about eased. It returned quickly, though, when they stood visiting with others. She began to notice him glancing at her, confusion in his eyes, when she stood closer to him than normal and gazed at him with what she hoped was a look of blatant adoration.
After a while, they found themselves at the edge of the room, mercifully not in the midst of a slightly forced conversation for the moment, and Christine let herself sag into Erik without thinking about it, leaning into his side. The glittering, bustling party that had dazzled her a couple of hours before now only felt exhausting, and she longed for them to return to their quiet, peaceful home. She felt Erik shift, and then he was speaking softly to her, his lips close to her ear.
"May I talk to you for a moment?"
Christine nodded, and Erik led her out of the ballroom, the noise and the people watching them gradually diminishing as they walked down the hall. At the end of the hall was the conservatory, dim and quiet. Erik paused to peer into the room, and when no one appeared to be there, he led Christine inside. The night surrounded them, windows taking up almost every inch of the walls and an intricate glass ceiling stretching out over them. It was all in stark contrast to the bright, raucous party that was now only faintly audible, and Christine breathed a sigh of relief at this moment of peace. She moved to sit on a bench sheltered beneath tall palm fronds, and after a second Erik sat down beside her.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked quietly.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You seem on edge. And quite… affectionate."
"If I am making you uncomfortable, please tell me," she said. "I only meant—well, I suppose I meant to look like your loving wife."
"Did something happen?" She had not intended to tell him about her conversation with George, but his voice was so gentle now, so entreating.
"George Wright cornered me into dancing with him while you were gone, and he… he seems to think the worst about the nature of our relationship."
It was Erik's turn to frown in confusion. "What did he say?"
She began to shake her head, not wanting to repeat to Erik the things that George had implied about him, but he pressed her.
"Christine."
"He… suggested that people believe that I am taking advantage of you, that I married you because I knew that you would help my career."
She could feel Erik tense beside her. "How anyone could think poorly of you, I cannot imagine. I am sorry, Christine."
"It's not—" Christine sighed. "I am not concerned about what people may speculate about me. It was… it was the implications about you that upset me."
Erik nodded in understanding, his mouth pressed into a firm line. "So he does not believe that our marriage is genuine because he does not believe you could love me. I suppose the possibility of that should have been obvious to me. Perhaps I should even be surprised to only be hearing the suggestion now. There must be plenty of others who think it."
"I know that we should pay no attention to what he says, but it was an awful thing to suggest." She couldn't prevent a flash of anger from entering her voice, but Erik only gave her a soft smile.
"You are very kind to be upset for me," he said. "But I have learned to put little stock in the things that people say about me. Much worse things have been implied about me, and much worse things have been said directly to me. I am only sorry that your reputation is now tied to mine."
"I already told you that I am not concerned about my reputation—if I was concerned about such things, then I would have made a poor choice of career." Erik gave a halfhearted chuckle at this. "But I am sorry that people say such things about you."
Erik looked down. "We cannot blame them for seeing the truth about me."
"It isn't true."
The words came out of Christine's mouth in a rush and Erik's gaze snapped back to her. For a moment she both feared and hoped that he would hear the admission in her words. And then he reached up to touch her face, lightly running his thumb over the ridge of her cheek. It sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her lips part as she released a soft sigh.
"You are too good to me, Christine," Erik said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Christine realized how close his face was to hers, only inches away, and for a long moment neither of them moved. Her heart hammering in her chest, she held her breath as she met his eyes, waiting to see what he would do next, desperately hoping that he would lean closer until—
The shrill sound of laughter just down the hall jolted them apart, and when she glanced from the doorway back to him, he was standing, fidgeting restlessly.
"Perhaps we should return to the party," he said, his voice sounding agitated. She nodded, although that was the last thing she wanted, and they were heading back to the ballroom without another word.
