Chapter Seventeen - A New Addition

"Angelique?"

"Yes, Erik?"

The clock chimed nine o'clock in the morning, the two of them enjoying a late, simple breakfast in the Louis-Philippe room, Erik sitting in his chair while she sat comfortably at his feet. She was spreading jam on her toast when he suddenly spoke, having been silent for most of the morning. She tilted her head back to look at him, raising the bread to her mouth. He sat still as a statue, his cup of tea untouched as he rested his chin upon his interlaced fingers.

"What is it?" she asked, seeing how contemplative he was. Something was bothering him, and it made her stomach churn with worry.

"…Erik has something important he wishes to ask, but is…well, nervous," he admitted, still not looking at her. "Actually, he has two things he needs to know of you."

"Very well," she answered, setting her breakfast down and giving him her full attention, waiting for him to speak. It was irritating and fascinating, watching him do nothing but stare at the fire, mulling something of great importance in his mind.

Erik inhaled deeply, holding his breath before sighing and placing his hands on his knees. "…Erik apologizes for the wait, dearest, but he has never had to do anything like this before."

Her face and neck flushed at once upon hearing him call her "dearest", her voice choppy as she let her hair fall over her red face. "Oh, ah, it's…it's all right. Just fine…"

He didn't seem to notice her reaction to the tiny pet name he had given her, his long fingers rhythmically tapping against his knee. "…Angelique," he said at last, his tone regal and stern all at once, startling her. "Erik knows full well that he is not what a young woman expects to find in her life and claim to be in love with, however, Erik is quite greedy, and seeing how you have clearly stated you wish to be with him always and have proven so since you first met him, Erik would…" He faltered, licking his dry lips as he took another breath and looked down, his brows furrowing suddenly. "No."

"No?" she repeated, utterly lost now.

"No, this will not do," he mumbled, getting up from his chair and offering his hand to her. "Please, Angelique, sit in the chair."

"Uh…very well," she consented, albeit confused and worried by his behavior. Sitting in his seat, she watched as he kneeled before her and took her right hand in both of his. "Erik? Is something wrong?"

"Yes – you are in love with le Fantome de l'Opera," he stated sarcastically, chuckling for a moment before becoming very serious once more. His hands gripped onto hers a bit more tightly as he took another breath and said, "Angelique Archambault…would you allow me the honor to…to court you?"

She stared at him, the thought of laughing popping into her head. Why was he making such a big fuss over a question, when she remembered that this was Erik – a deformed man who had not known compassion, sympathy, or tenderness, much less love in his sad, lonely, and even violent life. A beautiful, tender smile grew upon her lips as she felt she continued to blush at Erik's delivery – he was, as always, ever the gentleman. "Erik…the honor would be mine. I should love to have you court me."

His eyes glimmered, a delighted smile growing as he gave a breath of relief, his shoulders dropping after having been set and straight from nerves. "Ah…good. Thank you…" He hesitated once more, looking away and clenching his hand anxiously.

"What's wrong?" she asked, touching his shoulder.

Facing her once more, he stood up and bit his lip. She followed in suit, standing beside him, waiting. "…Angelique…you kissed Erik yesterday."

"So I did," she nodded, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear as she remembered how she had tackled him before she claimed his lips.

"Well…now it is Erik who wishes…who wishes to kiss you," he said shyly, flexing his fingers nervously.

"Kiss me?" she repeated, dazed.

"On the lips," he added, daring to look her in the eye.

She couldn't help but smile at how he reminded her of a little schoolboy, sweet and innocent-like. "Of course you can, Erik. You don't have to ask me for anything when it comes to that."

"Erik will ask, nevertheless," he informed her, earning a giggle from her. He took a step towards her, seeing how she remained perfectly still, waiting for him to make his move. He was in charge now, and he would be the one to guide her, though he knew very little about any form of contact, much less kissing. His hands moved slowly towards her, placing them lightly on her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her skin. He savored the feel of her – warm, soft, yielding under his touch. He leaned forth, watching as she closed her eyes, his heart fluttering within his chest when he remembered the mask. Erik paused, clearing this throat in uncertainty to earn her attention. "Ah…the mask," he stammered, touching it with one hand. "May I…that is-"

"You don't need that mask when you're with me, Erik," she whispered, helping him peel it off before it dropped to the floor, temporarily forgotten. "Kiss me?"

