A/N: Apologies for the delay! This one turned into a behemothian monster - lol - my piddly planned chapter outline taking serpentine turns I hadn't foreseen - and writing itself into unplanned moments and meetings, as sometimes happens - (I really am more of what is known as a 'seat of the pants' writer than a structured one- ha!) - anyway, it ended up being over 12k in length! Waaay too much for one posting. That said, I have split the chapter in half and will post the other half some time this month, hopefully (more on that in end note). : ) Enjoy! And thank you so much for your interest and the reviews.

And now...

The Decision

XIII

.

1838

Twice the size of Helena's home, Manoir de Ravenswolf boasted the luxury of generations of blue-blood de Chagny heirs. However, its pale gray walls of towering stone and all that lay within were a deception to the eye, the truth a scandal unknown to most, what little she had gleaned from both Edward and her father:

The Comte's gambling debts incurred over the years had depleted their funds, and though they were not destitute, the upcoming union would be a significant boon to keep the family securely in the plush pocket of luxury. In return came a title for Helena and the high social standing her parents craved, among other notable accouterments arranged between her father and the Comte.

Had the de Chagnys known that in all probability her family's wealth dated back to a pirate from a former century and those stolen treasures seized in foreign waters, the Comte de Chagny and all of his stodgy clan would surely be horrified. Her great grandpère had been notorious in his time, he and his cohort both, their association ending in harsh conflict when his partner took more than his portion after their raid of a Spanish galleon and reportedly escaped to Seville in Spain, or so the tale went. Her pirate ancestor searched and continued to rule the high seas but never found his faithless friend nor the missing treasure, what amounted to a king's ransom in gold and jewels, though he swore that one day all of what had been pilfered would again be his. It was a secret kept exclusively within the DuChamps family and all that Helena had told Edward of the scandal was to mention the possibility of a pirate in her distant bloodline.

However, once a butler escorted them to the spacious chamber where Edward's parents stood - the Comtesse looking down upon her from a stylish, jeweled lorgnette, the Comte regarding her as if she were a milkmaid taking a shortcut to sully the parlor on her way to tend the cows - Helena strongly wished to blurt out the truth and wipe the arrogance from their stone-cold faces. From his disapproving stare, clearly the Comte had learned of the delicate state in which Helena found herself, and she thought it a wonder he agreed to this celebration, much less allowed the alliance. His gambling debts must be steep indeed for him to stoop so low ...

Standing next to him, their eldest stood tall and immobile as if cast in painted stone, his expression as dour as Helena remembered from the one time she was forced to dance with him at her parents' ball. He often wore an expression as if he'd bitten into a sour lemon. His squinting eyes, dark blue and hard like granite when turned Helena's way brought a ripple of shivers to course through her - and not the coveted kind she experienced with Edward.

Swiftly she looked away from his brother's unnerving stare and about the room for a sign of her fiance. She found it odd that he did not also stand with his parents to greet her. Indeed, he seemed to be absent from the proceedings.

A surreptitious squeeze to her arm let Helena know her mother was displeased with her performance, and she reigned in what she wished to say, offering polite greetings, then inquired, "Will Edward not be joining us?"

This earned her a raised brow from the Comtesse and another stern look of disapproval from the Comte.

"He has duties to which he must attend," the Comtesse said after an uncomfortable pause.

Helena thought that strange but at a sharper squeeze of her mother's gloved fingers considered it futile to question. Surely Edward would join them soon.

As if a starting pistol had been discharged and she was one of the fillies in an impromptu race, Helena found herself brought in a wide circle around the room, from guest to guest for short introductions, a litany of names and titles she would never remember in full. The Comtesse took the lead, strangely with their eldest son also in silent attendance. The Comte and her father had disappeared elsewhere, presumably to discuss further arrangements.

In the confusion, one thing soon became alarmingly, patently clear. And in the horror of that revelation, Helena could barely form words to string a sentence together, her parents having no need to worry that she might do something to create further scandal. She was barely coherent from the shock of enlightenment, numbly allowing herself to be pushed and pulled by her mother's guiding hand from group to small group of those invited guests who had all gathered to hear their host's announcement of impending nuptials – widely known but as yet unofficial.

