As he left the French home, Gold felt his mood turning sour. Maurice had, of course, wanted to borrow money. This wasn't altogether an uncommon occurrence, but this was rather a larger amount than previously and Gold didn't really think the other man could cover it.

Just until the lawsuit ended, he'd said. Apparently, it cost more than Maurice had anticipated to sue a peer of the realm for deflowering your virgin daughter, especially when said peer kept offering to marry the daughter in question. Maurice was taking that as a sign that Nottingham was just as strapped for cash as he was and that the whole thing would be over with sooner rather than later.

Gold wasn't quite as optimistic about everything turning out well as the other man. For one thing, if they were already sure that Nottingham was low on funds then what precisely they hoped to get for the lady's stolen virtue was quite beyond him. Then, of course, there were Neal's occasional reports on town gossip in his letters. The lad was ecstatic about being accepted to one of the most fashionable clubs in London for young men, and with entry had come access to the chatter of the sort of men whose fathers held seats in parliament. Evidently, people were becoming sick of thinking about any of it and simply wanted Lady Belle to accept the proposal and vanish into one of Nottingham's country estates so they could all pretend like nothing had ever happened.

Usually, Gold would have simply shrugged and let Maurice continue to make his own choices except if Maurice was going to ruin himself socially and financially that could have definite ramifications to Gold's business. This was a matter that would need to be handled with some delicacy.

Gold had begged off, saying he'd have an answer after returning from a trip to London to meet with some potential investors. He hadn't initially planned on attending the meeting with Neal – though he'd been invited – but now he needed to buy some time to decide on a course of action regarding the French's. He was fond enough of Lady Belle, but he wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of taking up her banner. He'd fought his own battles in life and he wasn't some young buck desperate to prove himself the hero of the fair maiden. Mostly, he just wanted to retire to the country to spend his life in relative comfort.

London, however, proved to be more illuminating than he'd expected it to be.

The first day in town had been fairly standard, settling into the townhouse he kept there (which Neal had mostly taken over rather than keeping bachelor's quarters) and visiting the factory. There he felt back in his element amidst the hum of the machinery and the movement on the floor. This factory had been his life blood, and now it was Neal's.

Neal seemed to have a good grasp of the business side of things, but Gold had always been the most comfortable in his office in the factory. It was the place that had always felt the most like home.

His son was conducting a tour for the potential investors (mostly men his own age though there were a few younger faces in attendance), and Gold decided to tag along.

"Where are the men?" one of the older gentlemen asked after a little while. "All your floor managers are women."

Gold watched his son intently – this particular feature of the factory could be a hard sell to the more traditionally minded gentlemen and he wanted to see how Neal handled it.

"That's the thing that makes the factory unique," Neal replied. "As you may or may not know, women make up a large percentage of textile workers while the management staff tends to be male. In our factory, we strictly hire women for the floor work even though men make up the upper levels of management."

There was a hum of whispers spreading between the men before one of them spoke again.

"And what is the reason for depriving a man of a livelihood?"

"We're not depriving men of anything," Neal explained calmly. "We've found that the women tend to work harder when their supervisors are women, with fewer interruptions in productivity. Women foremen are also less likely to drink on the job as well. And every one of our floor managers is supporting a family of her own – most are widows, although at least one is supporting invalid parents and a young sister after her brother's death."

"Of course," Gold broke in. "We uphold the highest moral requirements for our girls as well. We're not a haven for unwed mothers after all. And there are still plenty of men employed in packing and shipping and they are kept very carefully separated while at work with the women coming and leaving hour before the men do."

The more scandalized sounding whispers had died off, though there seemed to be a few of the gentlemen who took exception to the implication that being fondled at her job might distract an otherwise competent worker and Gold mentally ticked those men off as potential investors. This happened every time, and it never got less frustrating, though he was really more concerned with how Neal handled it than anything else. The boy had done well, neither apologizing nor making any promises of things changing. This method had worked for them, and he had no desire to shake things up for the sake of pleasing a handful of men who were looking for a reason not to invest.

The tour went well enough after that, and by the end of the day Gold was fairly certain Neal had secured at least four new investors with a couple more who seemed to need more time to consider. The boy's dream of opening new plants and new markets seemed on the cusp of becoming a reality.

"So did I meet your expectations?" Neal asked wryly, sitting behind the desk that had been his father's with his feet on the wood. "Live up to the Gold name?"

"You tell me," Gold replied with a shrug. "How much more financing do you need to secure?"

