Someone instant messaged me and asked how different this rewrite will be from the previous story. From chapter 3 on you should see bigger, more noticeable changes. This chapter, however, does have some small changes. Thanks to all of you who are rereading and welcome new names and new reviewers!

Ch 2

Over the course of a carriage ride, the pale yellow winter day slowly faded into a bleak, gray dusk. Erik had slept wrapped in a cloak the majority of the way, with the hood shielding his face down to his chin. He was too melancholy to part the velvet curtain and look out at the landscape. Where he went wasn't a concern. He would never again see the catacombs beneath the Opera Populaire. In some strange way it furthered his dismal mood. For years it was all he had known, and now it was nothing more than a memory.

As the carriage lurched down the dirt road Erik wondered where Christine was in the world. Did she travel north? He expected so, perhaps to the places she had been happy. He wondered which way the coach traveled. North, he hoped, somewhere near Christine, somewhere that their paths may cross again.

"Christine," he whispered as his eyes closed. Again Erik saw the visions that had been seared into his mind. He could see every detail of her face, each tear track down her cheeks. He wanted to twist and turn and manipulate the image until he could make her stay with him in his lakeside lair.

If only there had been more time.

He immediately berated himself for such foolish thoughts. Just what would he do if he saw her? He had to let her go, had to let what he loved fade into fragmented moments of what he had most enjoyed. He could not consider pursuit. Not anymore. She had made her choice and he would honor that because he loved her, not in spite.

He still loved her. The only love of his unhappy life. Gone.

The coach slowed and for the first time Erik gazed out the window. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen so many trees spread out against the landscape, tall, jagged, naked trees like calligraphy against the darkening sky. He noted a fence stretching as far as the eye could see, and beyond that hills that looked like gray-green, shapeless blemishes in the distance.

Once the carriage came to a rolling stop, Erik wisely replaced his mask and released a shiver in the cold, confining space of the cab.

Indiscernible voices caught his attention as the coach rolled back a bit and jolted him, causing his arms to fly out to stop him from losing his seat. He waited a moment, drawing on his gloves and smoothing his hands over his trousers.

The driver opened the door and stepped aside, revealing several men and women standing in silence. Servants, he thought, by the looks of them. They were neatly dressed in dark colors but appeared anxious, all clutching candles in one hand and wraps in the other as they stood in the driveway to capture their first glimpse of their new employer. Though Erik had just peered from the carriage window, it was darker than he had expected. The horizon still blazed, the light struggling to stay above the hills in the west. He was relieved the light failed as he didn't wish to be seen by anyone.

"Welcome to Belmont Manor," the driver said. His mustache twitched as he spoke, as his eyes strained for a look at the stranger hidden in the depths of his hood.

Erik glanced up from the depths of his hood at the two-story stone building. There were empty flowerboxes in the windows and dead rose bushes on trellises around the side he could see. It was impossible to see both sides of the sprawling main house by its sheer size and by the darkness of night closing in fast, but what he could see was impressive. Beyond the main house Erik noticed several smaller homes, and farther still, a long stable with a yard where horses were making their way in for the night.

This looked like something out of a story book in his eyes, with even a curl of smoke from the chimneys as though a painting had come to life. As serene as it should have been to him he felt anxious. If Madame Giry had put him in someone's stead he would not remain in this place. He would not be governed.

"Whose home is this?" Erik questioned.

One of the servant girls giggled, drawing a glare from the gray-haired driver, who turned back to Erik and gave him a peculiar look. "Why, it is yours, sir."

She hadn't meant to laugh, but it was an utterly ridiculous question. Had he not see the sign at the front gates? It was clearly stated that this was Belmont Manor, and he, being a Belmont, should have known it was his home.

"Most peculiar," the girl muttered under her breath, earning a nudge in the side from her older brother.

Sophia Dupree had ducked behind her brother once Rene, the coach driver, had given her a warning look. She heard Philippe, her brother, tisk at her. Always the child, he would say with a roll of his eyes, as though being four years older made him all the wiser.

The servants slowly flooded back into the main stone building and the tile-roofed clustered homes beyond the two story estate. They had taken to grumbling once the new owner made no attempt to greet them or introduce himself.

After her outburst Sophia remained perfectly silent, watching as Rene ushered the new master into the sprawling manor, most likely to show him around the new abode, which should have been Philippe's duty. Somehow, Sophia didn't think Philippe would mind. He had not yet warmed to the idea of serving someone else when he had been raised to sit and enjoy his days with a whiskey in hand. Their parents' deaths and the squander of family funds had left them serving rather than being served. Each day that passed Sophia grew increasingly concerned. Philippe seemed quite agitated, bitter for a man of his years.

"To work, child," Rene grunted as he passed Sophia. He gave her a hard stare as the new owner drifted past in a cloud of black cloak.

Sophia made a mental note of the stranger's height, as he had been forced to duck into the doorway. He was the tallest man she could remember seeing, and there was something about his movements that seemed...so catlike, so graceful.

Monsieur Belmont turned once as he stood on the threshold. He glanced around, his hooded head pausing for a moment when Sophia was certain that he looked at her. Holding her breath, she offered a curtsy and waited for his approval. The black hood bobbed and the figure turned again, entering the estate without a word.

It was a good sign, Sophia thought. And she was intrigued.

Her fixation was broke by Philippe grabbing her by the arm. "You cannot stand out here gaping all night," he snapped. "You have linens to fold, tea to be made, dusting, cleaning, sewing."

"Where are his belongings?" Sophia asked as she watched Rene's son Gabe lead the carriage away to the stable. Not one trunk had been taken from the coach, which seemed unusual.

"How would I know?"

Sophia stuck out her bottom lip. "It was only a question."

"You ask too many questions."

Sophia shrugged and played with a ringlet of dark hair that had escaped from the bun pinned at the nape of her neck, attempting to ignore Philippe's words. She, like her brother, had black hair and dark green eyes like emeralds. If their family still owned Dupree Vineyard she would have had boys flocking around her. She was pretty, but, as Philippe would say she had a mouth of fire. That, among other things, usually sent suitors away.

"Auntie sent word to you, no?" Sophia asked innocently enough.

"There was a fire, Sophie," Philippe huffed.

"A fire?" Sophia asked, aghast. "My God, how terrible. Is that why all these things have been arriving?" she asked, referring to the daily delivery of goods that had arrived over the past two months.

It had started with a piano and had ended with boxes of new clothing and shipments of fountain pens, paper and other small goods. The trickle of items had turned into a flood over the last two days.

"They've been arriving because they have been ordered," he answered curtly.

Sophia followed her brother toward the estate doors where the new master had disappeared. "And his family, Philippe? What of his wife? His children? Does he live alone?"

"It is rude to pry," Philippe snapped.

Sophia gave up the struggle with her brother. There would be time tomorrow to gather gossip from the other servants and perhaps speak to the enigma that had come home to Belmont Manor.