CHAPTER TWO
Belle shoved back the curtains on the front window facing the street. Her mother preferred to keep them closed, to prevent the sun from further fading the furniture and the rug. But since their house didn't have electric lights, the sun was their only way to brighten up the room.
Neal and his father were coming. They had received a telegram late informing them that he and his father would be arriving around two o'clock in the afternoon. Thankfully, they were well rehearsed in straightening up their house for unannounced guests. She and her mother could put a room to rights in under five minutes, hiding whatever stray clutter in the master bedroom off of the living room. They had it down to a fine art.
Belle turned around and with hands on hips, she surveyed the living room. Their house wasn't fancy but it was tidy and the shabby furniture had crocheted afghans covering them, to conceal the worn patches. They couldn't put on airs, because they had none, but they could at least show that they were respectable people.
Father was in his chair while Mother was flittering about the room, fussing over every last detail. They were all wearing the Sunday bests and Belle herself took special care fashioning her hair after they received Neal's message, setting the curls just so. I am more apprehensive to meet my future father-in-law than I am to see my fiancé again. The thought occurred to Belle, but she shook it off.
The screech of brakes and the coughing of the exhaust from the tailpipe alerted the three that their guests had arrived!
Belle briefly peered out the window, and on spotting the two figures in the Silver Ghost, she faced her parents once more. "They're here, they're here!" she announced loudly, despite the fact that they were only feet away.
Mother hastened off to the kitchen and returned with the white and blue trimmed tea service. Placing it on the coffee table, she said, "Everyone behave naturally."
"For crying out loud, this is my house!" Father harrumphed and slapped his thigh for effect. "I'll behave as I please!"
Were anyone else visiting, Belle would have laughed. The French family were anything but natural. Maurice French did not like to have people tell him what to do, let alone have someone come into his house – his castle - and dictate his behavior. However, she had to make a good impression on older Mr. Cassidy, otherwise it would be all for naught. She had read enough books to know that wealthy fathers often disinherited sons who married outside their social circle. Much as she liked Neal, and shallow as it was, she needed a fiancé who had enough money to take care of her parents in their dotage.
"Father, please." Belle wrung her hands and sent her father a beseeching look. "For me."
"I'll be good..." Father rolled his eyes and shrugged. He could be a curmudgeon towards others, but he always had a soft spot for her and her Mother. "Well, I'll try at least."
There was a light rap on the front door, followed by a muffled conversation between the two Cassidy's.
Father gave a world-weary sigh. "Let them in." He signaled for her to proceed.
Belle plastered a friendly smile on her face and answered the door. Neal entered first, greeting her bashfully. His color was heightened and he didn't meet her gaze, therefore she figured that he must feel as awkward about their engagement as she did.
"Neal." Belle nodded to her fiancé and though it would have been perfectly acceptable to kiss his cheek, or show some sign of affection towards him, she didn't. For whatever reason, she didn't think of Neal in a romantic sense. Hopefully that would change once they were married. Otherwise spending a lifetime together would be difficult.
Belle turned to the older gentleman lingering on the threshold. Offering her hand to him, she shivered when his fingers coiled around hers. Lifting her gaze, she came face to face with her future father-in-law. A man of slight and slender build, his brown-gray hair unfashionably long waved to his shoulders, his angular features pinched into a severe scowl. Lines webbed from his eyes and around his thin lips – lines full of character and wisdom.
Not handsome in the conventional sense, she wouldn't call him wholly unfortunate looking.
"Mr. Cassidy," Belle bowed her head slightly, declaring as warmly as possible, "I am so happy to finally meet you. Neal has told me ever so much about you."
"Evidentially not enough." The man sneered, shaking his head. A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. "My surname is Gold, dearie, but since we are to soon be related, you may call me Mr. Gold."
Belle stiffened, squaring her shoulders and drew her hand out of Mr. Gold's grasp. Mortified by her mistake, she forced herself to meet his mocking gaze. This is not going to be easy. Although, in her defense, she didn't know how a father and a son could have different surnames, unless of course Neal was adopted.
Stealing a glance at Neal, she noted that he had the good graces to look sheepish. "That is my fault. I'll explain later." The younger man promised and took a seat on the sofa.
Belle was about to move to sit next to her fiancé when Mr. Gold addressed her once more, and this time she detected that the way he enunciated his words, he had a brogue. Whether he was Scottish or Irish, she could not be certain, since she had only ever read about brogues in books.
