Chapter 35
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***
"I'm sorry, Daisy."
"You have no idea how scared I was!"
Daisy waited for Christine with wide eyes, for this had never happened before.
She was even more nervous about this Count Mason. He'd been on a rampage today, demanding to see Christine, and his sudden disappearance coincided with Christine's absence.
"I thought something had happened..................."
Daisy sobbed as she hugged Christine tightly.
Her heart sank as she wondered if Christine had been summoned by some nasty aristocrat and was being molested, and if not, what Fiona Bennet had done to her.
Beneath the sloping ceiling of the attic in front of the small clearing, Christine stroked Daisy’s shaking back for a long moment.
"..................tell me. What's going on?"
Daisy asked, pulling away. Her eyes, red from crying, scanned Christine sharply, trying to assess the situation.
Avoiding the judgmental stare, Christine stared longingly at the dust floating in the fading sunlight.
"You are not to speak of today's affair.”
The Crown Prince's aide was as cold as his master. She could feel his disdain for her.
"I'm sorry to have worried you, but it was nothing."
She couldn't be honest with Daisy.
"What was it?"
Daisy demanded, grabbing Christine's arms. Daisy's face was right up to Christine's nose so she couldn't turn her head.
"..................Later. I'll tell you later. Daisy, we're going to be late for practice. Come on, let's get ready."
Christine smiled weakly as she removed her hat and shawl. Her dark hair caught the scent of the early morning breeze as she slipped off her coat and turned toward the wall rack.
Am I not your friend anymore, or am I no longer worthy of your concern?
Daisy swallowed the bitterness as she watched Christine change her clothes. For the first time, there was a wall between them.
A sudden and unfamiliar change.
"Count Gounod is sending a carriage. Your own carriage."
Daisy said bluntly, unable to take her eyes off the back of Christine's head as she entered the bathroom.
"I'll have to thank him."
There used to be no secrets between Christine and her.
They lived under the same roof, worked at the same job, and knew everything about each other inside and out without trying to hide anything. At least, Daisy was the first to ask Christine's opinion on anything, no matter how trivial.
And it was the same for Christine.
Now................
It wasn't just the weather that was depressing.
Even though she had become the prima donna of Gounod's opera house, Christine's lifeless face was as dark gray as the sky beyond the window.
And Daisy’s face, looking at her, was not much different.
***
Arthur opened his eyes.
Sunlight peeked through the tightly closed curtains.
His eyes narrowed as he checked the clock on the nightstand. It was well past twelve o'clock, and he couldn't believe his eyes.
He never thought he would fall asleep so deeply.
“I would like to recommend some music, Your Highness. Weiner said that the essence of music is healing.”
Dr. Nigel's prescription worked.
It was unusual for him, who always woke up at the exact time even when he had trouble sleeping at night. What was even more shocking was that he had fallen asleep on the sofa. But the absurdity did not end there.
As he raised his upper body, which was buried deep in the backrest, the thick down comforter slid to the floor with a loud thud.
It wasn't hard to figure out the situation.
Apparently, the woman didn't think it was necessary to wake the sleeping man. Instead, she was kind enough to cover him with the blanket. The mansion's servants seemed to agree with her behavior.
As a result, every bone in Arthur's body was now screaming in agony.
Chuckling to himself, Arthur shook his head a few times and made a slow sweep through the deserted bedroom. The one-seater sofa where the woman had been sitting was unsurprisingly empty.
"I was told the meal tickets for the charity auction were for lunch only.”
The crystal clear voice rang in his ears, as if he was looking for an excuse to see her again.
A three thousand pound meal ticket he had no intention of using.
Rising from his seat, Arthur moved to the window. Pulling back the velvet curtains that blocked out the light, he let the crisp midday sun shine down on his long-sleeping face. His brow wrinkled between his bleary eyes.
He had heard that voice before.
When was it................
Slowly, Arthur's mind drifted back down memory lane, snapping back to reality at the sound of the bell in the hallway.
He rang the bell, remembering his afternoon schedule, and made his way to the washroom.
As he walked past the portrait of the young crown prince, he paused. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he stared down at the foot of the reception table.
Arthur leaned down and slowly reached out.
It was a glove.
The worn glove he picked up filled with the woman's body scent.
It had belonged to Christine Peildon, the fabric frayed at the fingertips, barely functional.
Proof that last night had not been an illusion.
***
"Sister, look at this, it's for you!"
One of the younger singers exclaimed excitedly as Christine and Daisy entered the dressing room of the Gounod Opera Theater.
"...."
The girl tugged on the sleeve of Christine's coat as she stood there, looking puzzled.
"Come on, come on. It's so freaking cool."
The girl's cheeks flushe. The expressions on the faces of the troupe members surrounding the table were no different as they moved aside one by one.
What's going on?
The girl led Christine slowed down her steps.
A small squeak escaped her lips.
The cause of the commotion was a light pink box. Along with a bunch of gardenias lying vibrantly on top of it.
"Hurry up and open it, Christine."
The word had spread, and the dancers, clad in white tutus, huddled close to Christine, chattering excitedly.
Christine felt a pang of embarrassment.
Lately, whenever she saw gardenias, she thought of the man. The Crown Prince.
"Are they really for me?"
“I heard it clearly with my own ears. The delivery man said to Mr. Thompson, “To Miss Christine Peildon.” Open it quickly if you want to know.
The younger girl was thrilled. Likewise, everyone's attention was focused on the luxurious, lovely colored box. For the women, the size of the box was enough to give them an idea of the contents.
A dress.
Was it delivered to the wrong receiver?
"Do you want me to open it?"
Wincing at Daisy's prodding, Christine lifted the bunch of gardenias. The word "Amarine" engraved on the box glinted gold in the gaslight.
"Oh my God, it's Amarine!"
The commotion around her grew louder and louder. Christine's panic grew.
Still staring down at the box in question, she slowly tugged on the pink ribbon. The knot came undone with a whisper. She opened the large, rectangular paper box to reveal a card laid neatly on lemon-colored cardstock.
[Looking forward to luncheon with Miss Peildon.
Arthur Ernst von Maximilian.]
Ah............!
Christine sighed inwardly. The surroundings were now in such an uproar that the Gounod Opera Theater, but she heard nothing.
Her nervous eyes and trembling lips were visible in the glare of the lamplight.
"Have you ever wondered how that deadly secret is being kept?”
Her mouth felt dry.
"Because there is no one left to tell it.”
Fear washed over her as she realized that she could be eliminated at any moment if the Crown Prince changed his mind.
The thought of dining with someone like that..................
Just imagining it made her feel sick.
But there was no escaping it.
Her trembling hand gingerly lifted the folded paper. The white cashmere dress was elegant. It dazzled, as if made of angels’ wing feathers.
The young dancers and choristers in the audience chirped and squealed like little birds.
"It's so pretty, Sister Christine, let's open the others!"
Along with the girls' squeals, envious glances turned to Christine. Her calm green eyes rested wordlessly on the boxes stacked on the wooden chair.
Silver satin shoes adorned with pearls, a hat with a white egret feather, a board muff made of marten fur. And cream-colored wool gloves embroidered with her initials.
A wave of excitement rippled through the dressing room as she anxiously opened each box.
***
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