Anonymousnerdgirl said:
Maybe you should have Gold going through his day and realizing how thoroughly Belle isolates herself and how little thought he put into the day to day business of being a husband. He wanted to save her, but now what?
tinuviel-undomiel said:
FSP Prompt: some busybody drops in to the house supposedly to off his/her congratulations, but really to see if he/she can dig up any dirt on Belle and Gold of the gossip mills.
It was all a terrible miscalculation. It hadn't occurred to Rhys when he'd asked her to marry him that she'd ever feel comfortable enough to be in the same room with him for more than an hour or so at a time. The fact that she might at some point want to kiss him (repeatedly!) hadn't even crossed his mind. The first time had taken him by surprise, but he'd assumed it was a one-time thing - a girlish curiosity, perhaps. The second time she'd done it, though, had proven him wrong. It was still possible she felt nothing more than gratitude. Gratitude would be the most natural thing in the world, after all. Marrying her hadn't been a particular hardship, but he'd certainly been under no obligation to do so, and he could understand that his kindness may have awoken some feelings in her.
Gratitude, though, did not explain why she'd asked him to take her to the bookstore. Escorting a lady to the store was an activity to be undertaken during courting, for the most part. It wasn't improper or unheard of for a husband to take his wife to a store, but it wasn't so common as to make her feel uncomfortable about going alone. There was no reason for her to ask him to accompany her except that she trusted him and wanted him around. He'd always meant to earn her trust, but her desire for his company had been very unexpected. There was no way this could end well.
Belle had her arm through his and was clinging to him tightly while they moved through the shop. He wondered what she was thinking about. Was she scared? Anxious? Was she even thinking about this as much as he was? Were the books the trigger or the sofas? What were the things that caused her to panic? And the question that loomed largest on his mind and somehow held more importance than any of the others: did she bring him here as a form of comfort?
The bookshop was run by Mr. Simon, an older man with glasses and a strangely timeless face. He might have been forty-five, he might have been a hundred. Rhys hadn't had much call to visit him since he moved into the village, but they'd crossed paths a few times. At the sight of Belle, Mr. Simon's face underwent a most unusual series of changes, splitting into a wide smile before he glanced around suspiciously and averted his gaze. Rhys had felt Belle's fingers curl a little bit harder around his arm after the man had stopped looking at her, but he wasn't sure what to make of it.
The only other person in the store was a woman of middle years (perhaps a bit younger than Rhys himself) who was shopping with a maid. He recognized her by sight, though they weren't particularly well acquainted. This was the puritanical Mrs. Faye Bluett, head of the neighborhood matrons. He had met her once on the street not long after he had moved to the village. She'd pestered him about attending Sunday services, and the look on her face when she'd determined he had no intention of complying could have melted steel. Since then, he had been at a handful of parties in which she had been in attendance (primarily those thrown by Belle's father) but they'd not exchanged more than a few words.
Mrs. Bluett seemed distracted by furiously scribbling something onto a piece of paper and didn't notice the newcomers right away, though how anyone could miss Belle was beyond Rhys. His wife had stars in her eyes as her fingertips danced across the spines of the books. Periodically, she would pull one down and hand it to Rhys, who dutifully carried them until his stack became too heavy, at which point he would carry them to the shopkeeper's counter and set them in a pile.
Rhys didn't remember ever seeing his wife this focused on any one task. She was usually very alert about her surroundings, which precluded her from ever doing one thing for too long. It was mesmerizing to see her completely absorbed in her own little world as she traced the gilt lettering on the leather covers and chose which things she'd like to add to her library.
After Rhys had made his third trip to the counter and was already holding two new books for his fourth, they were interrupted by a dainty little ahem from behind them. Belle paused and glanced behind her, and Rhys was unfortunately obliged to turn away from his wife to face Faye Bluett herself.
The matron had a look on her face somewhere between pity and scorn, and he had a very, very bad feeling about what would come next.
"Lady Belle!" Mrs. Bluett said with a voice dripping with faux concern. "How good to see you out and about."
"Thank you," Belle replied, standing up just a hair straighter. "But it's Mrs. Gold now."
This wasn't something they'd really discussed. Practically, Belle was permitted to retain her title after their marriage, and it would have been expected although not mandatory for her to do so. Her claiming Mrs. Gold over Lady Belle was a statement in and of itself. It was equally a claim on him and a surrender of her life before, and a part of him loved that she was claiming this as her new identity. More than anything, Rhys was a man who could understand the urge to become somebody new. Mrs. Bluett, however, didn't look impressed.
"I did hear about your wedding, dear," she said, patting Belle on the arm and glancing at Rhys. "I'd meant to call on you, of course. I just haven't had time."
