CHAPTER 39
MAURICE was not about to be swayed by the lavishness of the Prince's solar that, as Belle's father made his way into and opened the door as the Prince's Head of House, the elderly Monsieur Cogsworth turned on his heels to leave the two men to their own devices to discuss his daughter's future, gave off the first impression of someone who had wanted to travel.
He frowned, under the impression that the Prince most likely believed that for him to come here and give his consent was to be a mere formality as far as the Prince was concerned.
The future Duke of these lands could take Belle for his wife simply at the utterance of command and Maurice would not have a say in it. However, the fact that the young Prince had called for him here, seemingly keen to petition to him now did touch at Maurice's heart.
The solar in which the Prince spent most of his time was lavishly decorated with various types of worldly treasures. Persian silks blanketed appointments made of the rarest of woods from various parts of the continent.
What appeared to be German glasswork sat upon furnishings that were likely as old as ancient Roman times. Intricate tapestries from parts of the world that the humble inventor and painter could not recognize hung along the walls columned with the marble of the castle itself. The Prince's entire collection was illuminated, bathed in the warm light of the fire from the hearth. A hearth, it should be noted, that the Prince stood in front of.
The much younger man was standing rather regally in his solar, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, looking almost virtuous in dark crimson and black leather, though Maurice was not about to be fooled.
The young man's interest was entirely too engrossed by the flames that roared to life in the massive hearth, his back to his guest and the woman that he loved as Belle moved to stand beside her father. The man seemed to be deeply lost in his thoughts.
Only when Belle was confident that she could leave Claire alone for a while, that her dear friend wouldn't do something foolish like try to sneak away from the castle, did she seek out her father, knowing the Prince wanted to speak to her, and figuring Adam might need her support, given the nature of the conversation he was about to have with her Papa.
Maurice strode defensively beside Belle as she leaned forward and whispered something into the shell of his ear, encouraging him forward, that he could take a seat by the fire.
Only when the father and daughter were but a few paces away from the nobleman did Maurice allow Belle to seat him softly upon the thick, soft cushions of a chair of what had to be a Persian merchant-prince. Maurice was sure he'd never sat in such a soft, comfortable chair before, nor one so exquisite.
She again, eased the Prince's mind with a smile as the Prince, now sensing he was no longer alone in his otherwise private study, turned and lifted his gaze to Belle's eyes, finding nothing within the dark depths of the rich brown pools but her affection and love.
The Prince stiffened upon being under the receiving end of a withering glower from the older man now seated in his chair. He awkwardly cleared his throat and waited for Belle's father to be the first to break the silence.
It was a long moment before Maurice addressed the young Prince of the Barreau family, a man whom he alongside the rest of the villagers had never thought they could particularly trust, much less ever think this man would one day win his daughter's heart, despite what he'd done, how his own guard at his command hurt her.
Maurice felt a hot fire seed of anger well within his heart and course through his veins, but with his daughter standing by the Prince's side as she moved away from him, he closed his eyes, willing his temper to cool a little before speaking.
"You have asked me here to speak with me, Your Highness?" Maurice asked in a curt and clipped tone, the edges of his normally quiet and kind voice hardened.
Belle furrowed her brows at the tone of impatience that was slowly but surely seeping its way to the surface of her Papa's voice.
Belle tried to encourage Adam with a shy, soft nod and an even sweeter smile before bashfully turning her head to eye the floor.
The Prince could not help but smile at her. Somehow, just her nearness gave Adam the courage to continue speaking, eager to get to the point now.
"Yes, monsieur."
He swallowed nervously as he could feel his chest constrict and his throat as it hollowed. His tongue suddenly went dry, drawing his thirst for water or wine but there was none.
Prince Adam dared not look away from him as Maurice steadily lifted his gaze and regarded the Prince with a somewhat superior glower, despite their differences in societal status.
It was more than enough to render the Prince feeling about two inches tall as Belle's father proceeded to eye him as though he were dirt stuck to the bottom of his boot.
Adam could not help but flinch. Never in his life, not even when Adam had stood underneath the formidable scrutiny of his own father, the late Duke, growing up, had the Prince felt so small and insignificant like he did now. Nevertheless, he loved Belle, and wanted nothing more than to be married to her and for Gaston to return to the estate and quickly too.
He inhaled a deep breath intended to calm his frazzled nerves and forced himself to straighten his gait.
