There were few places more prestigious than London's Royal Opera House, and few nights more prestigious on which to attend than a royal command performance. The photographers from the various newspapers were out in full force to capture images of the great and the good as they arrived for an evening at the opera, to be the first to watch La Traviata on a London stage. Into the throng of gentlemen, lords, and ladies, came others perhaps less known and respected, Gabriel among them. Edith had come down with a terrible headache that afternoon, leaving Gabriel alone to escort Clara to her first night at the opera. The blind woman on his arm held on tightly as he drew her down from the cab, a little overwhelmed by the sheer noise of the street around them.

"Stay close," he told her quietly, dipping his head closer to hers as he helped her down from the cab and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He had no intentions of losing her in the crowd, knowing she'd never be able to find him again. Thankfully, the throng of people gathered was far more excited about the royal visit than that of a composer.

She clung to his arm tightly enough that he could, no doubt, feel her shaking. In all truth, this was the first time she had ever been a part of a crowd, wishing not for the first time that she could see where she was and who was around her. "How far is it to the door?"

"Not far. Don't worry. I won't let you fall," he assured her as he drew her slowly through the press of people who were only interested in getting a glimpse of the queen. They made slow progress amidst a plethora of murmured "Pardon and Excuse Me's", but at last they arrived at the steps that would lead to the interior of the theater. Thankfully, there were only a few of them to navigate but there would be more to deal with before they reached their box. "Four stairs," he warned her. "Shallow ones."

"Thank you," she murmured back to him, one hand drifting down from his arm to lift her skirt just enough to allow her to step up with dignity. Unlike many of the other women here, Clara had fought ferociously against a wide crinoline or layers of voluminous petticoats, and as such, it was so much easier for them both to slip into the foyer than it might have been. She tilted her head with a smile, that hand moving to undo the clasp of her cloak at her throat. "It sounds luxurious in here."

"It is," he confirmed as he led her carefully up the stairs to the doors that opened into the theater, where tickets were being collected and people were being directed to their seats. "Very ornate.  I shall try to describe it to you, but I'm afraid words will not do it justice."

"Meg told me it was all gold and red and marble," she said thoughtfully, unaware that they had been spotted by one of the ushers who was in charge of the boxes on their level and was hurrying over to them.

"Mr. Gosforth, it's a pleasure to see you, sir," he said cheerfully. "And your lovely lady. May I take your coats" You know the way already, I'll be bound."

He was about to answer her when they were approached by the usher. "Yes, thank you. Clara, may I take your cloak?" he asked, as he moved to help her with said cloak, revealing a lovely green dress in a floral print with lace trim around the collar. It was modest and yet suited her, accentuating her slim waist. Though she could not see his reaction to the dress, he was careful not to gawk.

"Thank you."

She smiled as she felt his hands on her shoulders, a little self-conscious of her evening gown. Meg and Edith had insisted on not letting her wear black for her first night out, and had instead chosen fabric they were certain would suit her better. Her hair was curled and tucked neatly on her head, her gloves covering her to the elbow.

The usher grinned as he took the cloaks from Gabriel, nodding to him. "I'll be up in a little while to take your order for the interval, sir."

"Thank you," Gabriel replied, handing the man both their cloaks, along with a few coins, before reaching for Clara's hand again, so that he could lead her to their box. "I'm afraid we have quite a few steps to navigate before we reach our seats," he told her, in an almost apologetic voice.

"I was expecting stairs," she assured him. "Your box is on the balcony, yes?" Meg had spent an afternoon helping her to understand how the theater auditorium was laid out. The fact that Gabriel's box was directly opposite the queen's had somehow been left out entirely.

"Yes," he confirmed, carefully leading her past and through more groups of people milling about, chattering excitedly about the queen's visit, as well as the performance. "It's crowded tonight. It feels like all of London has come out for the performance. Meg will be thrilled."

"Does she get nervous before a performance?" Clara asked curiously, more to distract herself from the myriad voices and bodies she could hear and feel around them. "What is it like backstage on a night like this, do you know?"

"On a night like this?" he echoed, with a shrug that she couldn't see but might feel. "It is not often the queen graces us with her royal presence, but every opening night is full of excitement and anticipation." He chuckled a little before adding, "And nerves."

"You will make certain I rise and sit at the appropriate times, won't you?" she asked worriedly, terrified that she might inadvertently insult their beloved monarch somehow.

"Yes, of course. Do not worry so, Clara," he reassured her. "I am sure the queen will be far more interested in the opera than in the people around her," he said. "Here we are," he said, as they arrived at the flight of stairs that would take them to their seats. "Hold tight to my arm. I will not let you fall."

"How many steps are there, do you know?" she asked, lifting her skirt delicately once again as they prepared to climb the staircase together. It didn't occur to her that she might have caught any eyes as they passed through the foyer, too intent upon not letting Gabriel down by falling.

"I have never counted them, but there are quite a few," he replied, waiting until she seemed ready. "Shall we count them together?" he asked, the smile apparent in his voice. Maybe if he distracted her with counting, she wouldn't worry so much about tripping. As for Gabriel, despite the crowd and the glances their way, he hardly noticed anyone but Clara.

She laughed softly, her head inclining toward him at his words. "I am sure that would bore you excessively, but I will be counting," she assured him in amusement. "Perhaps we should compare notes at the top and see if we got the same number?"

"Perhaps," he replied, amusement still apparent in his voice, though he took his guardianship of her very seriously. "Excuse us," he murmured, as they moved past another small group of people who were in danger of jostling Clara.

