Dear Faithfuls:
Another long chapter, one that was written and revised a half dozen times until I finally decided it was what I'd wished for. Please know that you are all in my thoughts, and though I am updating just twice a week until the end of March, I promise not to abandon my mission to see this story through to the end. Again, thank you for all of your kind words, and your patience during this time. This story still calls to me when I sleep, and though it may be not given it's proper attention from time to time, it still grows in my mind. I hope that this chapter brings you a bit of happiness, just as you have brought to me. - Angeldreamer
Lucien awoke, having fallen asleep at the table. The pitcher of ale sat empty, his pen still in hand. He was stiff, having slept with his arms propped on the table, his forehead pressed against them, hunched protectively over his writings. Slowly he sat up, the stiffness a terrible sort of uncomfortable. As his mind came back to him, he shook his head. He'd missed his opportunity to deliver his letter. Now, if he were so fortunate, he might be able to do so after the dinner that night. He'd become rather fond of the way he and the woman lingered over a press of coffee long after dinner was finished, and he'd no intention of cutting their evening short. He sighed. Perhaps that is why he'd avoided involvement of any kind for so many years. Divided interests never seemed to be of favor for the one who held them.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked around his quarters. Everything was already in place for their evening, save of course the meal itself. He'd the bread to knead and set to rise before he'd attend the services that were being held for the opera house staff each week now. There was much to do, including cleaning himself up, and stowing away every trace of the work that had kept him up into the wee hours.
This secret, secluded life had suited him for so many years. Though they had been lonely ones, they had not been without merit. Though he was seldom seen, he'd no less contributed to society in a profound way. It was his brief encounter with the happiness of the outside world that had unsettled him several months previous. Though it had complicated his life more than he could have ever imagined…he smiled…he wouldn't trade the relationship with this joyous creature for the world.
XXXXX
Pyotr lay as still as if he were dead. He'd no idea who or what he'd been hearing rummaging about on the floor above him. He'd sat for hours waiting, wondering, but alas he'd come to no conclusion. At first he thought it might be his horse, loosed of his reins somehow, but he'd dismissed that out of hand as being far too improbable. He'd thought another animal, but of heavy feet? He'd heard neither voice nor other sound to betray what roamed about above, but whatever it had been, it was still there, rummaging around, toppling crates and the like. He'd half a mind to shoot through the floor attempting to strike it down, but without knowing, even a man of his little conscience would be hard pressed to kill without some inclination as to who or what it was.
It was black as pitch there. He'd no idea really how long he'd been waiting, nor worse, how much longer he'd have to wait before he could venture out. He'd take the art, monies, and other valuables and flee from that place. Oh how he'd wished Sebastian had listened to his pleadings, for even now they'd be sipping wine along the shores in the south of France. He sighed. The hour was growing late, he was certain of it, and he'd an appointment to keep. His very livelihood, and Sebastian's life depended on it.
XXXXXXX
Nadir sat down with the collection of books the publisher had given him just hours ago. He smoothed his hands over the volumes, they were not sacred, for that word he reserved only for religious texts. Though there was something rather moving about the thought that before him lay the life work of a man so affected by the social injustices of their time, he'd penned his grief and outrage in his stories.
He lifted the first leather bound volume. 'Sketches by Boz'. Dickens had written it, his first in 1836. It was merely a collection of essays written when he was in the employ as a reporter in the House of Commons. It was an imaginative first work, but it was the author's second that had garnered public affections for his courageous candor and unflinching styling of the written word. 'Pickwick Papers', which he'd authored in 1837 had made him famous. Nadir lifted the volume in reverence; it had been well preserved. He'd been a strapping lad himself when the book had its first printing. The story harkened back to a time when he'd been too young to understand the social injustices, but had no less felt its pain.
His eyes scanned the score of other volumes in the collection that had been published nearly every year that followed. Nadir smiled when he picked up 'Oliver Twist'. It made him think of Erik and the night they'd spent at the winter house after Sara's death. That had been a most strenuous evening, and Erik had tried to soften the blow with distribution of some of Dickens' finer works; selecting something suitable for each person in the room. Erik knew that though the stories were fiction, the truths and lesson were not.
