9

 

The male voice came clearly through the closed door.

Charie immediately recognized it, whirling with a gasp. ”Domitri? Why are you here?” A lump lodged in her throat.

“If I’m not mistaken, you were instructed to have an escort at all times.”

Charie clenched her fists in aggravation. “Yuri is with us.”

“You have to admit he is not the most physically intimidating. I’ve never seen Yuri do anything more violent than slam a door. And have you forgotten poor Petrov was beaten senseless?”

Her companions’ eyes widened, clearly frightened by Domitri’s words.

“You’re not needed,” Charie stated firmly.

“Oh, yes you are,” Mira cried, rushing to the door and throwing it open.

Fortunately, all present were decently attired.

Domitri poked his head within, his green eyes meeting Charie’s defiantly.

She elevated her chin in challenge.

“You can play the beast,” Mira said. “Vionette will be so happy.”

“It is my wish to make Vionette,”—he smiled at the girl and she blushed— “And all of you happy.”

Charie rolled her eyes.

Domitri shifted his gaze to Charie.

Squirming inwardly, she debated the wisdom of dancing with him. How could she allow him to touch her knowing her relationship to Sophia? It would be a betrayal; an insult to her half-sister’s memory. Why must Domitri appoint himself her protector? No one would bother her and her friends here at the hospital.

There was no ignoring Vionette’s relieved look.

Sighing, Charie knew she had no choice but accept Domitri’s offer. “Then dance the role of Beast if you are so determined,” she responded uncharitably, fully aware that God was not pleased with her sharp words. But didn’t He understand what a terrible predicament she was in?

Nothing I can’t help you with, she practically heard Him say.

“We haven’t anything for you to wear.”

“I have my practice clothing with me. Allow me to change and be your Beast.” He swept her an exaggerated bow.

With a huff, she stomped past, her arms folded disapprovingly, aware that the others trailed behind. She feared this would prove to be a long evening.

 

****

 

The performance moved flawlessly, Domitri no stranger to this ballet though it was rarely performed.

Monsieur Phillipe choreographed it early in his career, never receiving the acclaim of those choreographed by him the past ten years or so.

The resident nuns hovered over their rapt charges, many children in wheelchairs and others in possession of crutches, all eyes focused in unrestrained joy.

A quartet of sisters sat in a corner, providing the music, their cornettes flapping like huge white bat wings as they swayed with the rhythm, violins tucked beneath their chins with a piano accompanist—a young priest—beside them.

When the last act came to a close and Domitri, now freed of his beast head, pressed the rose into her hand, Charie almost forgot she was performing for an audience, so lost in the magic of the moment—a woman who had brought happiness and love into the life of one believed to be unlovable.

Domitri’s head dipped as though he might kiss her, and she drew back. There was no mistaking the hurt in his eyes.

After changing, they visited the excited, chattering children.

Charie was captivated by a wheelchair bound child who explained in detail how his scheduled leg surgery would correct his problem and allow him to dance like the “Beast.”

On the boy’s other side was an extremely ill child in a small cot, her face white as the sheet covering her, her dark eyes huge and shadowed.

Domitri sat with this child, holding her hand.

Charie’s new friend began to chat with Heidi, who was teasing him, so Charie focused her attention on Domitri’s conversation with the little girl.

“You made a good beast,” the child praised in her tiny, angelic voice.

Charie feared the frail child didn’t have much longer upon earth.

Domitri chuckled softly as he tucked a blanket about her thin shoulders. “Did I make a good prince, once I learned how to love and be loved?”

“Oh, yes, a most handsome one. And Beauty, she is so very lovely.”

“Yes, she is. But you know, beauty is more than having pretty eyes or soft hair. It has more to do with what’s in here.” He lightly tapped her chest.

“Le docteur says that my heart is very weak, and there isn’t anything to make it stronger.”

“If you love, your heart is strong. Never forgot that,” Domitri said softly.

“Monsieur Domitri, I wish that I could dance like her.” The child turned her thin face and gestured at Charie.

Domitri’s gaze met Charie’s, and she knew that her eyes were glazed with unshed tears. She managed a smile and reached out to take the child’s other hand.

“You can dance like me. Imagine the music in your head, and you can dance in your mind.”

“Maybe when I get to Heaven, I will dance with the angels,” the child offered hopefully.