Spotting her father across the room, Helena snapped out of her trance-like state. Her mother and the Comtesse were presently engaged in conversation with the talkative Lady Roth about the latest production at a local theatre, and Helena drifted away to escape all forced company and speak with him, thankful to see he stood alone.

"Father…" Though she felt like screaming, she kept her tone calm and mild so no one could overhear. "I must speak with you. There has been a dreadful mistake."

"Of course, my dear. Mon Dieu, you're white as a sheet!" His eyes grew concerned. "What is the problem, Helena? Are you ill?"

"Not here." She glanced at those who stood nearby, noticing that no one stood on the back terrace. "Might we go outside?"

"As you like." Her father allowed her to lead the way through the open doors, and though Helena wished to close them, she dared not draw unwanted attention in their direction. "Now, what is this about?"

She pulled him further away from those guests who stood indoors, near the terrace, though with the symphonic music it was doubtful anyone could hear. At least no one else stood outside.

"A grievous mistake has been made, Father. It is Edward I am to marry – not his brother."

"Oh, is that all that concerns you?" He appeared almost relieved. "When I spoke to the Comte, he offered his eldest as your intended. That is how it is done, my dear. The eldest is wed before the youngest, at least in that family from what I am given to understand. It is yet another reason why your wedding must take place soon. Edward is betrothed and his wedding is slotted for six months from now."

"But – what?" Helena argued, trying to quell a rising panic. "That makes no sense. Why would Edward have been betrothed first and a date for the wedding already arranged? He is not the eldest."

"I cannot pretend to understand the family politics of the de Chagnys," her father countered quietly, "only that it was the arrangement made."

"But I love Edward," she insisted. "I do not love this Francois. I could barely tolerate dancing with him at the ball we gave – and certainly I cannot marry him!"

"Helena!" he reprimanded sternly but softly. "Lower your voice. I will not have you cause a scene." He took hold of her arm and walked her even further from the open doors lest anyone should overhear. "Now then, all this folderol about love – surely you have learned that such trivialities are best left to the lower classes, those who are not given the power to affect great change."

Only months ago she, too, had thought the subject of love only a bit of foolishness and found it ironic that she now fought for it so strongly.

"You did not love Mother?" she insisted, hoping to get him to see reason.

"I barely knew your mother before our marriage was arranged. Fondness and appreciation came through the years."

"Fondness?! I am talking about love, Father. Do you not wish that for me?"

"Enough, Helena!" He looked around nervously at the empty terrace when she raised her voice in desperation. "I cannot very well approach the Comte and ask that he exclude one son to give you another. Your names have already been linked. Do you not realize that the invited guests are aware of the reason for this gathering? The announcement is a mere formality, and you will do as you have agreed. I will not have you cause a public scandal and bring shame down upon our family!"

At the sight of the tears welling in her eyes, he winced and patted her shoulder. "There, there, my dear. This must come as a quite a shock, to have believed one thing and discover another. Yes, yes. I do understand. But take heart; it will come out right in the end. The Vicomte is well appointed, much more so than his young brother. You will be a Vicomtesse and one day, a Comtesse! Think of it, child. There are many young women who would happily trade places with you…"

Then they can have him, she thought uncharitably. But Helena knew that nothing she could say, demand, or beg would make a difference. Her fate had been decided. She gave a little shake of her head, keeping her eyes downcast, though she could not prevent the tears from falling.

Her father awkwardly cleared his throat. "Take a moment to compose yourself before rejoining us inside. Your mother will certainly wonder where you have gone. Now then, dry your tears …" He pushed a handkerchief into her limp hand. "And do not linger too long outdoors in this chill air."

She heard him walk away and turned her back to the manor and all the festivity taking place inside, clenching her hand hard around the wad of linen. The small orchestra and light laughter coming from within grated on her already shattered nerves.

In the distance, she spotted a man, his shoulders slumped, as he looked out over a small pond that stood between the manor and the forest beyond.

She stared harder, and, upon recognizing the lone gentleman in seeming despair, whisked the tears from her eyes and hastened across the grounds to where he stood. Though the rustle of her many layers of skirts announced her presence, he did not turn to acknowledge her.

"Did you know of this?" Helena asked, foregoing any sort of greeting. "What they expect? Did you not speak to your father on our behalf?"