Nadir caressed volume after volume, 'David Copperfield' (1850), 'Hard Times' (1854) 'A Tale of Two Cities' (1859), 'Great Expectations' (1861). He sighed, his mind settling on what a daunting task that lay before him. How difficult it would be to make an accurate, respectable, representative assemblage of Dickens' works. There was so very much to consider.
A good deal of what the man had written, had no doubt contributed, at least in part, to some of the unrest that was growing in the City. Nadir scratched at his chin. The "Bohemian Revolution" as it was affectionately, or scurrilously dubbed, depending on your inclination, had been made light of by such stories. Some of the atrocities as Dickens called them, that occurred in the orphanages, schools, courts, and prisons, had been either the principal or underlying topics in most of his works.
Nadir sat in reflection for a long while. Perhaps it was this man's enlightenment and courage that had first drawn Erik to his work. For he knew first hand, of the injustices set upon those who did not fit to a certain standard. He somewhat imagined that if Erik had been permitted to live in society, he'd have befriended this man.
Nadir smoothed his hands thoughtfully over the collection, now strewn out over the large desk. DeChagny had brought it into the rather handsome office he'd tucked Nadir in; curiously close to his own. Nadir had spent many a quiet hour there, sipping brandy and puffing from the occasional cigar whilst in conversation into the wee hours of the morning with DeChagny himself.
From DeChagny's perspective, it spoke well of his new historian, and of the Opera Populaire, that the bequeath of Dickens novels would be on display there. A cornerstone to the literary tribute that DeChagny intended to pay to the talented authors that called Paris home. For those who had an affinity for Dickens' work would find it most intriguing. It was likely to have the power to draw even the most reticent of creatures into the opulent halls of the opera house, even those that might otherwise have been a bit hesitant to visit. DeChagny, was at the core, a businessman. He knew such things were appreciated not only by the wealthy that enjoyed theater and Opera. If he could draw in the remainder of the upper class, just once, he'd a good opportunity to woo them. Perhaps week-day performance could bring in additional revenues to help pay for the restorations.
His teacup refilled, Nadir pushed his hair back. He'd organize the volumes by year, giving proper attention to the chronology of the works. Then he'd dabble into the contents, and perhaps formulating a assemblage of a handful of profound words representative of what might have been going on in Dickens' life at the time the story was written. In his heart-of-hearts, Dickens had hoped that his work would one day lead to reform, to common decency, and recognition that every life was a valuable one. He'd once been quoted as saying that it was oft how humanity treated one another that led to war, theft, and moral decay. He'd reserved his most scathing satire for his attacks on the very concepts of the commercialism and industrialism, feeling fervidly that they were taking over every aspect of life.
Nadir stared down at the blank sheets before him. There was only one thing to do now, begin. He supped from his tea, setting it aside. He'd need a press of coffee and biscotti if he were to make it through until the rest of the world woke.
XXXX
Christine woke to find Erik's arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders, his leg draped over hers. She turned her head to glance toward the windows. He'd drawn the curtains sometime during the night, and she couldn't estimate either the time of day, or the weather. If it were still early, and it was dark and gloomy, she'd try to go back to sleep. But if it were sunny, and the skies full of glowing promise, she'd not want to waste even one minute, for her night had been restful, and she felt as if she'd a renewed energy to greet the day.
She looked up at Erik. His breathing always slow, strong, and even. Oh how she longed to crawl inside his mind and wander through his dreams. He was smiling. Something surely pleased him she thought happily. Over time, his night horrors had subsided. First they were replaced for a time by sleepless or restless nights. That had been followed by shallow sleep that had left him with little real refreshment. Then had come this. She ran her hand along his chest admiringly, the relaxed, true, peaceful sleep. He'd finally had all that he'd longed for; he was content.
Christine lifted her hand, running it along his jaw and collarbone, so lightly it could scarcely be considered a touch. His breathing grew shallow for a moment, as if mesmerized by her touch, then slowly returned to its predictable rhythm. Somehow in his sleep he could sense her…she smiled.