Unable to answer, Charie came to her feet. Leaning over, she kissed the child’s unnaturally cool forehead. “You must believe you will dance one day.”

The little girl seemed happy with that, and with strength sapped, allowed her lids to close.

Fearful that she would burst into uncontrollable sobs, Charie slipped away and rapidly crossed the large open room, stepping into the drafty hall. Just as she thought her emotions were under control, Domitri appeared.

“Are you unwell?” The need to be in his arms caused an ache in her chest, but the thought was improper and impossible. Moving a few steps away, she hastily brushed at her eyes.

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just that child—”

“Suzette,” he provided the name. “One of the sisters said that she has little time left. I pray that her passing will be gentle.”

“Why doesn’t God heal her?” Charie demanded, suddenly angry as she turned upon Domitri. “She is a sweet, innocent child who brings such joy even though she is so very ill.”

“Charie, we know that God doesn’t promise ease and comfort in this life. His promises lie beyond what we know here and now. We must take that on faith.”

“I know,” she whimpered brokenly. Without fully understanding how she came to be there, she found herself in Domitri’s arms, one of his hands pressed to the back of her head as she rested her cheek against his chest, savoring his warmth and assurance. Clinging to him, she cried; cried for Suzette and the other children who might never be able to return to their families. Their next home might be that prepared for them by God.

When her tears ceased, Domitri cupped her face in his hands and raised her face. “Charie, what did you mean when you said you couldn’t care for me.”

“I,” she began and faltered. What could she say—how could she explain? “I can’t say.”

Domitri’s eyes conveyed his confusion. “Be honest with me, Charie. Please,” he urged in a whisper, his lips far too close to hers. She had to get away.

“Charie, Raoul is asking for you.” It was Heidi calling.

Domitri released her, and she hurried towards the girl, thankful for the timely summons.

“The boy says you promised to read him a story before you leave. Have I interrupted something?” Heidi looked from Charie, and then across the floor to where Domitri stood in the hall.

Charie feared her expression was incriminating, and she quickly gave the girl a tremulous smile even though she recognized Domitri’s approaching tread. “Not at all. I will read Raoul his story.” She turned to face him. “Domitri, you needn’t wait until we leave.”

“I’ll wait.” Judging by the set of his lips, there would be no dissuading him.

“Very well,” she replied abruptly and hurried away, afraid her emotions would unravel any moment.

 

****

 

Mira and the other three very talkative young ladies had been delivered to their shared residence.

Domitri was alone in the carriage with Charie and a dozing Yuri.

She hadn’t spoken a word since their conversation in the hall, and it didn’t appear she planned to speak now that they had some degree of privacy. She looked out the window, but he wondered what she really saw.

“It’s good of you to spend time with those children.” Domitri hoped his comment would encourage her to talk.

“I enjoy it. It’s far too little to do, but I love to see their smiles.”

“Don’t underestimate your efforts. I enjoyed it, and I wouldn’t mind being part of it in the future.”

“I’m sure you’re too busy.”

“I’m not. Charice,” he said more forcefully than he’d intended, “don’t push me away. It won’t work.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to understand.”

The sleeping Yuri emitted a snore, and then shifted his position, both of them anticipating his waking. But he slept on.

“Nothing good will come by pursuing answers.”

Angry and frustrated, Domitri knew he was about to say things he’d regret. Rapping loudly on the roof, his action roused Yuri, who quickly sat up and tried to act as though he hadn’t been asleep for a good thirty minutes.

Petrov halted the carriage and Domitri let himself out.

After he slammed the door, Charie leaned out the window. “Domitri, you’re far from home, and it’s so very cold.”

“I need the walk,” he retorted gruffly, and then turned about, striding off in a direction that would take him even farther from his residence. He needed time to think.

 

****

 

When Charie arrived at the townhouse, Madame Jeaneau informed her that her mother was in her chamber with Lizbet examining costume choices for her next play.

She hurried upstairs and entered her mother’s room without the courtesy of a knock.

Both women turned, expressions startled.

Seeing Charie’s distress, Matilda asked Lizzie to leave them.

As soon as Lizzie shut the door, Charie faced her mother, suddenly unable to say any of the things she’d planned to say. She’d wanted to tell the woman she was angry over the deception; that all the lies had caused her to lose a chance at happiness; and that now she was afraid to be alone with Domitri.

