Yes, I am still alive! I have been working on this chapter a little each day, but suffered from Writer's Block and couldn't find the words to write. I even re-wrote it a few times, but finally decided to sit down and not do anything else today until I had finished this chapter. I think that my Writer's Block is beginning to pass, but sorry for the delay!

Ch. 11

Erik stared in despair at the shining band of gold that now rested on his third left finger, still unaccustomed to the sensation of it.

The entirety of the afternoon had passed since his marriage had been made official, and he still felt the remorse that had filled the pit of his stomach ever since their vows had been spoken. Though he had not spoken to her since their arrival at his estate as husband and wife, simply the thought of her presence in the house was enough to set his nerves on edge, even if she was residing in the opposite end of the property.

If only his face was normal! What joys he would be sharing in having the company of his wife! Instead, half-past midnight found him locked away in his bedroom quarters as he leaned against the stone mantle of his fireplace and watched the orange and red flames lick the confines of its inward borders.

Though it had not been in his habit to take to drink, he found that his dark thoughts that had enveloped his mind that night had forced his hand to it, and he swallowed the remainder of the amber-colored liquid in his crystal glass before he set it to rest on top of the mantle. He felt the effects begin to take hold of him, clouding his judgement and weighing his mind down with both fatigue and relief.

This time, however; he was waging a war within himself as his memories pulled him back to the realm of anguish and misery. The flames of the fire danced within the green of his eyes as they glazed over with emotion.

His mind drifted to wonder what Christine would have been doing that night if he had forced her to marry him, long ago. The image of the dress that he had chosen for her to wear, and how she had fainted upon seeing it, was something that he felt he would never be free of.

After sorting through the broken remnants of his haunting past, he was left with one question; had she been repulsed at the thought of becoming his bride, or had she lost consciousness out of shock?

Regardless of why she had behaved the way she had, he could not imagine that his wedding night would have turned out much differently, had it been Christine who was his wife. He could not rid himself of the inclination that it would have been worse, and that she probably would have been cowering in fear of him and choosing to lock herself in a room far away from him, instead of Estella, who had been given no choice in her sleeping arrangements.

He wondered if his wife was now mourning the freedom of her formerly unmarried state, and he even began to wish that he had never forced her hand to his. Had he locked the shackles to her new cage, and made her wish to return to her uncle's estate, as cruel as it was? As repressing and abusive as her household had been for the majority of her years, at least she had not been made to wed a monster!

But a small voice of reasoning in his head that he had so often ignored told him that it could not have entirely been such a terrible deed, for he would never have treated her that way.

John is a monster that I could never be, he attempted to reassure himself.

It was himself who deserved the injustice and suffering brought upon him; it was he who should have been cast aside and dismissed as unnatural alone! He had the face that terrorized many, and his flaws could not be overlooked, like hers could be. He should have been made to live his days alone, not her.

He would never treat her in the way in which he had been scorned, and she had not deserved it all of her life.

Curse this affliction which taints what is mine! he was reminded of his own miserableness. He pounded his fist against the stone wall out of anger and ignored the pain that ached through his fingers from the contact.

He had gone against his vow to never become vulnerable. He had promised himself that he would never show weakness again. And he had violated his own wishes by making Estella his wife.

She was not only a prisoner in his home just as he was, but she was also a reminder of what could never be.

Estella's body was like a tempest beneath her bed-sheets as she tossed and turned constantly throughout the night, finding that the thoughts that troubled her mind prevented her from getting much, if any, sleep.

Rest would come to her in brief intervals of time, only to be interrupted as she jolted awake on multiple occasions. The fear of what might happen had permeated her mind, so much so that at times she was left staring at her closed door once she had been awake long enough for her eyes to have adjusted to the darkness.

Even though she knew that she had locked the door, it had not kept her from remaining alert as she hugged the soft sheets of her bed closely to her chest.

At any moment, she expected Mr. Destler to call upon her in the night. After all, she had had strong doubts that her husband would not wish to claim what was his, especially on his wedding night, and while he had told her otherwise, she had great difficulty in believing it.

Her mind seemed to be teetering between the idea of him taking what was his from her and being undesirable to him when he did not appear. She could not be certain of which scenario was worse.

Yet, she was anticipating his presence with great anxiety and had grown fearful of what he might expect from her. How was she to permit a man to take away what little dignity that she had left, even if she was his wife by law? How was it acceptable to be forced into something so intimate with a stranger?

It must have been well into the night before she had finally closed her eyes once more, remembering the sight of the moonlight streaming through her window.

Estella found it rather odd at first when not a word had been spoken to her during the first two days of her presence at her new home. She had been relieved to be left alone, even taking the liberty of perusing the grounds to become better acquainted with her surroundings, and, once she had set her eyes upon the courtyard and the blue waters of the lake, she had determined to spend as much of her time out of doors as possible before the cold weather would drive her to return inside.

But after five days of hearing nothing, without even so much as catching a glimpse of her husband, she had grown both anxious and worried.

This was beyond the amount of time necessary to give her space, if that had been his motive for silencing himself. Not only had his secretiveness worried her from the very beginning of meeting him, but what normal husband did not even acknowledge the presence of his new wife in his own home?

The thought that, perhaps, something tragic had befallen him had even crossed her mind, and she decided to ignore the protests in her head about crossing the hallway and ascending the staircase that led to his private rooms.

At first, the voice in her head had been loud and clear, warning her that she should not invite the wrath of the man whom she had not a clue about in regards to his character. She did not know what he would do or what he was capable of-violence, probably, but to what extent?

It had even been strong enough to cause her to hesitate at the base of the stairs with her hand barely touching the railing. But then she began to reason with herself, telling herself that she had every right to see every inch of the home that now belonged to her as well. Even when she felt it wrong to conceive such headstrong and rebellious motives, she assured herself with the innocence of checking upon her husband's condition. Perhaps he had been ill? Certainly there was no harm in asking him if he was alright, and the idea had successfully repressed any second thoughts that she had once entertained.