Sorrow was a bit of a companion if she allowed herself to think of how she'd pouted when they'd first returned to Courtland Manor. She'd set her mind to staying at the winter house, decorating the nursery, putting things in order to prepare for their growing family. If they didn't return to Courtland Manor at all, she'd not have minded it. But that was before she understood why he'd needed to bring them there.
Erik needed to protect her, provide for her, shield her from any distraction that might cause her discomfort or worry. He'd done what he'd done simply because he loved her…and that was what mattered. She ran her hand lightly over his cheek. Erik had known what was best for them all. The leisured pace of Courtland Manor had become a comfort to her. As she sheltered their children within her womb, it became increasingly more evident, that the time would soon come when she'd nothing to do but rest…and wait. No, she shouldn't have been so rueful when he'd turned that carriage about, making a dash for Courtland Manor. Too much excitement, and she might not now still be with child. That was what he wanted more than anything…to see her happy, healthy, and with babes in arms, smiling at him on the day of their birth.
The return to Courtland Manor had been good for them, all of them, in so many ways. It had allowed the doctor to spend more time with his sister and his niece and nephew, as Courtland Manor was within an hour's ride of her house. It had provided opportunity for the entire household to have the Saturday dinners where manners and good discussion were the order of the evening. It had been something that they'd talked about months before, now come to fruition, and the staff had looked forward to it at least twice each month. Christine had time to concentrate on eating well, trying to rest, and going for long strolls along the beach and in the woods on their property. It had allowed Erik time to train the new horse they'd found when they returned.
Erik treated the new horse much like a pet, insisting on being the one to feed it, and lead it about in the fenced area. It's mother watched protectively from the stable, and Christine from a comfortable chair under a wide umbrella. Erik had insisted that the horse sleep with something of Christine's so it would grow to know her scent. He was grooming it to be Christine's ride, once the babies were delivered. He planned to take her riding to every edge of the property he owned there, and to take her on a sunset ride along the shoreline. He'd described it vividly to her. But the horse had to be trained, and he would take the process slowly and gently, so as to give the horse an amiable demeanor. He knew the horse was of good breeding, but he'd make more than certain that it was well trained to be gentle with its rider.
Christine stretched slightly, yawning just a little. The babies still slept soundly. She'd feared the rather large meal at bedtime might have produced a restless night, but they had been oddly quiet. She smiled. Her family was sleeping all in the same bed, and she…she was watching, already feeling something of the mother bear watching over her cubs. Her fingers found their way to Erik's dark locks. Oh how she loved to run her fingers through his hair. When his ire was raised, the mere act, calmed him. But, when he was asleep, it caused him to smile fleetingly. She lay just running her fingers through his hair, watching and listening to him breathe.
Christine turned her head as she heard what she assumed now was thunder. She rolled her head back to look at Erik, nestling in a little closer to his chest. If it were thunder, it was a gloomy day outside, and she'd no need to rise. She'd rest a bit longer, as long as everyone was comfortable, she'd no want to disturb them.
XXXXX
Meg had risen early. In truth she'd barely slept the night before. Madeline had somehow been absent from her post most of the night, allowing for Raoul to stay much longer. They'd sat on the divan talking of what sort of wedding they wanted. Oh, they knew most details would be decided by her mother and his father, but they could dream while the dream was still theirs to have, before reality tainted their fancies.
They'd spoken of a sumptuous wedding in the church, verging on the edge of the likes of royalty. They'd spoken of eloping, which was altogether out of the question, though it would solve some immediate desires. Then there was the wedding at the Opera House. While no grander place could be found, it simply would not work with the schedule of performances running nearly continuously once the doors opened. It would never allow for preparations for a wedding. There of course were the royal gardens, and then the cathedral. Raoul's home was also considered, but wouldn't provide enough room for all those that would have to be invited. Then the last they'd laughed about, though if they'd had their way it would be what they'd choose. A wedding in the midst of the forest grotto where his grandfather had spent so very much time. For close family and friends, and then an elaborate reception in Paris at the Starboard. Ah yes, the possibilities were endless.