Instead, she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She heard the rustle of her mother’s silk skirts as Matilda knelt beside her.

“What has you so troubled, Charie?” Her voice was soft and comforting. “Did something happen at the children’s hospital?”

Charie lifted her head and met her mother’s concerned gaze.

“No Maman, not really. I mean,” she drew a deep breath to steady her voice, “there was a little girl who is so very ill. She told me she would soon be dancing with the angels in Heaven. Her words nearly broke my heart.”

“But something more troubles you.” Her mother knew her far too well.

“Domitri.”

Matilda sighed.

“I will never be able to look at him again without thinking of Sophia. Why, why couldn’t you and the count have told me the truth years ago? I could have handled the truth. Now, I’m torn and confused.”

“You wouldn’t be if you’d turn this over to our Lord,” Matilda reminded her. “You can’t know what God’s plan is in the midst of what you perceive to be a disaster unless you seek His will. Both Olar and I have told you how sorry we are. We know we were wrong, but at the time it seemed that withholding the facts would be best for you.”

“You let Olar walk away from you—from us. Did you ever stop to think how it would affect my life to never know my father? Wasn’t that selfish?”

“Yes, it was.” Matilda stood and walked across the tastefully furnished and appointed room, pausing by one of the room’s multitude of mullioned windows. “I’ve made mistakes, Charie, and I prayed for forgiveness for years. But at some point, I had to let go of the past because although God had forgiven me, I’d not yet forgiven myself. Now I have, and I’m at peace. I can never change my choices or my actions of twenty years ago. All I can do is go forward. I hope you will come to understand.”

“But Domitri—I fear I am growing fond of him. Knowing that Sophia is my half-sister, she rises like one of Giselle’s wilis and comes between us.”

“If God’s plan is for the two of you to find happiness, nothing can come between you.”

“Maman, tell me about Sophia. You must have met her.”

“I did. Several times, actually, although Olar never explained our relationship to her. She was a marvel on stage. Not an exceptional beauty, but there was something about her when she was dancing that captured an audience. And when she danced with Domitri…” Matilda left the comment incomplete as she glanced apologetically at Charie. “They were spectacular together because his athleticism made up for what Sophia lacked in technical skill.”

“What I’m really asking is what kind of person was she?” Charie needed to understand why Domitri had fallen in love with Sophia. Did she in some way remind him of his first wife? Could that be the source of his attraction?

“Sophia was pampered and indulged by numerous governesses who sought to protect their employment by keeping their wealthy and titled employer’s daughter happy. Olar never failed to show Sophia his love, but she early on displayed a rebellious streak, which worsened as she grew older and garnered acclaim as a soliste. I fear that her willfulness contributed to her untimely death.”

“Am I like her?” Charie asked, half fearful her mother would say yes—half fearful she would say no.

“You love the ballet just as she did—she had Olar’s nose as do you. She, like you, commanded everyone’s attention by merely entering a room, although you’ve never realized that about yourself. It is not your nature to take notice of your charm, whereas Sophia was always very much aware of hers. Does that answer your question?”

“In some ways.”

“But it doesn’t solve your problem,” Matilda correctly assessed as she walked back to where Charie still sat. “There’s only One who can do that, my dear.” Matilda reached out and took Charie’s hand. “Pray on the matter, child. And I will be praying that you find the answers you seek.”

“Thank you, Maman,” Charie whispered, and then stood and hugged her mother.

 

****

 

Domitri decided during that chilly walk home that he would say nothing more to Charie, nor press her for explanations. But during practice the next day, a deep sadness clung to her, which was, as far as he could determine, most unnatural. Was her present state of mind directly attributable to him or could it have anything to do with the frightening portrait sent to Matilda by Chervenkof?

But Chervenkof hadn’t been seen or heard from.

Domitri fervently prayed that would remain so as he stood in the silent wings two hours before the curtain was to rise on the opening night performance of Giselle.

Lost in thought, Domitri saw nothing of the stage, now filled with props and painted backdrops, as he wondered how to approach Charie. Perhaps there was no need to try—perhaps that was God’s will. But her sadness only made him more determined to bring a smile to her lips.

Hearing light footsteps, he turned, pleasantly surprised to see Charie walking towards him, clad in a simple gown of moss green velvet. She gave him a small smile as she joined him.