His eyes stung as he smiled, watching her tilt her head just so, her eyes shutting once more in anticipation. Cupping one hand at the base of her neck and slinking the other around her waist, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers, a moan of bliss caught in his throat. He felt her hands on his shoulders, holding onto him as though her life depended on it as they shared their sweet kiss. He pulled back a moment, taking a breath and looking into her dazed eyes before kissing her once more, deepening the kiss this time, hungry and greedy. She let him hold her close, goosebumps rising over her skin as he pressed butterfly kisses down her jaw before returning to her mouth once more.

After what felt years – glorious "years" of passion and tenderness – he pulled away from her, both of them breathless as they gazed into each others' eyes, both of them blushing.

"Angelique," he murmured, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "…I love you."

"And I love you, Erik," she whispered, embracing him tightly before resting her cheek upon his shoulder, her being floating on happiness. Things would be all right now…

~OG~

"Angelique!" the ballet girls squealed when they saw her entering her workroom. They all flocked around her, giggling and whispering. "Oh, Angelique! You'll never believe what happened!" little Jammes said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Where were you, anyway?" Josephine asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I was taking care of family matters," she lied, shuddering at the thought of her stepfamily, who according to the Persian and Erik, had died in the fire of her old home. "But I heard that things were rather dramatic since we last spoke."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Meg mumbled.

"Christine was kidnapped by the Ghost!" Cosette whispered, her eyes large as she scanned the room. "No one has seen her since!"

"Don't be silly," Louise shook her head. "She's gone with the Vicomte, Raoul de Changy!"

"Isn't it romantic? He saved her," Jammes swooned, causing Angelique to bit her tongue as so she wouldn't burst into laughter.

"I'm not sure, this is all a bit strange," Charlotte shook her head. "Oh, by the by, we may have a new patron."

"A new patron? The de Changys are no longer involved with the Palais?" Angelique asked, startled by the news.

"Oh no, the Comte is still giving his support," Meg informed her. "But there's an older gentleman from England who's making his residence here in Paris and claims to be interested. I heard from Maman."

"Dear Madame Giry," Angelique smiled, shaking her head.

"There's a rumor going around that Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin are thinking about leaving and selling the opera," Josephine added. "What do you think of it?"

"If it's just a rumor, then I don't bother thinking of it," Angelique shrugged, ushering them inside and allowing them to sit anywhere they pleased while she reviewed her inventory. "If it's meant to be, then so be it."

"I wonder how…the Phantom will take the news," Jammes whispered, earning soft giggles from the girls when suddenly, a soft, velvety voice drifted through the room.

"Angelique…" the voice whispered, calling to her as the ballerinas paled and froze. "Angelique…my Angel…!"

"It's him!" whispered Louise, trembling in her tutu.

Angelique shivered at the sound of his voice, mysterious and almost seductive, but she had to bite her lip as so not to laugh at the young girls. They were absolutely petrified at Erik's antics, and she knew he was doing so to tease them. "Oh dear," she said aloud, forcing herself to look concerned and afraid.

"Angelique…why is the ghost calling for you?" Jammes asked, her head whipping from side to side to try and find the source.

"I'm not sure," she lied, looking towards the ceiling in an effort not to give away Erik's hiding place.

"Didn't you say the Opera Ghost kept you in his home for a time?" Cosette asked, her tiny fist placed over her heart as she fought to remain calm.

"He must be in love with you!" Jammes gasped, receiving a harsh jab in the ribs by Meg.

"Hold your tongues," she hissed at them, all the girls screaming as he called out once more.

"My Angelique…come to me…come and see me at Box Five," he whispered, making them all gape at Angelique. She could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment and still fought to look utterly surprised by the request. "Angelique…Angelique, my Angel…" Slowly, his voice faded off until there was nothing. The stillness made them a little bolder, especially saucy little Jammes.

"Monsieur le Fantome, do you love her?" she called out.

"Jammes!" the girls hissed, flailing their arms violently at her in an effort to get her to shut up.