Raoul had retired to his own quarters somewhere in the middle of the night, when Madeline came in with a pot of chamomile tea. He'd promised to retrieve her at sunrise, so that they might have a walk taking in their first day of engagement in the privacy of their hearts. Once word arrived in Paris, they'd be all but deluged with questions and curious dinner invitations. Though they'd stay at Plum house for at least several weeks more, the eventuality was that this would be the wedding of the season, and every person and detail surrounding it would be scrutinized. Today was about basking in the glow of their new commitment, and their growing affections.
Raoul had been awake for more than an hour. He'd already had a brief word with his father, sharing a half-cup of coffee with him, before returning to his own quarters to dress. For the first in a long while Raoul had felt compelled to thank his father sincerely for his gesture of last evening. He'd not known the wine had been saved from their engagement, or how it had been brought to Plum house, for he knew the cellar never remained stocked when they were not at residence there. He'd been genuinely touched by his father's sentimental generosity, and he'd wanted to thank him before the day was underway. It would be a busy one, and he'd not want it forgotten in the hustle and bustle.
Raoul walked back to his quarters, a smile crossing his face as he ventured several more doors, staying back to give Meg her privacy, but he'd heard something. His cheeks grew into a warm smile…she was humming. He wanted so to push the door open and peer inside, but he'd not yet been at that liberty. In several months, he'd take great pleasure on sneaking up on her unaware, but he was not yet her husband, and to enter a woman's quarters while she was dressing was forbidden. He stood but a moment listening before he retreated to his own room. It would be a most pleasant morning.
Raoul closed the door behind him, going once more to the picture of his mother that hung on his wall. He'd sat silently with her for a time when he'd retired last night. He'd oft sit talking to her, sharing of his cares or triumphs as though she was right in the room with him. They were disjointed, rambling, one-sided conversations, mostly comprised of rhetorical questions, but they brought him some comfort.
He smiled, "mother," he began, putting his elbows on the bureau that lay beneath the portrait, resting his head in his hands. "She is the one you spoke of. She is beautiful, intelligent, and very doting on the wishes of father. You'd be proud of him, he's given his blessing, though however hesitant he'd been at first. Her name is Meg Giry, and will become the vicomtess DeChagny, just as you had been when you and father married."
He laughed. "Last night father served the same wine at our dinner that you'd had at your engagement dinner. I'd never thought of him as a sentimental man, but I dare say you knew better than I, that he could have his moments." He stared up at the picture. "You loved him so very much, right to the day you'd died you loved him…perhaps far more than he'd deserved. It makes me wonder mother, as neglectful as he was of you, I saw the love you held for him in your eyes. If that were the case, if I am to love Meg with the courtesy that father ought to have treated you….how much more will she love me?" He smiled at his mother, a tear running down his cheek.
"Last night, I knew…simply knew in my heart, that we shan't wait to become engaged." He looked down at his lap, his eyebrows raised. "It seems mother that there was an incident that happened….the details of which I struggle to remember to this day….now they say I'm a hero." Raoul shook his head. Though he'd placated his father by agreeing to accept the honor, in his heart he felt as though something was amiss.
He looked back up at his mother. "If we were to wait until we return to Paris to have a proper engagement…all of society would be delivering daughter after daughter to my doorstep offering to be my bride. It would cause embarrassment for me to have to turn them down, and further more injure Meg, perhaps making her unsure of herself. I know in my heart mother that she is the one you spoke of, and that I shall love her as you told me I would, and she shall love me as you promised she would." He sighed, "oh that I wished you could be here with us mother, to share this joy…but I know you are here in spirit. Thank you for sharing your dreams with me, for in them I take great comfort and assurance. How could I be wrong with all that you spoke of?"
Raoul rose, stretching to put a kiss on his mother's cheek before turning to ready himself for his walk with Meg. "My bride to be…" he said under his breath, smiling as he began to dress.
XXXX
The carriage driver was ready. Erphan and JP had decided to accompany him on the long ride to Chauesser to retrieve Nadir. The man would be coming in surely on the late afternoon carriage, or perhaps with the delivery of goods from Paris.
The trio would attend a service while they were in Chauesser, in lieu of the readings and hymns that were so often shared on Sunday mornings at Courtland Manor. An elderly retired man of the cloth had come there a number of times offering sermons, communion, and new music he'd heard from other churches. It had all grown out of Erik's desire that they might come together as one large family. However, since they'd be in the City, a proper suit, a proper pew, and the hell-fire and brimstone sermon would be good for them. Of course they'd several other things they'd wish to take care of as well as long as they were in the City.
