CHAPTER ONE

April 1915

Storybrooke

Belle planted herself on the window seat, resting her shoulder against the frame and sniffed the fragrant breeze that wafted through her open window. Outside her bedroom window were clusters of lilac trees, which had recently opened up and bloomed. Blossoming lilacs were always a sure sign of spring.

Cracking open "North and South," she traced over the words and picked up where she left off: Mr. Thornton's proposal to Margaret Hale and her prompt rejection. She had only read the book a hundred times or so but it never got old. Not on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The soft tap of kid boots on the kitchen hardwood floor informed Belle that her mother was near. Belle's bedroom was just off the kitchen and it was situated so that she could hear all of the commotion that went on in there. There were many conversations that she eavesdropped on when she was a curious, young girl.

A knock sounded and her mother entered. Mother's cheeks were flushed, piquing Belle's interest. Her mother never rushed about. Her pace was always slow and her steps dainty.

"What is it, Mother?" Belle laid her book aside.

Mother clasped her hands together and despite her usual poise, she looked giddy as a young girl. "Belle, he is here. Mr. Cassidy has come! I think this is it, darling!" Her mother gushed.

Belle shot to her feet, smoothed out the wrinkles in her dark blue cotton skirt, and pinched her cheeks to bring the color back into them. A comforting squeeze of her mother's hand and a kiss on the cheek provided her with the fortitude to face her suitor. She sailed through the house, past her dozing father in the living room, and out the front door.

Belle found her suitor waiting for her on the porch swing and sat down in the empty spot next to him. "Hello," She greeted the young man with a shy wave. "My mother is fixing some tea for us. It should be ready soon."

So was her mother's custom when a guest arrived. Tea was a miraculous brew that soothed nerves, healed sore throats, and was the perfect beverage for introductions.

Her suitor bashfully bobbed his head.

Mr. Neal Cassidy was a nice young man to say in the least. He was tall, had dark wavy hair, soulful brown eyes and he was handsome in a rugged way. A little awkward at times, likely the effect of being five years her junior, he was what every young woman hoped for in a beau. He had money and position at a family owned business, and had the luxury of taking sea-side holidays, which was the very reason that he was in Storybrooke to begin with.

Neal had sought her out from the start and though Belle didn't know why when he could have his pick of New York debutants, she embraced his suit wholeheartedly. Giving encouragement where encouragement was needed, she set her cap at him and had been waiting for a proposal for the last three days. Dropping her hanky for him to retrieve, taking his arm when they encountered steps, feigning ignorance on certain topics to stoke his masculine pride. Sweet and gentlemanly as Neal was, he was hardly what she had originally envisioned for herself. To be sure, he was no Mr. John Thornton, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Brandon – or any other brooding storybook hero for that matter. He was still boyish and were he not her suitor, he'd better fulfill the role of younger brother.

No, she did not love Neal, but there was no reason that love couldn't grow between them.

But alas, she was twenty-five and a spinster in the making. She was lucky that the bloom had not yet gone off the rose. Beggars could not be choosers. Besides, she had her aging parents to think of. As a wife of a New York businessman, she could provide for them. A high society life in New York was not something she yearned for necessarily, but she could adapt to it. That much she was certain.

Please, let it be. Belle willed it for him to continue and thanks be to Providence, he did!

"Miss French...Belle." Neal's customarily husky voice sounded squeaky, therefore he cleared his throat and began again. His fingers inched towards hers and scooped up her hand. Slick from sweat, her hand slid around inside of his. "Belle…I know we have only known one another for four weeks but I highly respect and admire you. I-I come here today to ask for your hand in marriage. Belle, would you consent to be my wife?"

"Yes, Neal, I'd be honored." Belle lowered her lids and demurely nodded.

Neal changed color and then he blinked several times. "Th-thank y-you. I will do my utmost to make you happy. You will want for nothing."

Belle smiled and sighed. Her prayers had been answered. She had only received one marriage proposal in her life, one that she rejected, and that was years ago. She had no reason to expect another offer, especially when there were so few prospects in Storybrooke. Bachelors tended to prefer young women, fresh out of the schoolroom, innocent and ready to breed. Then when Neal arrived in Storybrooke for his holiday and invited her for drives in his car and for walks, idle chats on the porch swing, hope resurrected within her.