Not wanting to show even an ounce of timidity in front of a man who, Belle's father or not, was still considered a guest in his home, Adam turned and rested his arm almost defiantly so on the edge of the mantle above the hearth, before pushing himself off and taking a purposeful step towards where Maurice was sitting.
"Monsieur, I am sure that it should come as no shock to you, considering thanks to the maids and other servants within these walls who act as the castle's eyes and ears whether I like it or not, that yes, the rumors are true. I have asked your daughter for her hand in marriage and Belle has agreed and made me the happiest man in France as a result," the Prince steadily informed Maurice.
His face softened just slightly as he lifted his gaze for a moment to regard Belle, who had moved to stand behind her father's chair and was resting her hands on either side of his shoulders.
He smiled again as he found an inner strength in the young woman's eyes that he wished he could bottle in a tiny glass vial and keep close to his chest.
It was more than enough to allow him to steel his resolve in continuing beseeching Belle's father to offer them his blessing. The Prince looked back to old Maurice, the happiness in his sparkling blue eyes was unmistakable, even to Belle's father, he knew that.
Maurice let himself have a moment to consider the news that he had already suspected, thanks to the rather loud whispers of a few passing by maids who did not seem to care who heard. But there was a part of him that was determined to test the young Prince's boldness where appropriate.
He scoffed and fought not to roll his eyes.
"You have asked my daughter?" he echoed, his hardened expression never changing from his mask of cold indifference towards the Prince. "It appears, Your Highness, that you have the order of marriage proposals in this day and age quite wrong, Your Grace. Lowborn though I may be, though we are not equals, it changes not the fact that I am Belle's father," Maurice pointed out, his words blunt but correct. "Should I not have given my blessing for this union first before you asked? Is it not a father's right when it comes to his daughter to accept her would-be suitor's request?" he judged, raising a brow. "Or denying it," he patiently reminded the Prince, almost as an afterthought, before leaning back into his chair.
The Prince felt his facial muscles sag in defeat. Even after all that he had undergone for Belle and worked so hard following his transformation and even before that to change, to follow through on the promise he had made to her, to keep her and please her as though he meant to have her, it appeared he had not, and perhaps never would, gain Belle's father's favor.
The audible gasp he heard Belle give out from across the way was more than telling enough, making the Prince even more determined to win over her father and he would have that blessing come to the end of the night, even if the man would make him walk across hot coals barefoot or crawl on broken glass and beg, he'd do it for Belle, because he loved her, and wanted her.
"My apologies, monsieur," the Prince murmured courteously in a low voice as he dipped his head in acknowledgment of his words. "My love for your daughter that is the sole purpose of my heart beating and runs through my veins is so great that I couldn't wait any longer to pour my heart and soul to her and beg for her hand," he said earnestly. "My heart has belonged to Belle from the moment she showed me how wrong I was in the way I was perceiving the world around me."
His blue eyes grew distant and soft as he allowed himself a moment to reminisce over the lovely afternoon they had spent in the Enchantress's book together before his curse had lifted, the first time they encountered Gold then.
He drew in a breath, and he continued on.
"I did not want any more time to pass before making my intentions towards your daughter quite clear." The Prince's eyes shifted and rested on the lovely feminine figure of the young woman whom he'd marry in a few days.
If he'd had it his way, he'd marry her tonight in private, but Gaston would bloody murder him if he weren't permitted to attend, and it would not be much cause to celebrate without his best man and groomsman in attendance, either. So, despite his eagerness, he would wait.
"You love my Belle, Your Grace?" Maurice questioned, the skin of his brow pulled taut and tight in anger. He almost sounded angry with the Prince. "Yet, you have mistreated my daughter the night she arrived here. You were the one to force your man onto her as he viciously attacked her, and gave her that," he growled, wildly waving a hand towards Belle's scar upon her cheek as he angrily leveled the blame squarely on Adam now.
The Prince shirked away with his own self-hatred as disgust marred his face. "An act for which I strive to always pay penance for, and which I could never forgive myself, despite Belle telling me on her end, that she has forgiven me."
"Papa," Belle angrily interjected, feeling her tone go spiced and offended as she felt the need to jump to the Prince's defense for a minute.
The two feuding men broke from their tense discussion and turned to give Belle their undivided attention. She instinctively reached for the Prince's hand, who took it without hesitation.
