"You've been pacing that floor for three hours, Christine," Raoul said over the top of his newspaper. "Do sit down before you collapse, darling!"

"Oh, forgive me," I mumbled, taking a seat at the piano. I stared out of the window behind my husband, the light by which he was reading flooding into the sitting room. In the garden, two robins fought over a worm.

I clutched my dress folds and tapped my foot against the dark wood floorboards. Raoul sighed quietly and turned his page.

"I wonder if the boys are alright," I said, standing again and moving towards the door.

"The children are perfectly well," Raoul said, closing his paper and leaving it on the little table beside the chair. "It is you I worry about, Little Lotte."

"Me?" I squeaked, pacing back to the piano and running my hands over a specific set of keys. "Why, Raoul!"

He reclined in his seat, sinking back into the cushioned backrest, studying me carefully. "There's something quite different about you, my dear. You're never so nervous as this. Tell me, is it because of the boys' schooling? Is that what worries you?"

"Yes!" I said, a bit too quickly, which caused my husband to frown slightly. "Yes, I suppose... I simply worry."

"I assure you they will be fine come September," he chuckled, standing from his armchair and pacing over to me. He caught my arm gently, turning me to face him and taking me in his warm arms. Even after our years together, his embraces never failed to draw a sigh of content from my lips, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet honey-suckle scent of my husband, who always loved to walk the gardens at this time of year.

"Why Raoul, it is simply a natural part of being a mother, to worry for one's children! And they are still so young..."

"Young, but sensible," he corrected, pulling away gently and smoothing a lock of my blonde hair back behind my ear. His hands trailed down my arms a little way, leaving a trail of sparkles from my shoulders to where he halted. "Do not worry so, Little Lotte. They share your good nature and politeness in every way possible. And, come what may, we shall both be there to support them."

I nodded and let him pull me back into his arms, not daring to tell him that I was actually so worried because Erik's reply was three weeks overdue.

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

I tapped my pen against my chin, staring out of the bedroom window. Five weeks since I'd last written. Over a month ago. And still nothing.

Perhaps he had grown bored of our correspondence, bored of laughing at my childish love letters? Or perhaps he knew more of loyalty than I and was thinking of the children? Had he not once told me about the man his mother courted when he was a child, and of the divide that grew and grew between them as her relationship progressed? Were my children not the same age as he had been during those times? Was it possible that he feared they would feel as he did should their mother be too involved with another man?

Or was I just clinging to a fantasy, the assumption he would always be at my beck and call?

I dipped my pen. One last try. One more time. I would wait just one day more.

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

God heard my prayers that night as I begged for a sign of Erik's wellbeing, of his very existence, for the next morning at breakfast, Caitlin presented me with a letter.

I brought it to my room that afternoon and simply looked at it for a moment or two. It was real! After such a long wait, I was no longer dreaming of holding such a letter!

My only concern was that the address was not written in Erik's childish scrawl, but in a finer, neater hand, an educated one, with slight curves to the ends of the letters. My name was not written in a hasty rush of excitement as usual, but in an elegant cursive which jogged a very distant memory.

The words PRIVATEand URGENTwere written across the top, double underlined for emphasis. I heard myself draw a sharp breath at that. Was Erik alright? I sliced the envelope open and removed the contents with a shaking hand.

To the Hon. Christine de Changy.
I will make my greetings short, for there are urgent matters at hand that must be discussed. Please, sit down if you are not already, my good lady.
I know all about your correspondence with my friend, Erik. He has spoken of nothing else for three months now. It is with this in mind, that I feel I must write to you to explain his lack of reply. Listen carefully to everything I have to say, for his life depends on it.

"Christine?"

I jumped in my seat and turned to face Raoul as he stood in the doorway.

"Raoul, I-"

"Is everything alright?"

I swallowed and stared back at the letter, which I'd read four times now and was still unable to understand completely.

"No," I whispered, standing from my seat and clutching the letter. "Send for the carriage, Raoul. I must leave for Paris. Immediately."