Neal lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there. "I must go to New York to speak to my father." He said abruptly.

Belle's brow furrowed. "So soon?" Her fiancé had never once mentioned his father, although it only made sense that he had one. Someone had to have sired him. It did give her pause to worry, that there was a father lurking in the shadows who did not know of her. And he might not like that his son had chosen a small-town girl. "Do you think Mr. Cassidy will give us his blessing?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes." Neal gulped, his Adam's apple quivering. "Everything will be well, I promise." He placed one last kiss on the back of her hand. "I must go, that way I can make the evening train."

Belle bid him farewell, moved towards the iron railing on the side of the porch. Bracing her palms on top of the rail, she watched with mixed feelings as Neal drove off. Why couldn't he telephone the elder Mr. Cassidy? There was such an invention as the telephone. Her parents didn't have one, only a few in Storybrooke did. But the general store had a communal telephone which all were welcomed to use. A quick conversation would be easier, but then again, perhaps Neal would be more convincing in person. He would use his earnestness to sway the elder Mr. Cassidy in her favor.

Belle swallowed, only then realizing how dry her mouth was and she returned inside.

Her mother had the tea service set out on the coffee table and was perched on the edge of the sofa, pouring a fourth cup. She would be disappointed that Neal hadn't stayed, but would no doubt have the opportunity to entertain him many times in the future. Whilst on the wrong side of forty-five, her mother was still a prettyish sort of creature. Tall, lithe, her medium brown hair lightened by gray strands. No matter the trial or the tribulation, Mother always possessed a particular serenity that Belle envied. One that one would acquire with age. Even so, her mother would no longer have to struggle or worry, not now.

Belle stood before her parents, beaming, "Mr. Cassidy proposed and I accepted. We are engaged." She announced.

Mother got up and hugged her. "Darling, I am so happy for you."

Father remained in his chair, but nodded to her proudly. His aged eyes glinted with unshed tears. "Yes, he came by here the other day to ask my permission. Nice fellow." He complemented off-handedly.

Father would have gotten up, if he could have. He was an invalid; his health had been compromised by a heart attack. A carpenter by trade, he collapsed in his workshop one day and though it was a close shave, he clung to life. Now having to contend with a weak constitution, he spent most of his days in his chair in the living room, his rocking chair on the front porch, or in bed. Unable to provide for his family, he had to swallow his pride and allow Belle to work as a maid for Granny Lucas, the woman who ran the boarding house. Mother took in other people's laundry and did fine needle work. Determined to make some sort of contribution, Father whittled little animal figurines that were sold in the general store and the boarding house. His fingers had thickened, his knuckles becoming knobby with rheumatism, but he wouldn't stop.

Now, Father will be able to rest. Belle felt her heart squeeze in her chest that she could scarcely draw breath. Now that she was marrying Neal Cassidy, they would no longer have to live from month to month, wondering if they could put food on the table or had enough wood for the stove.

Mother handed her one of the cups and Belle settled on the sofa beside her mother. She sipped the hot liquid and closed her eyes, satisfied with her accomplishments for the day.

"Did Mr. Cassidy not want to come in? Your mother has cake." Father pointed to a small cake that seemed to have Moe French's name on it. Happy as he was about the engagement, he could not take his eyes off of the little white dessert.

Cake was not healthy for those suffering with heart ailments, but Father's appetite had dwindled since his collapse. The one thing he craved was cake. Nothing else would satisfy. "Well, he would be no better off prohibiting cake," Dr. Whale reasoned. "May as well let him eat cake, if it makes him happy." And so, her father was permitted cake. The only cake he turned his nose up to was an orange citric cake. The first bite wasn't too bad, yet every bite after that grew progressively worse. They had tried to feed it to a stray dog and the dog refused it, recoiling from it. Then he hiked his leg on it.

And now her father would get to have all the cakes in the world. New York would not be wanting in selection, that was for sure. They would have far fancier delights than what Storybrooke could offer.

"He had to go to New York." Belle explained, placing her cup on the coffee table.

"That was rather quick." Father observed and a grin broke across his round face when Mother cut him a slice of cake, put it on a plate, and handed it to him. "But young fellows are always on the move these days." He licked his lips and dug the fork into the moist dessert. "That car of his is a wonder. The Silver Ghost."