"Everything is a little muffled," she mused, but she was enjoying the experience too much for it to be a complaint. It was a soft kind of murmur in the background, the mixing of voices and instruments and motion, though she could have done without some of the more potent perfumes in the air. "We are not in the auditorium yet?"

"Not yet, no," he replied, coming to a gentle halt as they reached their box. "Here we are. Just to your left, one step down," he told her, though he made no move to remove her hand from his arm.

She reached out her left hand, seeking the edge of the doorway with gloved fingers before turning toward it. "Room enough for both of us, or should I wait for you to enter first?"

"We can go together, but perhaps I should go first," he told her, taking a step forward, so that he could help her down the one and only step that led to their box.

"Thank you, Gabriel." She loosened her grasp on his arm to allow him to step ahead and down, her fingers curling into his grip as she then followed carefully into what felt like a small space encroaching on a much larger space. She smiled, tilting her head as she absorbed the acoustics of the sounds around them. "It feels as though we are standing in an open clam shell."

"I suppose it does," he said, though he had never thought of it that way. He carefully helped her down into the space, which was small and cozy but big enough for up to eight. Tonight, though, the space had been set up for three of them, though his mother had decided to stay home. "There is a chair to your right," he told her further, as he guided her that way.

"It is very good of you to make sure I don't fall," she thanked him easily, shifting her skirts to sit down comfortably on a chair she had not expected to be quite so plush. "Goodness, this is luxury indeed!"

"It's the least I can do," he assured her, both of them almost ridiculously polite, but then, they had only known each other a week or so. He waited until she was settled before claiming the seat beside her. "Shall I describe it to you?"

"Oh, please do." Her excitement showing in her smile, Clara leaned toward him attentively, eager to imagine the space around them, though she had little in the way of actual visual experience to recreate it in her mind.

"I am no architect, but let me see if I can describe it. We are currently seated on the right side of the theater, not far from the stage. The decor is ....Oh!" He trailed off, with an exclamation of surprise as if something else had suddenly drawn his attention.

"Oh?" His exclamation brought an echo from her, more curious than concerned, her head turning vaguely toward his. "What is it' Has something happened?"

"No, nothing," he replied a little too quickly, so that she wouldn't become concerned. "It is just that the queen and her entourage have just arrived," he leaned close to whisper, though she might have guessed as much from the hush of silence that suddenly came over the crowd.

"Oh." Clara rose automatically, listening to the sound of hundreds of others doing exactly the same in that moment as their beloved Queen Victoria, and her beloved Prince Albert, took their seats in the royal box, just across from the box in which Gabriel and Clara stood. "Do I curtsy?" Clara whispered worriedly.

"Not unless she looks our way," he whispered back, as he, too, moved to his feet and took her arm in his, almost as if he was claiming her. "Don't worry. I'll tell you what to do."

"Thank you." She palpably relaxed at his reassurance, her hands folding together at his elbow. She had no idea that they presented the image of a married couple in that moment, as the orchestra began to play the national anthem in honor of the queen's presence. But this, at least, Clara was confident in. She could sing the anthem without concern.

His voice joined hers, both of them creating a sound just as worthy of the stage as those who would be performing there tonight. If he was startled by the harmony of their two voices, he did not show it - at least, not in any way she might notice.

Clara simply enjoyed hearing his singing voice - her first experience of it, mingling with her own and the hundreds around them in the auditorium, yet still strong and unique enough to hold her attention and make her sad that the rendition was so short. "You should sing more often," she whispered to him as the queen's eyes swept the auditorium.

"I am a composer, not a singer," he told her. He had a very good reason - at least, to his mind - for not taking to the stage, though he was fond of singing with his little family sometimes. "A small curtsy," he whispered, as he offered the royals a polite bow from across the expanse of the theater.

"You have a beautiful voice," she murmured back to him, inclining her head in what she hoped was the right direction as she offered the curtsy he told her was appropriate in that moment. "You should share it more often."

"As do you," he said, returning the compliment and meaning it. He'd said he'd help her perfect her voice, and he intended to keep that promise, just as soon as he put the final touches on the requiem. He remained standing a moment longer as he waited for the royals to take their seats before murmuring, "They have taken their seats."

"Thank you," she whispered back to him, hearing the chatter start up again around them.

She reached back with one hand to be certain of her seat's location, sitting herself down without mishap. A moment later, there was a knock on the box door behind them.

Now that the royals had taken their seats, Gabriel returned his attention to Clara, guiding her into her seat, with one hand at her back and the other guiding her by the elbow. "Yes?" he inquired at the knock as he helped her into her seat.

The door opened behind them to admit the usher who had taken their coats downstairs. He smiled at Gabriel cheerfully, apparently very happy to be serving someone who at least recognised him tonight. Neither man seemed aware that Clara was blushing, absently opening her fan to cool her cheeks in the wake of Gabriel's attentive touch.

"I would say so," Gabriel confirmed. "It doesn't do much to quench your thirst though, I'm afraid," he told her, though that wasn't really the point of drinking it. "Here, let me hand you a cup. Be careful because it is hot," he warned.

She opened her hand for him to guide her gloved fingers about the cup he held. "Then it is just as well that I am not thirsty," she assured him. "How large is the cup?"

"Not too big. You should be all right," he said as he guided the cup into her hand and closed her fingers around it, his hand covering hers for a moment. "There. Do you have it?" he asked, with infinite patience.

She paused, raising her other hand to wrap about the smooth cup as well, her smile just a little shy of the curl of his hand about her own. "I believe I do. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he told her, carefully withdrawing his hand from hers so that she could sip her chocolate. He'd made sure not to fill the cup too full, so that she wouldn't risk spilling it. He took up his own cup, waiting for her to take a sip first. "What do you think?"

