In a way, Milah having left him was a blessing in disguise for Gold, or at least it was as far as this second wedding went. There was no question at all that Lady Belle French would become Mrs. Rhys Gold at a registry office rather than a church, sparing both of them the approbation of the neighborhood. He wasn't quite sure whether society at large had decided he was a perverted old man or if she were a brazen harlot, or if the public consensus was that both were true. Either way, he wasn't sure the poor girl would be able to handle that large a crowd at the best of times never mind when she was already on edge and the crowd was waiting for her to slip up.

The registry office wedding also meant that rather than dedicating time to planning and inviting guests, he was able to spend that time getting her used to him being in close proximity. He'd made such a point of calling on her daily, refusing any invitations his son made to visit. He'd never declined a visit to his son before, but he wasn't sure he wanted to face Neal yet.

Suffice to say, the younger Mr. Gold was not pleased with his father's new plan. Not that he really blamed his son for that – at the end of this Rhys Gold would have a wife and his son would have to explain his brand new mother to a society that wanted nothing to do with her. The fact that Neal and Belle were of an age really didn't help endear his son to the concept at all.

He was a solid twenty years older than his future bride, and that was just a little bit terrifying. He'd not spent much time dealing with women her age since he'd been her age.

Maybe he should have put more thought into this entire idiotic plan, but after having met the man she' have been forced into marrying otherwise...Nottingham reminded Gold far too much of his own father for him to let the bastard get his hands on Belle again. Had she been a willing accomplice in her own ruin, he still probably would have offered for her anyway. He'd seen her entire life flashing before his eyes that night at the club, and had found himself in the position of actually being able to do something to save her from that fate. He didn't expect Neal to understand and he didn't really want Neal to understand, he just wanted to keep the boy from trying to talk him out of it until it was too late.

Gold was a little surprised at how much he enjoyed her company, though. Belle French had always been a clever girl, so he'd had hope of her being a decent companion. She was still wary of him, still jumping at shadows to a certain extent – but there would be moments when she almost seemed to forget to be afraid and in those moments he knew he'd made a good choice. She was witty and smart as a whip. She would laugh at his jokes and offer her own little asides before the clouds inside would return to obscure her sunshine.

The hardest thing to remember was not to push her. He had to let her come to him as much as possible. While it wasn't considered proper for her to visit his home unaccompanied, when he visited her he had to make it a point not to approach her when they were inside at all, staying clear across the room unless she moved towards him. She sometimes would wander within arm's reach, but never for long and he'd never so much as sat on the same settee as her. Outside, she had fewer problems. She seemed far more at ease in the sunshine (and she was developing a case of freckles, though he'd never mention it to her). He had his suspicions as to why that was, but he didn't want to push her by asking for details.

At some point, he knew he was going to have to ask her to tell him what had happened if for no other reason than because he'd seen how she could sometimes be set off by seemingly small things. He had to know what to avoid, at least, if nothing else. He just wasn't entirely sure how to initiate that conversation without causing her to run off and he selfishly didn't want to waste what little time he was allowed with her each day by being the source of her discomfort. He strongly suspected this would end up coming back to bite him at some point, but it was hard to make himself care when she was coming so close to actually relaxing in his presence.

Once her cousin returned from London, he began playing chaperone to their visits. He didn't exactly blame the boy for being protective of her and wary of Gold (and was indeed a little glad for her sake that somebody had her best interest at heart) but it was hard not to be jealous of this invasion into their time. The young Mr. French at least had the courtesy not to intrude on their walks in the garden, though Gold suspected he watched them from upstairs.

"Gaston means well," Belle said softly one day as they took a turn about the property to escape his presence. "He doesn't quite know what to do with me anymore."

Gold was a little surprised at her candor. He'd never dreamed of bringing it up, especially since they were set to be married within a few weeks anyway.

"Doesn't he?" he replied.

She shrugged a little, but didn't reply. He was left scrambling for some other thing to say to encourage her to continue, because he wanted to hear what she was thinking and to know what she thought about herself. She was so hard to read sometimes and any little clue he could get he would cling to.

"What would you like him to do?" he finally asked her.

"I'd like him to stop worrying," she replied almost instantly. "I'd like everyone to stop worrying and stop acting like I'm going to break. I'm not, you know."

She said the last bit so proudly it was almost possible to ignore the brittleness in her voice as though she were actually quite close to breaking but was determined not to let him see it.

"It never crossed my mind that you would," he replied as evenly as he could. "You don't seem the sort."

Apparently, that had been the right thing to say as her shoulders relaxed almost instantly, though she was now tracing the inside of her wrist with her fingertips in a manner he'd learned meant she was becoming agitated. He had similar nervous habits as well, though, and knew better than to call her attention to it. It was becoming time to change the topic.

"Will you need any special accommodation for your maid after the wedding?" he asked her.