Neal's Rolls Royce, better known as the Silver Ghost, was a force not to be reckoned with. Belle had never set foot in a car before that one and was a little skittish of it at first. But as soon as they were blasting around Storybrooke in the magnificent automobile, she fell in love with it.

"Neal needs to speak to his father." Belle exhaled and decided that she could no longer contain her enthusiasm. She wanted them to know that they no longer had to worry or labor; better days lay ahead for all of them. Resting her hand on her mother's slim wrist, she continued, "Mother, Father, I am going to take such good care of you."

"Darling girl, you already do." Mother patted her cheek and took a drink from her cup. "All that matters to us is your happiness."

I will be happy, knowing that you are well. Belle smiled knowingly.

Her parents would never want her to marry without love; they themselves had loved each other dearly when they wed. Her mother and father had shown her more love and care than two parents should, and now was her chance to take care of them.

Neal Cassidy was a good young man; she knew no harm of him and would no doubt come to love him in time. But for now, Belle was relieved knowing that her parents' well-being would be seen to.

#

New York

Gold eased back in his favorite chair and nursed his scotch, watching the flames in the fireplace dance. Usually a warm blaze in his library made him drowsy, but since Neal left his house four weeks ago to go on a seaside holiday, sleep had become a dim memory. He had not expected to be so agitated about his son's absence, not this soon after meeting the lad. Their relationship was a peculiar one; he had not even known of Neal's existence until a year prior. Neal had shown up on his doorstep, claiming to be his son, and after a little investigating of his own, Gold knew it in his heart to be true.

A confirmed bachelor, he had not expected to embrace fatherhood so eagerly. But a son – a child – fulfilled him in ways that business and society never could. All of his former pursuits seem shallow in light of having a child. He had never believed in true love until he met Neal. He had found his life's purpose. The boy fit into his life so easily that having him away from home felt unnatural and he could stop worrying that something horrible would happen to his son.

Gold's head snapped up at the familiar sound of his son's return. He would recognize his son's greeting to the butler anywhere. Casting a quick glance at the clock on the mantle, he took note of how late it was. Incredibly late to be traveling, and unexpected. But he'd rather have Neal show up early unannounced than have to wait until morning and spend another night apart.

He plunked his drink down and scrambling to his feet, he strode out of the library, down a large flight of stairs and to the foyer where Neal was handing his coat and luggage off to the butler.

Before Neal could get a word in edgewise, Gold hugged him tightly, fearing that his boy might vanish again.

"Neal, you're back!" He parted and clapped his son on the shoulder. "How was the sea side?"

Gold didn't really understand why his boy needed to make a sudden trip to Maine. He had his suspicions that it had to do with a certain Miss Nolan turning his boy's marriage proposal down. Neal had been brokenhearted and desperate for a change of scenery. Well acquainted with having his own heart crushed many, many times, he naturally agreed when Neal asked to go on the trip. Anything to make his son happy.

Neal looked sheepish and hunched his shoulders. The lad looked tired; his eyes had purplish shadows beneath them and he was pale, as though he too had done without several nights of sleeps.

Gold squinted. He was only learning how to interpret his child's looks, but he sensed that Neal had done something that he wasn't altogether proud of. "What is it? Good Lord, don't tell me that you need more money. If you do, its fine. But you spend it like water." He gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. Having missed out on the first nineteen years of Neal's life, Gold felt he had to supply his boy with whatever money he required. Even so, Neal had to be watchful. "I'm not angry, really. But the gaming tables know how to hook you. You probably don't know this, but your grandfather was a gambler and trouble with cards runs in our blood. So, we have to be careful-"

"Papa, I'm engaged!" Neal interrupted and then he covered his mouth.

The butler fussed with the luggage, a paltry attempt at listen in on their conversation.

Gold motioned for his son to follow him up the library, where they would be able to talk in private.

Neal trailed behind him and it felt like an eternity before the younger man crossed the threshold and closed the door.

"What? How?" Gold shook his head, completely bewildered by the turn of events. "I thought you and the Nolan girl had a falling out."

