A/N: Another prompt back from popular demand! I'm glad you like the twist I did with Will being Belle's brother. I was thinking about using this story for some time, but couldn't decide who would be the best brotherly figure until Will Scarlet came into the picture. Like I promised, here's another one from that verse!

Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South

C.R. Carlyle Prompted: The infamous proposal scene. (Rated K+)

It had been a long night but Belle woke refreshed and clear-headed after that unfortunate incident at Mr. Gold's mill. Tried as she might, she had hoped that violence would not have resulted in the matter over his Irish workers; however, the stone was cast and she felt its impact. She was grateful that the injury no longer bothered her and she could focus on other important and delicate matters. Joanna would need help with Mrs. French and once her mother was dressed… Belle could pen her letter to her brother about their mother's condition and perhaps visit her dear friend, Bessy Higgins, after supper. She wanted to discuss the strike some more with her father and see if it was possible for a peaceful solution.

She firmly believed there was a way. The workers were displeased and angry that their employer was willing to replace them… but if both sides could talk, work together, then perhaps they could reach an agreement that would be agreeable to both. Of course, convincing Mr. Gold to behave civilly was another manner since the man was vain and proud. He saw his workers not as men and women but the tools and gears to his machines, and if he was a better master, kinder, then there would be no need for unrest or strikes.

Yet, her mind could not help but reflect to that day… He had gone out to confront the mob (at her insistence), and instead he only inspired their ire rather than peace. And she—well, she couldn't bear the thought that she sent him by himself to confront the mob so she had to go to him to help. Of course, she hadn't expected the rock…

Touching her forehead, Belle did not remember what happened much, but when she woke from her unconsciousness, she was greeted with the disapproving countenance of Mr. Gold's mother. That woman certainly was the most uncongenial and haughty person in all her acquaintance! Even Mr. Gold's pride was not as awful as his mother's; however, Belle believed she had been born with a permanent scowl. Furthermore, she was not sympathetic to Belle's plight regardless of her insistence she see a doctor. It was a protocol of social convention, nothing more.

And Mr. Gold…

There was the brief alarming panic that settled in his eyes before everything went black. No doubt she must have fallen into his embrace, which Belle blushed thinking that a part of her had touched him. What must have been running through his mind…?

"No," she muttered to herself. "I will not think of him. I will not think about that family."

It did not matter that Mr. Gold was dear friends with her father. Belle refused to spare another thought to the arrogant and cruel man. If he could not see the error of his ways concerning his employees and their families, then he never will.

After completing her toilet, Belle went into her mother's room to assist Joanna. The sickly Mrs. French was dressed and ate her breakfast as Belle read to her. When her mother felt some strength returning, Belle fetched her sewing so her mother could occupy her time with some kind of menial labor. Then, the beauty dismissed herself so she could answer any mail and take calls from any visitors. It was that time she used to her benefit to write her letter to Will and tell him about Mama's condition.

Belle was finishing her post-script when Joanna knocked on the door.

"Forgive me, miss, but you have a visitor. Mr. Gold wishes to speak to you in the drawing-room."

An ink blot appeared next to her neat script. "Wh-what was that Joanna?" she asked, not sure if she heard correctly.

"Mr. Gold," the servant repeated. "He is requesting your audience miss."

"My—?" Belle frowned. Why would he come?

Her finger reached to brush against her forehead. Perhaps it was to see how she was faring, maybe even lecture her on how it was not a proper for a lady to do what she had done. If he came expecting her to snivel and apologize for her actions, then he was bound for disappointment. She would not apologize for what she believed was right and that was that.

"Thank you Joanna. Tell him I will be there shortly," she said.

"Very good miss." Joanna did a quick bow and left, leaving Belle a moment to collect her thoughts. Even when she was determined not to think about him and his family, Mr. Gold found a way to infuriate her with his invading presence. Must he be everywhere?

When Belle finally went into the drawing-room, she found Mr. Gold staring out the window as if something captured his attention. He was dressed well and impeccable as was his wont with a suit of black and his cravat sticking out nice and neat. His cane with its golden head was clenched tightly with one hand, not for support she noted, but something else. Despite his clean-shaven appearance, Mr. Gold seemed somewhat apprehensive and… was that a quiver of his arm and shoulder?