Much to Christine's relief, they did not stay long after that. She did not think she could manage all of these social pleasantries when her mind was entirely stuck on what had just occurred, or nearly occurred, between her and Erik. It had likely only been a few seconds, but it had felt like minutes that they had sat on that bench perfectly still, so close together, and part of her had been certain that he was going to kiss her. She couldn't think about the fact that she had wanted him to kiss her, that even now she couldn't stop her mind from drifting to what it would feel like to press her lips to his—that was all too much. That moment filled her thoughts, replaying in her mind over and over as she distractedly exchanged pleasantries with other guests. Even George and what he had said to her was forgotten for the moment. She was lost in her thoughts, only vaguely aware of everything going on around her except for Erik's presence beside her, which she felt keenly.
Finally they were able to make their excuses, but the relief was short-lived as they found themselves alone in the carriage. The air between them was thick with unspoken thoughts, and as much as Christine wanted to ask him what was going through his head, she could not find the words. He could simply be uncomfortable, she knew; if he did not feel anything for her beyond the friendship they had developed, then that moment might have simply been one of awkwardness and uncertainty for him.
The atmosphere around them now did not exactly feel awkward, though, but somewhere between awkward and anticipatory. It was as if they were both waiting to see what the other would do next, both uncertain of quite what the other wanted. Erik could not meet her eyes for more than a second or two during the drive home, and this only made it more difficult for Christine to read him. When they arrived, he helped her out of the carriage as he always did, and they walked inside slowly, not entirely comfortable but not entirely uncomfortable. For a moment, then, they stood in the hall at the foot of the stairs.
"You must be tired," Erik said after a second. "Would you like Louise to help you dress for bed?"
"No, it's late. There's no need to disturb her. I can do it myself." There was another moment of hesitation where Christine knew she ought to turn and go upstairs but felt like there was something more that Erik wanted to say. "Aren't you going to bed now, too?"
He shook his head. "I have some work that I must attend to first."
"Oh."
Erik met her eyes, the intensity of his gaze making her heart race. He looked at her just long enough to make her wonder again if he might kiss her, and there was a pang of disappointment when he finally took a step back. She may have imagined it, but she thought she could see disappointment in him, too.
"Goodnight, Christine," he said softly.
"Goodnight."
She turned and began to climb the stairs, and as she did she could hear his footsteps disappearing down the hall to his study. But she paused before she reached the top step, something tugging at her. He had wanted to kiss her—she was certain of it now. She had seen it in his posture, in the heat of his gaze and the way his mouth had twitched. He'd been thinking about it too. The assurance spurred on something in her, and before she knew what she was doing, she was slipping back down the stairs and heading for Erik's study.
The door was ajar when she reached it, but Erik didn't seem to hear her. He stood directly across from her, leaning on the front of his desk, his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed as he ran a hand through his hair. She took a timid step into the room, and he did hear her then, looking up at her in clear surprise. She met his eyes, and there was no more hesitation. Striding across the room, she came to stand before him and paused only for a second before gently taking his face in her hands and bringing her lips to his.
The kiss was brief, and for a breathless moment, they remained just barely parted, his lips hovering over hers. She waited for him to tense, to pull away, to have some kind of reaction, but he was still. But then his arms encircled her waist and his lips were on hers again, more firmly this time, and she was melting into him, her head spinning. Her lips met his again and again, her knees growing weak even as she longed for more of the embrace. Her hands remained cradling his face, while one of his snaked up her back, pulling her closer. It was frantic and shy and she wanted to live forever in this moment.
When they did pull apart enough for her to meet his eyes, Christine couldn't suppress a smile. His eyes were wide and the tips of his ears were red, and she could see the swift rise and fall of his chest. But the small, disbelieving smile that he gave her was what made her own smile broaden. She bit her lip, giddiness rushing through her.
"Goodnight." She couldn't think of anything else to say, but it didn't seem to bother Erik as his smile grew.
"Goodnight."
Turning and rushing from the room, Christine paused in the doorway to glance back at Erik, finding him watching her with a look that made her feel warm to her bones. She thought of that look as she returned to her room and prepared for bed, even when she knew that the adrenaline coursing through her would not allow sleep to come easily; she couldn't stop smiling.