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It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unattached young woman in possession of little fortune must be in want of a wealthy husband. Or, at least, this was what was generally assumed to be the want of Miss Christine Daaé.
For Christine Daaé, however, the thought of marriage was something more of a necessity. One that was quickly becoming more pressing, the sicker her father became. Her father was insistent that he would rather his daughter be afforded the opportunity to marry for love, though his well-meaning comments concerning his desire for his daughter to be taken care of were far from subtle.
It was no secret that Gustave Daaé held great affection for his one and only child, and he didn’t wish for her to be abandoned in his death. It was for this reason that he encouraged her to seek marriage, hoping she could prosper under the wings of some very kind—and ideally, very wealthy—young gentleman.
It was only due to this urging that Christine accepted an invitation from a dear old friend, Viscount Raoul de Chagny, to accompany him to a masquerade ball. Christine had, in truth, thought the concept of a masked ball to be a rather strange one indeed, but Mr. De Chagny was quite convincing, as was her father, and she hadn’t been to a ball in weeks.
“This is what a young woman of one-and-twenty years should be doing with her evenings, not keeping company with her ailing father,” insisted Gustave Daaé. “Have a little fun, my dear.”
“But it is all terribly odd, is it not? We do not even know of the host,” argued Christine.
Gustave disagreed. He was quick to bring to attention the reports from their neighbors, Mrs. Giry and her daughter Meg, who had attended several of such masked affairs. “If you will not listen to my advice, then perhaps you will listen to theirs. They have spoken nothing but praise of these balls. From what I hear, they have become quite popular, particularly with the upper classes.”
His meaning did not go unnoticed.
Christine did not argue further, which was how she found herself on the arm of the younger De Chagny brother as they entered a grand-looking estate. He was quick to wander toward the refreshments, leaving her to the company of her friend and neighbor, Meg, who gave a bright smile in greeting.
“My dear Christine! How glad I am to see you,” said she. “My mother heard from your father that you were invited to accompany the Viscount this evening. Word of these things travels quickly, you know.”
Christine replied that this seemed very natural, seeing as how they were neighbors, and both girls laughed at the joke.
“Have you any prospects?” Meg asked her friend, linking arms and leading her slowly over to a group of women about their age—some faces familiar despite their masks. “Mr. De Chagny is quite a handsome fellow. The two of you would make a lovely match, if do say so myself.”
“I cannot disagree, my friend. I believe my father is hoping the Viscount will ask for my hand, and I confess to wishing for the same,” said Christine softly. “It would put an end to this matter and bring my father peace of mind in his last months.” If he has that long, added she to herself.
“But you do not love him,” observed Meg. “Mr. De Chagny is charming, though. I believe he would make a fine husband for you, just as you would be a suitable match for him.”
Christine simply smiled in return, no longer wishing to discuss her prospects or lack thereof. A glance across the room told her that the Viscount’s interests didn’t lie solely with her, and this was enough to dishearten her.
Despite this, she was determined to find enjoyment in the evening. Her father had given her the money to purchase a new gown for the event, as well as a simple mask that complemented the outfit splendidly. The gown was not nearly as grand as that of many of the women there, ones who clearly had a greater fortune than her family possessed. She made her best attempt not to dwell very long on the inferiority of her circumstances.
Over the course of the evening, she danced with only two gentlemen, one of them having been the Viscount, the other having been a gentleman who danced in silence and left her almost immediately after with only a few mumbled words of thanks. Not much of a chance there, she supposed.
Often, she found herself searching for the Viscount in the sea of fabric and boots and usually found him in conversation with two or more ladies at a time. Disappointment followed every time, and she eventually found herself needing a breath of air the more she dwelled on the matter.
As she moved toward the doors of the ballroom, she was caught by her friend once more; Meg gently grasped her arm and gave a smile.
“I saw you dancing with a rather dashing fellow,” she remarked.
“How could you tell? He was wearing a mask.”
“A rather fine mask at that. Did you catch his name? Perhaps we could ask if my mother knows of his fortune.” A small smirk played at Meg’s lips.
“Your mother knows of everyone’s fortune. It’s her business to with an unattached daughter,” replied Christine, deflecting the question. “Can I inquire something?”
“Anything, my friend. What is it?”
