ALL I KNOW OF LOVE
Erik and Christine are the creation of Gaston Leroux; the reference to Persia and some of its customs are derived from Susan Kay's book, "Phantom". All other characters and the backdrop of the story are the creations and property of GerrysJackie.
Some places and all names are fictional.
PLAYERS:
Erik – Gerard Butler - Perfect
Christine – The face and coloring of Zooey Deschanel (Failure to Launch, Elf) – and the body of Marilyn Monroe, except 3 inches taller
Gustav - Billy Connelly – Because I really like him.
Patrick Connelly - Paul Bettany – (A Knights Tale, Firewall, A Beautiful Mind)
Pascal – Mel Gibson's looks (slightly older with graying hair) with the cunning and cruelty of J.R. Ewing from "Dallas".
Madam Marie Forsythe – Miranda Richardson
James Lumpkin (the butler) – Daniel Davis (the butler from the TV show "The Nanny")
Kamilla – Georgie Henley (Chronicles of Narnia)
Duke Sergei Beauvais – Derek Jacobi (Underworld:Evolution)
Use your imagination on all others.
This story has taken a while to develop, but I hope it has been worth it. I have several chapters already written, but I am taking my time. There is humor, drama, and romance in this story, so I hope you will enjoy it.
This rendition of Erik is one of a man who has suffered greatly in his life, at the hands of just about everyone in his life, but his spirit is still intact. He is less self-loathing than others that I have written, but he is very much aware of his self-proclaimed faults. He is dangerous and ruthless, but has had enough of death and destruction. Women are still a mystery to him, and he needs a strong, independent woman who is his equal in every way.
This Christine is not a drop-dead gorgeous woman, but her beauty is less assuming and soft…Erik will see it.
I will try to update twice a week, depending on how quickly I write chapters. I don't anticipate this being a particularly long story, but we'll see.
Enjoy.
Thank you for your reviews,
CHAPTER 6 – Preparations and Song
Pascal paced the length of Erik's imposing study with tautly controlled strides; there were few civil moments between them since the Duke had taken what was Pascal's and passed it to Erik.
He stopped in front of the large window, which overlooked the rolling hills of Vassadelle, a sight of which he had long since grown weary.
There were few moments that past that Pascal did not feel the gripping need to inflict pain on Erik through some means…lately, it had been the children.
Erik threw open the door to his study and almost turned around and walked out as soon as he saw his father; these were never pleasant times and Erik was in no mood for a confrontation.
"Have you seen her?" Pascal asked in a mocking tone.
Erik sighed and swallowed the distaste that rose in his throat. "No."
"When is the wedding?"
Erik closed his eyes and heaved a soulful sigh; he calmed the boiling heat of his rage and then stared at his father beneath the sable fringe of his long lashes.
"In about two hours; and you are not welcome to attend."
There had been no hope of repairing this relationship once certain events had been set in motion; Erik barely tolerated the man who had single handedly issued the worst humiliation he had ever experienced.
"I suppose if there's no light in the room and you don't mind a few bumps and hills, she will be pleasing to bed…but then, you're no prize, are you?"
Erik smiled a dark, angelic smile and his face was rife with controlled hatred.
"You're such an unmitigated knave, father." Erik spat.
Erik had left the door to his study standing ajar and eight-year-old Kamilla breezed into the room in regal fashion.
"Hello papa." She sang as she embraced Erik with exuberance.
Her bouncing blond curls and delicate features were the image of her mother, but her bright grey/green eyes, dimpled chin and perfect, straight nose allowed Erik to claim her as his.
"Hello, Kami…have you been good for Madam Forsythe?" Erik asked, brushing the hair from her forehead.
"Yesssss." She responded, smiling at him and rolling her eyes.
Erik had never thought he would like children, but he found that he did. Kamilla had become dear to him from the moment her first, high-pitched screech filled the halls of Vassadelle.
She had no preconceived notions about him and she had accepted everything about him from the moment he first held her in his arms. When she had been born, Erik had immediately become the father he had never had; it did not matter that she was not his daughter by blood.
By the time Nicholle had given birth to Timotheus, Erik was past the point of caring whether his blood flowed through his veins or not, he was Erik's son.
Nicholle had not survived the birth, and Erik could not find it in himself to mourn her loss; she had never wanted the children and Erik missed nothing about her. He relished the gift she had given him in the children, regardless of whether she had intended to give it, or not.
He forced the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on his daughter. Madam Forsythe knocked upon the door and entered carrying Timmy in her arms. He had just finished nursing at the breast of a wet nurse, and Erik was anxious to hold him.
It was still a wonder to him, the intricacy of a baby's face - with the wide, innocent eyes and the ever-present, toothless grin. Erik cooed at Timmy and chuckled at the way the small boy tugged at the edges of the mask, as though trying to remove it. Most of the time, when he was around the children, he did not wear his mask; he wanted them to know him as he was, and not fear him.
