A Night at the Opera

Chapter 14: Paris

Emily was on her way to France to spend a week with Fiona in the city of lights. This last trip before her wedding was meant to be a fun filled holiday spent attending parties, shopping, and staying up all night with her friend, but after her talk with Rupert, Emily wasn’t certain she’d be able to do anything but cry on Fiona’s shoulder.

    What Rupert proposed she do was shocking, terrible, unthinkable, and most certain to break her heart, but it would work. It would be the surest way to get William to end their engagement.

Was there no other way, wondered Emily as the train pulled in to the Gare du Nord, a famed Parisian railway station. As Emily alighted from the train she immediately saw Fiona in the crowd.

    Fiona De Rouches was wearing a bright red frock accented with a fringe of white lace on the sleeves and at the shockingly dipping neckline. She did not wear a bonnet, despite the breeze or what propriety dictated, but let her beautifully set blonde ringlets be kissed by the sun.

    Fiona glowed with excitement as she greeted her travel weary friend.

    “Emily, my love, you look absolutely marvelous,” chimed Fiona embracing Emily.

    “Oh, Fi, it is so wonderful to finally see you,” said Emily.

    “I’ll have Guy bring the carriage around for us,” said Fiona and motioned to her coachman to meet them at the main entrance.

    On the way to Fiona’s apartment Emily tried to keep the conversation light, but her friend was too keen not to perceive the grave undertone in Emily’s speech.

    “What troubles you, my friend?” asked Fiona.

    “Nothing at all,” evaded Emily. “I’m thrilled to be back in Paris. I love this city.”

    “You are not getting cold feet, are you?”

    Emily didn’t know how to reply. Should she confide in her friend the weighty troubles of her heart? Should she reveal her horrible illness, and the plan to dissolve her happy union for the sake of William’s happiness? Fiona would think her crazy…

    “No, I’m not, but I do wish we don’t spend the entire week discussing my wedding plans, I’d much rather hear what you’ve been doing all these months.”

    “I’ve not the slightest intention of talking about your wedding. I was merely inquiring out of politeness. You know my opinion of marriage,” said Fiona, rolling her eyes.

    Emily nodded, for she indeed knew her friend’s view of matrimony. Fiona had on more than one occasion confessed to if being offered the choice of a walk down the aisle or a walk up the scaffold to the guillotine, she would choose the latter.

At three and twenty Fiona was the consummate Parisian coquette. She adored parties and making men fall in love with her. She was half English and half French, and prided herself on having the best of both worlds. She’d had numerous lovers and after each had taken a vow of eternal celibacy, which almost never lasted more than a few weeks. Her great-grandmother was rumored to have been a courtesan in the court of Louis XVI, something she neither acknowledged nor denied. She loved to cook and host small soirees where she showed off her culinary achievements, and tonight was such a night.

    “I’ve invited a couple of my friends to tonight’s meal. They are two chaps I met a few months ago. Both English and absolute darlings. You are welcome to either of them, of course,…or even both, if the mood strikes.”

    “Oh, Fi, just two? Usually you’ve a bevy of gentlemen at your disposal, why such a tawdry offering?” quipped Emily.

    Fiona laughed, “Ah, my dear friend, you don’t know what you’re missing. You will marry this William, and after a year you will sob from boredom.”