Chapter 8: Forgiveness

The last guest had left – drunkenly and haphazardly through the door while humming a merry tune. Beaux watched the man's silhouette disappear from the translucent glass of the doors. Then, footsteps at the opposite end of the darkened entrance hall compelled him to hide in the shadows. He suppressed his breathing and listened.

"That was a wonderful party," a deep, jovial voice declared, "It's quite a shame Meliah was not there to enjoy it."

"Exactly what happened?" another voice inquired. It was a woman's high, twinkling tone.

"It seems Mr. von Chatillon and our little girl had a bit of a quarrel."

"A quarrel?"

"Unfortunately," the man said softly. He clicked his tongue a few times to indicate his sympathy.

"Is she all right?" the woman asked; her voice was suddenly hushed and tense.

"I haven't seen her all night," the man answered sullenly.

The couple was Mr. and Mrs. Lavoirsier, Meliah's parents. And upon recognizing their figures, Beaux slid from the obscurity of the gloomy corner and into the soft candlelight that shone from Mrs. Lavoirsier's hand.

"Good Evening," Beaux said softly. He had crept upon the two so quickly and quietly that neither had noticed his presence until he stood but a foot away.

"My goodness, you gave me a fright, Mr. Chatillon!" Mrs. Lavoirsier exclaimed with a very theatrical gesture. "Why are you still here?"

"I apologize for alarming you," Beaux began as the woman shook her head so fervently that it seemed her chocolate-colored ringlets would fall right off and slide unto the marble floor.

"No, no, there's no need to apologize," Mr. Lavoirsier assured, patting Beaux's back heartily.

"Then, I must apologize for the commotion I instigated tonight at the party," Beaux said. He hung his head in embarrassment.

"Dear, do tell us what happened," Mrs. Lavoirsier said gently. "I know Meliah can be a very stubborn child sometimes. If she offended you, I will beg your pardon on her behalf."

"Oh, no Mrs. Lavoirsier, I am solely responsible for the…er…event," Beaux said. Mrs. Lavoirsier's eyes beseeched his not unlike the way Meliah's did whenever she wanted him to speak. Although her tone was very motherly, the way she lightly bit upon the edge of her lower lip and furrowed her brows reminded him painfully of Meliah. He looked away from her grey eyes and bit down on his tongue to keep quiet.

"Let the boy be," Mr. Lavoirsier commanded gruffly, pulling his wife toward the staircase by the crook of her arm. "Meliah's in the music room in the East Wing, Mr. Chatillon."

Beaux gave a curt but appreciative nod in Mr. Lavoirsier's direction before heading to the East Wing of the mansion. Beaux stopped and scrutinized objects as he trudged through the halls: a painting, a sculpture, an open novel, anything that could possibly delay his evident meeting with Meliah. He had a strong urge to leave right then and never return. He was too much of a coward to face her – too afraid of what she might say this time.

"I don't want her to hate me," he muttered to a Flemish still-life as he came upon a dark corridor. If he remembered correctly his excursions with Meliah, the music room would be the last room in the hall. And indeed, a small strip of yellow light peeped from the crevice at the bottom of the double doors when he arrived.

He pressed his ear against the soft, white wood in hopes that no one was there. But to his great dismay, he heard weeping – a pathetic, muted sobbing. And to his greater dismay, a man's voice as well!

"Please stop crying," Andante's exquisite voice pleaded, "I didn't climb up two stories just to see you upset." There was a jocular edge to his tone which he enhanced with a melodic chuckle, but Meliah did not sound pacified.

"I'm sorry," she choked. She sniffed a few times and blew into a handkerchief.

Beaux could hear a smile in Andante's voice. "Don't apologize to me."

"But-"

"You are the birthday girl. If anything, I should be apologizing. Did I interrupt something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your friend? Mr. Beaux, I believe, he was called," Andante said casually. Beaux held his breath as he anticipated Meliah's response. Silently, he twisted the door knob and allowed himself a thin line of sight. His heart gave a lurch when he saw the two figures. Meliah sat on the edge of her crimson mattress next to Andante, who was playfully winding his index finger around her chocolaty curls.

"No, no Andante, you misunderstand. He-" Meliah was cut off.

"That is a beautiful gift," Andante said, flourishing a hand exaggeratedly at the tiara Beaux had given her earlier that evening. "Are those real gems?"

Beaux bared his fangs menacingly as his hand tightened around the door knob. How could Andante be so cruel? He did not even try to veil the jealousy that dripped from every one of his words.

Meliah walked over to the table and examined the shimmering headpiece with her small hands. She scrunched her brows and pursed her cherry lips. "No one can buy my attention."

Beaux's heart contracted. Did she think I was trying to buy her love? He questioned. Does she think I am so stupid as to think diamonds and rubies could win her? If that were true, I would have had her long ago!

"Apparently," Andante said, swinging her around by the hand as to face him. He pulled her close until she slid unto his lap. "Because, as we both know, I don't have that kind of money."

Meliah giggled as he ran a finger across her pink cheeks. Her eyes were still red and there were still tears clinging to her black eyelashes, but she looked so relieved that for a moment, Beaux could not be any happier.

"Mr. Beaux is only a friend," she muttered finally.

"Oh? Do friends normally exchange kisses?" Andante asked in mock curiosity; he leaned back and cocked his head to the side. A low growl issued from Beaux's throat.