Misty had given her letter to Erphan with instructions to leave it with the shopkeeper for delivery. Erphan had chided her, somewhat jealously, that she'd be exchanging letters for a long while because their lives would never intersect with enough regularity to ever form a lasting bond, and surely not love.
She sometimes hated when he'd say such things. He behaved as if he were her brother, surmising and deciding for her what she ought to do. In truth, she imagined he was jealous of her finding affection either with Andre, or at all. She'd once almost said as much, but then thought better of it. She'd been learning through the dinners Monsieur Courtland conducted, that it was far better to return a kind word for an injury, as one can never fully understand what troubled another.
Erphan carried with them a list of things to retrieve, including the rather large rocking chair from the winter house. They'd stop there on the way back from Chauesser. Nadir likely wouldn't mind the stretch in his legs after such a long trip, and the lawn needed cutting. With the three of them working together, it would be taken care of in a few hours time. They'd be making the most of the trip as long as it had not rained heavily there.
The three climbed on the top bench of the carriage; none wanting to appear too full of themselves to think they ought to ride in the carriage itself, that was reserved for the master and lady of the house, not their servants. The crack of the whip set the horses in motion, the wheels of the carriage sloshing through the waters the ground had yet to absorb of the rain. Though the sun had tried to peek through, the skies yet remained cloudy and gray.
Misty stood watching from the window in the kitchen. She'd laughed when they all climbed atop the carriage, but laughed harder still when she saw a flash of lightening and then the rains began again. The carriage stopped not far down the road, Erphan and JP leaped from the bench and climbing unashamedly inside. Misty shook her head as she moved away from the window. She'd have to remember to chide Erphan about it when they returned.
XXXXX
Lady C nodded as the bewildered maid entered her chamber to find her nearly dressed. She'd brought in her early morning tea, and had come with all the accoutrements to help her into her normal Sunday dress. But today she found the Lady of the house in a rather different garment. A departure from her normal pale mono or duo-chromatic regalia, it was a deep sapphire, with an emerald green bodice. Both elegant and striking, it complimented her skin tone, and the new glint in her eye.
The maid sat the silver tray on the table, pouring the first cup as she always did. She walked slowly towards Lady C, "may I?" she said coyly.
Lady C nodded again. The maid carefully began to tug on the laces of the corset beneath the open back of the dress. She was always given the task of helping dress Lady C, as she never had to be told how taught to pull the strings, she just simply knew. Silently she tied the bow, and finished hooking the eyes on the back of the dress. It proceeded quite normally from there, stockings, shoes, the coiffed hair, until finally Lady C was finished.
She supped from her cup of tea, and without a glance dismissed the maid, "thank you for your assistance, you may go. But do send Andre in, once he's had his morning cup of coffee won't you?"
The maid curtsied, and departed, pausing at the door. "Lady C, might I say, you are always beautiful, refined and elegant, but today, you are all the more radiant and striking." The maid put her head down, feeling she may have been a bit too forward with her compliment.
Lady C, always poised and proper, didn't flinch. "Thank you my dear. It has been a long while since I've worn this dress, and it is such a fine specimen, it would be a shame not to bring it out of the wardrobe from time to time." She smiled at the maid, who once again had taken on a bewildered gaze.
If she didn't know better she'd have said that Lady C had fallen and bumped her head. She'd never seen her in this mood, whatever it was, for they rarely saw her in anything but a serious and somber mood, with the exception of several times a year when she visited Chauesser.
Lady C smiled as the door closed behind her. She walked over to the full-length mirror she'd oft seen her mother admiring herself in. Though she kept herself quite well, vanity had never been in her. But today, she found herself wondering as she stared at her reflection, "would he remember me?" She closed her eyes, lowering her head, clasping her hands together. A nervous rush of excitement coursed through her. She couldn't imagine that she'd even see him, or if she did, that they'd recognize one another…but what if?
