Paladin115
Much later than he'd originally anticipated, Erik sent Gabe with word to the Turro Estate that he wished to pay a visit. While he waited for the stable hand to return, he rummaged through the kitchen in search of food.
For the majority of his life he'd been proficient at cooking—or rather he'd managed to keep from starving. With no desire to actually stand over the stove, he spread blackberry preserves over slices of bread and took them into the parlor.
The house felt cold and damp, as Citrine hadn't yet come in to work for the morning. He shivered as he started a fire in the hearth and sat down on a cold chair with his breakfast, wishing he'd at least made coffee or tea. A robe also seemed sensible, but once he sat he had no desire to return upstairs.
"Cold and thirsty," he muttered before he took a bite of his breakfast. Whole, tender blackberries melted in his mouth with the first taste of preserves on day-old bread. He shut his eyes and gave a barely audible groan of satisfaction. "But well fed."
He sat back and enjoyed breakfast alone, wishing Sophia had joined him. Still, it pleased him to think of her curled up beneath the soft blankets with her quilt up to her chin. She breathed so softly, almost like breathy sighs. It had intrigued him to watch her lay with her face toward his, her lips slightly parted. When he'd woken, he'd studied her for one, drowsy moment. To soothe her, he'd run his fingers through her hair and watched her smile.
That dreamy smile had made him certain of his feelings for her. He wanted to always make her smile, to make her laugh and sigh and moan, as she had that evening. All of his life he'd preferred the discourse of a violin, but no instrument compared to Sophia, and the way she made him feel when she touched him or sighed deeply.
It hadn't seemed possible for one person to make another person this content. With Christine, whom he didn't want to think about in his moment of blackberry-filled happiness, he'd always felt as though she could bring joy into his life if only she would listen to him. With Sophia everything was different, almost unexplainable. He never would have looked at her and thought of her as an ideal mate, but while she lay in his arms he wondered how long he should wait—or if he should wait at all—before he asked her to marry him.
Fidelio licked the back of his hand and startled him out of fantastic daydreams. He rubbed the back of the wolfhound's neck and smiled.
"A dog first, then a wife, then…then we'll see."
His heart beat faster, thumped against his ribs as he considered the possibilities of what lay ahead. The chill in the room disappeared and was followed by a rush of heat that covered him completely. Fidelio didn't seem to notice anything save for the taste of blackberries smeared across his master's knuckles.
The elation swiftly dissipated as he considered who he'd have to ask for permission before he asked Sophia to marry him. Philippe Dupree could very well stand in the way of happiness and forbid him to ask for Sophia's hand.
Then what would he do?
Food suddenly seemed of little interest. He needed to know if he could take her as his wife or if Philippe would deny him. Or at least disapprove. In a way he didn't much care if Philippe told him he would not see his sister married to a composer. If he wanted her, he'd have her with a ring on her finger. Already he could picture her -- long, dark hair framing her face, a light blue wedding gown to complement her complexion and hair. He could almost feel the satin-covered buttons beneath his fingertips on their wedding night.
His hand balled into a fist and he gently hit the side table. He'd made his decision. She would be his—if she'd have him.
-o-
Sabine drizzled honey onto a biscuit while Philippe stood beside her and watched. Laure had taken the opportunity to sleep in since Philippe had promised to help Sabine with everything in the house. The little girl's eyes had bulged with disbelief followed by delight in her good fortune.
"I'll need a list of your normal duties so that I may assist in whatever way possible," he said as he leaned against the counter.
"I've told you a hundred times that it's unnecessary."
"I'm here and I'm helping you. That's all there is to it."
She smiled but didn't look at him. The understanding he thought that they'd come to the previous night no longer existed. "You have the head of a pig."
"So do you."
"Only because you're determined to fight me every step of the way."
"I'm not fighting you. I'm helping you."
"Your employer won't appreciate you staying here much longer, will he?"
