Chapter 17

"What sort of person is the Marquis's cousin?" Nadir inquired as their cab clattered across the cobblestone streets, five minutes to seven. "Is she a pleasant woman?"

"Oh, yes, I would say so. She's befriended me even though she knows everything." Candela smiled brightly at the thought of her lively red-headed friend. "She was married to an English Duke when she was very young, she's now in her thirties, but he passed away some years ago, leaving her a tidy fortune and a young son to raise by herself. I've only met the lad a few times but he seems sweet enough and lacking the haughty air of many noble born children."

For a single moment, Nadir's mind drifted back to his darling Rookheeya, the Duchess's widowhood reminding him of his own loss. The figure of Rookheeya danced in his mind for a moment and Reza smiled up at him before he carefully stored the memories away for another time.

It wouldn't do to become emotional around his soon to be "family."

"I can imagine it has been hard for her. Has she handled it well?"

"I'd say she's handled it quite well. She has a vivacity for living that is infectious. Devoted to her son, she also apparently likes to live on the edge of life, if given the chance. I would call her a forward thinker." Nadir chuckled to himself at the thought of this woman, already rebuilding his image of her.

"I believe you are right in saying I shall like her." Candela nodded and smiled before leaning forward and whispering,

"She knows everything. She hasn't told the Marquis but I wanted you to know." He opened his mouth to answer when the carriage rolled to a stop before the mansion, the driver hopping down to open the door. Nadir slipped out first, extending his hand to Candela to help her down. Leaning gently on his proffered hand, she hopped out, Nadir paying the cabby before they walked up to the door.

Before they could even knock, the door was opened and a red-head whirled out to meet them.

"Candela! You made it!" A flurry of blue skirts billowed around the Spaniard as her cheeks were lightly pressed by the Duchess's before the woman turned her attention towards Nadir, standing awkwardly off to one side, unsure how to handle this bundle of life.

"You must be her 'uncle' Nadir. It's a pleasure to meet you." Reine gave the Persian man a dazzling smile before she completely noticed him. Once she had, a faint blush rose on her cheeks. Her young friend hadn't told her how handsome her "uncle" was. Tall with dark hair and jade eyes – he resembled no one that she had ever met before.

"At your service, Madame." He took her offered hand and bowed low over it. "I am Nadir Khan."

"Marie Reine, Duchess of St. Albans."

"It is an honor, Duchess." The noblewoman laughed quietly and turned away for a moment as the Marquis stepped out of the door behind her.

"I do hope you're not scaring away our guest, Reine." Jules acknowledged his cousin and Nadir before turning his eyes solely onto to Candela. "My dear, I am pleased to see you were able to make it. You look lovely." He bent low over her hand and brushed his lips against her gloved hands. "As fair as moonlight."

A half-hearted giggle escaped Candela as he offered her his arm, hardly noticing the emptiness haunting her eyes for a moment.

"Shall we go? I believe the play will begin soon and my carriage waits." As if on cue, an elegant coach rolled into sight, pulled by a fine team of four matched horses. The Marquis ushered Candela towards it, leaving Nadir to glance at the Duchess and offer her his arm, as a gentleman should.

"My lady?"

"Thank you." She responded, pleasantly surprised at his manners. "It seems we are to be the third wheels, so to speak, of this evening."

"Is that unpleasant to you?" Nadir inquired, hoping the lovely red-head on his arm wouldn't object to his keeping her company. Since the moment that she had breezed out of the door and greeted him in a whirlwind of blue skirts, he hadn't been able to take his eyes from her. She couldn't be the thirty that Candela claimed. She appeared more twenty or twenty-five, still young and full of life.

It would be a delight to spend an evening with so fine a companion.

"Not at all. I should like to hear more about you. Candela has told me much. Perhaps you can tell me some tales of Persia, if you don't mind. I would have traveled the world, and no doubt visited, but so far life hasn't allowed for such a venture." She frowned for a moment, her whole face creasing with the expression, before his rapid promise of stories, returned her bright smile.

