Chapter 2: "Gaelic Storm"
Pacing about in his private room, Adam took a deep breath. Tonight had been… eventful. Dreadfully eventful. He would have died had Belle not been in the right place at the right time, and he didn't even get the chance to thank her. How would he find her again? There were over two thousand people aboard Titanic. He wouldn't even know where to start.
More pressing still was his father's most recent lecture, which he had given to him after returning from brandies with the Captain, entirely unaware of Adam's… seasickness.
He had insisted that Adam give Marie the ring tomorrow night, after dinner. That way, it would be the main subject of conversation among all of the first class passengers the next day once they all got a good look at it. Normally, Adam would have fought his father's orders, told him that he would give Marie "the Prince's Rose" when he was bloody well ready, but he was simply too exhausted to bother. He was already on the ship, which was currently heading out to sea, with no way of stopping the life that was racing toward him. He had no way out.
Twisting the padlock on the safe, he opened the door and pulled the small velvet box out, flipping it open and examining the diamond with a pointed frown. How could something so small be such a heavy burden? How could he ever bring himself to give it to Marie in a way that wouldn't seem insulting? His only hope was that she would be too distracted by the sheer size of the thing to notice how little his heart was in whatever speech he would force out in the moment. Thus far, he had given it very little thought. How was he supposed to profess his undying love to a woman he didn't love at all? How could his love be 'undying' if it was never alive to begin with?
Huffing with frustration, he snapped the box shut again and put it back in the safe, shutting the door harshly and stalking over to his bed, flopping backward onto it with dejection. Tomorrow was a new day, and every new day brought the promise of a fresh wave of misery.
For Belle, however, every new day brought the promise of a new adventure. In her eyes, you never knew what you were going to do or who you were going to meet – just look at yesterday. When she woke up, she had been sleeping in the back of a musty tavern with Plumette's lap as a pillow, and by nightfall she'd been talking a French lord off the edge – quite literally – aboard the world's largest luxury ocean liner. Some people preferred to live an easy, structured life, but Belle was never able to see the appeal. She wanted adventure, and she intended to get it every single day, so long as she still breathed.
Today, she was certain, would be no different. After hearing the terribly exciting story of what Belle had done with her evening, Plumette decided she didn't want to go up top and risk coming across a suicidal lord of her own. She would stay where it was safe and quiet, thank you very much. How long that would last, Belle had no idea, but she didn't object.
Currently, she was sprawled on a deck chair and working on her sketches, the ocean air whipping a stray strand of hair around that she had missed when clumsily throwing it up into a ribbon that morning. She'd been the in middle of drawing a group of little girls playing with immaculately dressed china dolls when a shadow suddenly blocked out her sunlight.
"Belle?"
Flitting her gaze up, she found herself meeting the same blue eyes that she had encountered last night – at first when their owner turned around to face her whilst dangling over the edge of the ship, and secondly when he fell on top of her, their faces mere inches apart. They'd been blown open so wide in that moment that she thought she might drown in them. Not that he needed to know that.
"You're blocking my light," was her response, and he furrowed his brow before realizing what she meant, quickly stepping to the side and tilting his head once she was no longer in his shadow.
"You made quick work of disappearing last night. I never got to thank you," he explained, glancing around as if he expected that someone was spying on him, and Belle couldn't help feeling amused by his clear paranoia. He looked like a skittish kitten. Closing her leather-bound sketch folder, she tucked her pencil into her hair and turned to look at him, gesturing to the deck chair beside hers. Quirking his lips up at the gesture, Adam joined her.
"You don't have to thank me," she told him once he was seated, "I did what anyone would have done."
"Now, see, you didn't," he was quick to disagree, folding his hands and shaking his head. "If that were the case, I never would have been debating jumping at all. What you did was… quite remarkable. I owe you a great debt."
"You owe me nothing of the sort," Belle informed him gently, frowning slightly. "What troubles me is why you were thinking of jumping at all."
Falling quiet at her question, Adam pursed his lips and dropped his gaze to his hands. How could he possibly explain that? Even he felt, deep down, that it was all very foolish. What did he have to complain about, really? He was the son of a reputable earl, engaged to be married to a woman who would make him extremely rich, and he had more material wealth and trinkets in his suite on this ship alone than most people owned in their entire lifetime. People on the lower decks would envy him, and likely try to kill him if they found out he was unhappy with his lot. He had no right to be.
"You must think me quite an idiot," he stated, but not with pomp or snark; he said it matter-of-factly. "Poor little rich boy; what's he got to complain about?"
"I wasn't thinking that," Belle disagreed, frowning even more and turning fully to face him, their knees touching from how close their deck chairs were to each other. "What I meant was, what could possibly have made you want to jump? Of all possible ways to die, what could be so horrid that would prompt you to choose that? How could there possibly be no kinder way out? No way out that… well, doesn't involve death?"
Lifting his gaze to meet hers, Adam was shocked by the sincerity he found there; sincerity wasn't a commonality among his circle. Or any aristocratic circle, for that matter. She really wanted to know his story. She wanted to know him – the real him. Taking a slightly shaky breath, he swallowed roughly before speaking.
"Have you ever felt… trapped, Belle? Like the world has you backed into a cage, and you have no choice but to go where it takes you, no matter how badly you want to fight it?"
"No," Belle informed him, shaking her head. "Because that's not a real concept. No one can trap you if you don't want to be trapped. You can only be trapped if you sit idly by and let it happen."
Opening his mouth to respond, he closed it again and furrowed his brow as her words sank in. In a way, she was right; once the ship docked, there was nothing at all stopping him from steeling away in the night and never coming back. He could hop a train, travel across America, and start a new life. A life operated solely on his terms. He was letting all of this happen to him – how had he never looked at it that way before?