"There was no exchanging!" Meliah insisted; there was panic in her voice now. "He did it of his own accord! I – I would never!" Her breathing was erratic and her eyes wild with an emotion that bordered fear.

"Shhhh," Andante breathed, pressing a finger to her lips. "He loves you, and trust me, I understand how hopeless that can feel-"

Meliah's widened in bewilderment. "Why would you feel hopeless?" Andante laughed out loud hysterically.

"Look around you! The necklaces, the tailored dresses, the shoes, and all that wealth! I can't support a princess like you." He caught a glimpse of dissent in her expression, "And don't try to deny it! You would not be happy if you lived with a man like me. You wouldn't say it, of course - because you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings. That's just the kind of sweetheart you are. But I, on the other hand, would live the rest of life watching you suffer, and I would regret never letting you go."

"Letting me go?"

"Think about this darling. Mr. Beaux is a wonderful gentleman, and he can give you everything I cannot. And on top of it all, he loves you… Even I wouldn't choose myself over him," Andante murmured heavily. He looked away from Meliah's imploring eyes as he tilted his head back. Beaux heard such a terrible sadness in Andante's voice! Each breath exhaled was a sigh.

Then, Beaux understood; the two of them were in the same miserable boat and Meliah on the evergreen shore. Beaux never imagined he could feel a smidge of sympathy for his rival!

"Don't ever speak that way again!" Meliah cried.

"You love him." It was not a question. Andante looked at Meliah with a small, heartbreaking smile.

Meliah shook her head in disbelief. "How could you say that?"

"It's true." Andante spoke with pure conviction, as though he were surrendering. Meliah was terrified.

"No it's not!" Meliah screamed. Tears cascaded from her eyes as she jumped to her feet. "I don't love him! I never did! And I never will! He doesn't mean anything to me! Nothing! He can say what he wants, but I will not succumb to any of it! The nonsense! I wish he did not love me! If that is what you want to call it! Oh, I never want to see his stupid face again!"

Beaux was so shocked by her sudden vehemence - her unrestrained hatred toward him - that he tripped over his own feet and slammed into the wall. A painting of chrysanthemums fell to the floor, its gilded frame crashing unto the tiles with a high-pitched clang.

Beaux scrambled to piece it together but Meliah was already at the door. She gasped and covered her mouth with a trembling hand. At first Beaux suspected it was because of the damage he had caused, but she was only looking at him in a frightened, guilty expression.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused tonight. I wanted to come and apologize in person," Beaux said smoothly as he stood up. He had difficulty keeping his tone even.

"Beaux, did you hear everything?" she asked softly.

"Miss Meliah," Beaux began – his voice a mere whisper, "If you desire, I will never say another word. Never… If you desire, I will never appear in front of you again. But may I elucidate? I will do so out of love. And I everything I have ever done was out of love…for you. I only wish I was a bit more original. I'm sorry if I bothered you with my nonsense."

Beaux knew it was a low tactic, but if Andante could manipulate guilt to undermine Meliah's resolve, he liked to think it as "evening the playing field." Not that this was a game…

Beaux saw Meliah squirm with discomfort. With Andante behind her, she could deny what she had so eloquently proclaimed before.

"No, no, no Beaux please… there is a misunderstanding! What I mean is…what I mean is… Everything is my fault," she said and then with a sudden gust of inspiration continued, "Yes! Everything is my fault! I am an awful person. I can be so stupid and irrational and senseless!"

Beaux found it endearing: she was so happy to find she could blame herself. No guilt involved.

But Beaux could not shake off his heartbreak, which felt very literal right then. Yes, the shattered pieces rattled between his lungs. He felt almost betrayed by Meliah, and despite himself, his eyes began to water. Foolish tears!

"I will leave now Miss Meliah," he murmured dejectedly, "If I knew you would have grown to resent me so much, I would have never confessed. Then I could have been at your side. Even as a friend. Having some part of your attention would have been better than none at all. I wish I could turn back time…"

Beaux heaved a sigh and turned around, but when he tried to walk, he was stopped. Meliah was clinging to his arm, and kneeling. She was spluttering, asking for forgiveness. Andante watched with a visible pain written in his steely eyes. He felt his worst fears being confirmed: Meliah could not let Beaux go.

"Please don't do this to me!" Meliah pleaded. She could hardly breathe, let alone talk, through her maniacal sobbing. "H-how can I p-put this? H-how can I explain? I only l-love Andante."

She began hiccupping and exhaling frantically like a child who had its mother. Beaux crouched down and peeled her hands off his sleeve, but her hands immediately sought his and would not let go. Perhaps, deep down inside, Beaux fantasized, she was returning his feelings.

"But...b-but I d-don't w-want you to h-hate me," she said brokenly. Her lower lip, glazed with tears and saliva, trembled.

Or maybe not, Beaux thought, she was so sensitive…so selfish. Did she have any idea how difficult she was making it for him to give up?

"How could I ever hate you?" Beaux asked. He tried to grin, but his eyes betrayed him. He could feel the tears finally satiating his eyes and gliding over his cheek. Why are we all weeping like old women? Beaux lamented.

Before Meliah could see any more of this side of him, Beaux stood up, glanced briefly at Andante, who threw back a rather vicious glare, and left the home.