At her accusatory tone Edward turned fiercely toward her, his own words low and vehement. "Of course I did! What little good it accomplished. He simply would not listen."

"Then you must make him listen! For the sake of our child."

His somber eyes made a downward drop, alighting briefly on her belly she clutched before darting away, back to the pond.

"He knows. He simply does not care for all the scandal it would create if I was to break my engagement. He has known the family for years, it seems her father and mine were old school chums …" He broke off and bitterly shook his head. "He demanded the secret be kept among the three of us, satisfied that at least the child will be raised a de Chagny."

Helena could not believe what she was hearing. She managed to keep her composure, but barely.

"I see."

A second time he swung around to face her, this time grasping her arms.

"What will you do? You cannot marry him!"

"Would you even care?"

"Of course I would care! I love you, Helena. I could not bear it if you were to marry my brother."

His words rang with sincerity and melted the frost that had begun to coat her heart.

"Then let us run away together," she proposed, a hint of persuasive eagerness in her tone. "We can go to another village and marry, find a life there. Perhaps to Gretna Green - there we would run into no opposition to wed."

He let her go, dropping his hands back down to his sides. "If I were to do such a thing my father would cut me off without a penny. I would be disinherited – he told me as much when I argued that I would run off and marry you. So you see, Helena, I did try …"

"But we are without means here as well! At least elsewhere we could begin a new life and not be forced to live under their constant watch." She shivered at the thought of his parents' critical eyes always condemning her.

"A new life?" He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I am a nobleman's son. I have no skills, save for those I was taught – nothing fit for rustic life in a village."

"You know clerical work, don't you? I'm certain you can find something if you try. We needn't seek out a village once we're wed – we can go to the city, Paris perhaps."

"Helena, the scandal it would create would destroy both of our families."

"And that is all that concerns you, isn't it, Edward? The scandal." She struggled for calm. "So tell me this, what do you propose that we do?"

He nodded somberly as if having anticipated her question. "I've given it some thought. You could leave Rouen for a time to have the child, find some benevolent soul to keep it – only temporarily – and then return to the village. I receive enough allowance that I could provide a place for you – perhaps we could fix up the cottage, and eventually send for the child and come up with a plausible excuse society would believe for you to raise it. The orphaned child of a dear friend, perhaps …"

She regarded his outlandish ideas in disbelief - maintaining calm be damned!

"So – you would make me your mistress? Bring back our child with some flimsily concocted sham as to its paternity? And do you not think that would cause a scandal?! Everyone would surely link incidents and dates and realize this child is your bastard!"

"It is more widely accepted for a nobleman to have a mistress on the sly than for him to rescind his promise of marriage."

Helena could hardly believe what she was hearing and just refrained from slapping the cold reasoning from his face, aware of a stir on the terrace. She balled her gloved fists at her sides.

"And what of my family, Edward?" She just managed to keep her voice low. "What would your proposed course of action do to them? To my sister? She would have no worthy prospects, as our sin would be an undeserved stain to her reputation that she could never remove!"

His expression wilted. "I hadn't thought…"

"No, you had not thought. But that isn't the real problem. You are weak, Edward. Weak as milk toast. You refuse to stand up to your father, to do what is right and proper for fear of scandal - but are willing to do all that is improper to save your precious family name! Can you not see the hypocrisy in that?"

"Helena, please -"

She retreated a step to avoid his outstretched hands.

"Will you reconsider?" she asked him one last time. "For my sake. For the sake of your child?"

"Helena, I wish I could - oh, how I wish it! But I can't. Don't you see?" His eyes glittered with distress, his expression one of misery.

"Yes, Edward. I do see. For the first time, all is made quite clear."

She afforded him an icy smile in parting and turned back to the manor, dabbing all trace of tears from her chilled skin with the borrowed handkerchief.

"What will you do?" he insisted somewhat desperately before she'd gone no more than a few steps.

"That is no longer your concern," she threw over her shoulder. "I will do what I must for the sake of all involved."

And with those words she girded her shoulders and stepped forth to face a future unwanted and bleak - even frightening...

A tale of horror that was to become her destiny.

xXxXx

1872

.

