Belle had just wanted to take a walk and clear her head, that was all. The addition of a coach and servants had not been in her original plan, and were a largely unwelcome change. But Gold was right, dammit, and that's what she hated the most. That it was no longer safe for her to go about her day, that her father could steal her, that people would talk, that the talk wouldn't all be wrong, that she'd never realized what she was giving up until she'd tossed it all away, that she hadn't had the options she had always thought she would.

The trip into town was largely uneventful, thankfully, which did provide some chance to think. He had proposed. When had their relationship reached that point? Oh granted, it wasn't a tearful confession of love on bended knee, and it had largely been hyperbole designed to call her father's bluff, but he'd follow through if she asked. She knew that, how could she know that? But she did. He'd do it if she asked, because he didn't want to lose her. It wasn't just because of her work, or her affection for his son, or any of the other little things that she'd always thought were the backbone of a marriage, because those were all things that she would do anyway – things that other people could do. He would do it for her because he cared for her, she realized. She thought, then, that perhaps marrying him wouldn't be the same as marrying a man her father had handpicked. Perhaps it would be different to marry a man for whom a proposal was an open door and an invitation in rather than a trap designed to ensnare.

Luckily, the place Belle had hoped to go was a decently appointed brownstone in the town. She still had the address Mrs. Blue had given her when she left; she had said that if Belle got into trouble to come here and Belle wasn't sure she'd ever been in more trouble in her life.

Leaving Graham and August with the carriage, Belle ascended the steps. She offered her calling card to the butler, waiting to see if her reputation had preceded her this far or if she may still have a welcome.

Thankfully, she was soon shown to a well-appointed parlour where a pretty redhead sat near a window, a pile of embroidery abandoned on the table next to her.

"Well," the redhead chirped cheerfully, motioning for Belle to take a seat opposite her. "What a surprise! I don't usually get visitors, especially not strangers!"

"I apologize for the intrusion," Belle replied as she sat. "I recently moved to town and my former landlady – a Mrs. Blue – referred me to your home, Mrs. Fisher."

"Oh please, call me Ariel!" the other woman exclaimed sweetly. "And I shall call you Belle, for we are going to be the best of friends already."

Ariel, it turned out, was quite right with that prediction. Belle found her to be absolutely delightful. It was difficult not to like someone who was so open to liking you. The two chatted amiably for a while, about Belle's studies mostly and their mutual acquaintance. Ariel, it turned out, had been studying to be a nurse before meeting her ship captain husband and moving to this town. He was gone for months at a time, and consequently Ariel found herself desperately lacking in companionship. She was more than willing to overlook any shortcomings in Belle's reputation in exchange for friendship, which Belle was also more than willing to provide as long as it got her out of the house and away from her troubles.

"So what brings you here?" Ariel finally asked long after Belle had forgotten her original purpose. "Not that I mind at all, but the letter I was sent by Mrs. Blue about you seemed to suggest she was afraid you'd find yourself in some sort of trouble."

Belle smiled at that, appreciating the effort that had been gone to on her behalf even though it wasn't truly required.

"Nothing of the sort she was worried about, honestly," Belle admitted. "I just needed to talk to someone impartial. I'm...I may have fallen in love with my employer."

"Oh my, that definitely sounds like a conversation that calls for tea."

Belle explained her situation – minus a few of the more titillating details – to Ariel. For her part, Ariel was a captive audience, listening eagerly and asking questions and seemingly very caught up in the story.

"So he proposed like that in front of everyone?" she gasped at the end of the tale.

"Well, yes, but it wasn't truly a proposal," Belle explained. "He said he would marry me if I wanted."

"That's really all a proposal is," Ariel pointed out. Belle was forced to concede that point.

"But it was only to prevent my father from taking me away," Belle had left out the more salacious details of that interview, too embarrassed to speak them out loud. "And he doesn't want a wife, he told me as much himself."

"That's what makes it so romantic though!" Ariel gushed. "He loves you enough that he's willing to marry you just so you'll not be forced to leave him."

Belle was at a loss as to how to react to that, Ariel was right of course, but admitting it meant admitting that things had progressed to the point that she was now seriously considering marrying Dr. Gold and Belle wasn't quite ready to take that step.

