Paladin 42
Philippe kept an ever-watchful eye on Sophia for the remainder of the work day, which prevented her from joining Erik at dinner. While she napped in the morning he ventured between the main house and the servants' quarters that he shared with his sister.
Sophia wanted to tell him that he walked like a horse, but she didn't have the heart to berate him. After so many months of him being on nerve's end he seemed somewhat calmer today, perhaps pleased with himself that he had rescued his sister.
When Sophia couldn't sleep a moment longer, she went to work folding clothes. She walked through the house in the evening and peered through her window, seeing Erik's light on.
The past evening was a terrifying blur to her now. She continued to look over her shoulder each time the wind blew against the windows or the trees scraped against the side of the house.
She wondered when the trepidation would cease, when the moments of heart-rendering terror would fade like her bruises. As long as she kept herself occupied she was at ease.
"Are you ready for dinner?" Philippe called down the hall.
Sophia sniffed the air skeptically, wishing Citrine had cooked and not Philippe. "Yes, one moment, please."
Her words were followed by a crash from the kitchen and Philippe cursing under his breath. Abandoning her shoes, she ran down the hall and into the kitchen.
"What happened?"
"Burned myself," he muttered, sucking on his thumb.
The two-quart pan was tipped on its side, the boiled vegetables strewn across the floor.
"You're not supposed to grab it with your bare hand," Sophia sighed as she shook her head at her brother. "You sit down and I'll finish this."
"I'll do it," he snapped as he crouched on the floor. "I'm not helpless."
"Well, perhaps when you're out of the kitchen, but in here you're a mess. It looks like a fox ran through as it chased a hen" she said under her breath as she grabbed a towel and knelt beside him.
"Finish whatever you were doing. I'll take care of this."
This was like reasoning with a child, Sophia thought.
"Philippe, why are you doing this? Citrine always makes dinner for everyone. We can eat supper with her, Gabe and Rene as usual."
Philippe offered no answer. Once the pan was filled with the spilled vegetables and the water mopped up, he tossed the contents outside and stared at the stove.
"We have bread," he muttered. "And meat on the table. Is that enough?"
He didn't wait for her to answer. With his jaw set in a scowl he disappeared into the dining room and seated himself.
Frowning, Sophia had a feeling that his anger had nothing to do with the vegetables.
-o-
As much as Erik found he enjoyed Fidelio's company, the Irish wolfhound was no match for Sophia's presence. Her absence left a noticeable hole in the room, emptiness in him that he had never felt before. There had always been loneliness, but this was different. He missed Sophia, longed for the familiarity of her.
Erik watched the minutes tick past, his fixation with the clock proving to do nothing but aggravate him.
Already he was failing at finding his tolerance. Erik set his fork on his plate and rubbed his eyes, realizing he was still exhausted. Even if he had been awake for days he would never have considered canceling Sophia's lessons.
He was all too familiar with wanting, with unrequited desire and primal urges he had always been denied. But what he felt for her was more than physical desire. True enough, he thought Sophia was beautiful and he wanted to be near her, to kiss her and to hold her—to court her. But affection and touch were not his only needs.
He wanted more, something deeper.
He needed her company, needed to see her smile and hear her voice. Throughout the day he imagined her without the bruises and scrapes, her stubborn disposition and determination that were both maddening and endearing. She stirred warmth within his belly, within his heart.
While he sat and stared at his compositions—all of which refused to be finished—he caught sight of his reflection sitting hunched over the desk, his face uncovered.
The drape he used to cover the mirror had fallen without him taking notice. At first, Erik left it, but the longer he sat at the desk the longer he felt his mirrored presence staring back at him.
Only his left side was visible from where he sat, which frustrated him more. As much as he attempted to ignore the mirror, each time he moved he felt his gaze drawn back to himself.
Eventually, he turned slightly, just enough to meet his own gaze.
In the mirror there was only the acceptable side, the man trapped, glued, cauterized to the wicked beast that claimed the right half.
It was worse to be born with half a marred face than being completely disfigured. It was a thousand times worse to see the perfect left eye, left cheek, left temple. Despite his life, his hardships and his suffering, the greatest torture was part of him.
Unable to look at himself in the mirror, Erik walked with his eyes cast down and replaced the curtain, his hands lingering on the soft velvet. He thought of Sophia again, how she had remained at his side through the night.
Doubt returned. Did it ever leave, he wondered? Were other people, normal people, plagued by the fear that once the person they loved walked from their sight they would never return?