"You're very wise, Belle," he finally heard himself say, and she grinned, shaking her head.
"I'm happy to help."
When she got to her feet, clearly intending to leave, Adam found himself jumping up to follow her.
"How did you become so wise? Who was your governess?"
"Governess!" she laughed at the idea, hugging her drawings to her chest as they walked, giving a small wave to the group of little girls she had been drawing before they continued on. "I'm not sure where you think I come from, Adam, but it certainly wasn't a place where governesses were eager to teach."
Frowning, he walked alongside her, glancing back at the group of girls she had waved to before asking another question.
"Where are you from, then?"
Glancing up at him, surprised that he actually wanted to know, Belle took a breath before offering up tidbits of her life story.
"Paris. I was born there, but we didn't live there for very long. My mother died of Spanish influenza when I was very young, and my father moved us to a small town on the outskirts of France. Far away from the memories."
"Oh." Frowning, Adam put his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing down at Belle after a few seconds of silence. "I'm sorry. That's dreadful."
She could tell from his tone that he was sincere, prompting her to offer him a small smile, assuring him, "We got on fine."
After walking in silence again for another moment or two, Adam quietly added, "I lost my mother, as well. Also to Spanish influenza. It was… easily the worst week of my life. Watching her slip away like that… it still haunts me. The worst of it was knowing that I couldn't help her, no matter how badly I wanted to. I felt so useless."
Frowning with sympathy, Belle shook her head, looking up at him.
"I'm sure she didn't see it that way," she offered, "I can tell that you loved her dearly. That undoubtedly meant a great deal to her. Just having you near would have been a tremendous comfort…"
Adam shrugged, unsure of what else to say, opting for a change of subject – hopefully to one slightly less painful.
"Did you stay in that small town all your life? With your father? Are you travelling to New York with him?"
Her smile slipping, Belle turned her gaze to look straight ahead as they walked, taking a breath before she answered him.
"No. No, Papa, he… he passed on a few years ago. Pneumonia. He got lost in a snowstorm, and… there was just nothing the doctors could do to help him. But he always wanted me to do something with my life, to see the world, so… that's what I'm trying to do. I'm living every day like it's my last, because you never know. It just might be. If it is, you want to make it count."
"Have you seen it, then?" Adam asked, offering her a small smile, "The world?"
Laughing at the sheer silliness of the question, Belle shrugged, brushing the stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Not quite, I'm afraid. The world, as it turns out, is quite a big place. I have been to a few places, though. So far I've seen Valencia, London, and… Paris. It just felt right, going back there; I suppose it was my childhood calling me home."
Belle smiled at the sentiment before wrinkling her nose and adding, "People pay rubbish money there, though. That was quite a disappointment."
Laughing as she wrinkled her nose, Adam felt his grin widen, eagerly asking, "What is it you do, precisely? To make your 'rubbish' money?"
Her own smile widening, Belle pulled the pencil from her hair with a dramatic flourish, taking a theatrical bow before responding with, "I, monsieur, am an artiste."
"You don't say?" he found himself chuckling, his gaze falling to the leather-bound folder she'd been toting around for their entire walk, smirking and grabbing it before she could object. Artistes had a pension for secrecy, but now he was curious. Fending off her attempts to snatch it back, Adam turned his back to her and flipped it open, blinking with surprise at the topmost drawing; an elaborate, detailed sketch of three little girls playing with china dolls – an exact likeness to the group she had waved to. Flipping back further through the sheets of paper, Adam found a striking charcoal drawing of Big Ben, along with a similar one of the Eiffel Tower, and further still there were drawings of people. Dozens of them. Children playing with dogs, ladies dressed in their finery, and –
"Is this… me?" he questioned, pulling one drawing in particular from the pile, utterly baffled. When could she have done this? They only met last night, under rather extreme circumstances, and the likeness here wasn't dangling over the edge of a ship. No; he was leaning against a railing, yes, but staring forward with an undeniable sense of sadness etched on his features. He'd been so sure that he had mastered keeping his emotions masked. Was he truly so transparent that a perfect stranger was able to capture his innermost feelings with only a pencil and a blank sheet of paper?
"When did you do this?"
Darting around to stand in front of him, her cheeks flushed a bright shade of scarlet, Belle quickly took back her drawings from him, stuffing his own portrait back into the folder and snapping it shut. Realizing she owed him an explanation, she breathlessly offered, "I was sitting below last night, drawing random people that I saw on the upper deck. You stood there, staring at the sunset for such a long time… You were practically begging to be drawn." Swallowing roughly, her cheeks turning even redder, she added, "You're… quite beautiful."
His own cheeks flushing pink, Adam looked away, putting his hands back in his pockets as he glanced out at the waves breaking repeatedly. After a moment of contemplation, without meeting her gaze he asked, "Do I really look like that?"
"Beautiful?" she asked, and he shook his head, turning back to her and staying quiet for a moment before he clarified, "…sad."
Frowning faintly, Belle found herself at a loss for words. Sometimes, in Valencia, London, and Paris, she would offer her impromptu drawings of people to them for a small fee. But never the ones like this. Never ones that could reveal something to a person about themselves that they would rather live in ignorance of. She felt she had done an extreme injustice in letting that drawing fall into Adam's hands.
"If you weren't sad, I don't think I would have found you as I did last night," she finally offered and he exhaled a gruff breath, rubbing his face and, in doing so, accidentally leaving smudges of charcoal in his wake. Evidently some had rubbed off onto his fingertips while he was flipping through her drawings, and Belle bit her lip at the sight. She certainly couldn't lick her thumb and wipe it away, like she would if it were her own face. Opening her mouth to tell him, she ended up being cut off by a trill of, "Darling! There you are!"
Turning their heads at the same time, Belle and Adam caught sight of Marie approaching, surrounded by a group of other ladies who were accompanied by Mr. Andrews and the Earl of Avignon. Adam quickly regained his composure as they neared.