Kami leaned into him and played with her brother, than she turned and kissed Erik's marred cheek.
"I love you, papa." She said, as she skipped out of the room.
Hearing those words still had the power to bring tears to his eyes. He may never hear them grace the lips of a woman, but hearing them said by his daughter was music to his ears.
Pascal scoffed as his eyes watched the child leave, "If I were still in charge of things around here, that late wife of yours and her bastard children would have been out in the cold ages ago."
Erik glared at his father and his aristocratic mouth curled into a snarl, "Oh that's rich father, coming from you." His voice was smooth, but laced with jagged glass, "If I were you, I wouldn't speak - you appear more intelligent that way."
Pascal narrowed his eyes and stared at Erik with contempt, "You weren't even man enough to bed your own wife…that Persian Sultana must have rid you of more than your dignity."
Enraged with disdain, Erik took a deep breath and swallowed every profane word that threatened to spill from his lips.
Timmy was sensing his father's ill mood, and he began to cry. Erik bounced him gently and tried to calm him, but the infant had other ideas.
Erik went to the door and handed Timmy over to Madam Forsythe, and then closed the door. Hot rage poured through him, and he felt the crushing pain of an intense headache.
"Your time grows short, father…" Erik spat. "…one way – or another."
Erik's fiery eyes made Pascal squirm on his feet. "I know about your 'arrangement' with Nicholle, father." Erik seethed, "I know how you conspired with her to gain back Vassadelle through her marriage to me...what you didn't count on, was her getting pregnant."
He was valiantly trying to curtail his fury, but found it winding around him like a cold winter wind.
Erik's piercing eyes shot through his father, his voice was acidic but deadly calm, "Don't, for one moment, think that I am unaware of what goes on around me…" a dangerous smirk played upon his lips, "...when in Persia, I was pitted against the most infamous criminal minds of our time…"
Erik lowered his inimitable eyes and scowled at Pascal, "…they were found to be lacking. I am not a man to be trifled with, father…do not underestimate me…under any circumstances."
Pascal swallowed, with difficulty, and saw, for the first time, the legendary man that was both feared and respected. A sardonic smirk formed on his mouth and his devilish eyes twinkled, "So, you know of my sins against you…what do you intend to do?"
"What do I intend to do?" Erik scoffed at the question. "The duke thinks I should kill you, and believe me, I have been sorely tempted on many occasions to do just that…" Erik's harsh, humorless laugh pierced Pascal's ears, "…but there are still a few secrets I hold…" he leaned closer to his father's pinched features; "…she was with child when I married her." Erik felt a degree of satisfaction as a shadow of doubt crossed his father's handsome features.
A soft knock sounded on the door and Erik calmed his nerves before stating, "Enter."
Mr. Lumpkin, the head butler, stood at the door with a pleased and proud look. He announced the arrival of the carriage carrying Gustav Delancy, Patrick Connelly, and Christine.
"Shall I show them to the drawing room, my lord…it seems to be a popular place for such gatherings?"
Erik sensed the dry humor in his life-long servants tone, and he thanked God for James' ever present words of wisdom, humor, and encouragement.
"Yes, James, that will be fine."
Pascal had gone eerily quiet. His heart was beating frantically and doubts were swimming in his mind. Could what Erik was indicating be true?
Erik strode toward the door with a heavy heart, and light footsteps. As he reached the door, he turned to look at his father before exiting the room, "Don't think, for one minute, that I have any sentimental obligation toward you…you have forced my hand on many occasions…I grow weary of the game."
"If the Duke wanted me dead, what kept you from doing what he asked?" Pascal asked, unrepentantly.
Erik showed no sign of emotion, but simply stared into Pascal's eyes, "I did."
ЖЖ
Erik was disturbed as he walked down the long hallway toward his sleeping quarters and the conservatory. It was his wedding day; in about an hour, Christine Delancy would pledge herself to him; the thought terrified him on so many levels.
He feared women…truth be told…he had never feared any man, but women he did not understand and that petrified him. He loved being near them and admiring their beauty, especially natural, easy-going beauty that was often overlooked.
Erik had found, when dealing with women, that they found him less than desirable, so he had just steered clear of them for the greater part of his life. He had no desire to marry a woman who was only interested in his title and wealth, and he was certain that was the only way he would ever catch the eye of a woman.
He had given Christine no reason to do anything but hate him, and he was certain she did, without even seeing him. Once she saw him, he was certain she would despise him even more.
He felt the call of the music, and quietly made his way to the conservatory. He closed the door and pulled the day curtains, draping the room in shades of quiet yellows and dusky tans. He gracefully moved onto the bench and ran his hands over the smooth surface of the grand piano.