"With the ones from today I'm about three-quarters of the way there," Neal said off-handedly. "So that's ahead of schedule, at least. I still have to look into shipping companies, God help me, and a few other things. The financing was always the major roadblock, though."

"It often is."

The two men fell into a comfortable silence for a little while, Neal staring out into space as Gold rubbed a thumb over the gold handle of his walking stick.

"You need a project," Neal said after a moment, having apparently been watching his father a bit more closely than Gold had realized. "You're going absolutely stir crazy out in the country."

"And you know this how?"

"I know you," Neal replied. "And I've read your letters. You're going to go barking mad locked up in that house all by yourself."

"I keep busy."

"No you don't," Neal replied. "You're doing nothing but the papers and my letters."

"And going on walks," Gold said with a smile.

"And going on walks," Neal agreed. "And scaring the young ladies and getting far too involved in your neighbor's business affairs. You need to tell Lord Maurice no and mind your own business. What happened to Lady Belle was terrible, but throwing money at the problem won't fix it."

Neal was right. He was young, and he didn't know what his father did, but he was right. There wasn't fixing any of it.

Neal wanted to show off to his father, so the evening was to be spent in Neal's new social club. Gold knew he wouldn't like it almost instantly. It was highly fashionable, which meant it was populated by men his son's age with too much money and free time. For many, they were experiencing their first bit of freedom without a father to mind their money for them and the result was a raucous group playing cards and drinking far too much. Gold, of course, belonged to a club (they were essential places for forming social relationships with wealthy men) but it was mostly men his own age drinking brandy and smoking cigars away from their wives. He had absolutely no interest in this sort of spectacle, but Neal was proud and he could spend one evening in annoyance if it made his son happy.

Soon enough, he found himself drawn into a game of cards with a group of men who were becoming more and more intoxicated as the night wore on. Being the one sober man at a table was something Gold would never argue against, and he had acquired a fairly sizable pile of winnings when another couple of men arrived.

"Nottingham!" one of the drunken fellows who had lost his allowance to Gold exclaimed at the new arrival. "Lend a fellow a few pounds, will you? I've got to win my money back!"

So this was the Earl of Nottingham, then. Gold hadn't seen this one up close before – his father had only died a year or two ago and the son had been kept largely from the public eye before then. He was a rather large fellow, taller than Gold at least. He was also already quite drunk and Gold wondered how many other stops he'd made this evening.

"No can do," the other man replied. "I'm here on my bachelor party!"

This resulted in a round of cheers from the assembled and Gold felt his chest tighten. So the lady had finally capitulated, then. It was really for the best, after all. Marriage would secure Lady Belle's finances and she had no other prospects besides the one sitting in front of him right now.

"She's finally accepted you then, eh?" one of the other men exclaimed, slapping Nottingham on the back jovially. "Took her long enough."

"Not yet," Nottingham replied. "But it's inevitable at this point and I don't intend to waste a blessed second of freedom."

"She'll come around," another man supplied. "You know how these ladies can be, they always like to decline at least once before they accept – they like to make you work for it."

"This one's the hardest to get I've ever seen," Nottingham said. "It was damn near impossible to pin her down."

This attempted double entendre (which was honestly barely beyond a single entendre) resulted in an eruption of laughter from the assembled, and Gold was fighting to remain calm in the face of his dislike of the bastard. Even if this was a proper engagement and the girl wasn't currently involved in a lawsuit against him it would have been completely inappropriate to discuss her this way. The fact that she'd been engaged to someone else and ruined by him really put it beyond the pall, and Gold felt his temper flaring.

"I do hate to interrupt," Gold said after a moment. "But I do believe we were still playing cards. Are you in or are you out?"

There was a chorus of acceptances and refusals as some men gathered up what little of their coin they had left and stood. Thankfully, Nottingham was among the ones who chose to stay. It would be a pleasure to take all his money – maybe he'd set it in a pile by itself and lend that to Maurice later.

Nottingham proved to be most unpleasant company, which incidentally made it even more delightful to empty his purse. The man continued making lewd comments and poor bets, and by the end of the night Gold had amassed quite a tidy sum.

By the time the conversation moved to mimicking the Lady Belle begging for more on her wedding night, Gold was fairly certain he'd heard quite enough. Something really had to be done.

He made his excuses and summoned a servant to assist him in packing up his winnings into a manageable pile so he could leave. He had Nottingham down to betting cufflinks and stickpins, anyway, he'd done a fair job of tapping that particular well dry.