In a world where women were often kept from tasting anything that was not bland, to avoid enflaming their delicate desires, the smooth eruption of sweetness on Clara's tongue was astonishing to experience. Without quite realising it, she actually moaned in ecstasy, closing her eyes to savor the taste. "Oh, goodness ....this is glorious."

He couldn't help but smile at her reaction to the sweet beverage. "You like it, then," he said, more statement than question. "It is rather sweet," he admitted, but it wouldn't be much of a treat otherwise.

"I do, very much," she agreed. "I do not think I could drink much at a time, but it is wonderful. So smooth, and sweet. And warming, too. I imagine it is very good to drink on a cold winter's night."

"Yes, it is. Most enjoyable," he said, before taking a sip from his own cup. "My mother used to make it for me when I was a small boy. It was a rare treat."

"You must have been an adorable sight," Clara mused. "You and Meg, wrapped up in blankets drinking your chocolate on a cold night." She smiled at the mental image, though she could not add details in her mind that she did not know. "Edith is very lucky to have such a wonderful family around her."

He did not think "adorable" was a word that could have ever described him, but he said nothing of it. Meg, at least, had been adorable. "I think I am the lucky one, where my family is concerned," he confessed quietly.

Her smile softened, her head inclining toward him. "You all are lucky," she told him. "I envy you your family, Gabriel. You have a very happy home."

"You are part of our family now, Clara. A most welcome part," he added for good measure, though he could not imagine thinking of her as a sister, the way he did Meg.

"You are all so generous to have opened your home to me," she answered warmly. "To give up your time to me, like this. I wish I had some way to repay you for your kindness."

"You do not need to repay us," Gabriel pointed out. "Your father was a good friend to me. The least I can do is extend that friendship to his daughter."

"He was a good man," she said quietly, though for a moment there was a flash of disappointment on her face. "I have been very lucky in those he chose to call friends."

He didn't miss the change in her expression, but assumed it was grief. "I'm sorry he's no longer with us. I miss his friendship," he told her, hoping his words might console her in some way.

Her smile was sad, though perhaps not for the reason he assumed it was. Her sadness came from the fact that, because of her father, she had not had the opportunity to make these friends for herself. That they were helping her for his sake, and not for her own. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she did not let it cloud her response. "Thank you, Gabriel. He was very fond of you."

"He cared about you very much," he told her, before taking another sip of his chocolate. It wasn't often her father spoke of her, but when he did, it was always with obvious affection.

"He meant well," she said, just as softly. "But I cannot help thinking that some of his decisions were misguided. I should so much like to have friends for my own sake, not for his, but ..." She shook her head with a smile. "It does not matter now."

Gabriel arched a brow as she revealed a little of what was bothering her. "Is that what you think?" he asked curiously. "That I only offered to bring you here because of my friendship with your father?"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing a little as she sipped her chocolate. "I would hope that ....that you invited me because we share a love of music," she said tentatively. "Because you wished to perhaps spend a little more time with me?"

"Yes, exactly," he said in answer to her question. "Do you think I'd have asked you to come with me if I didn't want to get better acquainted?" he asked her in return.

"I do not know you yet well enough to say," she said with absolute sincerity. "I hoped that perhaps you wished to know me, as I wish to know you, but I also know that you were a dear friend of my father's, and the memory of him might be enough to spur kindness to his disabled daughter."

Gabriel couldn't help but chuckle, just a little, though he wasn't laughing at her or at anything she had said. "You do realize my mother and sister are hoping for a match between us," he said, though it wasn't a question.

She managed a soft laugh in answer. "They have not been subtle," she admitted. "I would never dare to expect such a thing from you, Gabriel, have no fear of that. I can be content with your friendship."

"I think it would be best to let things progress naturally," he told her, pausing a moment as if to consider his words before continuing. "I do like you, Clara, and I would like to get to know you better," he admitted, awkwardly.

Her smile this time was warm and hopeful, a little surprised that he would be so open about such a wish but pleased to hear it. "I am happy to know that, Gabriel. We shall simply have to befuddle your mother and sister for as long as we can."

Gabriel patiently explained what was going on on the stage, especially when there was no one singing to tell the story. He told her when Meg was on stage and explained what was taking place in terms he hoped she'd understand or be able to somehow make sense of. He did not chatter ceaselessly throughout the performance though, allowing her time to simply enjoy the music.

Neither of them was truly aware of a particularly vexed stare aimed in their direction from the balcony seats; a gentleman who seemed to think he was entitled to a little attention from the young lady, even if her companion had not shown her his card.

Even if he'd been aware, Gabriel would have made nothing of the gentleman's attention, having heard from Clara herself that she was not interested in another man's attention at the moment. Perhaps if he'd been her brother or her father, he might have encouraged it, but the fact that he hadn't suggested that he was enjoying her company and didn't want to share.

The second interval arrived, and Clara was almost thrumming with delight at the rise and fall of the story within the music. "It is so beautiful," she exclaimed as the chatter rose around them once more for this shorter interval before the finale. "And that aria ..." She hummed a few notes, pitch perfect and on point with the tune. "Verdi is an emotive writer, is he not?"

"He's very popular," Gabriel agreed. "Very dramatic, as well. Do you have any favorites?" he asked, curiously. "Not just of Verdi, but any opera."

She shook her head. "This is my first experience of an opera," she said. "They lose so much when they are condensed down to just a single voice and a piano. It was something Father and I agreed upon whole-heartedly. So I have no favorites among the operas, though I would very much like to experience more of them."