She raised her head once more looking deeply into her eyes in the mirror. "Would he still love me, as I have loved him all these years?" She smoothed down the front of her dress, studying her frame. She was a much older woman now, but certainly, there was something about her that resembled her former youth. Perhaps it would be enough…enough indeed. She looked over her shoulder as she heard Andre's characteristic knock.
"Enter," she called out. Andre would no doubt be pleased, though however surprised, when he learned that she'd agree to go to Paris; and he would accompany her. If they'd leave that very morning, perhaps they'd be in Paris before all of the hotels were full. Dickens funeral no doubt would gather people from long distances, all with need for sleeping arrangements. Though she did not flaunt her wealth, there were times when she was able to negotiate the seemingly impossible. Today would most likely be one such day.
XXXXX
Nicole woke to the strangest sound. At first she thought it were a rogue bird outside heralding the new dawn with unusual optimism. She could hear the tink of the rain on the pane behind the curtain that covered the small window on the outer wall of her room. She cocked her head straining to hear, it was not a bird; it was whistling. She smiled, it was John Paul.
She sighed, stretching her hands above her head, her right smoothing over the left, feeling the large lump that was on her finger. She smiled, it hadn't been a dream. She kicked her feet about excitedly under the covers, her eyes tightly shut, as she slowly brought her hands down by her face. She'd not even taken time to really look at the ring, to study it. In all the excitement of the evening, it had been secondary, or tertiary, to everything else.
After John Paul's proposal, and her acceptance, Kathryn had visited, both embrace and tear were exchanged. Though some at the tavern had looked over at the rather excited little huddle, they'd not even ventured over to ask.
Then, the long stroll back to his office to retrieve her mother. They'd taken her out into the other room, giving her a brandy while they told her of their decision. John Paul had tried in vain to apologize for not having asked her permission first. Her mother had dismissed it as old fashioned non-sense. "A couple in love should not be denied. For by the time permission is sought and granted, their hearts have decided already," had been her reply.
They'd decided it would be a rather small, intimate affair, just close friends and what little family they had. As fate would have it, John Paul's father would soon be arriving in Chauesser for the summer, so they'd not even have to broach the subject of how he would leave his work to attend the wedding. He'd be right there in the City. They'd brought her mother home and tucked her into bed.
The excitement of the evening could most certainly have caused them to stay awake until hours, but they'd both been exhausted, retiring not long after her mother had fallen asleep. Still as careful as ever, John Paul led Nicole to her bedroom door, a tender hand on her shoulder bidding her to sleep well. But last night had been different. For the first time, he'd leaned down, placing a delicate kiss on her lips, leaning in to embrace her. He'd said nothing more than good night, but in his touch, she'd felt more loved than she ever had.
She listened as John Paul continued to whistle. He'd made himself quite at home, and had proven to be quite capable in the kitchen. Every morning he helped Nicole make the bread and rolls for the day. He watched as Nicole measured and mixed. His preference was to kneed the dough. He'd become quite the expert, and the texture of the bread he'd worked with his hands was so fine it was like bread from a fine bakery.
Nicole rose, and carefully tip-toed over to the door. She opened it just a sliver to see that John Paul had busily made the bread; it was rising in the pans in the warmth that came from the oven he'd already stoked. Coffee was already brewing, she could hear it on the stove. Glancing over at the table she could see that he'd already set it for breakfast. At the center was the bouquet of flowers he'd given her yesterday. She smiled; he'd thought of everything.
Suddenly she felt strange, as though she were being observed. She glanced over at her mother's door, catching a glimpse of her tired face. She smiled all the more. Her mother's eyes were full of the twinkle she'd not seen since before her grandmother's death. The woman had pressed her finger over her lips, her eyes darting toward the kitchen. The pair smiled at one another.
They'd spent so many years taking care of others…today, they'd be able to appreciate the other side…and know how much love was conveyed by the simple gesture of a breakfast well made. They smiled once more, each closing their respective doors. They'd not rob John Paul of the pleasure they knew he'd derive in having everything prepared when they awoke. They'd set about dressing, but they'd not give any indication that they knew, for a surprise spoiled is a disappointment to the one who toils for it.