It seemed as if the day would have other plans for her, however; shortly after walking down a hallway that she thought might lead to his bedchamber, she was interrupted by the head butler.

"Is there something the matter, M'Lady?"

Estella stopped abruptly, few feet away from the door that she had been determined to open. She immediately felt guilt consume her, feeling akin to what a child would feel when caught doing something naughty. Slowly, she turned around to look at the aging man with a pleasant smile on her face to diminish the appearance of her disobedient behavior.

"Not at all. I was simply wondering if Mr. Destler has gone away somewhere," she replied.

The only human interaction that she had had as-of-late had been that of her lady's maid, though being asked what attire she would wish to wear or what activities she would like to partake in for the day could hardly be called conversation. Still, she had begun to grow quite fond of Marguerite, nonetheless.

"Not that I am aware of, M'Lady," Mr. Matthews replied.

Estella nodded her head in acknowledgement, though the confirmation of her suspicions did not ease her mind.

If Mr. Destler had not taken a leave of absence from the estate, then that must have meant that he had been avoiding her. The possibility that he could have been preoccupied with business matters had crossed her mind, but it was quickly dispelled by the realization that, if he could set aside the time necessary to plan and participate in his wedding, he could most certainly find the time to greet her.

And the idea that he was avoiding her intentionally only increased the fears that she had entertained about him, and she wondered what he could possibly be hiding from her more than before.

Mention not the fact that she felt even less of a human being from the lack of socialization! Was she really such a burden that he could not even visit her, and if so, then why had he taken it upon himself to marry her?

"I see," she said. "It is just that I have neither heard from, nor seen, him this week."

Mr. Matthews hesitated to reply, though he was fully aware that his master had kept to himself, just as was typical in his character. He noticed the slightly saddened expression on her face, though he did not know her very well.

"Do not blame yourself, M'Lady; Mr. Destler has always been accustomed to the ways of quietness and solitude. I am certain that he will need some time to adjust to his newly-married state, and all will be well soon enough."

"Yes, of course," Estella glanced down at the floor in embarrassment. How desperate she must have looked to have been seeking the company of a strange man whom she did not know and who clearly had wanted nothing to do with her!

But she could not help but to allow a bit of curiosity to consume her, and she asked, "What is he like? Does he ever hold any gatherings or host parties? Should I expect any guests?"

Those questions had only scratched the surface of what she wished to know about him, though she would not overwhelm the servants with all of them at one time.

Mr. Matthews kept his gloved hands folded behind his back out of respect, though he was eager to resume his duties for the day.

"Entertaining is not much of a common occurrence in this house. The Master is a very kind and generous man; I think that the only time in which I have ever seen him agitated was due to the rudeness of a few servants, though he had every right to dismiss them from his employment."

Estella was hardly surprised to hear that no guests or parties would be had in her home, and even a bit disappointed. And when she heard the part about the rudeness of a few employees, she wondered what their reasons had been.

"Does his lack of hospitality have something to do with his mask?"

Mr. Matthews felt himself grow uncomfortable by the subject that had just been breached, and he knew that one wrong word could throw the conversation in a direction that he did not wish to follow.

"Possibly," was all that he said, but it was not a satisfying answer for Estella.

"Why does he wear it?" she insisted. She could see his reluctance, and so she added, "I am certain that you can imagine how alarming it is to see a man wearing a mask, behaving with such secrecy and seclusion, and avoiding the association of others, can you not? He is my husband, and I simply wish to know him better."

"Mr. Destler has always preferred his privacy, and as his servant, I have no right to know or question his motives. I am afraid that I do not have the answers to your inquiries."

Estella could see that he wished to dismiss himself, and so she did not pursue the conversation further. Instead, she decided that she would approach the door behind her, anyway. After all, was she not also the owner of the house, and should she be denied access to any part of it?

Before she even had the chance to knock on the door, her hand hovering inches from the dark cherry-colored wood, she found that Mr. Matthews had not left after all, instead; he had been watching her every move.

"Mr. Destler has expressed his wish to remain undisturbed for the time-being, M'Lady. Might you care for a cup of tea among the gardens? I hear that the weather is warmer than it has been," he suggested, hoping that she would not defy his employer's orders.

Estella's hand dropped to her side in cooperation, though she had become thoroughly irritated by the instructions not to disturb her own husband. She was his wife; did she not have the right to see him? Was she to be kept in the dark about the affairs of the man whom she had just sworn her life to? Was she to remain in her loneliness, slowly losing her sanity from the lack of companionship?

Still, with a forced smile, she decided to play the part of an obedient wife, though every part of her was against it.

"But of course."

"Marguerite," Estella caught the attention of her lady's maid, who had just pulled out a nightgown and robe for her to wear and had rested it on the bench at the end of her bed. Estella sat on the edge of her bed, watching the servant's activities for the past few minutes.

Marguerite straightened up and looked at her, smoothing the plain dark frock and white apron that she wore.

"Do you know anything about Mr. Destler-about his character or his past?"

"I am afraid not, M'Lady. I have only been here for a few years, but I've hardly spoken to him," Marguerite replied humbly.

Estella had not expected to get any information out of her, though she had hoped. Instead, she changed into her nightwear, blew out the candles and turned down the oil lamps in preparation for the closure of the day. It was already quite dark outside, and she found that somehow the lack of activities throughout the day had made her feel lethargic and ready to sleep.

But as she climbed into her bed and sighed in relaxation from the softness of her sheets, she could only think of one thing.

Come morning, she would find Mr. Destler, and she would not let anything, or anyone, stop her.