Erik shuddered, ashamed of himself. Sophia was the one who suffered, yet he continued to think selfishly of his own plight.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, fighting the tumbling, agonizing fears that clawed his stomach. Nothing would quell his fears. He had a lifetime of abandonment that paved the road of his life. His mother left him in Paris, Christine left him in that same damned city. Now he was in the countryside, now…?
Now he started over.
"Paris is behind me," he mumbled. "Those days are behind me."
He turned away from the mirror and sat again, knowing that those days were as much inside of him as they were behind him.
-o-
"You are coming with me, aren't you?" Sophia asked after the last dish was set to dry.
Philippe stared at her a moment. "Pardon me?"
"My lesson. You said that you would come with me."
With a sigh, Philippe nodded. "So I did."
"If you don't wish to go, I don't mind going alone."
His expression hardened, dark green eyes narrowing. "No, and I assume Monsieur Belmont wouldn't mind you going alone either."
Sophia knew he regretted his words before he finished speaking. He rubbed his face with his hands and shook his head.
"Forgive me, Sophia. Monsieur Belmont has shown great nobility and ardor with his assistance. It's wrong of me to say such things. It's just…never mind."
Sophia placed the dish towel and her apron aside and turned her head to the side. "I never knew you were so protective. Hard-headed, yes, but this?"
Philippe gave a crooked grin. "You're old enough now to need protection," he said, his stern voice belying his visage.
"I never did like Karl," she murmured. "He was always…unkind to me."
Philippe refused to look at her. For months she had attempted to avoid her meetings with Monsieur Turro, but Philippe refused to listen. He thought she was just being stubborn and constantly told her not to argue.
"Your lessons, how long do they usually take?" Philippe asked, changing the subjet.
Sophia shrugged. "Perhaps an hour and a half at the most."
"You go on ahead. I will be there momentarily."
With a kiss to his cheek, Sophia spun around and reached for her cape. "Will you play as well?"
Philippe shook his head. "This is your hobby, not mine."
Sophia shrugged and padded across the yard and into the kitchen. The moment she swung the door open Gabe jumped away from Citrine, who wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Good evening, mademoiselles," Gabe mumbled as he strolled out.
Sophia watched him leave before she turned back to Citrine, disbelieving what she had seen.
"Come to help or come to stare?" Citrine snapped as she dunked a saucepan into the sink and began scrubbing furiously.
With a smirk, Sophia left her cape on the hook and walked toward the parlor. "My, my," she grinned, glancing back to see Citrine's reaction.
Citrine chose to ignore Sophia, though her crimson cheeks and the uncontainable grin on her face gave her away.
Erik appeared startled when she entered. He placed his paperwork on the piano and gave a nervous smile before his gaze darted across the room. She had never seen him dressed in anything but dark blue or black, but noticed that his deep red waistcoat and matching overcoat made his eyes appear greener.
"Good evening," he said at last, looking away from her.
"Good evening. You look well," Sophia said.
"As do you," he said, turning his attention toward her. With one sweeping glance he took her in fully and smiled. "Sophia."
"Did you rest today?"
He hesitated. "Not really. Why do you inquire?"
His words made her smile coyly. "It was only a question, Erik."
Erik nodded but didn't reply and the silence made Sophia nervous.
"That color looks nice on you," she said. Her throat went dry on her, her palms clammy.
"That's kind of you," he said as he turned away and began sorting through the papers he had set on the piano.
Sophia remained near the door wringing her hands, waiting for him to invite her in. After several moments Erik glanced up and noticed she was still unmoved from her place by the door.
"You may sit if you'd like," he said at last.
Sophia lingered by the piano bench a moment, hoping he would turn toward her. She watched him as he continued shuffling through the compositions.
"I wrote something for you," he said at last. "But it seems I have misplaced it."
"For me?" she asked, her eyes widening.
When he turned and saw her smiling he seemed to relax, the tightness in his face replaced by an easy smile. "It's not very good, I assure you. I wrote it this afternoon."
"Do you remember any of it? Or do you need to read the notes?"
Erik thought a moment. "Sit with me. I'll do my best."
She sat, but before Erik joined her the parlor door opened and Philippe walked in. He looked at Sophia and then at Erik before he walked to a chair in the corner and sat.
"Pretend I'm not here and play as you normally would," Philippe mumbled as he folded his hands.
When Sophia turned around she felt Erik's eyes on her. For the life of her she couldn't seem to find her voice.