"Of course, I shall tell you everything you wish to know, within reason." After assisting her into the coach, he settled in beside her, noting how the Marquis held to Candela's hand and spoke to her in low tones, as if anything couldn't be overhead in the coach.

Aside from the not so quiet murmurings between the Marquis and lady, the drive remained mostly silent, the Duchess seeming content to wait until more convenient times to talk of Persia. Grateful for the time to gather his thoughts, Nadir refreshed his memory of his homeland, thinking of facts that might impress her or interest her.

As the novelty of a foreigner among them had worn off for the most part, no one asked him anymore for tales. Before telling of his heritage had been painful, but now, the prospect trilled him. Too many years had elapsed for him to still feel tender longing.

The brief ride soon ended, the coach rolling to a stop and the footman opened the door and lowered the steps for the four occupants to disembark. The Marquis descended, Candela on his arm as he talked of the play they were to see while Nadir assisted the Duchess down.

"Tell me," she asked as they entered the theater, "about what you were in Persia." Nadir paused for a moment, watching the Marquis give the four admissions to the doorman before answering.

"I was the Daroga, or Chief of Police, in Mazenderan. I reported directly to the Shah himself." Glancing down into the Duchess's blue eyes, he read awe written within them.

"Dare I ask if you were any good?" She inquired as an usher escorted them to their seats.

"I like to think I was." He remarked, his jade eyes twinkling subtly. His response drew a laugh from the Duchess as she settled down beside him in her seat.

"Most men do. Now, while we wait for this play to begin, tell me of Persia itself. Is it as beautiful as I have heard? Do the women truly wear nothing covering their stomachs?" Nadir chuckled to himself, supposing such a thing would be beyond scandalous for a woman of proper French breeding.

"It is quite true. All of it." Her eyes lit up.

He had her hooked.

E-OC

The violin music screeched to a halt as the bow gave up its last strands of horsehair and begged for a moment's rest from the madman playing it. Thrown aside, the instrument whined at the abuse before falling silent, leaving its player in the agony of silence.

He was confused.

What else could he think?

She had been so scared of him in that very moment. As the light died from her eyes and her form crumpled beneath his fingers, she had been terrified of him. Her fingers had clawed bloody strips into his delicate skin.

They would leave scars.

But that image would leave never healing wounds in his heart.

Holding his offending hands up before him, he stared at the congealed blood, not having bothered to even wash it from his fingers before he had tried to forget everything with his violin and organ.

What he wouldn't give for morphine or opium at that moment!

Anything to take away the pain ripping through his very soul.

Would it feel worse when she left him for good? If this incident hadn't driven his mad Spaniard from him. Surely, she would tell Nadir. The old policeman would hammer sense into her brain that even she couldn't deny and he would never see her again, save through stalking.

What kind of sight was that?

How could she had known that his soprano was Christine? She had no knowledge of a letter posted in her absence. She had merely assumed it to be some screaming diva, worse than the shrieking devil which had formerly blasphemed the stage.

When she had fallen, he had feared he had killed her.

Strong though she was, she wasn't a match for him, blind with rage to protect his darling's name. A brief checking of her pulse had relieved him a little as her to continued existence in the world but had done nothing to assuage the sudden guilt.

Guilt he had tried to solve by fleeing.

He didn't believe in miracles of forgiveness.

She wouldn't return.

E-OC

"Wasn't that enjoyable?" The Marquis remarked as the final curtain closed on the last round of applause. "I haven't laughed like that in months!" He chuckled and Candela giggled at his side, her throat not currently able to support anything more exertion.

"I loved it. Do thank the Comte for me please." The Duchess said from her seat by Nadir. "Why don't we go out for a late dinner? I believe I know several cafés that are open at this hour." She glanced over at the Persian and winked. The Persian nearly laughed at the obvious reason behind her suggestion.