"We wondered where you wandered off to. You've missed half the tour," Marie informed him, adjusting his jacket on his shoulders, furrowing her brow at the sight of his dirty face but saying nothing about it.
"I was just having a conversation with Mademoiselle Delacour. We met last night," Adam justified his sudden disappearance, but the simple answer didn't seem to appease his father.
"And who, puis-je demander, is Mademoiselle Delacour?"
Belle felt rather unsettled by the Earl's firm gaze, and further unsettled by the clear distaste found in it. While no one had, as of yet, commented on her being on the top deck, he seemed to be a few seconds away from doing so.
Adam was floundering. How was he to explain that they had met when she saved him from pitching himself over the edge of the ship?
"She's… That is, we… I…"
"Oh, don't be so modest," Belle quickly sprang to his rescue, offering the group a smile, "He saved my life."
"My god!" Marie gasped, looking up at Adam, "Darling, is this true?"
"I…" Meeting Belle's intent gaze, he cleared his throat before nodding with certainty. "Yes. Yes, it's true." Quickly recalling the story that she sold the guards last night, he continued, "You remember when I slipped away last night, due to seasickness?"
"Of course," Marie agreed, nodding. "We were so worried!"
"Well…" Adam scratched his cheek, and it took everything Belle had not to snicker when he managed to smudge more of the charcoal on his skin. "When I went to the stern to get some air, I encountered Mademoiselle Delacour. She'd been leaning over the edge, trying to see the propellers, and she… slipped."
There was a gasp from the crowd, and Adam quickly finished before they could ask too many questions that he wouldn't be able to answer, "I grabbed her before she could fall. She had quite a fright, but… she's alright now."
"Oh, you poor thing! How dreadful!" Marie gasped, taking in Belle properly for the first time, followed by positively beaming up at Adam. "Why, my fiancé is a hero!"
"Quite right, he is!" Madame Potts agreed, and Chip gaped at Belle with wide eyes.
"Did you really fall over the edge of the ship?"
"Almost," Belle lied easily, looking pointedly down at him, "So you'd best make sure you're extra careful when playing up here. It's not a fun experience."
"She is absolutely right," Madame Potts agreed, looking down at her son, "You listen to her, now! You remember how you were running about yesterday? That could have happened to you."
"It would be quite dreadful to really fall," Adam agreed, casually adding, "I've heard there are sharks."
"Miss, you really must be more careful. Machinery like the propellers is not to be taken lightly. You should never have gotten so close to the edge," Mr. Andrews cautioned her, prompting the Earl to finally speak up.
"She shouldn't have been up here at all. Just look at her dress! And that sweater – it has holes in it. I don't believe your ticket permits you to mingle about in the upper class areas, Mademoiselle Delacour."
Blushing at being called out, Belle had half a mind to tell the Earl off, to inform him that, had she not been up here, his son would surely be dead, but that wasn't her place.
"Now, Lord d'Avignon; there's no need to cause a fuss. I don't think she was hurting anyone-" Mr. Andrews interjected, and the Earl whipped his head around to face him.
"Not hurting anyone? She could have pulled my son over the edge with her! She had no right to be up here-"
"Oh, Father, do shut up," Adam finally snapped, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips. If only he knew the truth of the matter. That Belle had prevented him from falling over the edge, and he owed her his life for being up here when she was. Turning to face her, his next question was both a silent 'thank you' and an attempt to spite his father. "Belle, will you join us for dinner this evening?"
"What did you just say-?!" the Earl snapped, horrified, but Marie cut him off this time.
"Oh, darling, that's a wonderful idea! Miss Delacour, we would love for you to come to dinner. Then you and Adam can recount his heroic tale for all of our friends. You'll come, won't you?"
Belle hardly felt that it was her place to say no, and she certainly wasn't one to turn down a good meal when it was offered. Hugging her drawings tightly to her chest, she nodded with a small smile.
"I'd be delighted," she agreed, and Adam grinned.
"Wonderful! You shall be our guest of honour," he concurred, and Belle repressed her amusement at how ridiculous that sounded whilst he had charcoal on his face. So prim and proper, and still so oblivious.
"I suppose I'll see you tonight, then," she agreed, and the group all murmured their goodbyes before continuing on, and Belle couldn't help her quiet laughter when she heard Marie finally ask, "Darling, what is that all over your face?"
"I'm not sure if you realize what you've just agreed to, poppet."
Jumping when she realized that one of the women had remained back, Belle turned to face Madame Potts, quickly smoothing her skirt down in an attempt to look halfway decent.
"I'm sorry?" she asked, and the older woman tutted.
"It's the snake pit, dearie. They all seem sweet and charming, but they'll tear you to shreds at the first chance."
Belle was tempted to remark that the Earl hadn't seemed at all sweet and charming, but bit her tongue lest her invitation to dinner be revoked for such a comment. Instead, she focused on Madame Potts, who was asking, "What, precisely, do you plan to wear?"
"Oh. I… um…"
Glancing down, Belle gestured half-heartedly to her dress, sweater and boots. They were all that she owned. Madame Potts tutted again at the feeble gesture, taking Belle by the hand, her other still clutching at her son's.
"Don't worry over it. My niece is just about your size. I had a dress made for her while I was in Paris, but I don't think she'll mind if it's a bit warn. I'll just tell her it's the latest French fashion trend."
She tittered with amusement at her comment, and Belle smiled curiously, letting Madame Potts pull her along. She was nothing like the aristocrats Belle had come across prior to this; she was… genuine.
"-and if you'll follow me to the left, I'll show you to the engine room."
Walking along the deck with their group while Mr. Andrews led the tour onward, Marie hanging on his arm, Adam frowned.