She took a step further into the room, nearly flinching, when he whirled around as if startled by her entrance. It took him a second to recognize it was she and he visibly relaxed, although inside he was anything but calm.

She stood by the table, boldly meeting his gaze, her lips pressed firmly together into an unreadable expression. Even her eyes did not betray what she was thinking. The only indication he had that she might be affected by his visit was the slight flare of her nostrils with each breath she drew, and the short rise and fall of her chest.

He hastily coughed, looking away, lest she saw his rising blush. This jerking movement set a quizzical look on her lovely features and he feared he was doing a poor job in what he came to do. The last thing she would want is for him to stare at her person without so much a word and he desperately longed to have her, to call her as his own wife and worship her for the rest of his days. She did not know the power she had over him or how she could destroy him with one word of rejection if he did not do this right.

Wetting his lips, Mr. Gold inhaled. "Miss French, let me begin by saying, how ungrateful I was yesterday—"

This caught her attention as her confusion melted away her indecipherable countenance. Yet, her scrutiny was piercing as she interjected, "You had nothing to be grateful for Mr. Gold. Of course, that is, if you are referring that you believe you should thank me for what I had done. Rest assured, it was only natural for me to do such a thing and I do not regret it. The only regret I have is that I said what I said to convince you to go out to them. I see it was futile now, although I had hoped…" Her voice trailed off as she shook her head and whatever she was going to say. "Regardless, it has been done. We cannot change that."

"No. We cannot," he agreed. "Yet that's not what I mean Miss French. You see… it was not your words that had me go but the truth in them and how you borne the fact that it was my duty as a man, not a master." No! You're getting off track Gold. Return to why you came. Tell her! Swallowing thickly, he tried again. "Forgive me. This is not what I meant to say—it is but not this and I am grateful to you—"

"There is no need to thank me or express your gratitude Mr. Gold," Miss French said. "I do not deserve it, especially when the workers did intend to commit violence. Had I known what they were going to do I wouldn't have put you in harm's way. However, if you are inclined to this fancied obligation to express your gratitude that would make you feel better, then you may do so."

"I am not here because of some 'fancied obligation' you think I might have. On the contrary, I do not see this as an obligation of any sort. For you must know… I feel that I owe you my life. Yes that is true. I owe you my very life, and I trust, that it has added some value to it in your eyes as well."

He promised himself he would not allow his emotions get the best of him. How many times had his temper gotten away and Miss French witnessed it and spoken out about his passions? She was a woman from the South and was not used to such ways or his frankness towards his common man. She often preached the behavior of a gentleman and made it clear on more than one occasion that he often lacked the skills or the ability to behave as one. He was determined to prove her wrong in that aspect. He was a gentleman and he could do this in a gentlemanlike way; however, seeing her in this light as the sun danced around her dark hair, teasing the curls, and illuminating her porcelain features and her azure eyes, making them stand out even more so than natural; he could not help himself as he cave into the temptation and reached for her hand as he spoke, his accent growing heavier:

"Miss French, I have never been in this position before, but to know that what you have given me is more than I could ever give you. So I will try by giving you freely what has been offered to me." He clasped her hand to his heart, stepping forward with more determination than ever for what he was going to say next. "I am now and for all the future yours. I love you Miss French more than a man has ever loved a woman. And if you have me, then I would gladly lay all that I am at your feet if you accept to be my wife."

He paused, waiting fervently for what she will say, the anticipation making his heart beat even faster and his knees weaker that he could hear the cane rattling on the floor. Such sweet, agonizing torture it was to at last hear her response and have her say…

"This is shocking Mr. Gold. What you are saying shocks me, and forgive my bluntness, but that is the first feeling I have after listening to your speech. I wish I could say the same but what you have described—these feelings—that you so have—I do not understand. It offends me."

The icy tone that penetrated her usual warm voice rendered him speechless and frozen him as she ripped her hand away from his. Quickly, she moved away from him, walking around him to put some distance from this situation that had swiftly become uncomfortable and unbearable to hear.

"It—offends you?" he whispered in a state of shock and partially in disbelief.

