Thank you to my constant reviewers for giving me the incentive to keep writing, and I appreciate the best wishes on my health. Slowly, but surely.

Ch. 31

Longing.

It had been a familiar feeling for the entirety of Erik's life. A mother who could accept him, a semblance of a normal life, for Christine to love him-all of these hopes had brought about the longing that would cause his heart to ache. For years, he had never lived a day without it, and for years he had attempted, unsuccessfully, not to feel it, anymore.

But this time was far different. While he still had the desire to experience true love, having a wife in body and soul, or the love of another person, he now felt a strange ache in his chest-the longing and desire to be with Estella.

This stemmed from a relationship that he had not experienced, before. He was not simply longing for her, but he was longing to be with her again. He was not simply longing for her company from an unreachable distance, but he missed the companionship that he had begun to grow accustomed to over the course of their marriage. He missed her greatly.

He grew excited as the carriage continued on, knowing that he would be reunited with her that very night. Only a few more hours of the unbearably-long and uncomfortable ride, and he would be graced with her smile once more.

He had not enjoyed spending nearly a fortnight away from her, but the thought that he was purchasing the seaside estate in order to surprise her-the imagining of the ecstatic expression on her lovely features once it was discovered-had given him comfort. He could hardly wait to tell her the good news and to give her his gift in appreciation of her friendship.

He wondered, however; if he could ever be satisfied with her friendship, alone. What if after he would confess of his love for her, she did not feel the same? Would he then saboutage the beautiful friendship that the two of them had formed? He knew it to be selfish of him, but he wanted more than a platonic love from her, even though he knew that it was highly unlikely, if possible at all.

He was not certain that he could settle for less. He should have been grateful for what he had already, for he never imagined to be able to live the rest of his days with a companion, romantic or not, but he wanted more. How could he not, when it was just within his grasp? Oh, how it taunted and mocked him!

He would tell her and pray that everything would transpire a lot better than he expected.

But if anything, past experience had taught him otherwise.

The fiery-red mane of the Lady's Maid, neatly braided and hanging down her back, seemed to symbolically match the heated fury that she felt as she climbed the stairs to her Mistress' room.

She had approached Mr. Matthews with caution, only minutes earlier, but with equal adamancy, in an attempt to persuade him to assist her in opening Mrs. Destler's door-breaking in, to be exact.

Mr. Matthews had only glanced at her with wide eyes, shocked that she had suggested such an inappropriate action to take against the Mistress' privacy, before he had reprimanded her.

"I will do no such thing!" he had exclaimed. With a condescending gaze, he added, "It is not in our place to question the behavior and wishes of our employers! Unless you do not value your employment here, that is!"

Consequently, Marguerite had stormed off to her room in search of some sort of tool that would aid her in her determination. She was frustrated that no one else seemed to take her wishes seriously, even suggesting that it was out-of-place for her to worry about the wellbeing of her Mistress, when the door had been locked for two entire days! It was simply unlike her Mistress, and she could not ignore the ill feeling that she had had about it.

With a small pin in-hand, she readied herself before the large door and inhaled sharply. She could only hope that, with a bit of luck and nervous maneuvering, she would be able to pry the lock open and would face neither wrath nor the words that would end her career on the other side of that door. But she did not know what to expect, and so she fumbled with the pin and jilted the lock with shaky hands. Much to her surprise, she was able to open it.

Inside of the room was nearly dark, for the sun was beginning to set and no fire had been lit. Marguerite held the oil lamp up near her face in order to better view her surroundings and she shivered from the coldness of the room. After lighting a few more of the lamps and candlabras, the dim glow was cast about the furniture and she was startled to see the silhouette of her Mistress beside the window.

Estella had seated herself on the chaise, her knees brought to her chest and wrapped tightly by her arms, and her head resting against them as she faced the panes of glass. Marguerite could only see the tangles of hair that were wildly unkempt and she gasped when she noticed the dirtied fabric that had been wrapped around Estella's right hand-it was a strip of the lilac-colored dress that she had been wearing for two days, and it was soiled with blood.

"M'Lady, what has happened?" Marguerite ran to her side with concern.

Estella jolted upright from the sound and turned to her with frightened eyes. The maid noticed how swollen and red they were, but what had concerned her the most was the dried cut on her lip and the dark bruise on her cheek.

Estella had not expected to see anyone enter her room because she had locked the door. But her mind was exhausted, and she had been without food, and so she could not remember precisely if she had, indeed, locked it. Had she even closed the door?

The past two days had formed as a blur in her mind, and she found a bit of solace only in gazing out at the snowflakes through her window. She remained silent, wishing that she could close her eyes once more and be lost in the darkness, though even the depths of her mind were haunted by nightmares that she could not escape.

"Mr. Destler will be here within the hour," Marguerite pressed urgently. "We should get you dressed and cleaned up, but first, I must know what has transpired..."

"I do not wish to see him," Estella croaked in a hoarse voice. She turned her attention back to the window, resting her chin on her arm, and Marguerite noticed the blank and lifelessness of her eyes as they reflected the light from the snow outside.

"If you will not tell him what has happened, please, will you tell me?" she begged. She had had an idea, but she needed it to be confirmed, and already she hated herself for allowing that man to leave without notifying others.

"I fell," Estella lied, but even she knew that it did not sound convincing. "I do not want to see anyone! Please, leave me alone!"

Marguerite boldly sat down beside her Mistress with a pounding heart, knowing that her conduct was brazen and perhaps in the wrong, but she hoped that she would be forgiven for it.

"Forgive me, M'Lady, but I will not leave you," she said resolutely. "You c an dismiss me, if you wish, but I will not abandon you. Not while you are in this condition!"

Estella was tempted, for a moment, to pour out her heart to her Lady's Maid. The opportunity to confess to another person was overwhelming and even brought tears to her eyes, but she refused. She knew that she had to be strong, even if her composure was crumbling. She could never allow the truth to come out, especially not for her husband to discover.

"What is his name?"

Estella was startled by the question, and she glanced up at her Lady's Maid with a shocked expression. "Who's?"

"The man whom I saw leaving your room."

She was frozen with fear upon the realization that it was no longer a secret, and the panic began to set in. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she pleaded, "Please, do not tell Erik! I beg of you, he must not know!"

Marguerite wrapped her arms around Estella in an embrace and gently stroked her back as her Mistress sobbed uncontrollably.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, feeling her own tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

Erik exhaled a shaky breath once he had reached the top of the stairs. He suddenly found himself anxious, even nervous, as he stood in front of Estella's door that night, though he was uncertain why. Had he not lived with her for quite some time, been in her presence on multiple occasions, even having the privelege of a kiss more than once? Why were his nerves so on-edge, now?

He guessed it to be the fact that he now had a different resolution in his heart. He was going to present to her his heart and everything that he had; he was going to take her into his arms, place a kiss upon her lips, and tell her how he felt about her. How he could not cease in thinking and dreaming of her. His heart continued to beat for her, and his very life was hers.

Would her kindness compensate for his taking of these liberties? Kind, sweet Estella! Would she forgive him for daring to hope for more than he deserved, or was he digging the grave of their delicate and fragile association together? Would she be horrified to hear that a semblance-of-a-man, a monster, felt this way about her? Or would she grant him forgiveness for forgetting that he could not ever deserve her?

The adrenaline that he now felt and the assurances that he had told himself for hours had urged him not to walk away. The best thing in his life was waiting for him on the other side of that door; he could not be defeated, now.