"I shall have to bring you to one of mine," he said, though they were few and far between, as there were so many operas to choose from and it took a lot of time and energy to both compose one, as well as produce it.

"Oh, I would so much enjoy hearing your music as you intended it to be played," she answered, her enthusiasm infectious in that moment. "I cannot help but feel I have been cheated somehow with just the simplified versions on the piano and violin."

"It does sound different with a full orchestra," he said. Not to mention singers, without which it wouldn't have been an opera. "I wonder if you mind that I am writing a piece in memory of your father," he said, of the requiem that was nearly finished.

"I do not mind it at all, Gabriel," she assured him, her hand reaching out in hopes of touching his with a more physical reassurance. "I think it is a truly noble thing to do for the memory of a friend."

"I must confess it may have been a bit selfish on my part," he said, reaching without thought for her hand as she seemed to reach for his. "I was consumed with grief, and it was the only way I knew of to cope."

"Music has always been there for you," she said quietly, glad when he took her hand. "I am grateful you have such a steadfast friend to pour your soul into when your heart is in turmoil. It is no small thing to turn such terrible hurt into beautiful music."

"Perhaps," he replied uncertainly, though he wasn't so sure. He had always poured his feelings into his music, sometimes with mixed results. He did not think the requiem was so much a celebration of his friend's life as it was of the grief he'd felt at his death, but he'd learned that everyone took what they wanted from the music, and it was not always what he'd intended.

"Beauty is not always a joyful thing," she reflected softly. "It can be violent, or tragic, but it is still beautiful. Just like the emotions it stirs."

"Life is full of triumph and tragedy, joy and sorrow. Without one, how can we know the other?" he said, not really expecting an answer to his question as it was mostly rhetorical. He realized suddenly with some surprise that this was the deepest conversation he'd ever had with a woman who wasn't part of his family.

"How can you recognize darkness if you have never seen the light?" she said, and it sounded as though she was quoting someone. "One of Father's friends used to ask me that. I think he wanted to believe that I could not have a good soul since God has punished me with blindness." She laughed at this theory. "I think that is ridiculous, myself."

"It is not difficult to know darkness," he said, though he was talking figuratively, rather than literally. The tone of his voice was so serious, it seemed he might be speaking from experience. "Those who believe such things do not believe in a loving God, but one to be feared. God does not punish Man; Man punishes Man. All evil comes from Man, not from God."

"God gave us free will," she agreed. "What we do with it determines whether we ourselves are good or bad. I do not believe in a great hand guiding our every move. If that were true, what would be the point in living at all?"

He knew this was sort of thinking was somewhat controversial, but he didn't really care. What had either of them ever done to earn God's punishment' "Not guiding our every move, no. But I do believe he gives us choices and opportunities. It is easy for a rich man to cast judgment on one who is less fortunate."

"I agree." She squeezed his hand, smiling at the challenge of the conversation. "I have never spoken with anyone like this. I am glad to know that my view is not so rare as I had thought."

"We are fortunate to have had families who cared for us and protected us. There are many who are not so lucky," he said, with a frown in his voice.

"So I understand," she mused, unconsciously edging her seat closer as the lights went down for the last time, heralding the start of the next act. "Would that I could help them myself, but my own situation makes for a very fine line between them and I."

"I do what I can, but I, too, can only do so much," he said, secretly wondering what they could accomplish if they put their heads together. But any more discussion would have to wait as the third act was about to begin. He was almost dreading the evening coming to an end. He had enjoyed her company even more than he'd expected.

The final act was as dramatic and moving as Clara could possibly hoped for, leaving her actually weeping at the tragic ending when all was said and done. "Oh, goodness," she giggled through her tears, groping for her handkerchief. "What a sight I must make."

"He's an ignorant fool," Gabriel said, his tone of voice leaving no room for argument and not expecting one. "There are too many people in the world who prefer to judge others based solely on their appearance," he told her, reclaiming his seat and waiting for the crowd to die down. It was unlikely they'd kick him out, considering his connection to the opera.

"Gabriel." Again, she reached out in the direction she assumed he was, wanting to soothe the anger she could feel in her companion. "Such people are not worth your anger, or your care. You are here with me, not with them."

"Yes, but ..." His voice trailed off, unsure if he should confess his own imperfections. Despite Meg's reassurance, he still felt like he was cheating, and yet, he had thus far asked nothing of Clara but her friendship.

She smiled gently, managing to lay her hand on his arm without incident. "Would it help you to know that Edith has told me of your mask?" she asked softly. "It changes nothing, Gabriel. I would care for your company in any case, because it is you I enjoy."

"You do not know what I look like, Clara," he told her, bleakly. "I wear a mask so that I can move about in the world, but without it ....I have the face of a monster."

"I do not need to know what you look like to know you are a good man," she said pointedly. "You are kind and gentle; you have a true talent for music. Your family loves you, as you love them. Your face does not define who you are. Only your heart can do that."

"My own mother - the woman who birthed me - could not bear to look at me," he confessed, his voice raspy with emotion. He had not spoken of such things in many years, and even now, it filled him with shame and grief.

Her fingers tightened gently on his arm, as though both to reassure him and to remind him that they were in a public place. "I learned a long time ago that eyes are not essential," she said quietly. "That those who have the use of them are often deceived by what they see. Her failure is not yours, Gabriel. Look at what she lost, because of her pride and cruelty. Edith would hate to hear you speak so damningly of yourself."

"She has been very good to me. She took me in when no one else would. She is the only mother I have ever really known," he confessed, reaching for her hand to tangle his fingers with hers, more for his own comfort than hers. He knew they were in a public place, but it didn't seem as though anyone was paying them much heed.

