Happy New Year! I can’t wait to see what 2025 holds for this blog and for everyone who has taken the time to check it out! I wanted to start the year off strong with another chapter from Angels and Phantoms. Again, if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, feel free to send me an email or leave a comment below!

Meg waves the ivory envelope over her head, hardly stopping to untie her bonnet and shawl as she bursts into the den.

“Angelique!” she shrieks. “Angelique! Look at this!”

Angelique rises from her seat, setting down her tedious needlepoint. “What’s the commotion, Meg?”

Meg practically bounces off the walls in her excitement; she can hardly hold still, waving the envelope over her head as Angelique tries to take it from her. “It’s the most wonderful, remarkable—”

Angelique snatches the package from her sister’s hand, ripping it open and extracting its contents. Meg shifts from foot to foot, giggling and clapping her hands in girlish delight as Angelique unfolds the rose scented stationary and reads the inscription aloud.

“‘Let it be known,’” Angelique begins, “‘that in a fortnight from this date, the esteemed Monsieur and Madame de Fontaine shall host a charity ball at their estate in the honor of the performers of the late Opera Populaire.’”

There was more to be read, but the girls are too busy squealing in delight to read the rest.

“What is going on? It sounds like a heard of elephants down here!”

The girls look up and find their mother descending the stairs. Meg rushes to greet her, babbling about the celebration with such excitement that she finishes the description in one breath.

“Maman, please, we must go!” she beg. “Please?”

A shadow crosses Madame Giry’s face. She has heard of the de Fontaines and knows of their reputation. She also knows how when they gave something out for free, there was usually a catch. However, motherly instinct gives way to admiration for her glowing daughters as they chatter about gowns and ribbons. She sighs, giving into the admiration.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to attend,” she consents.

The fortnight passes, and suddenly Angelique and Meg find themselves launched into the world of ribbons and corsets, crinolettes and petticoats. Though they have little in the way of finery, they make up for it in spirit. Madame Giry does her best to spare no expense without spending all of the little money they have, even consenting to purchase each of her daughters a new pair of lace gloves for the occasion and hiring a coach to carry them to the ball.

Well, Angelique and Meg are nothing less than a pair of Cinderellas as they ride in their transport—their hair curled to perfection, their dresses newly mended and without a single wrinkle. Meg’s hand gravitates toward her string of pearls, the only real treasure that she had besides the poesy in her hair: three small spray roses that she grew herself. Angelique, however, remains attached to her locket—a demure companion to her silk gown.

Before they know it, they have arrived at the grand estate of the esteemed de Fontaines. The building glows just as much without as it does within—not so much with the warm lights that ornament the grand chateau, but because of the cheer of the people that milled about, wealthy or destitute.

The Girys and Angelique dismount their escort, paying the driver with civility. Meg and Angelique clasp their hands in anticipation, hardly able to contain their rapture. Madame Giry adjusts her brooch before speaking to them.

“I advise you both to be on your best behavior,” she says. “These are our familiars, but we must be poise itself this evening.”

Angelique and Meg barely hear her, their shining eyes alight with wonder as they enter the mansion.

The foyer and ballroom are alive with lights and music. The orchestra sits on a raised platform, playing a lively tune as the attendees and benefactors socialize over aperitifs and hors d’oeuvres. Laughter is a constant companion to the conversation and music, interrupted by the occasional snap of an offended lady’s fan. Young ladies flirt, young men encourage their games, and a pair of unattended sisters whisper behind their hands as they watch the exchanges.

Madame Giry left Angelique and Meg to themselves, joining with a crowd of her contemporaries and leaving her daughters to their own devices. Of course, the cheeky girls use their privacy to admire the young men and laugh at the victories and failures of the young ladies that attempted to win their affections.

“Did you see what she did with her fan?” Meg asks as she gestures to the young lady in the wine colored velvet.

Angelique gasps at the motion, and then giggles as the young man meets the signal with indignation. “My, what a privilege it is not to have a fan,” she says. “Who knows what you might say without meaning to.”

They glance around the room, their eyes catching first one look than another at the young men. Oh, to be asked to dance at their first ball! A thought that fills every young lady’s heart with ecstasy. But alas for our young debutantes, it seems as though every bachelor is engaged at the moment—particularly two dark haired youths who stand at least a head taller than all the others. Every young lady flocks to them like moths to a pair of brocade flames.

“Who are they, I wonder?” Angelique muses.

“I suppose they are the elder de Fontaine sons,” Meg replies. “My, what a queue they have! If we want to dance with them, I think that we should take our chances now.”

Angelique shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to try. And if we cannot, I can always save my last dance for you.”

Meg giggles and takes her sister’s hand, leading her across the ballroom to reach the affluent young men. They both crane their necks to see their horizon over the sea of young hopefuls, wondering which of the two brothers they’d have the honor of joining.