"Monsieur Andrews – how many passengers did you say are aboard Titanic?"
Pausing in guiding his tour, Mr. Andrews glanced back at the young man, noting his troubled expression. "Roughly two-thousand and two-hundred souls are aboard, my lord."
"Forgive me, but…" Glancing over his shoulder, Adam's frown deepened, "…there don't seem to be nearly enough boats for that many people."
"Ah…" Clearing his throat, Mr. Andrews nodded, gradually walking onward at a slower pace. "There are enough for about half, my lord."
"Half? Surely you must be joking," Adam countered, but Mr. Andrews shook his head.
"I assure you, my lord, I am very serious. I petitioned to have more boats added – I even designed the ship so there would be room for another row. But… the board thought it would make the deck look too cluttered, and I was overruled."
"Aesthetics overruled the fundamental safety of human lives?" Adam asked, frowning deeply, and Mr. Andrews nodded.
"I share your disdain entirely, my lord, but there was nothing I could do. I'll keep petitioning, I assure you."
"Petitioning at all seems a bit silly," Marie joked, chuckling as she added, "What need is there for lifeboats at all on a ship that's unsinkable?"
The group laughed along with her, but Adam continued to frown, muttering, "Nothing that floats is entirely unsinkable."
"Now, would you look at that! Chip, doesn't she look just like a shiny diamond?"
Standing beside Belle, whom she had dragged along to her suite, Madame Potts beamed at the sight of the young woman's reflection in the large gilded mirror. She'd had one of the maids help her get Belle into the dress that had been intended for her niece; it looked, and felt, expensive. Belle was certain that the underskirts were made of silk, and the top layer sparkled so much that it made her wonder if the golden thread really was made of gold. It felt bizarre, to look in the mirror at the face staring back at her. It wasn't… her.
This girl didn't look like she'd ever slept under a bridge, or gulped pints of beer during a poker game, or drawn nude portraits of both women and men from life. She looked… classy. Madame Potts had used a flurry of products and contraptions to make Belle's hair curl, and then proceeded to pin parts of it up with golden barrettes that looked nearly as expensive as a ticket to board this ship would be. Apparently, the older woman had been a lady's maid before her husband obtained his fortune, meaning she was a wiz with hairpins. Belle felt that there was no possible way the Earl could sneer at her now.
"You look really pretty," Chip agreed, beaming, and Belle offered him a smile in return, feeling a laugh bubble out of her. This was all mad. Completely and utterly mad. She was about to eat in the finest dining room to ever grace the seven seas! Plumette would never believe it. Belle only wished she'd had a chance to run down and tell her friend the crazy news, but Madame Potts had insisted that getting Belle ready for dinner would take all of the time they had before the meal was served. Apparently, it was rude to go to a fancy soiree without having a proper bath first.
"Come, now; let's get you into these slippers and away we go. We don't want to be late!"
Handing Belle a pair of silk, yellow shoes, Madame Potts ushered her son toward the door, and Belle quickly put them on before hurrying after the pair of them. There was still the pressing issue that she had no idea how to act at this dinner – but, then again, what harm could there possibly be in just being herself? It certainly seemed to be enough for Adam, and he was the one who had invited her in the first place. Well, he had invited, and the young woman who fluttered around him constantly had insisted. Belle had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Oh-You-Must-Come had something to do with the fact that he felt "trapped" …
"You remember what I told you last night."
Pausing in adjusting his bowtie, Adam frowned at the sound of his father's voice, not turning to face him. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on the mirror as he said, "How could I forget? You were very aggressive about it."
"That ring is the key to squashing any rumors that may be circulating about our depleting fortune, Adam! You must give it to Marie tonight. If you don't, I assure you that there will be consequences."
Ignoring the latter part of his father's rantings, Adam turned around, checking his cufflinks before meeting his father's gaze.
"Are they really rumors if they're true, Father? Our fortune isn't 'depleting'. It's gone. You saw to that by buying that damn ring in the first place."
"That damn ring is going to ensure our future! Don't press me, boy."
Scoffing, Adam cast one last glance at the mirror before walking over to stand eye-to-eye with the Earl.
"I can assure you, Father, that the damn ring is going to do nothing of the sort. Marie has already agreed to marry me, and she already has a ring. Mother's ring! If you ask me, that's a far more precious gift than some stupid trinket worn by a queen who had her head lobbed off."
"Oh, don't be so idiotic," the Earl sneered, shaking his head at his son, "She is a woman. A daft, dimwitted woman who cares far more for trinkets than she does about sentimentality. You will give her the ring if you know what's good for you."
"Are you really going to threaten me? Now, when your future depends on my going through with this marriage? Because I don't give a damn about our fortune. The estate can crumble to the ground for all I care."
"Why you insolent-!" the Earl began to shout, but his string of curses was cut off by a knock on the door of Adam's private room. His blue eyes smoldering with irritation and a silent challenge, never leaving his father's face, the young lord d'Avignon said, "Enter."
Opening the door, Lumiere took a step inside, clearing his throat before speaking. It was clear that he had interrupted a rather intense moment, and he wished to get out of here as quickly as possible.
"Mes seigneurs, Mademoiselle Dockery wishes to know if you are ready to depart for the dining room. She has finished dressing, and is quite peckish."
"We are," the Earl stated, glaring at Adam for a moment longer before turning on his heel and brushing past Lumiere. Quickly stepping aside so as not to be pushed, the valet glanced at Adam with an arched eyebrow. In turn, Adam sighed.
"You don't want to know, old friend. Repeating his drivel would be a waste of your time, and of mine."