Her other hand joined that tangle of fingers, covering his in hers in as comforting a manner as she could muster. "She loves you," she said firmly. "Why waste your ire on a forgotten woman, when the mother you love is worth so much more of your time and energy?"

"This is not about my mother, Clara," Gabriel told her, looking around suddenly, as if just remembering where they were. "We should be going," he said quietly, though he seemed in no hurry to pull away from her touch.

The abrupt end of the conversation may have startled her, but she showed no sign of offense, understanding that his traumatic past must be difficult to speak of. "I will follow where you lead."

"Shall I take you home?" he asked, unsure where else they might go at this time of night, though he wasn't sure if he was ready to call an end to their evening.

"So long as you do not intend to send me to bed as soon as we arrive," she said, a gentle tease to her tone as her lips curved in a smile.

"You are a grown woman, Clara. You can do as you please," he told her, the smile heard in his voice, as she lightened the mood with her teasing. "Come," he said, taking her arm to gently guide her to her feet. "Most of the crowd has gone."

"Thank you." Helped to her feet, she took his arm without concern, easily able to trust him to guide her back down to the foyer where they could collect their coat and cloak before stepping out into the spring chill.

Thankfully, most of the crowd had dispersed, though there were still a few people meandering around and taking their time about leaving. He might have suggested checking on Meg, but he didn't want to interfere with her visit with the queen. Instead, he took his time, patiently and carefully guiding her from the box, down the hall, and back down the stairs to the lobby.

"We shall have to do this again," he remarked as they made their way back through the opera house.

"I would like that very much," Clara answered. "I do not believe I have ever enjoyed an evening so much as this one, and it is entirely due to the company, I am certain."

"You are too kind," he told her, with meaning. "Perhaps you would enjoy a concert next time or a play even," he suggested. There were more things to do in London that just visit the opera, after all.

"I am not sure if I would garner the same enjoyment of a play, unless it was written to explain what was happening on the stage as it happened," she admitted thoughtfully. "But a concert, perhaps, or to hear one of the singers in a private setting ....that appeals to me."

"Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully to himself. "Perhaps if I were to read the play to you prior to the performance," he suggested. "I believe Mama may know of some private concerts, if you do not mind sitting in a stuffy, crowded room for a few hours," he added.

"Oh, I should like that," she agreed, holding tight to his arm as they walked slowly down the stairs. "To know ahead of time the ins and outs of the play before hearing it performed. That would be lovely."

"Do you like Shakespeare" One of his comedies, perhaps," Gabriel mused aloud. Shakespeare, after all, was all about the words; one didn't really have to see what was going on on stage to understand what was going on.

"Mary used to read A Midsummer Night's Dream to me," Clara offered with a faint smile. "We did not have any other, but I did enjoy that one a good deal. What others would you recommend?"

"I guess that depends on whether you prefer comedy or tragedy," he answered, though he had suggested comedy. "There are so many to choose from. Of course, Romeo and Juliet is a classic, but that's a tragedy."

"I think ..." She paused for a moment, her body turning toward his as the cab rocked over the cobbles. "I think you seem tense at the thought of it, and I am supposed to be in mourning. I think we share the same house, and we will be spending a lot of time together. So I think there is no need for a formal courtship. We can simply learn about one another over time."

He considered her response for a moment, frowning in thought. He could not deny he felt tense, but there was a very good reason for his tension, or so he thought. "I'm sorry, Clara. I'm sorry for being so forward. I must confess I know nothing about-about this sort of thing. I have never done this before."

"I know nothing of it either," she said, aware that the tension in him had changed. "Please do not take this to mean that I would object to being courted by you. I would not object at all, I like you very much. But I do not want you to enter into anything you are not absolutely certain you want, Gabriel."

"No, you are right. We do not know each other very well, and there's no reason to rush into anything," he said, more for her benefit than his. "I must say I have enjoyed your company very much tonight," he told her, reaching to touch her hand, but deciding against it.

"I have very much enjoyed this evening, and your company," she agreed, and she did reach out to try and take his hand. "Could ....could we do it again sometime?"

He was a little surprised to find her taking his hand, rather than the other way around, but he only curled his fingers around hers. "Yes, of course. After all, I do own the box," he told her, the smile back in his voice.

Her smile deepened, relaxing as he took her hand. "That is not the reason I would like to do this again," she assured him softly, a little shy in her boldness.

"Oh?" he asked, a single brow arching upwards, the other either non-existent or behind the mask, though it hardly mattered as she couldn't see the look of surprised curiosity on his face. "What is the reason then, if I may ask?"

"The pleasure of your company, all to myself." The answer was given in a soft, shy voice, her face tilted downward as though looking at their joined hands, though she could not have seen anything. "Forgive me, I am sure that is a very bold thing to say."

"You mean ....Just the two of us?" he asked, needing confirmation. He wasn't sure how that was any different than courting, but he was willing to play along.

"I do." She hesitated before continuing. "We may not be officially courting, but ....no one else needs to know that is what is in our minds." It wasn't that she didn't trust his mother and sister, but she knew they would try too hard to be "helpful" if they realized there was an actual courtship happening under their noses.

"I see ....I think," he replied, sounding a little confused. And yet, this was more than had ever expected or hoped for. There was still that niggling worry at the back of his mind that he was taking advantage, but he had been nothing but honest.

She heard the confusion in his voice, her gloved fingers gently squeezing his hand. "Tell me truthfully, Gabriel," she said, "do you honestly believe we would be allowed to court one another without interference if we announced it to Edith and Meg?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly enough, drawing comfort from the squeeze of her hand. "I'm sure they would like nothing better than to see us together," he said. Especially Meg who had already become very fond of Clara.