Angelique is about to make a remark to Meg about the demeanor of the young lady in front of them—a sniveling, dark haired girl with a generous train—when something catches her eye. She dislocates herself from Meg’s side, inching her way through the crowd as she follows the strange entity. Is it a man? A shadow? She isn’t certain what it is, it was just a glimpse after all, but she can’t help but feel drawn to it.

Her journey takes her away from the crowds and bustle, and soon Angelique finds herself scurrying through the halls of the estate and out the door into the gardens. She would have persisted had a smartly dressed young gentleman not entered her path. The pair collide, and Angelique utters her profuse apologies.

“Oh, please, the fault is all mine,” the gentleman persists. “If I may be so bold to ask, what brings you out here? I should think that all the young ladies would be inside.”

“I…I just…” Angelique isn’t quite sure how to explain herself: the man might think her mad. She shakes her head dismissively, coming up with the best excuse she could think of. “I needed some air.”

The young man nods his head. “Ah, I see. I suppose I escaped for the same reason. Once you go to enough of these parties, they can become a bit suffocating.” He pauses, his eyes growing distant. “Even when you are the host.”

Angelique raises her eyebrows. “Are you…one of the de Fontaines?”

“Unfortunately.” He bows, taking Angelique’s hand and kissing it delicately. “Gustave Alphonse de Fontaine, at your service, mademoiselle. And you are?”

Angelique flushes, doing her best to curtsy. “Angelique Léglise, monsieur.”

Gustave smiles, amused by her impromptu cordiality. “Tell me, are you here as a noble or a performer?”

“A performer, monsieur. A ballerina, in fact, with my mother and sister.”

“I see.” Gustave gestures to the window that they stand adjacent to. “And who might they be?”

Angelique looks in, pointing out her familiars to the young lord. Gustave lifts an eyebrow. “Are you…blood?”

The maiden’s eyes drop to the bush of peonies that threatens to peek into the estate. Her hand lifts to her locket. “No…but they are the only family I’ve ever known.”

Gustave’s eyes soften. “I’m so sorry.”

Angelique opens her mouth to speak again, but she stops and shakes her head. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t burden you with that knowledge.”

“And why not?”

“I’ve just met you: it isn’t proper.”

Gustave thinks for a moment, and then he shrugs his shoulders in agreement. “I suppose that is true, but do not feel that you have to mince your words with me. I’m not like them.”

This last statement is matched with a rather pointed nod to the window. Angelique sees that it is directed to a richly dressed man and a woman that stand arm-in-arm at the head of the ballroom. She looks back at Gustave, and she realizes that those must be his parents, Madame and Monsieur de Fontaine; the resemblance, though faint, is undeniable.

Gustave notices her examining him, and chuckles. “They may be my mother and father,” he explains, “but I am no better than a stranger to them. It was my idea to throw this ball, but they’d rather I set my sights on my own greatness than to help others less fortunate achieve it.”

“Why on earth would they find fault in that?” Angelique asks.

“Breeding is a sedative to charity,” he replies philosophically.

“You don’t seem to behave that way. In fact, I think it was quite noble of you to hold the ball tonight. We performers need all the help we can get now that the opera has been destroyed.”

Gustave nods. “I am happy to be of service to you. Truly, I am.”

The couple stand in the garden, silent for a moment. Gustave’s eyes lift to the window as the orchestra begins to cue up again. He smiles and turns his gaze back to Angelique. “Perhaps I can be of service one last time this evening.” He holds his hand out to her, a silent question on his lips.

Angelique looks down at his gloved palm for a moment before consenting with a grin. As her meager hand fits into his, he cups her waist in his other and draws her closer to his person. Their eyes meet, and it seems as if they float on top of the grass. Every separation leaves Angelique wanting to draw near again, and she’s certain that Gustave feels the same: he’s unable take his eyes off of her.

With one final turn, the dance concludes. Gustave bows and Angelique curtsies, both of their faces flushed with exercise and ecstasy.

When Angelique finally pulls her gaze away from the lord, it is with extreme effort. “I…I must find my sister,” she stammers. “She’ll be wondering where I am.”

Gustave looks down at his wingtips. “Of course,” he replies.

Angelique notices his downcast expression, and she lays a hand on his arm in comfort. “Thank you for being a wonderful host,” she admonishes him. “I had the most marvelous time.”

Gustave looks down at her hand, and with the corners of his lips turning up, he takes it and places one last feather-light kiss on her knuckles. “It was my pleasure, mademoiselle.”

Angelique flushes, giving her host a polite curtsy before turning to go. But as she mounts the stone steps of the garden, she looks over her shoulder. “I hope that we may meet again in the future, Gustave de Fontaine,” she tells him.

Gustave’s smile grows even wider. “As do I, Angelique Léglise.”