NDBRs: Major changes to this chapter.

Paladin76

No mention of a wife, no grave to mark her passing. Erik sighed in relief, a face he'd not seen in many long years still existed in his mind. She may have been alive still. Despite the past, he considered it good news.

He sat across from Sophia, completely paralyzed by the notion. He hadn't thought of her—really thought of her—in years, and during his time spent in the opera house he'd assumed she had died. Why, how, when…none of it mattered.

"I apologize."

He glanced up at Sophia. "Pardon me?"

"It seems I've upset you."

He shook his head, feeling her hand pull away. She stopped when he sat forward, and she stared at him. "No, you have not."

"Are you certain?"

He removed his hand from beneath hers and gently rested his fingers on her knuckles. "It's unexpected."

She nodded, lips pursed. "I thought you'd returned home to assume care for the property following Monsieur Belmont's death." Her voice stayed low, her eyes averted. "If I had known…I feel quite callous."

He stayed silent a moment, contemplating whether he should keep his thoughts private. He loathed never having an outlet for thoughts and ideas, for conversations which came easily to others. He looked to Sophia and couldn't imagine not sitting beside her. He knew she would listen to him, knew her hand would remain beneath his. He couldn't deny himself the interaction.

"I haven't seen this house since I was eight, perhaps nine years of age."

"You've been gone a long time, then, haven't you?"

"Long indeed," he mumbled. And not by choice. A ragged breath left his lungs as he thought of his last days on the property.

He'd never lived in the Manor. He'd grown up across the woods in the overseer's house with his mother, seldom seeing the main house on the property. He still remembered his mother warning him never to cross through the woods. Naturally, her words had tempted him. He frequently scurried to the very edge of the trees and surveyed the beautiful house with its solarium and ivy-covered façade.

While he lay in the grass with his chin resting on his knuckles, he watched men working outside, heard the horses whickering and a dog barking in the distance. He made a whistle out of a blade of grass placed between his thumbs, just like his mother had shown him. Once in a while the workers would stop and stare at the hillside, but the shade from the trees kept him hidden and he was free to watch in secret.

The house was a tantalizing mystery, a challenge he couldn't resist. He longed to lumber down the hillside, to examine each detail up close. With each passing year he had grown bored with his home, with his quaint life. He needed other ways in which to entertain himself.

"You mustn't, Erik," his mother had spoken sternly. She was rarely stern with him, always gentle and calming, as though she wanted nothing more than to keep him content. "This is your home."

Yet he tired of the cramped house. He wanted more. Bigger, better…What was forbidden he desired.

Despite all of his adventures he'd only been caught once, three days before he was removed permanently from his home. He had never forgotten it, would not for as long as he lived. He'd always brought hell upon himself. She'd had good reason to abandon him, to give him to the gypsies. Such a delicate angel deserved better than to manage the devil's child.

"It's a beautiful home, Monsieur. I've always thought so, since I was a little girl."

He felt no desire to respond, his mood somber. "You've been here before?"

She shook her head. "I remember seeing it when I traveled with my father and brother." She smiled and sat back, apparently recalling pleasant memories. She didn't look as tired as she had when he first returned home, and if not for the bruise on her cheek it would have been much easier to forget the way in which the morning and afternoon had been spent.

"My father always allowed me to hold the reins as we drove the wagon and my brother rode alongside us," she continued. "Philippe was different as a child than he is now." She glanced at him and chuckled. "He had this little pony, which looked simply charming until you walked up to it."

"It bit?"

"Far worse. The beast was half-crazed. It would toss its head and make a fuss for anyone who came near him…other than Philippe. I love my brother, but he and the pony were quite a pair. I imagine the look on the faces of workers when they saw the two of them prancing up the drive."

"The drive?"

"I believe my father bought cherries for cider from your father. There was always a sign near the driveway—it's gone now—but when my brother returned with a bushel, he'd sneak me one or two. Well, his way of sneaking them to me was to toss them at my head. Perhaps he hasn't changed so much after all."

"He's protective."

"He's overbearing, suffocating, and a constant worrier. I believe I've covered his good traits." She grunted and turned her hand over so their palms touched. "He's always been good to me. I shouldn't complain."

Erik nodded.

"This estate must have been a little boy's dream come true," she mused. Her smile widened and she blinked slowly. He almost hoped she would fall asleep in her chair so he could watch her. "I'd wager you knew every tree in the orchard. Climbed them all."

He looked away and gave a closed-lip smile. "Not once."

"No? Afraid of heights?"

"Lack of coordination."

"I had skinned knees as proof of my boundless grace." She laughed to herself. "And then once I obtained grace…well…" She shrugged and gave his hand a squeeze, her eyes meeting his. He studied her right eye, wondering if the ailment threatening to steal her vision had worsened.

He saw her studying his mask, which began to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Has the," she tapped her cheek beneath her right eye, "…the mark healed?"

"No." His grip on her hand loosened and he turned away from her, bringing his free hand to his face. The mask rubbed against his face and reopened a small but painful wound. He hadn't noticed the discomfort until she mentioned it.

Sophia cleared her throat and attempted to change the subject. "You were an only child, weren't you? I believe you've mentioned it before."

He set his mask on the arm of the chair and slowly turned to face her. "There were no other children present."

She nodded. "Are you more comfortable now?"

He considered her words a moment. "There is less pain."

With a sigh, Sophia rested her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. Their hands were still connected, fingers still touching.

"I'm glad you returned here, to your home," she murmured.

She would have fallen asleep had Citrine and Fidelio not walked in moments later. While she closed the door behind her, Erik swiftly replaced his mask and sat up straight.

"Ah, that's right, Monsieur. Remember your good posture," Citrine teased. Fidelio ran past her and straight into the kitchen where he lapped up water. "You sit and relax while I make supper."

Sophia stood and yawned. "I must help Citrine in the kitchen. Would you like tea?"

He shook his head. "I must write a letter."

He returned to his room, which he now saw in a different light, and wondered if his father had slept in the bed he now occupied.

-o-

Turro's property appeared abandoned as Gabe and Philippe rode up the drive. They exchanged looks but neither of them spoke as they tied their horses to the fence, expecting only a brief stay.

Before Gabe reached the door, however, it flung open and Laure appeared.

"Monsieur Gabe!" She flung her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly while Philippe remained at a distance. "Shouldn't you be eating supper?"

He bent down so he stood eye-level with her and smiled. "Shouldn't you? Or would you prefer standing three feet tall for the rest of your life?"

She looked past him and stared at Philippe, who patiently waited to see if Sabine would appear.

"Have you happened to see Monsieur Turro?" she questioned.

Philippe looked away and Gabe stammered for an answer. "I'm afraid not, Mademoiselle."

"Perhaps he has gone to visit his mother and father."

"Since it's getting dark, Monsieur Dupree and I wanted to see how you and your sister fare. Would you care for company?"

"Gentlemen, please come inside."

Laure turned and sauntered in, a miniature lady in the body of a child. Head bowed, Philippe followed Gabe through the doorway and into Turro's home, wondering if a ghost bound for hell would loom for the night.