"An excellent idea." Jules declared and rose, offering his arm to Candela. "Shall we go?" The Spaniard nodded and the pair left before Nadir and Reine. As they watched the lovebirds walk down the red carpet of the hallway towards the doors of the Theater, the Duchess looked at Nadir,

"What do you think of them?" Surprised by her question, Nadir stammered for a moment before collecting his thoughts.

"They are a nice couple. He will take good care of her."

"You're being logical." She snapped back quietly. "What does is your heart telling you?" Despite still considering herself young, the Duchess wouldn't call herself naive. During the whole evening, she had noticed Nadir watching the pair, the barest hint of a frown on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't dense, Monsieur Khan. Do you approve of this?" Her questions were straight to the point and Nadir found them quite revealing. The pretty red-head had a fine brain and good eyes.

"I am torn." He replied as he slowed his step, hanging back on purpose to encourage a more private conversation. "The marriage would be good for her and I want to see her settled well. Yet, I worry about her happiness. She isn't completely happy. She isn't in love."

"I have noticed so as well. My cousin is smitten with her but a marriage between unequals requires far more love than those of equals. She is trying so hard." Both paused in their conversation as they watched Candela trying to laugh at something the Marquis said.

"Yes, she is trying. I fear she will fail. It's been three-quarters of a year and her heart has yet to surrender."

"I once heard a wise man declare that 'you can lead a heart to love but you can't make it fall'. Perhaps this is the problem that our friend is expierncing?" Nadir acknowledged the wisdom in her words.

"You are correct, Madame."

"Perhaps we need to keep our thoughts to ourselves and allow her some time to realize it? As I said before, she is a sharp girl. She'll understand in time." The Duchess's blue eyes looked up at him as they left the theater and walked down the stairs towards the coach. She paused on impulse and turned to face him.

"Why don't we let the lovebirds have some time together? I believe you promised me more stories of Persia?" A persuading smile teased her lips and Nadir nodded, surprised to find himself so willing to spend time the strange woman.

"Give me one moment." She whispered as she darted from his side to the edge of the coach, explained her reasons to the Marquis before flittering back to the Persian's side. Curling her arm around him, she smiled kindly.

"Now, take me somewhere."

E-OC

"Thank you for supper." Candela said as the meal arrived, steaming before them.

"No need to thank me." The Marquis smiled at her. "Your company is more than enough." A faint blush stained the maid's cheeks as she took a bite of her meal, her growling stomach and slightly sore throat approving highly of the warm soup.

"You are very kind." She replied, unable to think of anything more to say. Her mind had gone blank, awkwardness settled into the pit of her stomach. Insecurely and nervousness attacked her mind, leaving her without a logical thought.

"How are the plans for the party going?" Fortunately, Jules spoke up quickly, offering a neutral subject which she could easily converse with. Hiding her sigh of relief, she said,

"Very well. The decorations are coming in and I have no doubts that we will be on time for the party. Reine promised to post the invitations today so we should have a guest list in a week." Candela gave him a pretty smile as she spooned more of her soup into her mouth. There were so many things that she felt responsible for and, despite the fact it wasn't her own party and Reine would be the ultimate authority, she still desired it to be the very best.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder if this was truly what she wanted for the rest of her life.

What else was there to a Marquesse's life?

"I'm glad to hear it. It sounds like it shall be a celebration to remember. Reine told me you plan on making it a Masquerade?"

"Yes." A bit of soup slid down her chin from her mouth and before she could catch it, the Marquis wiped it away. Desperately trying not to blush in response to his forward actions, she continued, "Yes, we had hoped that would make things more fun. Besides, I've never attended a Masque before."

"I have had the fortune of attending several and there is nothing to compare to them." His eyes grew wistful for a moment before they locked onto her. Sweet gentleness pooled within them, a passivity taking over the depths.

The Marquis was a docile man.

"Are they fun?" She inquired, turning away from those eyes and preferring to focus on the food before her. When had they become so disinteresting to her? When had she begun to grow uncomfortable under their gaze?