Maurice fell silent as he observed the change in the Prince the moment their hands joined. The beauty and strength that seemed to emanate from the young couple as they stood together as a pair from perhaps the one individual who would seek to separate them, save for D'Arque, who hopefully, Gaston would take care of.
Maurice's brows shot up far onto his forehead as he recollected the kindly Mrs. Potts' explanation earlier given to him on her master's behalf.
He understood now that it was he himself who was standing between them, and he sighed as he understood how much he would lose if he persisted down this path. There was every possibility that if he refused, Belle would not wish to speak to him ever again and have him in her life. And that, Maurice vehemently decided, he simply could not allow happening.
"Prince Adam is much changed," Belle declared fiercely, a fiery passion burning in her dark eyes that told Maurice she would defend the Prince until she was blue in the face if need be. "He stayed by my side and nursed me back to health, and has defended me, twice," she defended the man she loved.
Her entire body was shaking with emotion, remembering the horror of seeing him attacked by wolves that night in the Wolves Wood and again that horrifying encounter in the corridor just outside and down the hall with Ser Laurent, who, thank God, upon the breaking of the enchantment, was now back to being dead, for good. But just as a precaution, the Prince's soldiers had burned the man's body and then deeply buried the remains.
The Prince frowned. She saw it out of the corner of her peripherals as Adam moved to rest a hand on her shoulder and give the appendage a firm but affectionate enough squeeze.
Belle was practically heaving with fury as she addressed her father with more courage and conviction than Maurice had ever seen in her before, greater when she declared to him when she turned eighteen and past the point to be married, that she would not marry unless it was to a man she loved.
Now, it was the Prince to whom she devoted, the Prince who, at first, had seemed to make life for his daughter excruciatingly hard. Maurice realized, the longer he stared at his only child, his beloved Belle, that nothing and no one, not even him, would keep her from the Prince.
As her father, he knew his Belle from the moment she emerged from her mother's womb. As he'd watched her grow into the young woman she was now today, standing before him, she understood the depths of Belle's honor and pride.
His pride at seeing how she had blossomed, like a blooming rose, and had fully become a woman resounded in his heart, warming him several times over.
He watched the young Prince clinging steadfast and firm to his daughter's hand, obviously head over heels and in love with Belle.
Before Maurice could say another word, Adam presented his case, but an explanation and not a defense for his actions. Begrudgingly and reluctantly, the Prince gingerly shrugged out of Belle's hand and took a cautious step towards him.
"Monsieur," he began solemnly. "You must believe that my past actions will haunt me for the rest of my life. When Belle first came to me, I was …not a good man, monsieur, to say the least. There is a part of me that still believes somehow, I am not, despite Belle's influence in my life. The night that Belle saved me, saved my servants from D'Arque, though it was with that witch's help…" He paused, furrowing his brows in a frown and unable to repress the violent shudder that clawed its way up and down his back at the memory and grotesqueness D'Arque caused. "When I thought that I had lost her due to the taxation the witch's magic had caused on her body, it was one of the most heart-wrenching few days of my entire life. Never before have I been so affected by a young woman quite like Belle. I love your daughter, Maurice, if I could be permitted to call you that, with all my heart, though I may not be much for Belle at all," he said, his expression twisting and turning quite pained. "But with your blessing, monsieur, I would like to spend the rest of my life endeavoring to be the man she thinks I can be."
Maurice considered the Prince's words. He knew his daughter and the Prince's union was imminent, according to Agathe when she had stopped him in the hallway last night before heading back to her own home in the Wolves' Woods to see to that strange portal that Gold chap had mentioned was opened, still, a strangely glassy look in her eyes, as though she were seeing something in someplace far, far away, away from here.
She had informed the painter and inventor of Belle and the Prince's pending marriage, that it would happen whether Maurice liked it or not.
One glance at the expression his daughter wore was more than enough. Despite the scar that still marred his daughter's visage, Belle seemed hellbent on keeping it as a reminder and had refused Agathe's offer to use Dittany to mend it, claiming that she needed it, that she wanted it to remember how the Prince used to be, and how he was now, with her influence.
Maurice could not pretend to understand Belle's reasonings but trusted her enough to let her make her own choices. She seemed to have forgiven the Prince for his past transgressions.
As he looked upon them now and could see with his own two eyes just how much the young Prince cared for his daughter, his little girl, perhaps, he thought, he could attempt to do the same, for his Belle's sake.