Lumiere nodded, following Adam out to the drawing room where Marie was waiting, already having taken the Earl's arm. Adam didn't want to know what his father's intentions were in escorting his fiancée. Choosing not to ask or protest, he stepped out of the room once Lumiere opened the door, walking with the three of them toward the dining room. Of course, in the heat arguing with his father, Adam had all but entirely forgotten about the guest who would be joining them for dinner; his mind had been elsewhere, in the safe with that damn ring. So, upon hearing Marie's gasp when they paused at the top of the stairs, he didn't even consider what could have possibly caused that reaction.
"Is that really the same girl from earlier? She looks positively divine! Adam, don't you think she looks divine?"
Turning his head away from the intricate clock he had been examining, Adam followed Marie's gaze to the foot of the stairs, feeling his own eyes widen. Surely that wasn't Belle? Where could she have gotten such fine attire, and on such short notice? She looked more than just divine; she looked… radiant.
"More like a wolf in sheep's skin, if you ask me," the Earl remarked, and Marie tittered good naturedly, but Adam could tell her heart wasn't in it as they walked down the stairs together. Moving to follow them, his eyes never leaving Belle, he felt his cheeks flush slightly when she finally turned and caught him staring at her. And then, recalling that drawing he'd discovered this afternoon, he remembered.
Yesterday, almost exactly twenty-four hours to the minute, he'd seen her. He had been staring at the sunset and became overwhelmed with that eerie feeling of being watched, prompting him to look down and catch the eyes of his onlooker. A beautiful girl, slightly rumpled, with hair that was almost gold in the evening sunlight. He'd been just as mesmerized as she was, staring intently back, but then Marie had come out and stolen his attention.
Evidently, his near-death experience had been enough to make him forget about a moment that small, but he wasn't likely to forget about it again. She'd seen something in that moment; she'd seen right through him, enough to draw him in a way that perfectly expressed how he was feeling inside – something that no one else saw.
Meeting her at the foot of the stairs, Adam offered a smile, taking her hand in his and bowing at the waist in order to bring it to his lips. Belle flushed at the gesture, but smiled in return as he kissed her hand, an involuntary giggle escaping her.
"I thought people only did that in motion pictures," she commented, and he grinned even more, straightening out enough to help her take his arm, leading her toward the dining room.
"You're a vision," he commented, grinning all the while, "and ladies as stunning as you are to be treated with the utmost respect and charm."
"You're making me blush," she chided with another giggle as the footmen opened the double doors to the dining room for them, and Adam shrugged his shoulders as he escorted her over to their group's table.
"Blushing is a fine quality in a lady," he remarked, earning a laugh, and he opted to do her the kindness of pulling out the empty chair between Madame Potts and Mr. Andrews for her; he would never force her to sit near his father. Once she was situated, he made his way over to his own seat between the Earl and Marie. He noted absently that Lumiere must have excused himself to go and dine with the other valets; he'd been so enraptured by Belle that he hadn't even noticed.
"Isn't she just the loveliest thing you've ever seen, Tom?" Madame Potts asked Mr. Andrews, who smiled politely and nodded.
"You look very fine, Miss Delacour."
"Belle, please," she corrected him, clasping her hands in her lap, "Do call me Belle."
"Tell us, Belle," Marie eagerly chimed in as servants came around, pouring champagne into everyone's glasses. "Where is it that you're from?"
"Well, I was born in Paris, but raised in a small town called Villeneuve," Belle explained, and Marie continued to smile brightly.
"Why, that's so charming! I love small towns. Brooklyn is sort of a small town, isn't it, Mr. Ismay? I'm quite fond of Brooklyn."
The ship-builder offered the young woman a smile, nodding as he lifted his glass of champagne.
"I believe it's more of a small city than a town, Miss Dockery, but it is very quaint – if a bit… loud."
"Oh, don't ever let size convince you of volume," Belle added, laughing to herself. "Villeneuve may have been small, but it was very loud at the best of times."
"You speak of it in the past tense," the Earl observed, glancing at her from across the table. "Where is it that you live now, Mademoiselle Delacour?"
Belle didn't miss the fact that he very pointedly refused to call her 'Belle'. Smiling slightly, she lifted her own champagne glass, answering, "Well… here and there, really. I haven't a set address. I prefer to travel."
"Belle is an artist, Father," Adam spoke up, smiling at her from his own seat across from her. "She has extraordinary talent. She's going to do great things in New York."
Blushing happily at the praise of her work, Belle sipped her champagne, setting her glass down as the Earl remarked, "My son and I have very different taste in what counts as fine art." Plastering on a false smile, he added, "No offense, Mademoiselle."
"None taken," she assured him, although the dig at her had been very obvious. Madame Potts didn't exaggerate; the Earl pretended to be nice, but he was clearly eager to rip her to shreds. This was further exemplified when he asked, "You're a vagabond, then? Floating from place to place? That's really no way for a woman to live."
"I assure you, I'm quite happy with my way of life," Belle disagreed, maintaining her smile as caviar was served to everyone at the table, and she did her best to not appear disgruntled when the Earl continued to have at her.
"How ever do you have the means to travel? An unmarried woman aboard a ship is rare enough as it is, but an artist? Surely there's no money in that. No one has ever heard of a great female painter. I certainly wouldn't have one doing my portrait, or my son's."
Bristling, Belle shook her head when one of the servants offered her caviar.
"No, thank you. I was never fond of the stuff." Turning to face the Earl again, she remarked, "I do quite well for myself, your lordship. I get by on my talent and my wits; I happened upon my ticket aboard the Titanic in a lucky game of poker. The gentleman who I beat was just as shocked as you are, but he never should have underestimated me."
"Poker!" Marie gasped, her eyes wide, pausing her caviar halfway to her mouth. "That's fascinating! I've always wanted to learn to play, but my father refused to teach me. He always said gambling wasn't a sport for women to take part in."
"Quite right it's not," the Earl snapped, glaring at Belle, but she took no fear in the man's gaze. Instead, she turned to Marie with a smile.