"I'll stay as long as I can." It frustrated him that she continued to concern herself with his wellbeing when his life seemed secondary to hers.
"And spoil me," she murmured.
"And watch out for you." He stepped closer, tempted to place his hand on her shoulder or wrap his arm around her waist. "They'll notice soon."
Honey pooled on the serving plate as she stared at her outstretched hand. "I know, and then I'll leave."
"You could…"
"No, I couldn't tell them. They wouldn't believe me."
"I think Madame Turro would believe you," he said quietly.
"Philippe, you know as well as I do that it's not right to upset them over this."
He stiffened. "Sabine, I'm upset over this. Terribly upset over this."
"You should concern yourself with business, not me. The orchards can be managed, but I'm beyond hope."
Infuriated, he grabbed her by the shoulders. Her spoon clattered onto the plate, unnoticed.
"Philippe," she gasped.
He searched her face, his jaw twitching in frustration. "No," he said. "I won't listen to this…this rubbish he put into your head."
"It's not what he put in my head that concerns me."
Anger and embarrassment burned his face. "Marry me," he blurted out.
Her eyes narrowed, and she half-smiled, which gave him the impression that she pitied him. "For my honor?"
"It doesn't have to be for honor," he answered quietly.
"For love, then? Will you look me in the eye and blatantly say that you love me?"
"No," he told her, holding her gaze. "Because I don't, not yet."
"But you could?"
"I have no idea, but I'm willing to try. If you're willing to do the same."
She remained guarded, a woman injured inside and out. "Why would you do this?"
"Would you rather I laughed at you? That I told you this is all your fault, as some would have you believe?"
She turned from him and mumbled, "I've heard it all before. And perhaps this is punishment for scorning girls in similar situations."
His heart ached with the worst kind of pain, a pain of complete bewilderment. He didn't know what compelled him, but he couldn't deny his feelings.
"I've told you already that you don't need to worry about me, that I want to do this. I'll have my own home, my own responsibilities. Marry me and I'll…I'll build you a house. Or better yet I'll give you the overseer's house and I'll live elsewhere if that's what you want."
"What's in it for you, Philippe? Surely no man is this generous without wants of his own."
"Do you want the truth?"
She nodded and took a step back as though she feared he'd touch her. Anger flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. He'd never touch her without her permission, silent or otherwise.
"I want the convenience of it," he snapped. "A name for your child, food on my table, prepared by the wife I married for no other reason than to have someone do women's work. Not a bad exchange, is it? You keep your respect as a decent woman, I have what I want."
She looked hard at him, her face twisted in a scowl. "I said I wanted the truth."
As much as he attempted to hold his anger close, he faltered and closed his eyes. She wouldn't tolerate his stomping about.
"Because I can't stand to think of you alone," he answered. "And quite selfishly, I don't want to be alone either. Sophia has matured…or she's merely doing this to drive me mad since she knows I still think of her as my baby sister, not my adult sister. She won't be there much longer and then what will I do? Be a bachelor on the other side of the orchard while you'll be a shunned mother attempting to support a newborn baby and your little sister. Together…I just think it would be easier, I suppose. And after what happened…"
"Yes?" she prompted.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "I thought he was a respectable gentleman and a match for my sister. If I'd ever known he was like that I would have castrated him. I wish I'd been there for you."
"You didn't know."
"But I should have known."
"Why?"
"I just should have." He closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And now, in my own selfish way, I want to make it up to you and have the benefit of a wife at home. How is that for being a gentleman and doing what's right?"
"You're a romantic, then?"
He opened his eyes and found her reluctantly smiling.
"A romantic? Never. A pain in the ass, according to my sister."
Her smile turned genuine. "Yes," she said. "I see that." Her cheeks reddened and she crossed her arms, which made him want to pull her close and kiss her hard. He didn't. He merely stared at her with hardened eyes that masked his emotions. "Charming, Philippe, very charming."