For the remainder of the auditions, Erik sat in the sole chair behind the desk with Christine on his lap, hidden away behind the locked door of Madame Giry's office. Christine took the opportunity to catch her husband up on all the daily occurrences and milestones within their little family, nothing too weighty in complication, wishing to keep matters light, though she did include the full emergence of Angelique's first tooth, which still made their daughter quite fussy.

"You must rest when you are able," Erik gently chided, brushing a rippling strand of hair away from her face. "Allow Narilla to take on more duties. She is well able to walk our child in the night should she awaken."

Christine frowned. "I suppose. Meg also admonished me to rest. Though I think she spoke from a personal agenda."

"Oh?"

"She wants us to accompany her to a spa with healing waters."

"Does she..?" he mused. "I have heard of these healing waters."

"Do they work?"

"I don't know enough about them to form an opinion, though it would not surprise me to learn of their benefits. There are many aspects of nature that prove beneficial to the body. If nothing else, such an environment would provide relaxation."

She was surprised to hear his positive views, having expected nothing but criticism. What before had seemed absurd now presented possibilities.

"Perhaps then, one day we should accept Meg's invitation and go together to partake of these miraculous waters. Meg told me they have private sectors."

"Perhaps…"

Hearing Madame Giry's distant announcement of the final audition, they abandoned their peaceful moment and rejoined the few thespians who stood backstage, Erik and Christine taking a place in the shadows behind the curtain to watch from there. Once the final audition concluded, Madame Giry stated to the group of eager hopefuls that she would announce the results the following morning and dismissed them.

Catching sight of Erik, she swiftly approached. "Maestro, a moment of your time? I must speak with you on a matter most urgent."

Meg also joined them. Madame looked at her daughter a moment then nodded in approval. "Well done, my dear."

Meg regarded her uncertainly. "Does that mean I'm in?"

"The results will be announced tomorrow," she repeated softly. "Maestro?"

Erik nodded his agreement and glanced at Christine who gave him a soft smile. "I will return shortly," he said, gently clasping her shoulder and smoothing his thumb over the curve.

The two moved toward Madame's office. Meg frowned as she watched them go.

"I don't know why I thought she might actually put me out of my misery and not force me to wait."

Christine quirked her brow in empathy. "She has to be fair, Meg."

She shook her head and regarded Christine somewhat bitterly. "But we both know, in Paris, my mother was always harder on me than any of the others, and it seems she will remain true to form."

Christine did not disagree, having seen that truth enacted over the years. "Knowing that, are you sure you wish to dance under her leadership?"

"I need to dance," Meg said with a helpless little shrug. "Just as you always needed to sing. And I suppose, to achieve that goal, I would endure anything I must."

xXxXx

.

Erik followed Madame Giry back into her office so recently inhabited in his preferred and delightful tête-à-tête with Christine. He closed the door against which he had pressed her - and himself within her - and forced his mind to shake itself loose of the desire to leave at once and reclaim his beloved. Days without her coveted presence had been sheer torment in his self-appointed duty to prepare their Eden for her habitation, but he reminded himself, it must be done. He would never again allow her to go without the comforts she deserved. It was a vow he had made to himself while in Spain, living in a tent within the gypsy camp.

He eased taut muscles and smoothed the visible portion of his face into an emotionless mask, equal to the flesh-toned one he wore on the right side - then turned to face his aide, putting his back to the door.

"Now, what is the urgency?"

She said nothing, her expression grave, and moved to her desk to collect an envelope from inside a book there. Returning to him, she handed it over.

"I received this last night. It was lying on my desk after the final rehearsal. No one I questioned saw anyone enter my office. I would have given it to you sooner, but I didn't know where to find you."

Drawing his brows together, Erik glanced at his aide then at the envelope she handed him. The front was suspiciously blank, but upon turning it over, alarm flashed through his gut, a sickly warmth of uncomfortable electricity prickling at his nerves.

Two bones crossed together to form an X had been embossed in the broken red seal of wax …

A symbol he had seen once before.

He wasted no time in tearing the flap away:

.

Your days at the Théâtre des Arts of Rouen are numbered, if you do not follow my every instruction. La Carlotta will sing. Make no mistake, I will not be thwarted. If you choose not to obey me, a disaster beyond your wildest imagination will occur.