XXXX
Christine woke to the most glorious scent. It was indeed a pleasant thing to be greeted by the scent of vanilla and almond, a hint of citrus. The cooks, no doubt had spent the early morning hours baking. During the heat of summer, baking was kept to a minimum, if it could be helped, except for the early morning hours, when bread and rolls were made. They tried whenever they could to cook in the outdoor kitchen, to keep from warming the house even further. But today, it no doubt was damp and cool, the rains preventing the normal weeding of the garden and other things done out of doors. Today, she knew they'd be eating the most wonderful brioche and fresh marmalade. There would likely also be a wonderful beef stew for dinner. It seemed whenever it was a cool rainy day, they'd take opportunity to prepare those things they knew Elizabeth enjoyed. It was a predictable comfort she'd come to appreciate.
She sat on the edge of the bed. The side of the bed where Erik had slept was no longer warm; no doubt he'd been up for hours, leaving her to sleep as long as she could. Out of the corner of her eye Christine caught a glimpse of a white apron string weave in and out of the water closet. With the sound of the rain, she'd not even heard the bathwater being drawn. She watched as Misty came out, hanging a large robe over the hook on the door. She'd everything ready and was just coming to wake Christine.
"Madame, you are awake!" Misty said with surprise in her voice. She walked over assisting Christine to stand. "Do not worry, the water is not too warm. Monsieur Courtland thought you might enjoy a bath before joining him for a proper breakfast." She followed Christine into the other room, helping her into the bath.
As Christine settled into the warmth of the water, she smiled. Her stomach began to move. She'd woken the children and they'd cause her to hunger soon. "Do tell me, where is it that my husband has gone?" Christine said, leaning her head back as Misty began to pour a pitcher of water over her hair.
"Monsieur has gone out to the stables to check on your horse. It seems it is a bit timid in the rain, and he's want to gently break it of the habit."
Christine knew what that meant. Erik would be leading the horse around the pen, coaxing and reassuring. In some ways he was so dominant and forceful, yet he'd a commanding gentleness about him. Beasts could not be reasoned with by words. He understood that the horse would be much more suitable for a woman if it were trained with a kind tone and gentle but firm touch. She oft wondered where he'd learned such things, having spent so many years far removed from all that was normal, though she'd never asked. Perhaps one day he'd tell her, when he was ready.
"Very well." Christine exhaled. "Misty, I'd very much like…" The words had no sooner left her mouth than Misty disappeared, returning with a tray of cut fruit, a warm brioche with marmalade, and small pot of tea. "You always know just what would please me, thank you."
Misty blushed, she needed to correct Elizabeth. "I'm quite afraid you are mistaken Madame. It is your husband's requests that bring all things to your side, including me!" She smiled at Christine as she poured her tea. "When you are finished, simply ring this bell." She held up the dainty silver bell. "I'll be but several rooms away."
Christine smiled as she watched Misty walk through the door and out of the room. She lifted the brioche, it was still warm. As she took her first bite she closed her eyes. It was warm, and sweet, and utterly wonderful. The pleasure was made all the more at the thought that Erik had requested it. It seemed, that he knew what she wanted…even before she wanted it. Ah yes, she thought to herself as she took a second bite, washing it down with the tea. These are the small things, these small acts of thoughtfulness, that truly said that you were loved.
XXXXXX
Erik had taken the horse back into the stable, watching as it immediately returned to its mother's side. He laughed. Perhaps he'd coddled it too much! He was pleased. This time the horse had not fought to return to the shelter, but had instead followed his leading. Though they'd still have to get over the hurdle of lightening, and loud thunder, but that was a ways off. He was simply thankful that the horse seemed to be making progress, and that pleased him.
He walked slowly back to the house. He didn't mind the rain. To him it was soothing. He'd stood many a day with his face turned toward the sky when it rained. It was like God was washing away his cares, caressing him with his tears. Once he'd had that thought in his mind, he'd never let it leave him. Perhaps that was why he loved the rain as he did. It reminded him to be thankful.
Once inside he abandoned his sodden clothes donning a fresh pair that had been brought for him to the small room just inside the door. Soon he was dry, warm, and comfortable. He ventured out into the corridor, being greeted with a hot cup of coffee. Misty followed him down the hallway.