Maurice lowered his gaze and scrutinizingly stared at the young Prince. "You truly don't believe yourself worthy of Belle, sir?" he asked, a haughtiness creeping into his voice.
The Prince flinched and chewed on the wall of his mouth as he struggled to formulate an apt response. His voice, when he finally found it again, was somber but nevertheless determined.
"No, monsieur, I don't," he replied staidly. "But with your permission, I'd prefer to spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to be."
Belle's dark loving eyes quickly met the Prince's as she reached for his hand as if to tell Prince Adam there was no need for that at all.
Regardless of her acceptance, it was Belle's father's blessing that he sought as he pressed on further with his attempts to placate old Maurice.
Without saying a word, he moved from Belle's side and drew his sword from its scabbard.
He rested the magnificent steel weapon at Belle's father's feet on the floor and bent his right knee and knelt in a show of submission, sincerely facing the man whom he begged for the hand of the woman whose life was now entwined with his. "Monsieur," he began humbly.
"Your daughter is the ray of sunshine in my dark tunnels. She warms my heart. She is a shining beacon of light that is guiding my soul, and I swear to you here and now that I will love her until the moon itself falls from the sky," he swore. "I am truly the most undeserving wretch in all of France, Maurice. Even if I were to be immortal and live a thousand lifetimes like that witch, I don't think I could ever make myself worthy of the angel your beloved Belle is, sir. By some miracle of God, her heart has chosen me, and I would take her as my wife, Maurice. It is our hope that we begin the best years of our lives, the happy years of our marriage, with your blessing," the Prince said humbly, lowering his head with reverence and allowing a lock of his long golden hair to fall freely in front of his face.
"Papa, please…" Belle whispered in a plaintiff-sounding voice from where she stood.
Maurice swallowed down hard past a lump in his throat, almost overcome with emotion as he gazed upon his beloved daughter, his love. Slowly, Belle moved away from Maurice and to stand defensively beside the Prince, who still remained kneeling in front of her father.
Maurice gingerly reached out to touch Belle's cheek, the way he had always comforted her when she was little. "You truly love this man, Belle?" he asked, needing his daughter to be sure before she committed her life to him. Before he would offer the Prince his blessing at last.
Belle smiled warmly through the tears now glistening in her ears.
"Oh, yes, Papa. With all my heart," she answered proudly, nodding in earnest as she reached for her father's hand and rested hers in his, giving it a squeeze.
Maurice thought for a moment, pretending to consider his decision though his mind was already made up. Finally, he nodded.
"Very well, then. What else is there that I could possibly say?" he wondered out loud, before turning towards the Prince. "Get up, son, your knees must be killing you," he barked towards the Prince, who, in his haste to appease the father of the woman he loved, obliged.
Maurice stepped forward and took both of them by the hand and joined their palms together in a symbolic pairing. He then cursed himself as he remembered Gaston still had the rings he had given him, and they would need to be returned upon Gaston's arrival back at the castle soon. He shook his head to clear his mind and returned his focus back to the matter at hand.
"It would be my honor to give you both my blessing upon your future marriage," was all that Maurice could think of to say to them both. "I can see now how much you truly care for and love my daughter, Your Highness," he conceded, his eyes wandering until they locked gazes with the Prince and held the much younger man captive in his stare. "I could think of no better match suited for my beloved daughter," Maurice approved, the edges of his beard twitching as he allowed his first genuine smile in days in the Prince's company to form on his lips as his mouth curled upward.
The Prince squeezed Belle's fingers within his and glanced at her as he turned his head, elated with the promise of their future that now lay before them.
"I swear it on my own life, monsieur," Adam began, turning to stare gratefully towards Maurice. "You will never regret giving your approval over our marriage," he passionately promised Belle's father. "and I swear to you that I will never take your acceptance for granted, nor your daughter," he said.
Maurice let a sardonic chuckle escape him as he nodded his head and ran a hand through his thick tuft of grey hair. "Of that, I am certain of both, Your Highness," Belle's father could only agree with him.
Proudly, he presented his outstretched hand and waited for the much younger man to accept it. The Prince eagerly shook Maurice's hand in thanks as Belle released the Prince's grip.
She wound her arm around Maurice's neck and embraced her father warmly in the tightest hug she could manage.
