Raoul's Narrative

Five o'clock in the afternoon and banished to my study, what I way for a man to live! I joke my friends, no I have retired this early to avoid the chaos that has overcome the house in preparation for tonight's celebrations; mine and Christine's 10th wedding anniversary!

The servants are running about like lunatics, carrying this, cleaning that, and preparing the house for the biggest party ever held in it! With all the cluttersome ornaments, and extra furniture cleared away, there will be room for around one hundred and fifty of London's most desired guests. Politicians, actors, singers, writers, landowners and other members of the Chelsea and Westminster elite, as well as a few guests from the country and the continent; all with their spouses, or in the case of some of the male theatricals, their 'good friends'; but their business is their business.

Christine should be in her powder room now, having her hair styled, and being dressed. I bought her a fabulous new dress for the occasion, pure white silk, the skirts dotted with miniature crystals from Austria, the sleeves long and skin tight. She should look a dream in it! I have also bought her a small present for the occasion, something I will present to her tonight at the party. It's a locket carved from a lump of solid rose quartz, lined with white gold to enable it to be opened and closed. In the centre of the locket I had a miniature diamond placed, and inside Charles' first lock of hair. She will adore it!

I seen to be buying my wife more and more gifts these days, jewellery, clothes, stockings, trinkets … to compensate for my own guilt perhaps?

I try to be a good husband I honestly do, I indulge her little fancies, listen to her tales of idle chit chat, see that her every need is attended to … more than most husbands ever do. I try to be faithful to her I honestly do try, but I am only a young man, in his early thirties, whose wife, for reasons out of our control cannot allow him to enjoy all of his marital rights. With separate bedrooms at opposite ends of a long hallway, it is only to be expected that acquire a mistress, most Englishmen 'entertain' other women as a matter of course, it is practically expected.

Miss Rose Colne, daughter of a sadly deceased, rather wealthy tea merchant. An orphan and young woman of comfort and unquestionable beauty I first took her to my bed nearly a year ago, on the night of her eighteenth birthday. Oh my dear little Rosie! Such a precious young thing, so gay and frivolous, undemanding and carefree! She never cries or complains, is never solemn nor serious, she never thinks about the future … in fact she never thinks about much - a ideal woman! But not my only one I'm afraid …

Apart from the various 'brief affairs' I've had since arriving in England, I have taken four women that I would consider to be mistresses, although I could easily have more. I do not wish to brag, but as a reasonably young, handsome, cultured count, I have had many a woman play the flirt with me.

I try so hard to be faithful. Sometimes, when I see Christine smile at me and give me a loving kiss on the cheek I vow that from tomorrow I will reform, leave my women behind and devote myself to my wife. Though I confess I have yet to muster the will power to see my resolutions through.

I love Christine, I honestly do, but other the years I have noticed my love change from that of a man to his wife, to that of a brother to his sister. I can not bare to see her unhappy, and I wish to protect her from the world in a castle of dreams, but yet I feel little else for her. As when were young children, I wish to be her companion and nothing more.

I know she feels the same towards me. Everyday that passes I feel her love for Erik grow stronger and stronger. He was meant to be her lover, not I. They shared a passion, an intensity that can never be repeated. The day Erik died, he took her heart and soul, that is why Christine could never give them to me.

As for Charles … my perfect son, the son who is without fault and without question the finest boy I could have ever hoped for … the final proof of to whom Christine's love lay with. Yet, I love that boy as if he were my own and can quite happily forget for long stretches of time that he is not my blood child.

I once prayed to God, prayed that he would help me accept Charles and my marriage situation, and be content. But now I find I seldom pray, even at Mass on Sunday I find myself distracted by the stunning Jones' girls seated on the pew in front. My once solid faith has waned to such a point that I use God's name in vain more often that I do in prayer. Perhaps I feel guilty for breaking the seventh commandment and dishonouring my wife … but perhaps I have just become more English? I am eating fried bacon and mushrooms for breakfast after all!

Six o'clock, time to change in my new suit and prepare myself for the evening ahead. Miss Enid Cane should be attending, fabulous actress … still without a husband or beau and hoping for a little push in the right direction from a man who can whisper her name into the right ears … Damn myself! How can I think such things at my own wedding anniversary celebrations? What a foul man I am … what a foul husband with my foul farce of a marriage.

Even though I know so little about him, somehow I now I am nothing compared to the gentleman of Erik.