"Yes, very much fun. You can be anyone you want under a mask. Only when the clock chimes twelve times, do you have to return to who you are." The biting tongue Candela had always suppressed fought to answer with a sarcastic comment but her teeth proved apt at restraining it, choosing a more passive statement pleasing to a nobleman's ears.

"Sounds very fun indeed." After succeeding in not gulping down the last bit of her soup, she set the bowl aside and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for cues from him to determine her next steps. He quickly wrapped up his meal and after a few moments of awkward silence, he reached over and took her hand in his.

One of his fingers rubbed up and down on her ring finger.

Her heart sped up and her need to flee rose high.

"Candela, I've been doing some thinking lately and…I was wondering if you might be willing to answer a question for me." His eyes locked on hers and this time, she couldn't look away.

"What question?" In a desperate attempt to lighten the situation, she flashed him a lighthearted smile, only to receive in return the deepest of all thoughtful gazes.

"We've been together a while now and I would like to ask you…." He trailed off and glanced down, chuckling quietly at himself. "I should know how to do this by now. Forgive me."

Now, Candela had always prided herself on being no fool. She well knew for what the Marquis gathered his courage. Panic and bile rose in her throat as she shook her head and lightly patted his hand before sliding hers free.

"Ask me at the party." Her dark eyes closed for a moment and she swallowed, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Ask me at the party." Rising to her feet, she gave him a brief smile. "I need to go. I shall see you on Christmas Eve." Daring to be bold, she pressed a quiet kiss to his cheek and stepped away from the table before hurrying outside and catching the first cab she could.

As she sat inside the rattling contraption, wending its way through the Paris streets towards the Opera House, she began to quietly weep. Ever since he had asked to court her, she knew he would ask. She had even prepared what she would say.

Yet, now, she had no answer.

E-OC

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Monsieur Khan." The Duchess said as they stood outside the front door of the mansion.

"Think nothing of it, my lady. I enjoyed every moment." He bowed to her and lightly kissed her hand.

"None of this 'my lady' business. Call me Reine."

"Then you must call me Nadir." Her shoulders shook quietly with laughter as she squeezed his hand.

"I should be proud, Nadir." After giving his hand one last squeeze, she opened the door and stepped through, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder. "Good night."

"Good night." He replied quietly, offering her one last parting smile before she closed the door. The Duchess gasped quietly as she leaned against the hard wood, listening for the carriage wheels to clatter away on the gravel.

Closing her eyes, she replayed every moment in her head. Every time he smiled. Every time he laughed. A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she skipped away to her room, letting jade eyes haunt her mind. Before she reached her bedroom door, her cousin accosted her and peered at her curiously.

"My dear Reine, what has put the smirk on your face? Could it possibly be a certain uncle of a certain lady?" His eyes sparkled with jest.

"Who knows? He is quite handsome and well-spoken." Eyebrows arched and Reine giggled.

"You seem smitten with this Persian gentleman."

"He is the sort I would like to see again."

E-OC

"Senor?" Her calls reverberated through the little house and roused Erik from a musical slumber. Holding his fingers up to his eyes, he saw the blood dripping from the abused tips, cut by the violin strings and mashed by continual striking of the organ's key.

Surely her voice was just a memory.

Biting back answering words, aware that addressing a hallucination could be another step towards completely madness, Erik resumed his playing. After several repeated measures, a knock thudded on his door, jarring him from his stupor.

Illusions didn't knock…did they?

Rising on trembling legs, he approached the door and cracked it open, at first not seeing a single thing. As his heart began to sink in his chest, he opened the door the rest of the way and his illusion greeted him.

Dark hair and dark eyes swam before his vision as the Phantom of the Opera fainted.

E-OC

Months had passed since Candela had been required to move the motionless body of the Ghost and he had, to her surprise, gained a little weight. Hooking her arms under his arms, she surprised herself by finding a thin layer of fat clinging precariously to the muscle and sinew.