"Oh, Papa…" She sighed in relief. "Thank you," she cried cheerfully, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Maurice clung to his beloved daughter for a moment, enamored of the fact that Belle was safe and unharmed and would soon have her own family for which to care. Perhaps even one day in the future, he hoped to be blessed with a grandchild or two.
He fought tears as he answered Belle.
"Oh, my love, my only wish for you is your happiness, my darling Belle," he murmured tenderly.
Maurice could only sigh and regarded his daughter with love and affection in his eyes. He stepped back and returned Belle to the Prince's eager and waiting arms.
The Prince proceeded to hold Belle as if she were made of the finest china and stared at her as though she were a rare jewel. He brought his hand to her face, caressing her jaw, and allowed himself a moment to gaze awestruck into the dark brown pools that were her eyes, ensnared by their perfect almond shape.
"I swear, Belle, I will make you the happiest woman in all of France," Adam passionately vowed to her.
Belle nodded as she choked back her excited tears and mirrored the Prince's tender gesture with one of her own, touching his cheek with loving bless before running her fingers through the man's loose flowing golden hair.
"But I already am. Everything I could want, is here in front of me, Adam," Belle replied breathlessly, shyly.
Not caring if they had an audience, her words were the only encouragement the Prince needed for Adam to draw Belle to him, so she was splayed against his chest and kissed her passionately. Belle tensed for a moment but quickly melted into his arms, returning the Prince's ardor with the affection of her own. Maurice rose his eyebrows, wondering if the two of them even remembered he was here.
Maurice thought it to be no matter, for his joy was seeing his daughter so blissfully in love and happy. At last, Belle had finally found the happiness he'd always wished for her to have.
As the couple emerged from their affectionate embrace, Maurice's countenance turned serious as he turned on his heels and prepared to leave, opening the door, only to find a very flustered Monsieur Cogsworth, carrying a heavily laden supper tray in his hands intended for the Prince and for Belle. Maurice courteously stepped aside and allowed Monsieur Cogsworth to enter after mumbling a hasty hello to him under his breath.
He lifted his gaze and met theirs with a saddened smile as memories of his own beloved wife began to flood through his mind just then.
"Celebrate your lives together and enjoy one another, our time on this earth is short and fleeting. Your mother would have been proud, Belle, of the strong woman you have become. You are just like her, you know," he said, realizing there was no reason to pretend that the two would very likely be spending the night in their own respective chambers, as well as many nights to come thereafter. "And Monsieur Cogsworth?" he added, chuckling sardonically as the much older gentleman scurried towards the door once the supper tray had been set upon a small wooden table and prepared enough to the master's liking.
Cogsworth's face turned beet red as the elderly Head of Household folded his hands together and sank into an awkward little half-bow as well as his aching bones would allow him in front of Belle's father before straightening his gait.
"Yes, sir?" he asked, sounding winded.
Maurice chuckled.
"I think that you and the other two Heads of House have a wedding to plan," Belle's father smiled softly at the look of pure relief and delight on Cogsworth's face as he immediately seemed to spring to life like a clock being wound back up after being broken so long.
Cogsworth was already shouting down the hall for Monsieur Lumiere and Mrs. Potts as Maurice gingerly closed the door behind him, leaving the Prince and his daughter to enjoy their evening together, and could only follow behind, listening to him as old Cogsworth began to rattle off a list of items.
If Cogsworth, Lumiere, and Mrs. Potts all had their way, the Prince's upcoming wedding would be the most lavish celebration France had ever seen.
Hoping all is well with you. Before anything else, thank you for the reviews! They mean a lot of offers of inspiration. I have, however, an important bit regarding the upcoming chapter. As the climax draws near, so do darker scenes and the utmost Dupont hell, as Gaston, as I'm sure you know by now, has quite a bit of rage to be released.
It had been the course of my story from the beginning and despite understanding, the want for a quick reunion for our characters, the flow of my plot is rather fixed.
This wild rollercoaster ride was always based on the literary flaws of the hero and protagonist—no hero, not even Belle or the Prince or Gaston, is perfect. It is merely certain proof that they are indeed humans and fashioned for love.
Anyway, if you should decide to join me still, I am most grateful. We would be needing quite a strong stomach in this tunnel of darkness. Otherwise, I would also understand. Thank you again for your reviews, it makes my day to know that people are enjoying my story!