"I could teach you, if you like. It's quite easy, and winning gives you such a rush."
"Would you?" Marie asked, and Adam had to hide his amusement behind the rim of his champagne glass as the Earl's face grew red with anger. This was even better than he had hoped it would be.
"You're no better than a common thief," the Earl snapped, glaring at Belle, and the laughter and chatter at the table fell into uncomfortable silence. "You stole your ticket from a man who spent his hard earned money on it. Who's to say you aren't pickpocketing us right now? Who gave you that dress, oui? Did you steal that, too?"
"I gave it to her," Madame Potts spoke up, frowning pointedly at the Earl, "and I suggest you hold your tongue, your lordship, before you say something that you'll regret. So far tonight, Belle has shown far more exemplary behavior than you have. I won't have my son picking up on your hot-headed rudeness."
"I suggest you listen to her, sir," Mr. Andrews agreed, frowning as well. "The lady has done nothing wrong – and, might I remind you, she is your son's guest."
"Guest," the Earl sneered, but thankfully fell quiet, his face still red. Marie, however, was too fascinated to let the subject drop so easily.
"How ever did you beat a man for a prize so big?"
"The odds were just in my favour, I suppose," Belle told her with a smile, grateful when food that didn't consist of fish eggs arrived, accepting a dinner roll from her server. "That's all life is, really; a game of chance. Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you don't. It makes life a thrill; you never know what to expect, from one day to the next."
"That sounds marvellous," Adam stated, without really thinking about it, blinking when he realized all eyes had turned to him. Why should he, a well stationed lord, want to live by the seat of his pants? Well, it felt like an easy answer to him; you never had to dread anything. His entire life has been an endless pattern of dread; dreading the next slap from his father, dreading cotillions, dreading his impending earldom, dreading his own marriage – dreading giving Marie that bloody ring. Dread, dread, dread. What he wouldn't give to just live on the edge for once, like Belle. What he wouldn't give to be like Belle, so brave and carefree.
"I… just mean the sense of adventure," Adam quickly corrected himself, finding that, without really meaning to, he ended up quoting Belle from earlier that afternoon. "You never know when a day may be your last… We aught to make every one of them count."
Belle offered him a soft smile, lifting her glass at his sentiment. She may not have known much about high society, but she knew that they loved their toasts.
"To making it count," she chimed and everyone – save for the Earl – lifted their glasses as well, chiming, "To making it count."
For the rest of the meal, much to the Earl's disdain, everyone was thoroughly charmed by Belle – Adam included. Her vibrancy, her quick wit, her kindness toward Chip and Marie; she awed him. The latter two had an endless stream of questions for her, about poker and art and 'making everyday count', and she never skirted a single one. By the end of the meal, it seemed as if she would never get away from the aristocrats who would have sneered at the sight of her earlier in the day.
"Oh, Belle, won't you join Madame Potts and I for a game of bridge? We would love to hear more of your stories," Marie gushed as everyone stood up to leave, the men preparing themselves for another evening of cigar smoke and brandy. Belle smiled at the offer, but politely shook her head.
"It's kind of you to ask, but I really aught to get back to my part of the ship. My bunk mate will be worried about me; I never told her where I was going," she explained and Marie smiled, surprising Belle with a hug before excusing herself to bid Adam goodnight. Madame Potts was grinning from ear-to-ear.
"My dear, I would call this a rousing success. You could have been a grand duchess, with how they were all fawning over you!"
Chuckling, Belle shook her head, affectionately ruffling Chip's messy hair. "Oh, I don't know about that. But it was quite fun…" Lowering her voice, she added, "Once everyone got past the Earl's stuffiness."
"Oh, don't mind him. He's as cranky as they come at the best of times. That poor boy; I don't know how he's done it."
Frowning slightly, Belle cast a glance in Adam's direction. He was currently kissing Marie's hand, bidding her goodnight, and Belle bit her lip. "How he's done what?"
"Put up with that father of his for all these years. I've never seen the man say a single kind word to him in all the months that I've known them. Why, if Mr. Potts ever spoke to little Chip like that, I'd…" Bristling, she took a breath and shook her head. "Well, we won't talk of what I'd do."
"That's terrible," Belle stated, her eyes still on Adam, feeling a strange tightening sensation in her chest. She could barely stand one dinner with the Earl. How has he made it through decades of them, day after day?
Forcing herself to look away, Belle turned to Madame Potts with a faint smile. "Shall I return your dress to you before I head back? I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it-"
"Oh, now, now. Enough of that." Grinning fondly, Madame Potts patted Belle's cheeks. "You keep it, poppet. I can always buy my niece another. This one suits you far too much for me to take it back."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"
"Keep it," the older woman urged, taking Chip by the hand to lead him back to their suite. "Every young woman needs a good party dress. Goodnight, Belle, dear!"
"Bye, Belle!" Chip called, as well, with an enthusiastic wave and Belle smiled slightly.
"Goodnight," she responded, still stunned by Madame Potts generosity, but it only lasted a few moments before her thoughts returned to Adam. Poor, miserable, trapped Adam; after a dinner with his father, and all of the Earl's harsh comments, suddenly his actions from last night made far more sense.
Glancing around quickly, already formulating a plan, Belle made quick work of pulling a pencil and a scrap of paper from where she had wedged them into her garter beneath her skirts when Madame Potts wasn't looking. Drawing was her bread and butter, after all; she couldn't just come to a soiree without her tools. Quickly scrawling out a note, she crumpled the paper in her hand and re-hid the pencil before walking over to where Adam stood with his valet, intending to say goodnight.
"Well, that was quite an experience," she mused, and he smiled as he turned his attention to her, nodding in agreement.
"I hope my father didn't put you off too much," he half apologized and Belle shook her head, laughing at the prospect.