"So, you can gain weight." She muttered as she hoisted his still light body onto the low platform and into the narrow coffin, being very sure not to hit his head on something. After carefully tucking him under a light blanket and pillowing his head comfortably, she lifted his hands up to a light and frowned at the damage.

"You know you did more damage to your hands than I did?" She said to him, despite his inability to hear her. Frowning at the bloody fingertips and broken nails, she laid them down on top of the sheet and disappeared for a moment, returning with a bowl of water, several rags, bandages, and some antiseptic.

Humming quietly to herself, she began the long process of cleaning his wounds, both the ones inflicted by her and his own. First, she carefully washed away the blood and wiped at the congealed mess covering the back of his hands before dipping one end of a clean rag into the antiseptic and applying it to one of the cuts.

The Phantom howled in pain.

Surprised by the sudden reanimation of her unconscious patient, Candela yelped, dropping the hand and nearly spilling the medicine.

"Don't do that!" She snapped at the wide-eyed, apparently confused, Phantom. "You nearly dumped the antiseptic. I'll have to buy more when I'm running errands." She grabbed back his hand before he could react and continued cleaning, taking great care with the injuries.

As she resumed dabbing the wounds with caustic liquid, the Phantom stared at her, golden eyes never departing, and he never made a sound, save for the occasional whimper when she pressed too hard or struck a particularly deep cut.

Once she had finished with the first hand, she moved to the other. Yet, before she could begin he whispered,

"What are you?" His mask allowed for some sight of his mouth, drooping in sadness and turmoil. "What are you? Why are you in my house? What demon are you?" He demanded, sitting upward in his coffin and tucking his hands, still bleeding closer to him. "What are you?"

Confused, Candela reached for his injured hand and lightly scolded him.

"I'm your housekeeper, Candela. I tried to keep you from hitting your head but apparently, I failed. Now, give me your hand. We don't want them to get infected or scar." In response, he tucked his hands even closer, cowering away from her.

"You're not Candela. She's long gone. She left! And with good reason." Dark eyebrows knitted as the maid set aside her antiseptic and focused on a more immediately problem, the Ghost's tender grasp on sanity.

"Tell me why she would leave." She replied, softening her voice and eyes. Whatever was passing through his brain needed relieving. Perhaps voicing his concerns would enable her to refute them. Perhaps even draw an apology from him. She expected nothing less.

"Erik hurt her." He whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. When they opened, the candle light sparkled brighter in their damp hallows. "Erik nearly killed her. She wouldn't come back to him. He doesn't believe in miracles."

"What if you provided her with the reason behind your actions and she forgave you?" The Phantom nearly laughed.

"She won't come close enough for that. So, please, whatever you may be, leave. I do believe I would prefer nothing to a demon in angel form."

Resisting laughter, she reached over him and grabbed his hand, dipping the rag in medicine and beginning to dab away at the blood. The tendons in his hand tightened and she held the member tightly at the wrist to avoid his pulling away.

"Tell me why you tried to strangle me." She asked, going straight to the heart of the issue. Beating around bushes wasn't her preferred manner of conversation after all.

With his free hand, the Phantom reached into his suit coat and pulled out a cast list and passed it to her. Candela skimmed through the names and paused at the top, her eyes catching the familiar name.

"Christine…you have invited Christine to come back and sing at your Opera House?" She asked, incredulously. "Senor, please tell me this a joke. I'll laugh, I promise. Even enjoy this little piece of madness despite the fact it might have killed me but promise me you didn't actually go through with it."

The Phantom ducked his head in shame, the heat practically glowing in reaction to her chiding.

Candela threw up her hands.

"You're insane. You're completely insane." She muttered under her breath as she finished with the hand and tossed it back on his chest. "And you're daft too. Don't you realize what you've done by calling her back here? She'll know you're still alive! She thinks you're dead, probably. You've ruined your cover." Gathering together her things, she marched to the doorway, turning back only once to give one last rebuke,

"I thought this year I spent had been successful in getting you over her. Apparently, I was wrong." With a miffed toss of her hair to match her severe tone, she strode away, leaving the Phantom curled in his coffin, considering her words quite true.