"Monsieur. I've prepared all that you requested . Breakfast will be ready for you whenever you are ready. Your wife is relaxing in her bath. I can hurry her along Monsieur."
Erik shook his head no. "Do not rush her. I want that she feel rested for this afternoon." He looked down at Misty as they walked along the hall. "The weather outside will likely be fowl for the remainder of the day. The carriage ride I'd hoped to take Elizabeth on this afternoon, would not be at all pleasant. I've come to a different idea, here is what I'd like prepared for me. They continued down the hallway, whispering. What he had in mind was to bring her comfort and happiness.
Misty listened intently, making note of each particular lest she forget even one of his most thoughtful details. She nodded as they came to the end of the hall. "It shall be taken care of Monsieur." She paused politely awaiting any further instruction.
"Thank you Misty, you are most helpful. Do you have the…"
Misty instinctively raised her hand extending it to him. "Monsieur," she said as she handed him a small basket of freshly harvested rose petals of nearly every color. She smiled at him. She believed in her heart that he was the most romantic man she'd ever known, and Elizabeth the most fortunate woman.
Erik smiled, taking the basket in hand. "Do bring breakfast at half-passed. Then Elizabeth and I should very much like our privacy for several hours before Nadir arrives. If Elizabeth feels up to it, we may take tea in the library early afternoon." Erik nodded. "Again, my debt of gratitude."
Misty smiled, curtseying before departing.
Erik turned and mounted the stairs. The hall leading from their room to the one at the end of the hall looked decidedly bare. He smiled. He dug his hand into the basket of petals, taking a delicate handful of them, and began sprinkling them generously on the floor leading away from their bed chamber down to the other end of the hall where a cozy sun-room overlooked the forest behind them. When Christine was finished with her bath, and filled with wonder as to where everyone might be, she'd wander out into the hallway to find a path of flowers to lead her way to breakfast. That would be simply the beginning of what Erik hoped would be a memorable day.
He turned, his basket now empty to venture down the stairs, when he heard the door that led into their room open slightly. He turned fully, looking down the hall. There she was, a bath sheet drawn about her, only the light from the candles in the corridor to guide her.
"Stephan?" She said, smiling widely. Her skin was still damp and dewy, her hair pulled up behind her. She looked warm but most decidedly relaxed. "They are beautiful," she bent down plucking several petals from the polished wood floor, raising them first to her nose and then her lips.
The pair stood staring at one another from opposite ends of the long corridor covered in rose petals and candlelight. Erik in his dark pants, white shirt loosely tucked. Christine wrapped in the long white bath sheet. They stood just staring at one another; it had not been what either had expected that morning.
Erik looked at Christine, thinking she resembled a Greek goddess, a relative of Aphrodite herself.
Christine took in Erik's handsomeness. He looked exactly like the prince that she and Meg would invent to steal them away to their castles to live happily ever after…and indeed…for her the fairytale had come true. For there before her was a man, handsome, strong, mysterious, and one with whom she was very much in love.
Slowly, the pair began to move toward one another. Though their movements were gentle they caused a flurry of flower petals to lift and flow as if pushed about by an imaginary water current. As they drew closer, their smiles began to fade into something far more serious, a deep look of admiration and undulating love. When finally they met, the stood, their hands tenderly touching, their eyes exchanging wondering glances. Was there anything more potent, more intoxicating than their love?
Erik reached out, not touching her stomach as was always his first reaction whenever they were parted, but instead Christine's shoulder, the other hand slipping tenderly behind her back. He drew her to him, the warmth of her flesh causing Erik to exhale as he bent down placing a tender kiss on the side of her neck. She was the mother to their children true, but she was his wife first and always first.
He lowered himself looking into Christine's eyes, kissing her tenderly before he lifted her into his arms. She pressed her cheek against the flesh of his chest as he carried her back down the hall toward their bedchamber, the long sheet she was swaddled in dusting lightly along the floor, further disturbing the colored petals sending them once more into flight.
She'd left the door partially ajar, Erik pushed it open with his shoulder, taking her inside, closing the door behind them. They'd promised never to refuse one another, and they both knew a day would soon come when they would have to deny their passions for the sake of their children…but today was not that day…and they'd learned to embrace each day, and each other, as it was given them.