"So, I see you're the woman who stole my son's heart." Mr. Gold drawled, his words taking on a sharper tone. His teeth gritted, she noticed a gold one in the midst of all the white ones. "Congratulations are in order."
"Thank you." Belle replied.
"I suppose they are your parents." He motioned towards Mother and Father, who had gone uncharacteristically silent since his arrival.
Belle nodded, scolding herself for being so remiss. She lifted her hand towards her parents. "Yes, this is my father, Maurice, and this is my mother, Colette."
Mother offered Mr. Gold a limp handshake and hovered near the tea service, prepared to serve their guest.
As Father and Mr. Gold shook hands, her father jerked the smaller man forward and growled, "Your son is a lucky man, Mr. Gold. He was the one to win my girl's heart. Therefore he had better cherish it. Am I understood?"
Mr. Gold's brow raised and a bemused expression crossed his face. He recoiled from her father, having been duly warned. Sick as he was, Father was not about to let Neal's father get by with his rudeness.
Belle closed her eyes and murmured a prayer. This can't possibly get any worse. However, when Gold planted himself beside his son and his studied the room, right down to the fraying throw rug on the floor, she could almost read his judgmental thoughts.
"I hope your journey wasn't too taxing. I may not stir often on a train, but I am never more tired when a journey ends." Mother gave a lighthearted chuckle and then picking up the teapot, she began pour them each a cup. "Would you like a cup of tea? Oh, and we have cake. Belle and I made it from scratch this morning."
Father huffed and crossed his arms over his belly. Belle assumed that he was put out that he had to share his sweets with Neal and a man he barely knew. A man he was determined not to like.
Mother handed them each a cup, then she and Belle sat across from them on the chairs they had carried in from the kitchen.
Belle nursed the brew, in hopes of soothing her nerves. But it was not helping. Instead, the warmth of it flooded through her veins and she felt herself growing overheated. She'd give anything to be able to throw open a window, but knew that the haughty Mr. Gold would likely frown on that.
Her future father-in-law had not been quiet two minutes before he slyly observed, "You have no servants, I see."
Belle counted to ten, waiting for her fiancé to step in and defend her. She was disappointed when he pressed himself into the corner of the sofa, slurping down his cup of tea.
I will not have Mr. Gold insult my family or our home! She decided fiercely. He might have money and power, he might very well hate her, but that gave him no right to judge her parents. Her parents who had worked their whole lives and who had not been born with silver spoons in their mouths. It may jeopardize her engagement with Neal, but she loved her parents too much to have them insulted.
"No, Mr. Gold, we do not." Belle slammed her cup down on the coffee table, hard enough to break it, but thankfully the little cup was hearty and didn't crack under her abuse. "We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. We do not need to be coddled." Scrunching her nose in his direction, she continued until she made her point. "I also have a job, but I won't offend your more refined sensibilities by crassly going on about it."
Mr. Gold set his cup down as well and leaned back into the sofa. Cocking his head to the side, that infuriating smirk of his reappeared. Rather than looking offended, he seemed more amused that her temper got the better of her.
Unwilling to allow him to get the upper hand, she raised her eyes to his and would not look away until he did. Finally, at long last, Mr. Gold dropped his gaze, seceding from this little battle.
Belle had read Edith Wharton's books and knew that Neal and Mr. Gold lived a life similar to the characters in those stories. They were the kind of people who had a house on Fifth Avenue; they had country houses that they named; they changed their wardrobes every season; and often went on trips to Europe. What they wasted on card games in a night, could be enough for her family to live on for months. The Gold's could buy and sell them thousands of times over.
She folded her hands in her lap and wished that she could think of something – anything – to say. But she had not the talent for making small talk. Especially with people she did not like.
"Storybrooke is gorgeous, is it not?" Neal cleared his throat and quirking a finger under his collar, he tugged on it. "The sea is very, uh, green, and it is very tranquil."
Belle frowned and had expected more from her fiancé. Not only did he not defend her or her family, he did not curb his father's snide remarks. Is this how it will be during our marriage? She pondered. Neal would be meek and let her fight all of their battles, acting more like a child than a husband. She could not imagine enduring years of marriage with such a father-in-law. But she had little choice, not with her parents reliant upon her. I will do anything for them.
Father scooted forward in his chair, leaned over and cut himself a slice of chocolate cake. The blade of the knife clattered on the plate. "Please, help yourselves." He scooped the wedge onto the plate and reclined once more. "We don't stand upon ceremony here." Taking a bite, he grumbled, "Irish bastard."