Covering her mouth, Angelique made a sound of amusement as she coughed back her laughter. "Well, he's quite gone now. Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing-"

"Girls!"

The door swung open, sending the dancers into a fit of screams as La Sorelli entered the room, staring at the girls incredulously. "Merde! You're a bunch of ninnies!" she sneered before contemptuously turning her head towards the seamstress. "You've been given a order from Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin."

"Yes?" Angelique asked, already knowing what she would say.

"They want you to clean Box Five – apparently, the Ghost is giving them trouble and won't allow anyone else to enter. If you can believe it, he's requesting you."

"Oh. Well, I suppose I'd best get to work," she said calmly, casting a teasing wink at the girls before excusing herself and sliding past La Sorelli.

The head dancer scoffed at this before sending a look at the girls. "Really, I don't see what the fuss is about with her." Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she took off down the way she came.

"I'm not waiting a moment longer in here," Meg stated, getting up and leaving at once.

"I think I'll go, too," Charlotte nodded, followed by Josephine.

One by one, all the girls filed out, still looking over their shoulders and giggling about the lovesick ghost, wondering about his rendezvous with the practical, sweet seamstress. They were all gone within seconds…all except Jammes, of course, who stood at the center of the room, still in awe and extremely curious about the specter's voice. "Monsieur Opera Ghost?" she called out tentatively, waiting for a response. "…are you still here?" She waited, nothing but the eerie, unsettling silence floating around her head, her lips puckering in a pout. "Hmph, some ghost-"

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" a thunderous, maniacal, chilling laugh filled the air, causing her to leap in fear as a shrill scream resounded from her mouth. Within seconds, she was running out the door and through the halls, the voice lowering to a delighted chuckle. "That was most entertaining…"

~OG~

Entering the elusive Box Five, Angelique set her materials down and shut the door behind her, tucking her hair into a bun before setting out to work. As she started polishing the railing, she could sense a figure standing behind her, his eyes boring onto her back. A smirk grew on her face, though she said nothing, as she continued to clean. She didn't stop until she had finished entirely, ready to dust the curtains and seats. Turning around, she took in the sight of the empty room, pouting as she figured that he would be hiding. Heaving a sigh, she walked back towards the corner where she had placed her cleaning supplies when a set of long, thin, powerful arms encircled her waist, pulling her into the shadows.

"Erik-!" she gasped, feeling his hand cover her mouth as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

"Hush, dearest. We wouldn't want your little friends or those idiot managers to hear you having a row in Box Five with a ghost now, would we?" he chuckled, sending shivers down her spine. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her lips, letting her turn and face him.

"Erik, you scared us all!" she scolded him, playfully slapping his shoulder. "You'll get me in trouble!"

"You shall not be in trouble in Erik's Opera, Angelique," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. He rather liked kissing her when he wanted to without having to ask, and he could clearly see that she was enjoying it as well. "You should not have to clean, though-"

"You requested it," she smirked. "Besides, it's no different than tidying the house. Now, you'd best let me get to work, darling," she cooed, gently kissing his chin, hearing him sharply inhale at the gesture. "We can't be caught like this."

"Darling." She had called him "darling", just as tenderly as he had called her "dearest", and it made his heart soar. Holding her to his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead once more, sighing deeply as he felt her rest against him. "Very well, Angelique…Erik has errands to run. He shall see you tonight. May he escort you home?"

She giggled, nodding immediately. "Yes, Erik, I should like that very much. You know when to come. Now hurry, before someone-"

"Hullo? Is someone in here?"

The sound of a new, strange voice made them jump, gasping as they faced the door. The voice spoke French rather well, though his voice was tinted with a British accent. "Erik, go!" she whispered, kissing his lips quickly before pulling away and smoothing out her apron, grabbing the feather duster from her bag of cleaning supplies. Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned as she noticed that Erik had vanished, a small trapdoor in one of the columns silently clicking shut. As she took a step towards the door, it opened towards her, the sight of an elderly gentleman in his late eighties dressed in fine clothes with a pristine top hat filling the doorway. "Pardon, monsieur," she pleaded politely, curtsying before him. "I was just cleaning here. I shan't be out for a bit. Are you looking for someone?"