It was more of an idle conversation than anything else. Lady's maids slept in maid's quarters and he knew there was a spare bedroom upstairs, though there was a chance that she wouldn't want to be alone the first few nights in the new house.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I don't actually have a maid."

If he hadn't had a cane, he would have tripped from the shock of that statement. Lady's maids were an essential part of the household for any lady of any quality whatsoever. Even a middle class girl would have someone to do her hair for her, and the idea that Belle did not was absolutely bizarre.

"Why not?" he blurted out before he could catch himself. "I mean...is there a reason I should know of?"

"I don't like being touched," she said so quietly he thought he didn't hear her right for a second before she continued in a surer voice. "After...well, I was sick recently and while I was bedridden I didn't need a maid so I sent her away. I never bothered to replace her."

He now had even more questions than before. Why had she been bedridden? Every report he'd heard of the event had included her being largely unharmed aside from the violation. Certainly nothing to indicate that she'd been injured to the extent as to require her to be bedridden for any period of time, especially considering her primary method of handling reminders of the event seemed to be activity and not sloth.

She was dragging her fingernails harder along her wrist now and he knew not to push this any further or risk her becoming too upset to continue talking to him.

"We'll worry about that later, then," he said as casually as he could. "If nothing else, I have two maids at my house and certainly one can be spared to help you whenever you require."

She nodded, and the rest of his visit was taken up with little discussions about the weather and a book on Greek mythology he was in the process of reading. Thankfully, it was one she'd already read and she was more than willing to offer her opinions on it. She took a particularly harsh view of the author, feeling that his analysis of the legend of Hades and Persephone was misinformed and she spent the next quarter of an hour lecturing him on mistranslations of Greek texts.

He'd never been happier to see Jefferson than he was that evening, even if the valet was going to give him another world weary sigh at the sight of the dust on the hems of his pants.

"For God's sake, Jefferson," Gold exclaimed. "What the hell do I pay you for if not so I can get dust on my damn pants?"

"My charming company?" the other man replied dryly, locating a change of clothes and setting it out for Gold. "I can't wait until you marry the girl just so you might actually keep a pair of pants clean all morning."

"I'll be sure to relay your best wishes to her," Gold said. "Although speaking of my future wife, I have a question for you."

"Jewelry," Jefferson said instantly. "Always jewelry."

"I didn't even ask you the question yet."

"Does it matter?" Jefferson replied. "Apology? Jewelry. Gaining her good opinion? Jewelry. Seduction? A lot of jewelry."

"Which of the maids do you think is most inclined towards being over protective of another woman?"

That stopped Jefferson dead in his tracks as he looked at him with confusion on his face.

"Why?"

"Lady Belle will not be bringing a lady's maid with her," Gold explained. "So she'll need to be provided one."

"Frankly, I wouldn't trust either of them to do the job," Jefferson replied. "I would absolutely despair for her hair and wardrobe."

"I didn't ask who would be better at keeping her looking nice," Gold said. "I want to know which you think is more likely to become protective of her."

Jefferson stared at him for awhile before comprehension finally dawned.

"Ah," he exclaimed. "If you want a protector for your bride-to-be, then Elizabeth would be your girl."

"The scullery maid?"

Gold had really hoped to hear that it would be Astrid who at least could do her own hair and not the girl that Jefferson affectionately referred to as the chimney sweep. Elizabeth (or 'Lizard' as he had once overheard her introduce herself to a delivery boy) constantly had ashes in her hair and on her clothes from the fireplace and seemed nearly incapable of walking past something dusty without getting it all over herself. Gold swore that girl would have been a better stable boy than a maid, but then, Jefferson was right about one thing: Elizabeth was highly protective of the servants. She'd once actually knocked over a boy from the neighborhood who had been teasing the stable boy.

"You said you wanted the one who would be most protective," Jefferson reminded him. "that girl was born to be bodyguard."

"Alright," Gold said with a sigh. "Have her take an actual bath and see if we can't find somebody to teach her how to comb hair sometime in the next few weeks. And then we need to hire a new scullery maid, apparently."

"She'll need to learn to sew, too," Jefferson replied. "I don't actually mean to be sarcastic, but I physically don't have the ability to do everything I already do and take care of a lady's wardrobe. And I doubt you want me handling her underthings anyway."

"So send one of the girls into town tomorrow to find a maid," Gold said. "And it looks like you'll be giving the girl a crash course in what her duties will be and how to perform them. I don't care about the rest of it, she'll eventually pick up some manners and Belle can teach her whatever else she wants."

Honestly, he didn't give a damn if Elizabeth never learned how to sew a straight stitch or style hair. He could hire somebody to do the mending and there wasn't much society to be had in the country, he really just wanted to make sure that there was somebody in the house whose entire job would revolve around making sure Belle felt safe and he wanted to make sure it was a person who would actually take that responsibility seriously.