That night, sleep didn't come easy to Gold. He was haunted by nightmares of things he'd rather forget – the sound of a woman's screams, a mother who couldn't look him in the eye, the way a room could darken with a person's presence – and in the morning he'd made a decision that he was fairly sure was a bad one, but damn him there were some things that couldn't be borne and that shouldn't have to be borne.

He didn't tell Neal, because he didn't expect his son to understand. Neal had been raised so that he'd never have to fear the things his father feared.

The ride back to the country took the better part of the day, and he didn't even waste time stopping at home before he rode to the French's door. It was early evening – far too late for calling, but as he suspected Maurice didn't begrudge him the hour and he was admitted freely to the drawing room.

"Mr. Gold," Maurice said in greeting. "I take it you've had time to think about my request?"

"I have," Gold said, taking a deep breath. "And I have a counter offer."

He watched Maurice carefully. The other man didn't say anything and looked wary, but he didn't object when Gold continued.

"This lawsuit is going nowhere," Gold said matter-of-factly. "I ran into the young earl on my trip and you'll have to believe me when I say he has every intention of marrying your daughter."

"She won't have him," Maurice replied defiantly. "And I won't make her."

"No, I didn't think she would," Gold said. "But that does severely limit your prospects in this case. You already owe me several thousand pounds, and I'm sure I'm not your only creditor. You simply can't outlast him and even if you could I doubt you'd get back what you'd put into it."

"So what do you expect me to do?" Maurice asked. "He defiled my daughter – he hurt her. The money would be to secure her future."

"I'm here to propose a third option," Gold replied. "I'll marry her, and in exchange I'll forgive your debts to me."

That had clearly not been what Maurice had expected to hear. His face had gone red and his fists were clenching at his sides at the mere suggestion. Which, granted, was a better reaction than Gold had truly anticipated when he'd come here.

"Before you have me thrown out," Gold said as calmly as he could. "Might I suggest we ask the young lady, since this does concern her future rather more than yours?"

Maurice still looked appalled, but he still rang for a servant to summon the Lady Belle.

She was thinner than she'd been last time Gold had seen her up close, and she still wore the dark circles under her eyes that had developed since she'd been in the country. Her face wasn't as waxy as it had been, though, so perhaps she looked a bit healthier.

"Darling," Maurice said in a tone of voice that suggested he was speaking to an easily confused child rather than a grown woman. "Mr. Gold has come here to make you an offer."

"What is it?" she was instantly on edge as she looked at him, and Gold found he could respect her suspicion and lack of regard for politeness. She was blunt about her distrust, and that was a nice change of pace.

"You may know that your father asked me for a loan to finance your lawsuit," Gold said and the way her eyes darted to her father with concern told him that in fact she had not known this. "Your father already owes me a great deal of money, and frankly I don't think you have a chance of winning if the earl has offered to marry you."

She looked like he'd struck her and he hated to be the one to give her that look of shocked betrayal, but lying to her would defeat the purpose of his visit which was to save her.

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Gold," she said frostily but with a little tremor to her voice. "But I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's not yet," he replied. "But as your father said I've come to make you an offer. If you marry me, I'll forgive your father's debt and you'll be safe from the earl."

"What?!" she exclaimed sharply, looking between the men. "Papa, how could you?"

"He's agreed to nothing," Gold said before Maurice could defend himself. "This is between you and me."

She had that hunted look on her face now, the one she'd worn the last time he'd seen her up close as though he were coming to eat her alive and she wasn't sure she'd be able to escape. She was practically gasping for air and he was on the verge of trying to offer her a seat when she darted from the room. He heard the door slamming and then she was gone.

Maurice collapsed into a seat and put his hand over his face.

"You see," he said. "She can't marry anyone. She can barely be in a room with anyone else, and she spends all day in the damn garden. He's ruined her, Gold. I don't just mean physically, I mean he ruined her."

"We'll see about that," Gold grumbled.

"Where are you going?" Maurice exclaimed.

"I'm going to propose," Gold replied as he stalked out the door.

She was precisely where he'd thought she'd be – pacing through the garden as though she were afraid to stop.

"Lady Belle," he called out while he was still standing away from her.

She jumped and spun around, but didn't trip into the roses this time which he counted as a success. She was still staring at him as though she were terrified, but she didn't run. Grimacing, he hefted the shaft of his cane into the palm of his hand and limped over to where he could hold it out to her.