He was insane.

And, she had failed.

More likely, he had failed her.

Somewhere along the line of her speaking, he had concluded that she was in fact real. No fake Candela could feign her temper and blunt manner of addressing him so well. His little Spanish fireball had just lashed him quite painfully.

Truth did hurt.

Lurching to his feet, he wandered from his room, intent on finding her and at least determining her intentions. She called him insane and basically a waste of time. For his actions, she would leave. Well, maybe she would give him a little warning. Let him know when she had decided her departure date.

Finding her in the kitchen, he paused silently in the doorway, watching her go about her usual, fixing a cup of tea for herself.

How many times had she fixed a pot for both of them and they had enjoyed it together while he read the newspaper or a book.

More times than he could remember.

"You needn't stand in the doorway. You're welcome in your own kitchen." Her voice had lost the hard edge, softening into the pleasant lilt he had come to treasure filling his ears.

There was a certain beauty about it that even Christine lacked.

"When will you be leaving?" He inquired, gazing at her back, covered in her dark hair, flowing well past her waist. Why did it at that moment look so perfect for him to run his fingers through? So silky…so smooth…so thick.

"Leaving? Why ever would I leave?" Relieved he had finally come to his senses about her being who she claimed to be, Candela turned to face him, her heart going out to the shattered Phantom, standing in the doorway to his kitchen, looking as if he were ready to weep.

"I'm insane. I wasted your time and nearly killed you. What is there left for you here in this hell hole?" Despite her dislike of leaving, she had to admit that the Phantom had a point. There was nothing here for her. Nothing that any logical person would ever consider reason to remain.

"You, I suppose." She said, sitting down with a cup of tea right by her. "It's not like I have anyone else that I would prefer to be with right now." A gasp from Erik shocked her.

"Not…not even your Marquis?" He whispered, staggering towards her and falling to his knees beside her.

With a soft smile and even softer eyes, she shook her head.

"Not even the Marquis." Rejecting his clear insinuation of ownership, she gave him a wide smile, met with tears from the baffled ghost. Gasping deep breaths of odd relief, he laid his masked head on her thigh and sobbed quietly.

Allowing him a few moments to weep, Candela lightly stroked his thinning black hair while a strange emotion tugged at her heart. In that moment, she had no name for it. She just never wanted it to go away. The gentle warm building inside her growing with every brush of his hands against her as he clung tightly. The rush of fondness that welled-up within her at every stroke her fingers ran through his hair.

Whatever it was could be addicting.

As a woman's mind is prone to, her thoughts drifted away from her emotions and to her earlier conversation with the Phantom. One glance at the cast list and she had understood his reaction to her referring to his darling as Carlotta. It had indeed been a miracle she survived the night. Yet, while she wouldn't condone such a thing, surely it could be forgiven.

Women forgave worse men for more every day.

When he had recovered from his emotional chaos, she would explain to him that anything further resembling abuse wouldn't be accepted so readily but now wasn't the time to press such subjects. He needed what little comfort she could provide.

For the time being, she would ignore possible reason behind his grieving over her leaving.

Returning to the present, she looked down at the yellowed skull, covered scantily in wisps of black hair, whimpering into her dress as he slowly recovered from his emotional outburst and smiled to herself.

Yes, she had an answer for the Marquis.

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I hope the feelings between Reine and Nadir doesn't appear too rushed. I figured that there is such a thing as "interested at first sight" and they basically had a date together. Besides, AREN'T THEY JUST ADORABLE? And, well, I trust ya'll enjoyed this "little" chapter. I should have another coming up pretty quick. I'm really on a roll for writing this one. More fun to come

sarahandmarquis

P.S. A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO THE GUEST WHO REALIZED THERE HAD BEEN AN ERROR! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW SO I COULD REUPLOAD IT! I really appreciate your assistance! I rarely look back at my uploads so I do rely on my viewers to let me know.