In My Darkness: La Chatte Noire

Chapter Thirty-Three: Coming to See Her

Chapter Thirty-Three: Coming to See Her

Dedicated to Izulza

Two Months and Three Days, Paris

Erik looked down at his song… it was finally finished. Not the song that he had written in the inspiration from her letter, but his song. The song of his life. He was sure she would love it. Somehow, he knew she would. He heard the falling of footsteps and turned around.

"Ah, Madame Giry," he greeted as he stood, "Just the person I was wanting to see."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is this about, Erik?"

"I am, for lack of any better term, leaving very soon."

"What? Why? Where are you going?"

He smiled slightly and held out his hand to stop her questions. "I am going to Mireval to see my fiancée. I simply thought you would like to know."

"How long are you going to be gone?" she asked as she nodded.

"I do not know. I suspect more than a month, most likely."

She nodded again, slower this time. "And… have you told Christine?"

Erik sighed. "Not yet. I will tell her soon."

"She will miss you, Angel."

"I have no doubt that she will. But she is a strong young woman, she can manage on her own."

There was a moment's silence before Madame Giry looked up at him again and nodded curtly. "I suppose then that I will see you whenever you return."

"I suppose you will," he agreed with a growing smile, "And perhaps she'll even be with me."

_____/~~\_____

Two Months and Six Days, Mireval

"Now you really must be joking," Raoul accused as he laughed.

Samuel leaned forward over his food with a wide grin. "No, she really did jump straight into the ocean, dress and all!"

At this, the group around the table exploded with laughter. Camillé swallowed, thankful that only her friends and mother were here, and stood up. She walked around the table, her floor-length dress swishing around her feet as she walked, and she leaned over, taking Samuel's glass from beside him. He looked up at her and tried to take it, but she held it out of his reach.

"I do believe you've had enough wine for one evening, Monsieur Beaumont," she chastised softly as she handed the glass to a servant, who she thanked as they walked away, "It seems to have loosened your tongue more than I was accounting for."

"Oh, come now, Camillé," Philippe chortled as he gestured to the man, "I was quite enjoying his stories. You were such a mischievous child."

Adrienne smiled and nodded. "Samuel does not know the half of it. There are far more stories where those stem from."

"Not you, too," Camillé groaned as she gestured for the entirety of the dinner party to follow her to the study, which they did, "I thought you were on my side, Mére."

"I am, ma fille (my daughter), I promise. I would not, by any means, let these stories be told to your many suitors, or, Heaven forbid," she chuckled lightly, "your precious Captain Merrick."

Camillé bristled as she sat down in her favorite chair. "He is not my Captain Merrick. He is his own person, most certainly not mine."

"But you love him," Samuel taunted in a sing-song voice, and she glared at him coolly.