Paladin117

Shafts of light and shadow played across the parlor floor, an intricate dance across polished wood and thick, crimson wool. The wind whistled through a crack where the window didn't quite meet the windowsill, and the sound gave Erik ideas for a symphony he'd write later in the day.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this deep sense of calm while alone. The majority of his adult life, while also spent in solitude, was spent in anxiety. He hadn't realized it until he sat with his eyes half-closed, his hands relaxed on the arms of the chair and not a single thought in his mind. It felt wonderful.

The house was still, especially since Rene had taken Madame Giry into town to look at the newest ladies' fashions displayed in the quaint shops. She'd announced her departure, though it didn't seem to matter if she had an audience or not, and Erik wondered if she wanted to tell him that she'd be gone for the afternoon, or if she wanted to convince herself. Whatever the case, his house had become his own, and for once he enjoyed his own company.

Faintly, he heard the sound of an approaching horse, though as he inched closer and closer to sleep he didn't care. He should have been composing or doing something productive with his day, but a morning spent with Sophia had seemed like accomplishment enough.

His fingers twitched over rich, brocade fabric that didn't even begin to compare to the warm, satiny feel of Sophia in his grasp. The need he felt for her left him breathing harder, a bit desperate. He knew longing well enough, which had proved frustrating, but now he also knew the sweetness and completion of relief from a woman.

"Monsieur!" The parlor door was flung open with such force that Erik was mildly surprised he didn't curse aloud. He had plenty of expletives running through his mind as the young stablehand flew into the room.

"Yes, Monsieur Monteclare?" he asked once he caught his breath.

"She's agreed," Gabe replied, grinning.

Erik studied Gabe, who was pulling off his gloves. His cheeks were red from the cold, his hair disheveled from the wind, but he looked quite pleased with himself, most likely because he'd ridden like hell from the Turro Estate in order to tell his employer that he would be invited to a late lunch.

"What time?" He stretched out his legs and sucked in a deep breath to keep sleep at bay.

"At your earliest convenience." He took a step forward. "In fact, she suggested that instead of you traveling to her home, she could journey here and save you the trouble."

Erik started to tell Gabe no, but found the idea intriguing. This was, after all, his mother's home. He had no idea when she had officially moved off the property or what memories lingered for her here. He had no recollection of ever being inside of the manor with her. They'd always lived in the overseer's house, as far as he knew. Perhaps when he was smaller he had lived here, though he was certain he would have recalled the solarium or the wood-paneled dining room with its vaulted ceilings and dark blue fabric walls.

"With all due respect, Monsieur, I should tell her what your reply is immediately. I promised Monsieur Dupree that I would deliver an extra change of clothes for him, which he'd also like at once."

Erik nodded, ignoring the part about Philippe. He had only one person on his mind now and didn't want to put a damper on their freshly rekindled relationship. Part of him still doubted that she could love him. He needed to see her, he thought, in the most childish way. No matter if he was a grown man, he still wanted her approval…and perhaps her blessing as well when it came to Sophia.

"I shall do as she asks," he answered, quickly adding. "Tell her it is her choice, and that it is no trouble for me to travel."

"Very good, Monsieur." Gabe wriggled his fingers into his gloves once more. "I'll return at once, most likely with Madame Turro."

He nodded, despising that she bore that name. Madame Belmont, he wanted to correct his stablehand, but before he could say a word, Gabe was out the door.

-o-

"Not so fast," Citrine said as Gabe rounded the corner. She caught him by the arm and pulled him back into the kitchen.

"You," he said, attempting to hide his grin. "Well, what do you want?"

Citrine cocked a brow. "Where is Philippe? I thought the old toad would have returned by now."

Gabe sighed impatiently, which Citrine thought was the worst elusion of gossip she'd ever seen in her life. Now she had to get it out of him—whatever it was he had decided to hide from her.

"He's not back yet," Gabe mumbled.

"Oh?" she replied, as though she didn't already know that.

"And I don't know when he's returning."

Fascinating, she thought, now tell me more. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"What are you doing?" Gabe jerked his head back and examined her as though she were a snake about to strike.

"I'm listening." She blinked, knowing it made her appear innocent.

"Well, there's nothing more to say."

"It's as though he's forgotten all about sweet little Sophia."

"I assure you he hasn't forgotten."

Citrine gave a careless shrug. "Well, I don't see him taking very good care of her."

"There is the matter of Sabine and Laure," Gabe grumbled. He instantly frowned, realizing he'd given her what she wanted.

Citrine nodded. "He's staying because of her. Just as I suspected. Well, then, what does he intend to do?"