"Yes. Indeed it does quite offend me," she replied earnestly. "Furthermore, I feel my response is justified. After all, you come here telling me that my conduct yesterday was a personal act between you and me, and that you may come and thank me for it, instead of perceiving, as a gentleman would, that a woman would step forward to help a man in danger." Her cheeks were becoming flushed and rosy with her growing indignation that he saw her actions lending to something else entirely. How dare he think or even imply such a feeling existed!

"And I am what? Forbidden to speak on my behalf my thanks to you? I believe I am just to do so." He could not help the bitter retort or the way his tone became rougher with the insolence she was showing him.

"And I did yield to your gratefulness but you seem to be under the impression that I was not guided by some natural instinct; rather, it must be because I felt something for you. I would have done the same for any man. I daresay, Mr. Gold, believe me when I say there was not a man—not a poor desperate soul in that crowd—for whom I had not more sympathy—for whom I should not have done what little I could more heartily."

"Any man…?" Forget anger. He could feel his heart lodged in his throat at what Miss French's words revealed. Indeed, he was foolish to think that he was special to be protected, saved by her. But his mother, the servants—they seemed so adamant that it was more than that. Yet, it was her last slight, the insult, which inspired his renewed ire. "Do go on Miss French. I am fully aware of your misplaced sympathies. I know you imagine them to be your friends. No doubt you approve of their violence. You believe I got what I deserved."

"No! Of course not!" she exclaimed. "They were desperate. Can you not see that?"

"Oh, desperation is a fine excuse for violence," he growled.

"If you would just speak to them—talk to them—be reasonable…"

"You believe I am unreasonable?"

"All I am saying is that if you talk to them and not set the soldiers on them; then, you might reach an agreement or form of understanding."

"They will get what they deserve." The sentence seemed to reverberate in the small room and it left a dreadful feeling within the pair. Yet, he could not help but add, "I know you do not see me as a gentleman, but it is because you do not understand me or my reasons."

"I do not care to understand nor do I wish to," she replied. "In your eyes, you feel it is your duty to save my reputation. That because you are rich and my father is in reduced circumstances that you can have me for your possession."

"I do not want to possess you! I love you!"

"I am sorry Mr. Gold but I do not love you."

It was the final blow that had him faltering in his stance. Even she seemed to be surprise by her outburst as she turned her face away from him so he would not see her. After such a declaration he should take his leave. Take the rest of his dignity with him. Yet, he could not find the willpower to move his legs. Instead, he found himself staring at her back and wondering how in the world it came to this. He had been so confident, so certain of her feelings after what happened yesterday. How could he have been so wrong?

"I'm sorry." It came out so quietly, so softly that Mr. Gold almost did not believe his ears. "I've not learned how to—how to refuse when a man has talked to me the way you have."

The dagger in his heart began to slowly twist as she finally looked at him and the meaning of her words hit him.

"There were others?" he asked. It was a stupid question to ask because Miss French was young and beautiful. Of course she had her fair share of suitors. Why shouldn't he think there wasn't? However to hear it from her own lips—to admit that there have been other men in his position as of now was more than he could possibly bear. "This happens every day to you? You must have to disappoint so many men that offer you their hearts."

It was cruel and malicious to say, but according to her, was he not supposed to be cruel and malicious? His employees attacked him and he was supposed to accept it? His feelings for her were offensive and disgusting, and he was supposed to take comfort that he was not the first to be turned down?

Belle watched the conflicting battle of emotions in his visage and she knew she crossed the line when she mentioned her flaw. Though, how could she make him understand that this was not easy for her? That she was never taught how to respond properly to a man's proposal. That this was still a new experience for her and she… Closing her eyes, Belle exhaled deeply.

"Please understand Mr. Gold—"

"I understand."

She opened her eyes and trembled at the uncensored glare of his eyes, the way his brows knitted together, glowering at her with its intensity as he uttered his last words to her before taking his leave.

"I understand you completely."

For this proposal, I combined the dialogue elements of the book, movie, and Rumple's proposal from the show. Kind of all meshes well, don't you think? This is also another fantastic moment in the movie with Richard Armitage. If you haven't seen it, then you must do so now.