"I am sure they would," Clara agreed. "But that eagerness would lend itself to mischief in the hope of hurrying us along. I do not want to be rushed with you. I want you to decide how and when you will let me learn about you."

He paused a moment in his response, as if considering her words. "What would you like to know?" he asked a little awkwardly. He had never been in a situation quite like this one and wasn't sure how to reply.

"Everything?" she suggested, smiling faintly. "But not immediately. There are things about me that I am not yet ready to share, as I am sure there are things about you which will stand secret for a while longer. The closer we grow, the easier it will be to share those secrets."

He arched a brow in surprise at her initial remark, before she explained further. "That sounds reasonable," he said, with a tilt of his head at her. "Your father did not tell me much about you."

She seemed a little disappointed to hear that. "I do not suppose he was often of a mood to talk about me," she said quietly. "I think he would have preferred a son with sight."

"I am not so sure about that," he told her, sensing her disappointment. "Whenever he did mention you, it was always with love and affection. I believe he cared for you very much, Clara, but he worried about you, too."

"I was a worry born out of grief," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "I understand his feelings, even if I wish they had been otherwise. He was a good man, to raise me in spite of everything. Many others would have handed their newborn child off to a baby farmer or a workhouse."

There was a frown on his face at her statement, not only for her and her loss, but for himself, too. And yet, in the end, they had both known the love of family, even if that family had not been the conventional kind. "He worried about you because he cared about you, Clara," he said, his turn to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Her smile warmed as he spoke. "I do not need to be reassured, Gabriel," she promised fondly. "I know my father loved me, in his own way. It is a shame he never introduced us to one another."

"Perhaps he would have eventually," Gabriel suggested, though there was no way of knowing for sure. He paused for a moment, considering something before forging ahead. "I am almost finished with the requiem. I would like for you to hear it played."

Her expression brightened in an instant. "Oh, I have been looking forward to hearing it played fully," she admitted. "You have such a wonderful grasp of his nature."

She adjusted her gait accordingly, grateful for his attentive presence. "Thank you," she said again. "It is rare to have a companion who is aware of their surroundings enough to give me adequate warning of such imperfections in the ground beneath my feet."

"I must confess it's easy to forget, but I am trying," he said, waiting for her to navigate the change in pavement before leading her up the path to the house.

"I do not expect it in my companions," she assured him. "But it is a sweet surprise to come across it in someone whose company I enjoy so much. I have yet to find a reason not to like your company, Gabriel."

He found himself strangely almost wishing she could see him, even if his face was horrible marred. There was so much of beauty in the world that he wanted to show her, but maybe he could show her in other ways. "You have not known me long," he said, as if he expected her to find a reason, sooner or later.

"But I do not have the deceit of the first impression that so many rely upon," she answered, delicately lifting her skirt as they walked up the two steps to the front door. "It is difficult to hide your nature from someone who never sees the mask."

"Do you think so?" he asked, never having thought of it that way. "I have worried that I am perhaps taking advantage of your ....situation," he said, unsure how to phrase that without sounding rude.

She laughed softly, pausing until the door was open for them to enter. "The same could be said for me," she replied. "That I am somehow using my situation to influence you."

"How so?" he asked, as he pushed the door open and held it so she could step inside. "Careful of the threshold," he warned helpfully.

Smiling, Clara let him guide her carefully inside, already unclasping her cloak as she stepped into the known safety of home. "My blindness invokes pity in many people," she explained. "There are some who might say that I am manipulating your pity for my situation."

"Pity?" he echoed, closing the door behind her before turning to wait for her cloak so that he could hang it on a hook. "I sympathize, Clara, but I do not pity you," he told her.

Carefully lifting the cloak from about her shoulders, she folded it over her arm, uncertain of quite where he was in relation to herself now. "I am very glad to know that," she said softly. "And please believe me when I say that you are not taking advantage of me."

"Let me take that," he said, his voice close by as he reached to take the cloak from her, his fingers brushing her arm. "I do not want anyone's pity either, but neither do I want their contempt."

"You have neither from me," she promised, carefully unbuttoning her gloves at the elbow to ease them off her hands. As accepted as it was to wear gloves in public, she hated them. They were a barrier between her and the world around her.

"People tend to judge by what they see and fear what they do not understand, Clara. I'm sure you must have encountered some of that kind of prejudice yourself, haven't you?" he asked, as he shrugged the coat from his shoulders, the sound of fabric rustling beside her.

"I have," she agreed. "Though I think, because I am a woman, there is less fear and more anger. I am often told that I should not walk about outside, that I should not take up space that an able-bodied person could better enjoy. But perhaps it is fear. Fear that they might, one day, lose their sight as well."

"That is not fear. That is ignorance," he pointed out. "What these people fail to understand is that it is no fault of your own that you have no sight. They would rather not be reminded of the fact that it could have just as easily been them."

"Is that not the same, then, for your situation?" she asked, genuinely curious. "As I understand it, you bear no fault."

"It is the same, but unlike you, people tend to fear my disfigurement. They find it horrifying but also strangely fascinating," he explained. "Shall we move to the kitchen?" he asked, remembering she had mentioned coffee.

"I blame fairy stories," she said stoutly, before blinking in surprise at his reminder. "Oh! Yes, of course." Now they were in the home she knew, there was no need of linked arms to guide her safely to the kitchen, and she found herself missing that excuse for closeness.

"I'm afraid there is more to it than fairy stories," he told her. "After you," he added, letting her lead the way to the kitchen. "It is more the stuff of nightmares, I'm afraid."