"Marry her."

Citrine's eyebrows shot up. "No," she said, drawing out the word. "Truly?"

She stepped closer, but not too close considering he looked as though he'd rolled around in the mud and he smelled like a mixture of alfalfa and apples, which she knew was from his beloved horses.

"That's what he said," Gabe told her, resigned to offering her information. "He said he thinks he could love her in time."

She snorted with laughter. "He's the most romantic man I've ever met," she said dryly.

"It has nothing to do with romance," Gabe snapped, a bit more defensive than Citrine had expected. "Honor, respect…he's doing what needs to be done."

"Oh, well, for Heaven's sake, I hope he hasn't told her it's out of gentlemanly duty. No woman wants to hear that, even if it is true."

By the look on Gabe's face, she knew Philippe had probably made an entire report in the expense books detailing the finer points of his financial decision on Sabine's behalf. Every aspect of their union would be weighed and measured, with no regard to the possible hope of love.

"I must leave at once."

"Fine," she sighed.

"Some of us have to work to earn our keep," he said, though he grinned.

"And Monsieur Belmont likes some of us better than others." She flipped her braid over her shoulder and winked at him before turning away, knowing full well that he'd watch her sway out of the kitchen.

-o-

It had been a very long time since she'd seen him.

Angelica Inette Belmont Turro sat with her hands folded in her lap and watched sparrows flutter outside of her window. The house still didn't feel like her own, which she blamed on her long absence from the Estate. She and Monsieur Turro had traveled extensively for years, partially for the pleasure of it, and partially to avoid his son.

Knowing Erik was near made her fear Karl less than she had since she'd first met her husband. Where Karl had come from she didn't know, as Angelica had known Monsieur Turro's first wife, Karl's mother. Neither of them were prone to temper or violence, though as Angelica remembered, the boy's mood swings had come on suddenly.

She didn't want to think of that summer when he'd suddenly changed or the two men who had come by the Estate and asked a fourteen-year-old Karl to assist them in changing a wheel on their wagon. There had been other men more capable of the task, sturdy, weathered men lacking the handsome face and softness, almost childlike attributes that Karl still possessed. She couldn't imagine him dirtying his hands and clothes for the sake of a wagon, but these men, gruff and silent, had been more than eager to take him along.

He'd returned pale as a ghost, his features pinched and hands trembling. When asked what had happened he'd said nothing, though their maid had secretly confided in Angelica that the back of Karl's trousers and his undergarments were soaked in blood. For several days he refused to eat or speak with them, which had angered Antole. He'd punished Karl, made him stay in his bedchamber for a week without supper.

She'd never told her husband what the maid had said or questioned Karl over the incident. She never would for as long as she lived, as she feared what she already knew. He'd become sensitive to everything, and he acted out when a person or situation bothered him. In time, left alone, he'd become dangerous.

She wondered where he was or who he was harassing.

Antole whistled a tune as he sat in his chair across the room while he waited for Sabine to bring his tea and afternoon cookies. He was a quiet man for most of his life and a giddy, almost childish gentleman in his later years. She'd met him after he'd gone blind, the result of a vicious blow to the head. Despite his being impaired, she'd found him charming and, naturally, intelligent. With her own husband gone, she'd found herself drawn to Antole and his soft, smooth voice. She couldn't imagine why anyone would ever hurt him, but then she also couldn't understand why Erik had been met with such cruelty either.

"My son," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "All of these years I've waited, and here you are back in the house that is rightfully yours."

She sighed and wiped her eyes, feeling a swell of emotion. She'd always wanted him to live there, not in the overseer's house. She wondered if he felt at home on the unfamiliar grounds, if he remembered what it was like on the rare occasions he saw his father.

Yet another thing she had no interest in thinking about.

"Madame," Sabine said, tapping gently on the door.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Monsieur Monteclare has returned." She peered in and smiled, her face round and healthy. Even if Karl didn't care for his father and stepmother, it appeared that he'd taken good care of Laure and Sabine. It was rare that he seemed affected by anyone, which had always worried her.

"Very good. What has Monsieur Belmont decided?" she asked, thinking it seemed odd to refer to her own son in such a proper manner.

"He has decided that you should be the one to choose."

This made her smile. She'd expected as much, and to know that she still understood him, the son she'd lost long ago, made her happy. Not even time could break the bond a mother felt to her child.

"Should he prepare your carriage for travel?" Sabine asked.

She thought a moment, considering Sabine's question. At last she had the opportunity to see him in his home, in the house he'd always been denied entrance as a child. "Yes. Tell him I will dress at once."