"It takes a lot more than a disgruntled, puffed up windbag to take me down," she stated, earning what may have been the heartiest laugh she'd heard him utter in the short time they had known each other. Even Lumiere snickered, glancing over at where the Earl was conversing with Mr. Ismay.
"A disgruntled, puffed up windbag is what I've been wanting to call him for years," the valet murmured, and Adam grinned wickedly.
"Quite right," he agreed, and Belle grinned at the sound of his repressed laughter. Taking his hand in hers, she attempted a halfway decent curtsy, subtly slipping the note into his palm in the process.
"While I appreciate you being such a gracious host, I'm afraid I must retire," she joked in a posh tone, "My coach turns into a pumpkin at midnight, and this dress will turn to rags."
Adam laughed again, but it was a far more curious sound when he realized what she had given him. Making a point of kissing her hand again, he gave it a subtle squeeze.
"The pleasure was all mine, m'lady. Will we meet again?"
"Soon, I hope," Belle agreed, releasing Adam's hand so that the note stayed clutched between his fingers. Nodding at Lumiere with a smile, she slipped from the dining room. Once she was gone, Adam turned his back to the other men, glancing at Lumiere with a raised eyebrow as he showed him the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
"Sacré bleu!" Lumiere whispered, making sure no one was looking before taking a small step closer to Adam. "A secret message. What does ma chère mademoiselle say?"
Unfolding the crumpled note, Adam read it aloud, his lips morphing into a curious grin.
"Make it count. Meet me at the clock."
Lumiere chuckled under his breath, and Adam's grin grew at the sound. Lifting his gaze to the valet, he arched an eyebrow.
"Care to accompany me, old friend?"
"Oh, I would be delighted, mon seigneur," he responded, double checking that they weren't being watched before nodding for Adam to duck out the doors.
In the excitement of finally having a little adventure of his own, Adam subsequently forgot all about his father's threats.
And the ring.
Perhaps it was crazy, inviting a French lord to come to a party in third class. But, then again, he had invited her to experience a taste of his world, so why shouldn't she return the favour? Besides, it was bound to be fun; she'd heard several of the Irish passengers talking about it early this morning. Lots of beer, music, and dancing. A far cry from an aristocratic party, by any standards.
"Belle?"
Turning away from the clock at the sound of Adam's voice, Belle grinned as she met his gaze, noting that he brought his valet along with him. No harm done; he seemed far more relaxed than the other servants she had seen today.
"Do you want to go to a real party?" she questioned and Lumiere's eyes were quick to light up.
"A party! Mademoiselle, you are my kind of girl."
Grinning, she arched an eyebrow at Adam who blinked a few times. Clearly "party" hadn't been what he was expecting her to say. What had he been expecting? A musty poker game?
"Well?" she asked him, and he cleared his throat, glancing up at her uncertainly.
"Would I be… welcome at this party?"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," she tutted, crossing her arms over her chest. "You'll be far more welcome there than I was at yours. Are you in or not?"
"Come on, mon seigneur…" Lumiere encouraged him, grinning from ear-to-ear, "It could be fun…"
After another moment of deliberation, Adam glanced down at the note still clutched in his hand. Make it count. If these were his last few days of freedom, why shouldn't he have a little fun? Smirking when he lifted his gaze again, he let Belle take their hands in hers.
"Where, exactly, is this party?"
Without a doubt, Belle's 'party' was unlike any that Adam had ever been to. For one thing, it wasn't invitation only; it seemed that everyone in third class, children included, were there. They were all mingling and laughing and shouting and singing and dancing and drinking like the world may end tomorrow. It was… invigorating.
"I've never heard so much noise in all my life!" Adam shouted to Belle and she grinned, letting go of his hand to grab the three of them all tall glasses of dark beer, thrusting one into his hand. He looked down at it with wide eyes; normally, he consumed alcohol in cut crystal glasses, and it was only ever the finest decanted liquors. What he was currently holding was the exact opposite; he didn't even know where it was made. How extraordinary.
"That's the sound of the living, your lordship!" she shouted back to him, taking a long gulp of the beer in her hands, laughing when a group of children ran past them, hands locked together, spinning in circles to the music. One of them bumped into Adam's leg, making him jump, and they didn't even apologize! My, how different Belle's world was.
"Is it always like this down here?" he asked over the noise, and she shrugged, taking another drink before answering him.
"Most nights. The days are long and boring in steerage, but at night? That's when we come alive." Flashing him a devilish grin, her eyes lit up when she caught sight of someone from across the room, and she eagerly waved her friend over. Belle seemed entirely oblivious of the fact that she was still wearing an evening gown; down here, none of that mattered. A dress was a dress. People were people. Class was an irrelevant subject.
"Plumette! Come and meet mes amies!"
A young woman rushed over to them at Belle's request, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, her own glass of beer in hand. She looked just as radiant as Belle, and as if she'd been dancing from the very moment the music began.
"Ma chèrie! You look magnifique!" she gasped, taking in the dress, and Adam felt a grin pulling at his lips. Belle may pay no mind to her attire, but clearly not everyone was oblivious to how gorgeous she currently looked. He was finding it exceptionally hard not to stare, even down here.
"Where have you been?" Plumette asked, and Belle waved a dismissive hand at the question, as if none of it was any big deal.
"Dining in first class. I'll tell you all about it later. But right now, I'd like you to meet… Adam," she stressed, given remembering his entire mouthful of a name after hearing it only once was simply too much to ask, especially with her champagne addled mind, "and… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," she turned to the valet apologetically, but he was all a-grin, having already taken Plumette's hand and knelt to kiss it.
"Lumiere, mademoiselle," he all but purred, and Plumette giggled, nearly dropping her glass of beer with surprise.
"Oh! A gentleman," she cooed in return, turning to kiss Belle's cheek before giving Lumiere's hand a tug. "Come, come! Dance with me!"