Nimble fingers began fluttering over the keys effortlessly, making the music that filled his soul and the words that filled his mind come to life...
"Is there a purpose in this madness…a reason why I yearn?
There has to be more to life…some reprieve for one like me.
"How can I bind the gripping fear that imprisons my aching soul…
and echoes in my troubled mind, 'You'll never be set free'?
"Where can I go to escape the darkness that threatens my very life?
It feeds my demons and waters my doubts, 'til naught of me remains.
"All I know of love are whispered words, meant for other ears…not mine…
and run love does, eluding me – and leaves me drowning 'neath my chains.
"I doubt those things I already know and skeptically view the future…
Will I ever feel complete again…will these wounds ever heal?
"I seek not fame or fortunes lure, I merely seek the truth -
If love is not for one like me, than to death I must appeal."
The melody went on in his head and his fingers continued to skirt over the keys with a skill and deftness that came from hours of practice and years of devotion.
The time spent in Persia had offered him the opportunity to hone his musical abilities until he was a master at manipulating the melody and the lyrics – to such a point that he could use music as a weapon, should he so choose.
A light tap on the door caused him to remove his hands from the keys and stand to accept Barta into the room. She was the newest member of his household staff, and still cowered under the dominant figure he presented.
"My lord, it is time." She stated with downcast eyes and a curtsy.
Erik sighed and rubbed his still aching forehead.
"Thank you, Barta; that will be all."
He followed her out the door and glimpsed his reflection in the full-length, ornately carved oak mirror that filled the wall opposite the conservatory entrance. He started at his feet and moved his gaze upward.
His fine leather boots where polished to a shine, his clothes were impeccable and of the latest fashion, and his dark, shoulder length hair was bound in a single ponytail by a black velvet tie. He still had unruly strands that insisted on dangling down the side of his face and over his forehead, but that would have to do.
He frowned at the mask that stared condescendingly back at him. This was how his future wife would see him for the first time. Should she grant him her friendship and gain his trust, he would show her what was hidden behind the mask; but only then.
The voices carried down the long hall, and Erik heard the distinct sound of a woman's soft speech. He pushed the nervous twist of his stomach from his mind, and started toward the portico where Gustav Delancy, Patrick Connelly, the priest, and Christine awaited his arrival.
ЖЖ
Two hours earlier
Christine had admired the layout of the estate, and especially the gardens, as they had approached the long, cobblestone driveway. It has not occurred to her that her new home would be the most beautiful she had ever seen.
She was marrying nobility, after all; but much of the nobility squandered their riches and flaunted their titles, however, she had learned that her future husband did neither of these things.
The room she was dressing in was feminine in décor, with light lavender draperies and bed coverings, white walls with shades of lavender trim and dark cherry furniture. The closet was huge, allowing for a wardrobe that she did not have, but desired and the washroom was stocked full of every modern feminine device known to man – or woman, for that matter.
Christine pondered the idea that Lord Laroque kept his mistress in this room and that she was, at this very moment, sizing Christine up as competition; the idea made Christine laugh aloud, but she scanned the room for hiding places.
Assured that she wasn't being watched, Christine allowed the chambermaid to finish dressing her and arranging her hair.
"Thank you for assisting me; I could not have done this without you." Christine said, assuring the young woman that she was appreciative.
"I am Barta, my lady; I am to be your personal maid."
Christine smiled at the young woman and gently touched her hand. "Nice to meet you Barta, my name is Christine."
"I know your name, my lady; but it is not proper that I call you by your name."
"I am a mere commoner, much like you, Barta."
The young woman lowered her gaze and curtsied, "No, my lady, you are the Marchioness of Vassadelle."
The entrance of her father interrupted them; he was checking on her progress and hoping she was close to being ready.
"My sweet Christine, you are a vision!" Gustav complimented.
Christine had chosen an ivory gown with lace trim, simple flower designs on the flowing skirt, and a modest neckline that showed her generous cleavage.
The quiet strains of a piano came wafting toward them and they all stopped to listen for a moment. They could not make out the words, but the voice they heard was remarkably beautiful.
"The melody is so forlorn, and achingly sad." Christine commented in a whisper.
Gustav had an idea who it was, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He produced a long, slim, black box and instructed her to open it.
"Your husband-to-be insisted that you would need this to grace your neck for the ceremony."
Christine frowned at him, but took the package and lifted the top. A stunning necklace was nestled against the black silky interior of the box; South Pacific pearls combined with glittering diamonds glistened back at her.
"It's lovely!" Christine exclaimed.
Gustav had to agree, as he placed it around her neck and clasped it. It reflected her deep eyes and brought out the midnight blue that few knew was hidden in their dark depths.
"Come my dear, it is time." Gustav finally uttered.
They moved down the hall and toward the portico. Christine felt her heart throbbing in her throat, for the moment had finally arrived.
TBC