"And yet where do people learn what is considered monstrous and what is not?" she asked, moving with confidence toward the kitchen. Her bare fingers trailed over the wall as she went, guiding herself ahead of him. "If we were not so quick to teach children that what they see is always what they get, then grown men and women would not be so cruel."

"Perhaps," he said, uncertainly. He had known too much cruelty early in his life to agree completely. "But not everyone thinks thusly," he added. His mother and sister were proof of that. He needn't wear his mask where they were concerned, but did so for the sake of the cook and anyone else who might visit the house.

She heard her shoes click on the tile of the kitchen, reaching to guide herself by the countertops. She was lucky, she knew, that Sarah never changed the layout of the kitchen itself. With a little work, Clara had memorized where everything was, even before Meg had decided they would have cooking lessons together. "The opinions of those we do not know should not hold water with us," she mused. "But often those are the opinions openly stated and most hurtful."

"Perhaps we should not teach children how to define beauty, but let them decide on their own," he reasoned, though he wasn't sure it was something that was taught so much as instinctual. "How-how do you define beauty from ugliness?" he asked, curiously as he followed her into the kitchen, watching over her protectively.

"I think beauty needs to be further defined in itself," Clara said thoughtfully, her fingers counting canisters until she found the one she was looking for. "Beauty that is seen, beauty that is heard, beauty that is felt. Beauty that develops over time with constancy and knowledge. None of them are comparable to each other." She opened the canister in her hands to delicately sniff. "I found the coffee."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he murmured to himself the oft repeated quotation of questionable origin before chuckling at her remark. "I do know how to make coffee, you know," he assured her, though she seemed determined to do it herself. "Shall I see what Sarah left us?"

"What decisions might you have made differently?" he asked with curious interest as he poured her a cup of coffee. "Cream and sugar?"

"Just cream for me, thank you." Carefully gauging the distance to the seat with her hand, she eased down onto the chair, settling comfortably. "As I said, I might have chosen to rebel, to argue against the restrictions that Father and my nurse placed on me. I might have run away, and that would have been a very stupid decision."

He would have pulled out a chair for her, but didn't want to presume or get in her way. He only poured a bit of cream into her coffee and placed it beside her hand, along with a spoon. "Where would you have gone though?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a smile. "I had nowhere to go. If I had run, my father would either have found me, or I would have ended up in dire straits."

"There are not many prospects for runaways in London," Gabriel remarked, the frown obvious in his voice. Especially female runaways. He did not bother to mention what might have happened to her had she done just that. "What is it you wanted to rebel about?"

She sighed softly. "Being kept inside," she murmured. "Kept away from people, children my own age. I live in a cage, Gabriel. I have done all my life. Just because I now hold the key does not mean it is not still a cage."

"I know what that feels like," he murmured, more to himself than to her. It seemed he enjoyed more freedoms than she did, but that was only because he was a man.

She tilted her head curiously, not wanting to pry but still curious about the man she was slowly learning. "What decisions would you change?" she asked softly.

"Me?" he asked, obviously surprised by the question. "Not a damned thing," he replied with the certainty of someone who had no reason to consider the question. "But I had to make a choice once, a long time ago, and had I not made that choice, my life would have been very different."

She smiled. "It seems as though your choices have been the right ones for you," she said. "I am glad to know that. It is a strange thing, to live with regret over an inability to make a choice."

"I have few regrets," he confessed, sliding a plate upon across the table upon which was a slice of chocolate cake and a fork. "What about you?" he asked, since she had been the one to hint at such.

"I regret some things I had no control over," she said, apparently easy enough in his company to share this with him. "I regret that my birth meant my mother's death. I regret the pain my father felt whenever he heard me sing. I regret the disability that meant I could never be what he needed me to be. Foolish regrets, perhaps, but still felt."

"Also, regret over things that are no fault of your own and that you could do nothing about," he pointed out. There was no point, in his opinion, about fretting over things they had no control over, though he didn't come right out and say so.

"True," she agreed, her fingers curling about her coffee cup. "But letting go of such things is difficult. I do not believe I will ever be free of regret in those arenas."

"Is it regret or is it grief?" he countered, wondering if there was much of a difference between the two. "I used to regret never having met my father, but now ....It was probably a blessing in disguise."

"I don't know," she mused. "It is sadness, certainly." Her smile softened as he spoke again. "Do you know anything about him' Could we find him, perhaps?"

"I doubt he would want anything to do with me," Gabriel said, unable to hide the grief from his voice. His mother had never mentioned who his father had been, either ashamed of the fact that their son had been born defective or that she had become pregnant at all.

"Why would he want nothing to do with his son, the successful, respected, and accomplished composer?" Clara pointed out. "But perhaps he could not be trusted to want to know you for your own sake. I do not know."

"That is the question, isn't it?" Gabriel said. Frowning to see she had not yet touched her cake, he reached across the table and fit the fork into her hand. "It's chocolate," he told her, hoping that might entice her.

"Oh!" With no glove to dampen the sensation of his hand on hers, it was a raw feeling she had not been expecting. It took a moment for her to compose herself in the aftermath of that shock of touch. "Forgive me, I was not aware you had served more than coffee."

"No, I-I'm sorry. I should not have been so presumptuous," he told her, though the touch of his hand had been brief and innocent. Blast the rules of so-called civilized society.

"Oh, no, I don't ....I don't mind your touch," she said, her eagerness overtaken by shyness mid-sentence. "I don't mind it at all, Gabriel."

He smiled, reassured, but also charmed by her sudden shyness. "Clara, try the cake," he urged, allowing them both to forget his little faux pas, as well as her shyness.