"Oh, it would be my pleasure," the valet agreed, hurrying after her, and Adam exhaled a sound of amusement at his old friend's antics, turning to Belle to comment upon it, but she was nowhere to be found.
"Belle?" he questioned, glancing around for her. He'd been about to say her name again when he finally caught sight of her a few feet away, spinning around on the dance floor with a little boy, no more than five or six years old. He found himself awestricken by the sight; she looked so… free. The golden skirts of her dress were whirling about each time she and the little boy spun around, and her laughter was audible even over all of the noise. She'd said earlier that day that he was beautiful, but she was wrong. He wasn't beautiful. She was beautiful. Never before had a name been so fitting.
He was so mesmerized by the sight that he experienced quite a jolt of surprise when someone smashed into him, making him splash beer onto his white shirt. His eyes widened with shock, and he looked up just in time to hear a London accent shout, "Sorry, mate!" before the culprit was lost in the crowd. Surprising even himself, Adam started to laugh. Had such a thing happened at one of his parties, it would have caused a scene. Threats would have been made by his father. Someone would've been kicked out. Servants would have been fussing over a potential stain. But here, in Belle's world? It was just a quick apology, and then back to the dancing and laughter. It was wonderful.
Shrugging off his jacket, he loosened and pulled off his bowtie, intent to at least fit in if he was going to be here. Tossing them carelessly over the back of a chair, he joined in clapping with everyone else when the song wound to a close, grabbing the glass of beer that Belle had given him and taking a long gulp from it. It tasted absolutely foul, and he loved every horrid sip of it.
"I'm going to dance with him now, alright?"
Setting his glass aside, he looked up when he heard Belle's voice nearby again, catching sight of her crouching in front of the little boy and nodding in Adam's direction. The boy seemed rather disgruntled, and Adam couldn't help laughing, nor could he blame the lad. Who wouldn't be disgruntled at having Belle's attention stolen away?
Grinning when she approached him, he chuckled when she remarked, "Look at you! You're practically one of us. Here…" Reaching up, she messed with his hair enough that his bangs fell down onto his forehead, and he was certain he looked far more unruly than gentlemanly, but he didn't care. For once in his life, he didn't have a care in the world.
"Dance with me!"
Well, perhaps he had one care. Or, rather, one fear.
"I, ehm… I don't know the steps," he tried to dissuade Belle, but she wouldn't have any of it. As another fast paced Irish tune began wafting through third class, she pulled him out onto the dance floor with her.
"No one does. You just move with the music," she instructed him, curling their fingers properly around each other's before positioning his other hand at her lower back, resting hers on his shoulder. He gulped; ballroom dancing he could handle, but this? This was all spinning and twirling and dipping and… and madness!
"Belle, I really don't think-" he tried again to object, but she still wasn't listening to his protests.
"We'll need to get closer together. Tighten your arm around me," she instructed, and he gaped at her for a moment before doing as she told him, pulling her body flush against his. The action made him blush, but Belle just grinned and, before he knew it, led him in a quick step among hundreds of other dancers, young and old, going from left to right to right to left and around and around in no sensible order at all. It was dizzying, and his heart was pounding in his chest as her skirts twirled and her laughter filled the air. All of his senses were overwhelmed by her and he found that, the longer they were close to each other, the more he couldn't get enough of her.
As they danced, Adam caught sight of Lumiere and Plumette; the two looked to be having the time of their lives, laughing while Lumiere twirled Plumette under his arm again and again. That didn't look so hard. Following his valet's lead, Adam used the hand Belle was holding to spin her around and the action was worth it; she exhaled a sound of pure glee, her skirts twirling more than ever before, and Adam couldn't help it – he laughed. He laughed, and he grinned as he pulled her back in, taking the lead this time around as he danced her about through the crowd. He felt incredibly hot, and his head was buzzing from the champagne and beer, but this was easily the most fun that he'd ever had in his entire life.
Spinning Belle around again, he gasped when she suddenly lurched forward and pulled him in the direction of a table – he thought, perhaps, to take a break. But no. No, Belle climbed onto a chair, and then up onto the table, pulling Adam with her.
"You're mad!" he exclaimed, but he said it with a laugh and she shot him a grin, releasing his hand and lifting her skirts, kicking off the shoes Madame Potts had given her. Grabbing a cigarette from a perfect stranger, she took a deep inhale of the smoke before handing it back to the man she'd taken it from, blowing the smoke out of her lungs before shooting Adam a challenging grin.
"Let's see what you've got, your lordship," she quipped, and he watched with a wide grin and unbridled fascination as she tapped out several complicated steps that looked to have taken years of practice to master. The people surrounding them were clapping eagerly to the music and spurring her on, and they all turned expectantly to Adam once Belle had finished.
For once in his life, he was glad for years upon years of ballroom etiquette lessons. While tap dancing was a skill that he very rarely used, it appeared to come in handy at third class parties.
"Watch and learn, chéri," he all but purred, somewhat mimicking Lumiere's behaviour from before, and she laughed, her smile widening when he started a fast-paced, elaborate solo dance of his own. It shook the table beneath them, and a glass of beer fell to the ground and shattered. As the tempo of the music shifted, he grabbed Belle's hands and pulled her back to him, using both to spin her in such a way that ended with her back pressed to his chest. She giggled with glee, letting him spin her back out again and guide her through a complicated quickstep he had learned from his professeur de danse, and when the music finally wound to a close he dipped her low and held her there, both of them panting for breath, grinning so widely that their faces may have split in two. There was thunderous applause from the crowd around them, and whether it was for their performance or for the musicians, Adam didn't know. He didn't care.
He was so wonderfully, blissfully happy. He never wanted this night to end, and he never wanted to let Belle go.