“I must admit to a great deal of curiosity regarding this evening’s host. Does no one truly know who it is?” Christine asked incredulously. “Surely someone must know; they’ve hosted several balls now, I can only assume someone had discovered something.”
Meg merely shrugged at this. “We do not even know who owns Garnier Manor. Plenty of rumors have come about, though nothing certain. I am merely curious how he or she conceals such affairs so well.”
“It is indeed quite the accomplishment,” agreed Christine with a glance over her friend’s shoulder. “Mrs. Guidicelli is beckoning you over, you should oblige her. I’m going to take a turn about before having another drink.”
The women parted with friendly smiles, and Christine was quick to leave the ballroom. The music floated gently behind her, along with the sound of hundreds of heels clicking on the dance floor, and as the noises faded, the tension in her shoulders left with it.
Looking around the home of someone she didn’t know was quite the faux pas, and it was indeed not one she made a habit of, but losing herself to the architecture of the building was all too easy. It was one of the grandest homes she had ever set foot in, and she could hardly believe that the person who afforded it could remain so undetected from society. It all seemed very impossible indeed.
She passed rooms upon rooms, each leading somewhere and nowhere all at once, though it wasn’t until she made it to the floor above that she dared to venture inside one. After all, she had gone mercifully undetected until this point, and if no one had noticed her by now, surely no one would.
With this thought, she slipped into what appeared to be a sitting room of some sort, though it seemed too small to receive guests, and too sparsely decorated at that. The room contained only a singular armchair, an overflowing bookshelf, and the largest pianoforte she’d ever seen. A personal room, by the looks of it.
On the pianoforte sat a few sheets of music, which Christine skimmed over, only to find that it came to an abrupt halt. Someone had clearly not finished composing this piece, then. Perhaps the composer was their mysterious host.
For the briefest if moments, Christine considered taking the sheet back to her friend as some sort of clue to the mysterious individual’s personality. She was quick to realize, however, that this course of action would likely not be appreciated by her host and thought better of it. Instead, she read over the melody again, humming it to herself. She barely even registered her fingers wandering toward the keys of the instrument in front of her before she was playing the composition.
So lost in the music was she that she didn’t notice the door open or the masked gentleman who entered. He paced over to the armchair and sat to listen without a word.
Christine belatedly noticed the gentleman in her peripheral with a start, her hands flying off the keys as she practically leapt to her feet.
“Do not stop on account of my presence. The piece sounds quite lovely played from your fingertips,” remarked the gentleman in a manner far more casual than what was appropriate. When he received no reply, he simply continued, “Of course, I gather you didn’t intend to play for an audience, given that you’re hiding yourself away in here in the midst of a party. Have you not a myriad of gentlemen falling at your feet to beg for a spot on your dance card?”
“I’m enjoying the party just fine, sir,” replied Christine, for she did not know what else to say. “I simply needed some time to myself. Surely you understand that, seeing as how you also appear to be hiding away.”
Christine could have sworn she noticed the corner’s of the gentleman’s mouth tip up in a smile. She couldn’t deny finding some pleasure in this as she allowed herself but a moment to observe him. To say he was finely dressed would have been nothing short of an understatement, and even with the jeweled black mask impeding most of his face, he was undeniably handsome. With dark black hair, a strong jawline, cheekbones carved from marble, and piercing, mismatched eyes, he was a striking sight to behold.
Without giving a rebuttal, he stood and straightened his waistcoat, then removed his gloves. “I suggest we both return to the party, lest we both be seen alone together and a scandal occur. We couldn’t have that,” remarked the gentleman with an air of disinterest. “Am I incorrect in assuming that your dance card has not filled?”
“You are not,” replied Christine.
“Might I escort you to the ballroom and perhaps ask to have this next dance?” inquired the gentleman. “Our host will be slighted if we do not make some effort to enjoy ourselves, I’m certain.”
“Do you know of the host?” Christine asked hopefully, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her from the room.
“I do not. I’ve only heard a rumor spreading that it’s a gentleman, but beyond that, I know not a shred of information. New money, I surmise.”
Christine filed this piece of information away with the mental note to pass it on to Mrs. Giry. “It might explain why he prefers to remain anonymous. It discourages gossip in some ways.”
“And promotes it in others, just as I suspect is his motive.”