"Oui," he nodded, smiling warmly at her. His bushy white mustache and wrinkling face made him appear quite adorable as he chuckled at her. "I'm trying to find the Managers' Office, mademoiselle. I'm afraid I'm terribly lost, and I thought I heard voices in here, so I called out."

"You'll have to excuse me, I tend to talk to myself while I work," she lied, returning the friendly smile. "But I would be more than happy to take you to the office myself."

"You're too kind," he said, swiping his hat from his head and bowing to her. "Allow me to introduce myself – I am Lord Rupert Adelshire, I've just arrived from London."

"Welcome to Paris, Lord Adelshire," she curtsied once more. "I'm Angelique Archambault, seamstress and on-occasion maid."

He laughed heartily at her introduction when he suddenly snapped his fingers. "Archambault! As in Comte Pierre Archambault?"

"Yes," she nodded. "How do you-?"

"He and I were acquaintances when we were young men," he chuckled. "How is he?"

"I'm not sure. The last I heard of him was that he was very ill and resting in his country home," she answered honestly.

He shook his head, a "tsk" escaping his lips. "Such a shame…well, I'm sure things will turn up. How are you related?"

"I'm his niece, sir."

"Lovely!" he beamed. "Then this is truly a great honor! Would you guide me to the office, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Certainly," she smiled, setting the duster aside as she exited Box Five and led him away, the girls' words coming in to mind. "There's an older gentleman from England who's making his residence here in Paris and claims to be interested in the Garnier." She glanced over at the gentleman, reasoning that this must be the new patron. "He certainly seems very pleasant," she noted, liking how he smiled and gently jested with her. Her reminded her of the grandfathers she had often heard about from the ballet girls' stories of home and family.

Arriving at the door, she knocked thrice and waited until Moncharmin opened the door.

"Yes-? Oh! Angelique! You've found Lord Adelshire!" he beamed, ushering the man in. "Thank you, my dear."

"Of course," she bobbed another curtsy. "Excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"Thank you again, my dear," Adelshire smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. "I certainly hope this is not the last time we meet."

"I'm sure we'll see each other again, monsieur," she reassured him warmly. "Good day!"

He tipped his hat to her before entering, allowing Moncharmin to shut the door after him.

"Rupert! Good to see you, old man," Firmin Richard beamed, rising from his seat and shaking hands with the old acquaintance. "Any trouble finding the place?"

"None at all, it's absolutely exquisite!" Adelshire praised the building before taking his seat. "Thank you for having me. I'm looking forward to enjoying my retirement and patronage of this fine establishment. I hear you're putting on Romeo et Juliette within a week's time – it's my favorite!"

"Yes, well, with the recent issues with Faust, we thought we'd move on and try something different," grimaced Richard. "We're also in the process of hiring a new prima donna – La Carlotta has decided to retire and Christine Daae has up and vanished." He sighed, sinking into his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I never imagined this would get so out of hand…"

"You mean with this Opera Ghost?" Adelshire raised an eyebrow. "What's so bad about him?"

"The murders, the blackmail, the orders and notes, the humiliation!" Richard wailed, his face in his hands. "And he demands we pay his salary!"

Moncharmin nodded solemnly to show that his friend was quite serious. "If you're still willing to consider purchasing the opera after seeing what he does, I'd consider you the bravest soul alive."

"What if you just follow his orders?" Adelshire suggested, watching their jaws drop. "I'm simply saying that if you followed his orders – which really don't seem so terrible, except the salary, perhaps that could be worked out – then you wouldn't have so many problems!" Selecting a letter they had recently received from the Phantom, he checked over the demands and said, "Listen to me – pay him the remaining amount and leave him a note wishing to discuss negotiation, hire this Rebecca Anderson girl for the new prima donna, and leave Box Five empty. If my advice does not result in excellent sales and a flawless evening, then I shall leave the opera business to you and only continue as patron. How does that sound?"

Sharing tired and frustrated glances, the two men sighed in defeat. "Very well. We'll try it."

"Good," Adelshire beamed. "Now then, I should like to hear about these latest incidents, and do tell me more about the Opera Ghost. I should like to get to know him if all goes well and I should find the need to hire a new manager once you both retire."