"It's not...Its someone else." Neal rasped, once again slouching. He shuffled his feet on the Persian rug, resembling more of a schoolboy receiving a set down from a school master, than someone on the cusp of manhood. "Miss Belle French of Storybrooke, Maine consented to be my wife." He sucked in a breath and then exhaled loudly. "Please say something."

Gold blinked his shock and didn't know how to immediately respond. "I - uh... I have never heard of the French's of Maine." Racking his muddled mind, he couldn't recall hearing of such a family. Not that he had given Maine much thought in general. "Are they new money?"

"They have no money, Papa." Neal massaged his creased brow and he took an involuntary step back. "Belle is not an heiress and she has no dowry to speak of. But she is a good, kind, beautiful girl - very intelligent. She loves to read. I like her very much."

Gold suddenly had a vision of Neal, as a boy, alone and neglected, desperate for someone to love him. Vulnerable enough to be taken advantage of. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, then opened them once more. The real Neal was once more before him. The twenty-year-old, really wasn't much different from his vision. He was too good and thought too well of everyone to be aware that people would take advantage of him.

And this Miss Nobody of Nowheresville, Maine, had sunk her sharp, little claws into his boy. His only child.

No.

Belle French would not be taking advantage of Neal. He wouldn't allow it. Having long been acquainted with the ways of the world, Gold was not about to see his child destroyed at the hands of a conniving girl, frantic to marry up in the world.

"You like her?" Gold retrieved his glass of scotch from where he left it on the end table and drank the remainder of it in one large gulp. It burned like hellfire all the way down his esophagus, but it awakened his senses. He put it down and turned back to his son. "Good Lord, son, she is after your inheritance."

"What?" Neal's mouth swung open.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gold muttered a prayer of strength. "This Belle French may be a very good sort of girl, but she knows you have money. She is not of our class."

"Papa!" Neal scolded.

Gold cringed, hating to deny his son anything. It had been his policy to let his son have whatever he desired. But one day, Neal would thank him for his protection. "Neal, really, everyone has their level. I mean, do they even have social circles in Maine?"

Neal crossed his arms; which still possessed more baby fat than muscles. "That's rich coming from the man who descended from gamblers and grew up on the streets of Glasgow. You moved from place to place and never knew when your next meal would be. You made your fortune." His boy swiftly countered and undaunted, he added, pointing out, "Papa, I am the product of love. You loved where you pleased, why can't I?"

Gold pressed his lips together and made his way back to his chair near the fire. Slumping down into the cushion that conformed perfectly to his derrière, he briefly regretted telling Neal about his roots. Leave it to his quick boy to throw that back in his face, and then to reference Milah. Of course, he had loved Milah – though looking back on it, it had been a boy's love, which ended badly. Gold couldn't be sorry for it though, since the union had given him Neal.

Neal pushed another arm chair closer and took a seat. His youthful eyes watched Gold's every movement.

Gold's fingers twitched; he really needed another drink. But he didn't wish to be a bad example for Neal. "Do you really love this girl? If you did, I could at least understand why you would over look her deficiencies." Studying his boy's expression, though Neal was being honest, there seemed something lacking in his son's demeanor. He was not acting like a young man in love. Not only that, it didn't explain how he could fall so easily out of love with Miss Nolan and then in love with this new girl. "Are you certain you are not retaliating against Miss Nolan? This is awfully sudden-"

"I care for Belle and she will be my wife, with or without your blessing!" Neal made a fist and slammed it dramatically into the arm of the chair. In a more moderate tone, he admitted, "Though I would like to have it."

This is a mistake! Gold rolled his shoulders and wasn't satisfied until he heard a pop. He had been carrying the tension in his neck and shoulders ever since Neal went on his holiday. And now it was only likely to get worse. He ought to refuse, he really should.

But once glimpse into those large, brown eyes, Gold faltered.

"All right." Gold gave a reluctant nod of approval. "If this is what you want, then you have my support."

He waited for his son to show some emotion – happiness or excitement. Anything.

Neal merely mumbled his thanks and stared blankly into the fire.

Gold fought to urge to make further conversation and let an awkward silence fall between them, which offered him time to think.

He'd play along with this charade, for now. But he intended to visit this Miss Belle French of Storybrooke and put an end to her machinations and send her on her way.

Then he would do what he could to fix his poor boy's broken heart.