They soon found themselves back in the ballroom, the music and dancing and chatter hitting Christine in full force. Quickly, her escort guided her to the dance floor and fell into step with the quadrille.
She could hardly understand why she was here with this strange man, who had rudely failed to introduce himself, dancing when they hadn’t even exchanged proper greetings. What she further wondered was why he had singled out her out of everyone who was there that evening. With his air of elegance and his natural charm, he surely could have his choice of women. Why had he chosen her?
Furthermore, how had she not noticed him at all? She considered herself something of an observant person, and surely she would have noticed someone of his gravitas.
All intelligent thought abandoned her mind when his hands found hers and he spun her around. His grip was firm yet gentle, and his hand slipped from hers all too quickly as they moved in step with the other couples.
“By the way,” said her mysterious partner, his steps not faltering once as he spoke, “I’ve been so terribly rude as to not ask your name. I hope you don’t consider me too boorish.”
“Christine Daaé,” replied she with a soft laugh, her hands finding his again. “If you are boorish, I am just as bad.”
Christine’s eyes barely left her partner as they danced, though hardly a word was uttered between them. Their communication remained purely through movement, through the touch of their fingers, through small smiles and far-too-quick moments of holding each other’s gaze. In just a few short minutes, they came to understand the ebb and flow of each other’s bodies far more intimately than what Christine had known with any man, and she was shocked to discover the severity of her disappointment when the dance came to and end.
“You are a lovely dancer,” remarked her partner in that rich timbre she was rapidly coming to adore. He bent over and pressed a featherlight kiss to her knuckles, his breath warm on her gloved skin. “I thank you for the pleasure of your company.”
“I thank you for the invitation to dance,” Christine replied with a smile, hating how cold her hands suddenly felt at the absence of his touch. She glanced briefly over her shoulder in search of her best friend, hoping Meg had witnessed the interaction so that they could discuss this further at a later time. “Pardon me for not inquiring sooner, but I have given you my name and not been granted the pleasure of knowing yours.”
When she turned around to face the gentleman in anticipation of his response, however, Christine found him to be nowhere in sight. Her brow creased as she glanced about the ballroom, but to no avail. How does one disappear so quickly without a trace?
She didn’t have time to ponder this question for more than a mere few seconds before a light pressure at her elbow snagged her attention, and she whipped her head around to find the Viscount standing beside her.
“Little Lotte,” said Mr. De Chagny warmly, a smile lighting up his eyes from beneath his blue mask. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Might I steal you away for another dance?”
“I…yes, of course,” Christine said softly, recovering herself enough to return his smile. She allowed the Viscount to pull her into the next quadrille, though she could still feel the touch of her mystery gentleman.
By the end of the evening, she had danced with a handful of men and even chatted for an extended time with a couple of them, though none seemed to show an abundance if interest in her romantically speaking. A small consolation came in the form of the Viscount being kind enough to offer to take her home in his carriage, which she accepted gratefully.
“How did you find the ball?” asked he once they had settled into the coach.
“It was quite lively. I’m pleased you encouraged me to attend,” Christine replied amiably. “Thank you very much, Mr. De Chagny.”
“Of course, Little Lotte,” said Raoul, once again making use of the nickname he had given her as children. “I do hope you’ll accompany me again. It was a pleasure to dance with you.”
Christine was returned to her home well after midnight, having exchanged goodbyes with the Viscount. As she stepped inside, she was left hope that his flirtations with other women that evening did not detract from the pleasure of his time with her and that she didn’t come away from this even completely without prospects.
“Miss Daaé, you’re home,” greeted their housemaid with a smile. “There’s a note that was left for you. I took the liberty of leaving it in your room.”
“Thank you, Jammes. I shall read it before I retire for the evening.”
Christine hurried to the second floor of her home, and after she peeked into her father’s room to be sure he was sleeping soundly, she slipped quietly into her own. At once, she took notice of the envelope on her mattress with her name scrawled on the front in elegant hand and was quick to open it.
I thank you for our dance this evening. I cannot remember the last time I kept such lovely company. I do hope to see you attend another of my balls, as I will not soon be forgetting the pleasure I had in dancing together. I sincerely hope it will not be our last.
Mr. Y
Quite the mystery indeed.