The sun was already low in the sky, the evening rays casting a fierce light across the Channel. A warm summer breeze pushed the ship across the waters amidst a steady pattern of waves. Two levels below deck, Raoul tried his best to relax in the small quarters the captain had given him. The journey from London to Calais was usually a short one, but the weather during the day had prevented them from departing on time. He had boarded the first ship of the morning, but upon the departure delay, he demanded his own room. The captain was forced to give up his own quarters to the Vicomte as a result. Raoul didn't even thank the man as he locked the door behind him and collapsed on the wooden chair near the porthole. Since then, he had spent most of his time staring out at the Channel waters as the wind rose and kicked up choppy waves against the ship's hull. The captain had urged him to disembark in case the storm worsened, but Raoul ignored him. All he could think about was returning home to Christine to beg her forgiveness.
Ever since he finished penning that letter to her, he felt as though there was a large stone in his chest. What he had written was true; he had taken a great risk by marrying her, a stage actress from a lower class. In the wake of their marriage, Raoul's social life had practically ceased. The invitations to galas, weddings, and soirees had trickled down to nothing. Even his own wedding had included a sparse audience-most of those people being distant family members or friends of Christine's. Despite the truth of it though, he felt horrible for placing the blame on her. If he was a wiser man, he would have selected better people to call his friends in the first place. And now, with the added stress of them being unable to have a child, there was no end to the derisive looks and foul insults he received.
As the ship finally pressed forward across the Channel, Raoul twisted the wedding ring around his finger, its gold band mesmerizing him. It had once belonged to his father and grandfather before him. It should have gone to Philippe, as he was the elder brother. But that was before he drowned in the lake beneath the Opera. The loss still ate at Raoul's heart and filled him with dull rage. Somehow he knew the so-called ghost had murdered his brother. Had Philippe lived, he would have been tasked with carrying on the de Chagny name; Raoul and Christine could have had a normal life without any worries about all the obligations and social pressures that accompanied the title of Comte. It was odd though; Raoul still eschewed the true title of his status. By all rights it belonged to him, but he still couldn't claim it. Something deep in his heart stopped him.
You were always the Comte, Philippe. Not me.
"Monsieur de Chagny," a muffled voice said from behind the door. A knock followed it, but Raoul didn't answer. "We will be arriving at port soon. The captain requests you join him on deck."
"Why?"
"I don't know, Monsieur. May I tell him you will be there shortly?"
Raoul sighed and lifted his suitcase from the floor while standing. "No, I'll come now," he said opening the door. A crewman stood there and startled at the sudden sight of the Vicomte. Raoul motioned for him to move, and then immediately climbed the stairs to the main deck. The captain was nowhere to be seen.
"He just wanted his damn room back," Raoul muttered under his breath. The sight of the French coastline settled his nerves though. Once they docked, it would be a long carriage ride back to his chateau just west of Paris. He decided to take that time for a brief nap and then to gather his thoughts for the conversation looming over his head. The moment the ship came to a stop alongside the dock, he scurried down the gangway before the crew could even secure it in place. He hailed the first carriage in sight and paid the driver double his fare to push the horses to a canter. The man agreed and loaded Raoul's suitcase into the cab for him. Soon they were speeding down the road at a steady pace. Raoul rested his head against the cab's inside wall and stared at the trees whizzing past. He fingered his ring again and closed his eyes.
Please let her forgive me.