"Still, though, can I really marry him? Knowing he doesn't want to?"

"If he didn't want to marry you," Ariel said matter-of-factly, "he'd not have offered. Men don't generally make a habit of proposing marriage to women when they don't want to."

Belle contemplated this, she felt on the verge of something and found her restlessness had returned. If she sat still one more moment, she was afraid she might explode.

"I've had a lovely time, Ariel," she said with as bright a smile as she could manage. "I'm afraid I must be on my way though. I should go back home."

"Of course," Ariel said with a knowing smile. "Do call again, it's been a lovely afternoon."

"I'll come again as soon as possible," Belle promised. She was shown to the door by the butler, and found that the simple act of being outside calmed her nerves a little. Descending the stairs, she glanced down the street and noticed the bookshop was only a few buildings down from Ariel's home. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to go inside, she'd always loved books and harbored a secret passion for novels which had been largely dropped the last few years as her focus had been absorbed entirely by school. But now, she realized, school was over. She could read for leisure.

Giddy with her epiphany, Belle bounded down the steps to the street, stopping at the carriage where August and Graham stood leisurely chatting.

"I thought I might walk to the bookshop," she said. "I'll not be long."

"I should drive you," Graham seemed slightly uncomfortable at the prospect. "The doctor won't like it."

"It will be fine," she needed it to be fine. "I'll just be a moment and you'll be able to see me the whole time."

Graham and August exchanged a nervous look and a shrug before nodding.

"Alright, m'lady," Graham said. "We'll be keeping an eye on you from here."

"I'm not a lady, Graham," Belle replied. He gave her a look that said he didn't quite believe her, but he didn't argue.

Belle felt lighter already, having shaken her escort for just this little while. She needed some time alone to think, and she couldn't do that knowing August was shadowing her every step, pistol hidden in his coat.

The store was every bit as lovely as she'd hoped, tomes stacked everywhere. Belle took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and parchment and paper and ink and books. She spent the better part of half an hour simply browsing the shelves, running her fingers over spines and gilt lettering and letting the book-scented air cleanse her heart and her mind before finally making her selection. She chose a pair of novels and a book of mythology which she intended to gift to Bae on his return from school.

As she stepped out of the door and onto the street, her new purchases lovingly wrapped in paper and cradled in her arms, she felt like a brand new person. Perhaps she would be able to get through this case after all.

Even though it took her but a few minutes to walk back to the carriage, her good mood was soured when she saw the sheriff rushing across the street to intercept her midway between the shop and the safety of the carriage.

"Miss French," he wasn't even subtle in his slow perusal of her body and she didn't miss the lust in his gaze.

"Sheriff Keith," she replied coolly, preparing to step around him. "If you'll excuse me, I was just on my way home."

"Just a moment of your time," he grabbed her arm to prevent her moving.

Belle stopped more from sheer shock than from the pressure he exerted on her, having never been roughly handled before.

"Please release my arm, Sheriff."

"In a moment, I merely wanted a chat."

Belle desperately looked over to the carriage. Graham and August were both on edge, having seen the sheriff approach her but unsure of what to do to challenge him. She couldn't blame them, she was safe as long as they were in public so this encounter would be more uncomfortable than dangerous, and he had the power to bring charges against the both of them for interfering.

"It was quite a show you put on at the festival last night," he was too close. Belle could smell ale on him and recoiled in disgust.

"Yes, well I understand that's something of a local tradition," she retorted, hoping her clear aversion to him would convince him to leave.

Sadly, the man seemed impervious to feminine distaste, snorting in amusement and rubbing his thumb over her arm in a manner she supposed was meant to be seductive but just made her feel dirty.

"Still, though, it was quite a show. Quite a show indeed. Give a man ideas, you will."

"Sheriff," she said, drawing herself up to her full height and attempting to summon whatever genteel dignity remained in her arsenal. "I can assure you that, whatever else you may think, your ideas were the furthest thing from my mind last night and every other night before. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She yanked her arm from his grip and marched back to the carriage with her head held high. She knew he watched her, she could feel his eyes on her as she retreated. She couldn't be safely inside the box and out of his view fast enough. Her mood was now worse than it was when she had left and she felt sick to her stomach, still feeling the sheriff's hand on her arm. She peeled off her coat and tossed it to the other seat to rid herself of the feel of his touch. She doubted she'd ever wear it again.