.

Any annoyance Erik felt toward the plagiaristic fiend who dared to mimic him paled in comparison to the panicked horror to realize that his Angel could be in danger. True, she had not acquired the lead role due to her delicate condition, but he could not fail to recognize the similarities between this unsigned note and the one that accompanied the box of dead roses he intercepted, sent to her while they resided at the hotel in Paris. Both missives bore the same engraving of crossed bones, on seal and card, making the truth horrifically clear.

The unknown threat had followed them to Rouen.

"Tell me," Madame began anxiously but firmly, "you did not write that note."

"To demand that Carlotta sing?!" Erik asked, his eyes wide and tone incredulous.

"No, of course not," she said with a little shake of her head, as if realizing her foolishness to ask such a question. "Yet in every other way it sounds like what you wrote years ago. In Paris."

His lips set into a grim line. "Evidently some fiend wishes to imitate the O.G. in a twist of ironic vengeance against me. Someone who was there to know what occurred within my Opera House."

He struggled against the waves of panic that threatened to attack and submerge him into the black depths of despair - not for himself. He had risen against and conquered many a foe in his lifetime. He could and would do so again. But that Christine, perhaps even his little Angelique might be threatened if the tentacles of this new monster reached so far - that he could not abide.

"Do you think…" Madame began, her blue eyes wide in apprehension. She hesitated. "You do not think the true Phantom has returned?"

He had seen that foul spirit obliterated into millions of ashen particles, had been told by the source of the strange preternatural light that the Phantom would never again confront them. That fiend, at least, was no longer a consideration.

"This comes from a different source," he mused grimly. "'For as a serpent, the mask of evil comes in many forms, at all times lying in wait to attack…' I heard those words in Spain and was warned to be vigilant. And so I shall."

The words from the Light returned to him, as did other words then spoken. Words he had forgotten in making a life with Christine these past two years.

At once he noticed how pale Madame had become. She wavered slightly, looking as if she might faint, uncommon for one of her emotional strength and physical stamina.

He put a gentle hand to her arm. "You are unwell, Dominique?"

"What you just said - Meg said much the same to me, that evil wears many masks and you were not yet safe. It was while you were in Spain." She shook her head as if disturbed. "She spoke as though she was absent of herself, and when afterwards I told her what she related, she did not seem to recall any of it."

Erik nodded. "We, both of us, have long known Meg has a gift. In those final days at the Opera, she knew and announced the Phantom's presence when no one was aware. How many times? Three that I recall."

"Yes," Madame said reluctantly. "Still, with what she has learned since you went away, I fear for her. She made an overture toward me today, the first she has spoken to me in over a year, but I feel it was simply because she wishes to dance."

"She knows the truth of her origin."

It was not a question, and Madame inhaled a weary breath. "Yes."

"Do you wish me to speak with her?"

Her surprise at his offer was evident.

"I don't know what more you can add that has not already been stated."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Your daughter is young, often too curious for her own good, but she is intelligent. She will come to understand in time. And she might well be the key to ensure my family's protection. I need your help, Dominique. Immediate changes must be made ..."

Christine would be less than favorable to his plan that he desperately crafted at the spur of the moment, and Erik would need to equip himself to quietly endure the ever-fluctuating range of emotion that plagued her when she carried his child. But she patiently had borne his countless mercurial proclivities in their life together. He could do no less than attempt the same - resolved to bear any prickly thorns she might display, in order to keep his Passionate Rose and their ever-growing family safe.

xXxXx

.

Christine was delighted for Meg and interested in the continuance of her career, pleased that good fortune once more seemed to favor her. But at the moment, she could barely follow her friend's excited testimony of the dance audition, her mind focused on the closed door a short distance away.

Madame had looked troubled by this 'urgent matter' - and why had Christine been left behind? Was she not also part of the inner network of the theatre, as she and Erik were in union and meant to share all aspects of the life that entailed? The good and the bad …

She silently chastised herself that she was being foolish and overly sensitive, making more into a simple meeting than she should. Her emotions tottered up and down of late, no surprise. Madame Giry was simply accustomed to dealing with Erik alone, having been his aide for years. And her husband likely had not included her in their mysterious conversation, supposing she would rather spend time with Meg, since they had shared the afternoon together.