"What's that for?" she asked warily.

"Just take it," he said. "I can't walk very well without it and this way you have something to hit me with if I startle you. And your father is just inside the house, probably watching us now actually."

She smiled a little bit now and reached out to take the cane from him, holding it at her side rather than at the ready.

"I can't marry you," she said softly. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"And may I ask why?"

He sat on a nearby bench and watched her. Usually it was unforgivably rude for a gentleman to take a seat while a lady remained standing, but she relaxed a little bit more having him in a worse position to approach her.

She fidgeted twirling his cane between her palms a little and for a moment he was afraid she wouldn't speak.

"I'm ruined," she said after a little while.

"So I've heard," he replied. "Anything else?"

She blinked in shock, as though it had never occurred to her that anyone might still want her after what had happened.

"I can't…" she took a deep breath. "My children would be social outcasts. You'd not get good heirs from me."

"I already have an heir," he replied. "And he's of an age where it's his turn to start worrying about getting more. I'm not really in the market for extras."

She looked away from him with such a sense of shame on her face he was compelled to offer her some sort of comfort.

"Besides," he continued. "I divorced my first wife for adultery and desertion. If I were to suddenly need a new heir you would hardly be the major dilemma they would face. Anyway, the rules are different when there aren't titles involved. They'd have money, they'd be fine."

She had turned back to him in shock at his confession, but now she was biting her lip in something besides fear and he could work with that.

"I can barely be in a room with other people," she replied at last. "I'm not able to be a hostess or move in society."

"How much society do you think I keep?" he asked her. "I moved here to retire and I don't need a hostess. I need someone to help run the house, mostly. I understand you can do that, at least."

"I can," she admitted and he saw something like hope start to creep across her face before another thought seemed to squash it. "But I don't think I can be a wife…like that."

"Oh," he said as calmly as he could. "I don't really need one, to be frank. I need a companion, someone to keep me company during the day and to make sure that things are running smoothly. I just live next door, you'd hardly notice the move – you could even continue your walks in this garden for all I care."

The sun was starting to set and it occurred to him then that he'd never really noticed how pretty Lady Belle French was. Her alabaster skin took on the rosy tint of the light overhead and her dark hair played shadows across her face. She was beautiful.

"Do you mean it?" she said, taking a seat beside him. "Just company and nothing else?"

"You have my word," he replied. "This can be a mutually beneficial arrangement, my dear. You need a home and I can give you that. I need someone to help run the house and maybe to get my son used to dealing with ladies before he makes an ass of himself on the marriage market and I don't know anyone better qualified. Besides, you're a clever girl. I'm sure you'll be a delightful conversationalist."

She smiled at him at the compliment, and it was a delicate thing he wished he could capture and keep with himself forever. He'd never felt better about himself than he did in that moment when he was so close to being her hero.

"Why me, though?" she asked him. "I mean, if you're looking for a mother to your son surely a widow would be a better choice and if you want a young wife then there are plenty of girls my age who still have reputations to protect who would be able to…be with you. Like that."

She blushed a little and turned away from him again and he wished he could bring the smile back now that it was gone. It had been such a fleeting thing.

"I like you," he said. "Granted, we don't know each other much better than most, but even when you were a girl I could tell you were intelligent and witty. Besides, I might have to leave my backyard if I wanted to meet someone else – possibly even go to another county. This is far more convenient."

Her eyes widened in shock as she turned to look at him. He offered her a wry smile and she burst into laughter. It was a beautiful sound, and by the time she was done he was surprised to realize she'd been crying before, the tears still visible on her face.

"Alright," she said at last. "I'll marry you, Mr. Gold."

"Call me Rhys," he replied. "If we're to be married and all. You might as well know my first name."

"Rhys," she said softly. "I like it."

"Normally these sorts of things are sealed with a kiss," he said. "Would you settle for a handshake instead, given the circumstances?"

She let out a sweet little giggle again and nodded, holding her hand out for him to take. He resisted the urge to bend to kiss it, instead giving her a soft shake.

"I suppose I should go inside and let Papa know," she said with a little sniffle. "He's been so worried about me."

"I suppose you should," he replied. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"No," she said. "No, thank you, Mr. Gol – Rhys. I'm sure this won't be an easy thing for him to hear."

"Go on, then," he said, taking his cane back from her. "I'll let you get into the house before I stand."

She gave him a peculiar little look, but just nodded before turning and walking away.

And just like that, Gold was engaged.