Mr. Gold shot her father a pointed look. "I'm a Scottish bastard, Mr. French."
"Oh really, there's a difference?" Father shrugged and waved the Scotsman off, preferring his cake to his company.
Belle closed her eyes once more and shook her head. This is going to be a long visit.
#
The second the door closed behind Neal and his father, Belle bolted from the living room and took refuge in her bedroom. She was really too old for school girl histrionics, yet when she threw herself across the bed and broke down in sobs, it felt right.
The visit had only gotten worse, especially when her father and Mr. Gold got on the subject of politics. She thought that argument would never end. The vein in her father's neck looked like it was ready to pop when Neal thankfully piped up and suggested that they should go and get settled at the boarding house.
Belle swiped at her cheeks, sniffing loudly. In a fit of frustration, she plucked the hairpins out of her hair, threw them on the floor, and let her curls loose.
He hates me!
The man, who all her hopes depended upon, hated her. Off and on throughout the visit, she would catch him staring at her. His clever eyes narrowed. She didn't know whether he was plotting on how to end the engagement or picking apart her appearance. Her cotton blue tea dress was three years old, but since she saved it for Sundays and special occasions, it was presentable. Men preferred women with fair hair and blue eyes, tall and thin. Then only thing she had in her favor was her eye color. Though if Neal had no objections to her looks, she didn't know why Mr. Gold should.
Mr. Gold had to hate her because she was poor. That had to be it. No doubt he wanted a wealthy debutant with pedigree for his son, and she did not suit.
Belle hugged her knees to her chest and wondered how she could earn Mr. Gold's respect. Or if she could.
The bedroom door creaked and Mother poked her head in. "Belle? Darling-"
Her mother tiptoed over to the bed, as if walking softly could ease her turmoil any.
"Mr. Gold hates me!" Belle sobbed, gripping the hem of her skirt, mussing it terribly. "You saw how he behaved. Neal won't marry me now."
And then what will become of you and father? A lump had formed in her throat. Dear God, I let my parents down! She had done everything right to entice Neal into matrimony and now it was all going to fall apart. Marriages that defied social barriers always failed!
Mother cupped her cheek and smoothed away her tears. "Nonsense. Neal is in love with you, otherwise he wouldn't have proposed." She reminded her.
Belle nodded and knew that had to be true. Other than her love of literature and love of knowledge, she had very little to recommend her. No dowry, no connections, no property…She was evidently that haughty Scotsman's worst nightmare. Neal had no reason whatsoever to propose to her.
Yet the fact remained: if Neal loved her, it didn't explain why he wouldn't stand up to his father for her.
"Mr. Gold is a prickly sort, to be sure, but there is a little good in everyone." Mother sighed and handed her a hanky. Her mother was too good natured to say anything bad about Mr. Gold, though he deserved it. "Sometimes we need only a pick and a shovel to find it."
"Hateful man." Belle patted her face dry and blinked away the rest of her tears. What had begun as sadness soon gave way to anger. She could not give up so easily, not when she was so close to securing her parents' futures. "He insulted you and father and our way of life. Well, I don't want his blessing. We can marry without it."
Mother winced. The older woman was more apt to seek a peaceful resolution about matters and Belle would never argue with that. But Mr. Gold got under her skin in such a way that she could not easily forgive.
"This was only the first meeting." Mother claimed her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "And Mr. Gold is Scottish; he lives in New York City. They're an odd set there; their manners are very different. You have to make allowances for the very rich; they don't know how to behave amongst the rest of the world."
Belle's lips curved into a smile. Her parents' view on the world was comical and always brightened her spirits.
"Everyone loves you, Belle, and in time you will win Mr. Gold over." Mother promised, and leaning forward, she brushed her lips against Belle's forehead.
Belle nodded. Her mother was right, of course. Their first meeting was disastrous and no doubt his first impression of her was less than perfect. But she would find a way to make Mr. Gold like her.
#
Five seconds.
Gold counted each of them.
That was how long they were in his room at the boarding house before Neal whipped around and lost his temper.
"Papa, how could you?" Neal threw his hands up in the air.
"Neal-" Gold had begun and then clamped his mouth shut when he realized that his boy was nowhere near through with his temper tantrum.
"You- I am so angry with you, I can't even look at you!" Neal shouted, stamping his foot.
His son actually stamped his foot. Like a child. His boy wanted to get married and yet he was behaving no better than a two-year-old. Not that I am any expert on marriage, but Neal is nowhere near ready to wed! Neal needed to take on more responsibilities and behave like a man before he could enter the marriage state.
Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was coming on, one that could only be remedied with a glass of Scotch. "Miss French doesn't love you, Neal, no more than you love her. I can't imagine why you would persist on marrying her. But she, on the other hand, is only interested in your money."
It was as plain as the nose on his face, however, Neal didn't see it. The French's, though a good family in their own right, screamed poverty. Their house, their furniture, their clothes, their food – was a reflection of their means. He could easily pity them; their situation was unfortunate. Mr. French appeared to be ill and Mrs. French at her wits' end. Were Belle French chasing after anyone else's son, he wouldn't blame her.
But this was his son and she was using him.
"Yes, it's impossible that Belle could actually love me." Neal countered, refusing to listen to reason. "She is a sweet girl and you ruined everything!"
Girl? Gold nearly snorted a laugh on that one. Belle French was not a girl. She was a woman. A beautiful, intelligent, temperamental woman. And she knew exactly what she was doing! Baiting his boy into marriage, implying that she loved Neal. Of all the asinine things… Belle French did not act like a woman in love. When she greeted Neal at the door, it was lukewarm; as one might greet a stranger. She barely spoke to Neal at all. No, she displayed no symptom of love.
"Neal, please!" Gold reached out to grasp Neal's shoulder, but his son recoiled from him.
"No! You fix this, or…" Neal paused and for a moment Gold hoped that his resolve was wavering. His heart nearly broke though when his son threatened, "I'll never forgive you! I'll never speak to you again."
A sharp breath seized in Gold's chest and he grappled for the bedpost, otherwise he would have toppled over. Oh God, I can't lose Neal! Not now! He had just found his son, he'd die if his son abandoned him. Before he had wandered aimlessly through life, but since Neal showed up on his doorstep, the boy had become the center of his world.
"I'm sorry." Gold blinked back his unshed tears. He could not lose his composure in front of his child. "I'm sorry, really, I am. I'll smooth things over, I promise." He breathed a sigh of relief when the fury melted from Neal's face. He continued, and hoped that his words didn't sound too shaky. Otherwise he would be betraying his emotions. "If Miss French is half the woman you claim she is...I'm sure I'll grow to love her too."
Neal managed a smile, but the expression didn't seem genuine. His son muttered his thanks and then mentioned that he wanted a snack from the kitchen. The boy left without another word.
Gold sank down on the bed, completely bewildered by the strange turn of events. He and Neal had their worst arguments to date, one that he had feared would destroy the delicate fabric of their relationship. However, Neal merely walked off after Gold apologized and promised to try to like Belle French. He had been hoping for a hug, to prove that Neal had forgiven him.
He would try to keep his word and give Belle French a chance.
Gulping, remorse began to set in. He had not been fair to her or her parents. He had marched into their home, insulted them and their ways, and acted as though he and Neal were superior, when he knew that was hardly true. His own childhood had been a dark one, full of poverty and filth and sadness. It had taken him twenty years to make his fortune. As for Neal, he had been conceived out of wedlock. Society only accepted him and Neal because of their money and connections.
At least the French home seemed to be a happy home.
Belle French was not a bad person. In the beginning, she seemed friendly and eager to like him. Of course, he had to be an ass. It was odd though, that Neal had not enlightened her about his history. Her pretty mouth had twisted into a frown when he continued to needle her, then it wasn't long before her cheeks were scarlet and her nostrils were flared. She was beautiful when she was angry.
Belle French was beautiful, period. Ethereal. When he first clamped his eyes on her, he nearly swallowed his tongue and throughout the visit he could not stop his gaze from wandering to her. The chestnut-haired beauty, with luminous blue eyes fringed in inky lashes, and a porcelain complexion, reminded him of a living china doll. She looked out of place in her common frock; she belonged swathed in silks and satins. He would be willing to wager that she had never felt the pleasure of running silk over her soft skin.
An unbidden image of Belle French naked in his bed, waiting for him on silk sheets, stole through his mind. The vixen would tease him, of course, and make him work for it…As he should.
Gold awakened from his heated little fantasy and rubbed his chin. What had just happened? He had been daydreaming about his son's fiancée. I shouldn't be doing that. God only knew what brought that on.
Perhaps the fifteen years he had been spending in voluntary celibacy had something to do with it.
He rose and stumbled to his suitcase, heaved it onto the bed and cracked it open. Thankfully he had snuck in a bottle of Scotch, in case he needed to steady his nerves.