Forcing herself to shake away any nervous suspicion, knowing that Erik would relate the reason for the meeting later, once they were again alone, she smiled at her friend's effervescent excitement to have made her return to the stage.

"You are so deserving of it, Meg. I am really pleased for you."

"Christine Daaé? I thought it was you ..."

Christine and Meg turned at the sound of the bright voice, to see Cécile Jammes gracefully glide toward them. Absent of the frothy tutu, in which Christine always remembered the girl, who had fondly been called Little Jammes by all, she had obtained the generous curves to fill out her blue day dress, leaving no doubt to anyone's mind that she had become a woman.

"To think! - to find you here, in Rouen and that I won the lead over you. Who would have thought it possible?"

Though she spoke softly, her smile nothing but sweet, there was a hardness to her green eyes that nullified any attempt at graciousness. Christine knew she had made many enemies in Paris, some out of envy, others from her association with who they all knew as the Phantom of the Opera. Yet she had not reckoned Jammes to be in that number.

Before she could speak, Meg took the initiative.

"Actually, Christine did not audition. She has no need to. Christine and her husband are in charge here."

"Oh, I see."

Nor was it impossible to see that the news took Jammes by unwelcome surprise.

"Meg is correct. For a season I have duties elsewhere, but I plan to return to the stage again one day. Soon," she could not resist adding, needled by the girl's supercilious attitude.

"How lovely." Another sweet smile. "And I am sure you will bring the house to their feet - let us hope you do not bring it down around their knees as well."

She gave a breathy little laugh, as if it were all in good fun, but Christine did not feel the slightest bit of amusement at the jest in poor taste, and Meg took in a soft but sharp breath at the young woman's audacity.

"Let us hope you remember who is in charge here," Christine shot back, her false smile challenging.

Jammes flinched slightly, her eyes then immediately going upward, above Christine's head at the same time she felt a stir of warmth at her back. The girl's gaze remained fixed and narrowed, as if trying to place a memory.

Grateful her husband had returned, Christine pivoted toward him. His eyes shifted from Jammes to Christine, softening once they did. In the dim lighting, the seam of his skin-colored mask could not be seen, he wore no black wig, and she felt secure in the knowledge that he would not be recognized as the mysterious singer who had taken the stage with her that final night at the Opera, in Paris.

"I would like to leave now," she said. "Will you escort me to the carriage?"

"Of course." His words came low, barely discernible, and only to her.

At once she realized that his distinctive voice would undoubtedly be recognized if he were to address the young upstart.

"Meg?" She looked her friend's way.

"Actually ..." Madame Giry approached the gathering. "I need to speak with Meg alone. In my office."

Meg lifted her brows in surprise then looked at Christine with a little shrug.

"I will talk with you again soon," Christine reassured with a smile. "I had a lovely time today."

"As did I." She turned her attention toward Erik. "Maestro."

Meg curtsied, then as if realizing what she was doing and with everyone watching, swiftly and somewhat awkwardly rose to stand upright.

Erik inclined his head toward her in tolerant acknowledgement, with a slight upturn of his lips.

Jammes looked at Meg strangely then turned curious eyes back to Erik. He regarded the new lead, unsmiling, nodded once in detached authority, and took Christine gently by the arm, turning with her in the direction of the foyer.

"You're going to have trouble with that one," Christine predicted as they walked down the corridor.

"The young Jammes will soon know her place," he said just as quietly and turned his head to look at her. "And that it is not to confront my queen."

"You heard what she said?"

"I did." Erik's lips set in a grim line. "But I can hardly begrudge her any bitterness to have lost the home that I was responsible for destroying. Though to take her anger out on you - that I will not tolerate."

"Erik." Christine brought her other hand to his arm, cradling it. "You cannot take full blame - you know who - or rather what was responsible. You were powerless to control the dark spirit that tormented us."

"But I invited him in and allowed his darkness to guide me," he said staunchly, "and for that, I am solely to blame."

At the echo of Raoul's accusation, Christine sighed.

"You are making amends, every day, even in the running of this theatre. I know it hasn't been easy, and I admire you for doing it." They approached the foyer. "But now, you must tell me what Madame wanted. What was so urgent?"