Was this what being a fallen woman was, then? Belle was sure she must have judged women like her in her old life, though she couldn't remember any specific examples. She'd not done what people thought, but she had done enough, apparently, to earn this – ruined, but not compromised. It would almost have been funny if she hadn't been so angry. She was fortunate to have gotten the warm reception she received at Ariel's place, and had she waited long enough for the gossip to circulate she might not have even received that.

The longer she waited to make this choice, the fewer options she had. She'd been gifted a choice in the matter so far, Dr. Gold having taken great care to ensure that she did have that at least. She could return home in shame and submit to her father's plans to stem the gossip by marrying Gaston and giving up her career, she could continue on as she had never daring to leave the safety of her new home for fear of men who would take liberties, or she could marry a man she was rapidly growing to love. Well, when she thought about it in those terms, the decision was easier to make than she had originally thought.

No matter her personal preference for spinsterhood, that was clearly becoming an unrealistic and unacceptable option. For better or worse, she was now backed into a corner by three men, and of the lot of them only one had the grace to offer her a say in the matter. She couldn't go on living with the likes of Sheriff Keith thinking they had rights to her time and her body, that much was clear. And her father's solution was totally unacceptable in every conceivable way. But surprisingly, the more Belle thought about marriage now as an inevitability rather than an option, the more at peace she became. Weren't there worse fates, after all, than marrying a man who shared your passions? A man who respected your choices and honored your decisions? A man who had never imposed on you, a man you found yourself wanting more and more as you grew to know him? A man you could let yourself truly love?

She wanted to marry him, she realized. She had wanted it since she kissed him, since the first time they fought. She had wanted him that long, or longer, and now she could have him. There was no reason to say no anymore. No reason to resist a man she would trust with her life, a man who she believed in and who believed in her. A man who would do whatever she asked of him, even let her go.

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like ages, Belle felt a great weight lift off of her shoulders. She had made a choice, she had chosen her fate, and now no one could take that away from her. Not her father, not Professor Whale, not Sheriff Keith. The only man who could was Dr. Gold, and Belle knew he'd not refuse her, knew he wanted her, too. He was her salvation, and she would be his support, and they would be happy.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face, couldn't stop the giggle that erupted from her chest. She was to be a bride after all, it seemed. She really could have it all – have everything she'd ever wanted.

Gold had meant to get some work done during Belle's absence, but work had largely eluded him. He couldn't focus, couldn't stop wondering where she was or if she was alright or how the events of the last twenty-four hours had affected her. He was absolutely hopeless.

He amused himself by standing at the window watching for the carriage's return. It wasn't entirely out of routine; he often watched the world from these windows, it was why he liked this tower. He couldn't suppress a grin when he finally saw their return, saw Belle hop down from the carriage with packages in her arms and a smile on her face (she was not wearing a coat, though, which seemed odd).

He had enough presence of mind to dash (insomuch as one could dash with a cane, anyway) to the workbench and pretend to be looking over notes by the time she swung the door open. She'd abandoned her parcels by then, though she'd not changed out of her dress into her work clothes, and she had a peculiar look on her face. She looked vulnerable and scared, but still determined. He realized now that he was seeing her for the first time without any sort of facade. She was making no attempt to disguise her raw emotions, and she was disconcerting in her openness.

He suddenly felt the urge to run.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" she said, shutting the door behind her and standing with her back to it.

"What did I say earlier?" He knew precisely what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it because he didn't think he could survive a misunderstanding in this moment.

"With my father." She was breathing a little faster, her breaths shallow from excitement. "When you said you'd marry me if I said yes."

He felt his throat dry up, even though this had been exactly what he anticipated. He tried to form words to answer her, but was only able to manage a gulp and nod of his head in the affirmative.

"Ask me again," she took a few tentative steps towards him. "Really ask me."

He tried to, but he felt like she was moving faster than his brain could keep up.

"I have had three men today try to tell me what to do, or try to save me from myself, or try to take liberties," she continued. As he was only aware of two of those men, he made a mental note to ask August about the trip to town later. "Only one of them – you – has tried to give me a choice, so let it be my choice. Ask me again."