It was interesting to watch her eat; to see how she found the edge of the cake with one fingertip, and very carefully cut a small piece with her fork before lifting it to her mouth. "Sarah is something of a magician with cakes."

"Not only with cakes," he remarked, though she'd already shared enough meals with them to know this for herself. He cut into his own cake now that she'd taken a bite and savored the sweet treat for himself. "There is nothing closer to heaven on earth than chocolate cake and coffee," he remarked.

"Ah, now that, I cannot agree with," Clara laughed, raising another mouthful to her lips. She paused to chew and swallow before continuing. "I have not experienced everything the world has to offer and can make no comparison."

"Neither have I," he replied, with sudden realization, though he did not seem very troubled by it. "But this must come close," he added, taking up another forkful of chocolatey goodness.

"I hate my face, Clara. I hate that I cannot go out in public without a mask, like other people do. I hate that people stare and whisper behind my back. I hate that the first thing people notice when they meet me is this mask. Were it not for Edith, I do not know what would have become of me. Not everyone in the world is so kind and caring. Not everyone can see past my face."

"I do not need to see your face to know you, Gabriel," she told him. "I cannot imagine what it must be like, to feel marked out for others' stares. But I find no ugliness in you. It is your choice whether I see your face or not."

He was quiet a moment longer, realizing what it was that was holding him back. "I'm afraid, Clara," he confessed in a voice that was so quiet she might have to strain her ears to hear him.

"Courage is not the absence of fear, Gabriel," she told him softly. "It is the determination that your action is more important than your fear. But there is nothing wrong with being fearful. It is your choice. Do you trust me not to change my opinion of you, just because of your face?"

"That is the question, is it not?" he countered, uncertainly. It didn't seem fair somehow that she couldn't see him, and yet, she was perhaps the only person he'd ever met who did not - could not - base her first impression of him on what he looked like.

"It is," she agreed. "But it is not an answer that should be rushed. I do not mind that I do not have your face in my mind, Gabriel. I like the man you are, and I am not afraid of what I might see with my hands. I will leave it to you to decide, but do not make the decision in haste. I do not want you to regret anything when it comes to me."

"I have not always been a good man, Clara. I am far from perfect," he admitted, resisting the urge to wrap his hands around hers. "But I promise that I would never knowingly cause you harm or pain."

"I believe you," she said, and her hand opened on the table, wanting to touch but unable to know where his was. "I trust you, Gabriel. We may not know one another well yet, but I hope to improve that. Perhaps it is foolish of me, but my hope extends beyond friendship."

His hand crept forward almost of its own accord, take gently curl his fingers around hers. "I have never met anyone like you, Clara, and I share that hope."

By some fluke, her unseeing eyes met his as she smiled, bright and hopeful, her fingers curling into his with fondness.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" an unexpected voice said from the doorway - Meg, arriving home in time to find her brother and her friend hand in hand across the coffee table.

Gabriel couldn't help smiling at the timing of his sister's arrival home. He gave Clara's hand a brief reassuring squeeze before withdrawing to his own side of the table. "Your timing could be better," he teased his sister.

"I think my timing is perfect," Meg informed him with a warm grin, moving to gently touch Clara's shoulder in greeting before leaning over the table to steal a slice of the cake. "Are we having fun?"

"I can make more coffee, if you like," he told his sister, knowing what was left in the pot had to be cold by now. "You were amazing, by the way," he told her, ignoring her question.

"No, if I have any more coffee, I'm going to be bouncing off the ceiling," Meg told him. "Did you enjoy the opera?"

Clara's face lit up. "Oh, it was beautiful," she enthused. "I did not realize the ballet shoes make so much noise on the stage!"

"Yes, they thump about like a herd of elephants on stage. Thankfully, the music is usually sufficient to drown out the racket," he said, with a teasing smirk aimed at his sister. "So, tell us about the queen."

"Oh, harhar," Meg countered her brother, rolling her eyes. "The toes are made of wood, Clara, so we can go en Pointe without damaging ourselves too much."

Clara nodded, fascinated. "Oh, I see."

"And the queen was lovely," Meg continued through a mouthful of cake. "She's tiny, too, but she seems to love music. Oh, and Prince Albert said he was going to arrange for the company to have our ....what is it called" The French thing that is like a portrait but with the actual image of the people?"

"One would think they would be more graceful than that," he teased quietly, before she told them about her visit with the royals. "A daguerreotype?" he suggested, pronouncing the word in a perfect French accent.

"I think so," Meg agreed. "But the prince didn't call it that, he called it something -graph. Apparently there is an expert in London, and the queen wants people to start using him and his colleagues more often."

"Yes, a photograph," he told her. He had apparently already heard all about it. He had even thought about suggesting they had one done of the family, though he wasn't too sure he wanted to be memorialized that way. "It is faster than having a portrait painted, but I do not believe the photographs are very big."

"Photograph, that was it." Meg nodded. "Anyway, they want a photograph of the entire company. Apparently you have to be perfectly still for a whole minute, or it comes out blurry."

"Can all those twitching toes remain still for one full minute?" he asked, taking up the last of forkful of cake from his plate, unable to hide the smirk from his face.

"We are not all flighty misfits, thank you very much," his sister objected laughingly. "Some of us even have ambition."

"Oh, the horror," Clara interjected with a wicked smile.

"Yes, I know, and there is no one more deserving than you, petit," he told her, saluting her with his cup of coffee. Maybe someday he'd stop calling her that, but it had become something of a habit.

"They are holding auditions for the Christmas ballet next month," Meg said then, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Which do you think I should audition for - Clara, or the Sugar Plum Fairy?"