"Soon we will talk, my dear."

Erik glanced at a small group of servants nearby, conversing rather than going about their duties. Seeing Erik and Christine enter the foyer two of them gave a little acknowledging nod, the other two simply staring. Clearly they were not aware of Erik's authority there - though one whispered to the other, and they quickly dispersed.

"The slothfulness of the servants will need to be addressed," Erik muttered as they moved toward the front of the theatre.

A white-wigged doorman stood near, staring straight ahead and giving them no notice as they walked through the door.

"Perhaps they were only taking a short respite," Christine suggested, but with the carriage in sight, the servants' performance is not what she wished to discuss.

"It is not the first time I have witnessed their lackadaisical attitude."

He walked with her down the stone steps, keeping his hand clasped to her arm. Upon approaching the waiting carriage, she turned to him.

"Erik, really - will you not tell me what was said?"

"Patience, my Restless Rose."

He nodded upward to the Captain, who had clearly just roused from a short siesta, and opened the door. When she only stared at him, he motioned to the empty seat.

"After you."

Drawing her brows together, she opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind and took his hand to help her up. The moment she took a seat, she looked outside the carriage to address him, surprised when Erik followed her inside, taking the seat across from her. He closed the door and banged on the rooftop with his fist for the Captain to proceed. The carriage took off with a lurch.

"You're coming with me?" Christine dazedly stated the obvious, relieved and delighted that they would not yet part but suspicious that he'd made the decision to join her.

He raised his visible brow, the one on his mask made with short clippings of hair staying in place. Again, she marveled how real his mask looked in low light.

"I trust you have no objection?"

"Of course not - I am only surprised that you could take the time away. You mentioned that our Eden is not yet ready for me to inhabit, and I assumed that meant you would stay until all preparations were made." Her smile came wide and she leaned forward to clasp his hands. "But I am so delighted that you are coming home to me at last - and to your family, where you belong."

He smiled, though it came shadowed, and glanced up into her eyes only briefly before looking down at their clasped hands.

"As am I."

Christine narrowed her eyes, watching him. "Erik, what is wrong?"

He expelled the wisp of a resigned breath through his teeth. "What I told you has not changed. There is still much to be done to our Eden. Especially after an unfortunate incident with a broken mirror, and the need to sweep any hidden slivers away." He scowled at that. "I would not wish you to step on one."

"I see. And that is all?"

"It was a rather large mirror."

She frowned, sensing more than ever that he was keeping something from her. As if he read her mind, he went on.

"Madame informed me of several matters that must be dealt with and of which I alone am capable."

"What sort of matters?"

"Nothing that need concern you, Mon Ange."

"Erik, I thought we were meant to be united in this…"

"Matters that require physical strength." He waved it off. "Again, nothing over which you should trouble yourself.

"And that is all she shared with you? That is all that was urgent?"

He hesitated a moment then looked full into her eyes.

"There is another matter to discuss, but as we are nearing our destination, we will table the remainder of this conversation for later."

Christine nearly groaned at yet another delay. "When, Erik? Will you stay long enough for us to truly talk this time? About this mystery matter and other things? Or will you leave once you deposit me at the hotel, intending that I should wait for another opening when you can fit me into your busy schedule?"

His brow drew inward, toward his mask, his eyes somber.

"I am staying the night. With you."

She did not mean to harp at him like some sort of bothersome fishwife. Truly, she didn't. And she had kept her tone as mellow as his. Yet his announcement that should bring nothing but pure delight was overshadowed by the cloud of his furtive behavior, and she sensed she would not like to hear what more he had to say.

xXxXx

A/N: Ruh-roh... (I'm sure you can guess. ;-)) ... In my original outline I had planned for him to tell her at the theatre - but as I came to that part in writing the scene, he suddenly was escorting her outside to the carriage, and then found his way inside it, and after so long apart, I couldn't deny him this night. (Nor would he let me). ;-) I have written up until the next morning, though with splitting the chapter in half as I have, I might add a bit more, to bring ch. 14 to a better conclusion (what I had planned for the start of 15). ... Those waiting for more of the other stories, I have been working on them as well, more so on those that have shown the most interest, as per usual. I hope to have more of something up within the next few weeks ... thanks again! : )