He stood, coming around the table to stand in front of her. She would have to forgive him the bended knee, as he didn't think his ankle would cooperate, and he had no ring as he had not expected to be proposing to anyone today. Somehow, though, he suspected she wouldn't even notice these things.

"Belle French," he took a deep breath to calm his racing nerves. He knew he should list off her many virtues and all the ways he loved her, all the reasons it was a suitable match and his assets and all the ways he'd endeavor to make her a happy woman, but none of that felt right. Not for this woman, at least. He would spare her the petty flattery and do her the honor of trusting she knew her own mind, that she did not require convincing and that it wouldn't have worked if she did. "Will you...would you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?"

"Yes," she said after what felt like the longest moment of his life but couldn't have been more than a half a second. She rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms and pressing a kiss to his lips before continuing. "Yes, I will marry you."

Something in him snapped at that, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, he felt lighter somehow. He hadn't known how much he truly wanted her answer until he had it, had wanted her to come to him willingly until she'd thrown herself into him.

He kissed her again, now, thrusting his hands into her hair as he'd wanted to every other time they had kissed. She gasped, but pressed back, holding his lapels and dipping her tongue into his mouth. She was every bit the aggressor, willing to meet him inch for inch and push further if she wanted more. When they finally broke apart, her lips a bruised looking red and her eyes dark with desire, he knew this had been the right choice. How could he have ever thought he could keep her here and not love her – not want her?

"No wait!" she yelped, pulling back just a little, just enough for him to feel his heart plummet to the ground.

He tried to summon up the courage to accept her changed mind, but found it failing him.

"I don't know your given name," she said with a light blush and a sheepish expression. "What am I to call you?"

He thought he might die from relief but instead leaned against the table and pulled her to him, hoping she wouldn't realize that she'd quite nearly killed him.

"I'd prefer you not use my given name, if at all possible," he confessed.

"It can't be too awful, and I can't go around calling you Dr. Gold," she accepted his tight embrace easily, letting him hold her just off balance, letting him support her. "And regardless of whether I use it, I ought to at least know it if I am to be your wife."

"My name is Rumsby," he said with a grimace.

"Oh," was the only reply, as though it wasn't a terrible name.

"I can only assume my father thought it sounded aristocratic," he shrugged. "I believe it was his mother's maiden name, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's a very nice name."

"You're a terrible liar," he said with a smile, finally releasing her and taking a seat so as to give his ankle some relief. "You can see why I'd prefer you not use it."

"Well, then we shall just have to come up with something else," she said sweetly, hopping up to sit on the table in front of him. "I assume 'Rum' is quite out of the question?"

"That's not so bad, really." He'd let her call him any damn thing she wished quite frankly. "As long as it's in private, I prefer to not let more people than necessary know if you don't mind."

After a moment she seemed to grasp the meaning of the word 'private' had new connotations now, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she finally said. "I suppose there are a few other details we should iron out first, as well."

"Probably." He thought for a moment. "Would you like a long engagement?"

"All things considered, we should probably marry as soon as possible."

"I can have Jefferson get a special license?"

"That may be for the best," she was elsewhere now in her mind. He definitely would need to ask August and Graham about her outing later.

"So a short engagement it is. Anything else?"

She looked like she wanted to say something, but stopped herself at the last moment.

"What is it?" he probed gently. "Belle, you'll have to tell me these things if this is going to work."

"What about children?"

This was the sticking point for her, he knew. He understood her fear entirely, this was one area that would always require more from her than from him and he had the benefit of knowing what to expect as well.

"Well, there are ways of preventing pregnancy, of course. None of them are entirely foolproof, though."

She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"And Belle," he looked up at her, desperate for her to understand this one thing if nothing else. "We never need to do anything you don't want. If you're not ready, well, we can work around that. And when you are, if you ever are, there's no need to give up this –" he gestured around the tower, meaning their work together, "entirely. Bae was raised half in the workroom and half in the nursery. It can work."

She looked like she might cry at that, and rather than answering she reached a hand out to slide her fingers through his hair softly. She touched him as though she were afraid he would disappear if she wasn't so completely careful. He smiled and turned into her hand, letting her do with him as she would. No matter what else, he knew he'd made the right choice because when she looked at him, she made him want to be a better man, and that was one thing that had never happened before.