“I was hoping to find you here, before the chaos begins,” she said. “I owe you an explanation.”

“I had no right to demand answers. You hardly know me. I overstepped the bounds of our professional friendship.”

“In a way, you have.” An odd statement to be certain, but before he could question her meaning, she quickly continued. “Thank you for all you’ve done—for taking Antoine’s place and for your encouragement and help. I hope we can remain friends.”

“Friends.” Domitri had difficulty repeating the cold, detached word.

Charie nodded stiffly while dread encased his heart. “Perhaps I should have told you that some time ago the Baron Bauerhausen asked me to marry him. Maman says he is not nearly as brash as he once was.”

“You are going to accept his proposal?” Domitri managed to keep his voice devoid of all feeling though sudden pain pierced him. Charie’s words knifed as though she’d plunged a dagger into his chest. Where are you, God? This can’t be happening. I care for Charie—I more than care.

“He does have a title and wealth.” Charie’s voice was controlled, but her eyes exposed her uncertainty.

Title? Wealth?

He’d believed her to be unimpressed with either. He’d been mistaken. “That matters to you?”

She lowered her eyes. “I suppose it should.”

“No, it shouldn’t.”

Charie looked up, clearly stunned. But the stunned look gave way to resignation. Sad resignation. Rising on her toes, she kissed his cheek. Her caress ignited emotions he’d believed lost to him forever, and without reasoning his actions, he captured her face with his hands. Those violet gray eyes widened and her lips parted.

Domitri wavered, and then pressed his mouth to hers, aware that he was dancing too close to the flames of suppressed desire.

Charie stiffened but as he deepened the kiss, the tension eased and she slipped her arms around his waist. He was certain his heart would pound from his chest when she kissed him back, fearful he was imagining her response. Lifting his head, he saw that Charie’s eyes were closed.

Her breathing was rapid, almost as if she had run for miles. When her lashes lifted, those mesmerizing eyes expressed exhilaration and pain. It was a bittersweet thought that perhaps his kiss had convinced her that the baron was not so good a choice, after all.

Not daring to remain with her a moment longer, he moved out of the circle of her arms and walked away, glad that the frantic ballet master and choreographer were headed towards him.

 

****

 

Just when Charie thought she’d found a way to navigate the emotional morass created by her parents, Domitri ruined everything.

His kiss convinced her she was lost. Not that she was surprised. Lost in his eyes—captivated by his touch, he’d awakened something within her that would not be denied. But how could she, in all good conscience, encourage the affections of her deceased sister’s husband? Especially when he had no idea.

Her mother and Olar had unintentionally created an unimaginably painful situation.

Charie had a solution—she would never marry and devote her life to the ballet. When she was too old to dance, she’d teach, like her beloved Madame Erlaine. But the wonder of what could have been would always haunt her. If only he hadn’t kissed her.

But he had and the curtain was scheduled to rise on her first performance of Giselle in less than fifteen minutes. As tiny tears slipped down her cheeks, she was oblivious to the melee enveloping the entire company, the shouting and calls that reached a crescendo as dancers scurried about.

Lost in her thoughts, Charie jumped when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Quickly turning, she was surprised to see Baron Bauerhausen.

“I apologize for startling you. But I had to wish you good luck. I know that you will give a fantastic and flawless performance just as you always do.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

From the corner of her eye, Charie saw Domitri approaching, but when the baron kissed her on the forehead, he stopped.

“I was hoping you would allow me to escort you to a late supper after the ballet.”

“I don’t think—” she met Domitri’s dark gaze from over the baron’s shoulder, “that would be lovely.” Charie gave the man a half-hearted smile.

Domitri turned abruptly and walked off in the opposite direction. Her heart splintered, and she felt sick to her stomach. Oh, Lord, forgive me.

“I shall look forward to it.” Ludwig lowered his brows questioningly as though he suspected she was being less than truthful. But he said nothing more, nodded, bowed, and walked away.

“Charie,” Mira called excitedly as she took hold of her arm. “Come take your place. It’s almost time. Hurry, you daydreamer. Your head must be in the clouds.” Mira pulled her forward.

Charie’s heart was so heavy she feared she wouldn’t be able to lift up on her toes. As the bright light of the gas lamps filtered beneath the as yet unopened curtains, she realized she would soon find out.