They'd been married for close to two months. None of the neighborhood women had 'had time' to call on Belle to congratulate her since. Not that it had been a hardship for either of them, since she still wasn't particularly up for company, but etiquette demanded congratulations for a new bride. The fact of the matter was that his wife was being snubbed and everyone knew it. Belle had the fakest smile on her face Rhys thought he'd ever seen, and his mind was racing trying to figure out how to extract her from the situation without ruining their day out when Mrs. Bluett continued.
"It was all just so sudden," the matron said with a tsk. "And no honeymoon, either. But then I suppose in your circumstances, some lapse in propriety is to be expected."
"Tell me, how is the vicar, Mrs. Bluett?" Belle said sharply, surprising Rhys with her quick change of subject. "I'd heard his wife has been visiting her mother, so I'm sure he's very happy for your company."
Rhys wasn't entirely sure what Belle had meant by that, but Mrs. Bluett turned a brilliant shade of red before turning on her heel and stalking out of the store. Belle's ears were beginning to turn pink as well and he could see the tears that she was fighting hard not to shed glistening in her eyes.
"I truly dislike that woman," she muttered, turning back to the bookshelves quickly. "She's a hypocrite and a gossip."
He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't sure how with his arms filled with books and her shoulders practically shaking with rage.
"I don't think anyone likes her," he said as soothingly as he could, trying to give her some space. "But I've never seen anyone get rid of her so easily, either. You'll have to tell me how you did that."
"Mrs. Bluett and the Vicar have been having an affair for years," she said simply. "Since before he was married, actually. It's not exactly common knowledge and she wields enough power that I doubt anyone's ever confronted her with the truth before. But I suppose I don't have anything left to lose now, do I?"
She sighed, and he watched the tension ease out of her shoulders. She didn't relax, exactly - she was still agitated, just not on high alert. She mostly seemed resigned to her fate and her lot in life.
"You're right," he agreed, glancing toward the door to be sure the vile woman stayed gone. "She is a hypocrite. You're worth ten of her."
"I'd like to go home now," Belle said in a soft voice. "I'm tired."
"Of course," he replied. "Just let me arrange to have these delivered."
She nodded, trailing behind him back to the counter where Mr. Simon had been writing in his ledger and evidently trying very hard not to notice the little confrontation that had just happened.
"Is this everything?" the little man asked them, adjusting his spectacles and making a quick tally.
"Indeed," Rhys replied. "We'll need for them to be delivered."
The shopkeeper nodded, glancing back towards Belle.
"I just got a new shipment in," he said to her with a kind smile on his face. "Translations of Indian texts. I haven't even had a chance to go through them."
She had perked up a little at that, and Rhys could see her torn between wanting to be home and wanting to see these new things.
"We'll take them," Rhys said before she could answer. "One of everything. Add them to the pile and have them delivered."
Both Belle and Mr. Simon seemed shocked at this little display, but dammit, his wife was upset and he was going to do whatever he could to fix this. He was the one who had failed to shield her from the meddling, he was the one who could make it right.
"Of course," Mr. Simon replied smoothly, making a little note on the sales slip and calling into the back for his assistant to set aside the Indian books for Mrs. Gold.
Once that was settled, the man wrapped up a few of the books off of Belle's stack for her to take home immediately. Belle didn't seem particularly surprised Mr. Simon was doing this, and he didn't need to be asked. It occurred to Rhys that this must be something they did regularly, or at least had done in the past. How many times had Belle come shopping here and left just like this?
Mr. Simon spared Belle another kind smile as they exited the shop, and Rhys handed her into the carriage before joining her. She seemed to have become smaller since that morning, and he realized that he hadn't noticed how hard she'd been trying the last few weeks. Belle had gone from jumping at shadows to boldly leaving the house. For some reason it hadn't occurred to him how difficult this must have been for her, or how much bravery it had taken. Nobody knew better than he did how big a risk it really was, and he should have known she'd be exhausted by it.
Belle never used to isolate herself that way, he remembered. She had always been a cheerful and outgoing girl before - she must be so lonely now, locked away as she was.
It hadn't ever occurred to Rhys that Belle might need more than a home and protection from the world. He'd never stopped to think that perhaps she might even want more than to spend her days wandering the halls. She was naturally gravitating towards him, because he was the only person she really spent any time with who wasn't a servant. Proximity and gratitude could do a great deal to endear a man to any woman, no matter the circumstances.
Rhys wished he knew the right thing to do for her. Belle was still so fragile and he honestly wasn't sure what to do about that. If he were a better man, he'd deserve her attention. But he wasn't a better man - there were people who would argue he wasn't even a particularly good one, though he had managed to shield her from most of that. He hadn't wanted to risk her developing feelings for him, though. Truth be told, he hadn't really wanted to risk developing feelings for her, although that ship seemed to have sailed. Belle was still so fragile, and he had just wanted her to be safe. He knew he wouldn't hurt her intentionally, but if she had begun to care about him she had opened the door for him to cause her pain without realizing it.
"I have to go to London for a few weeks," he blurted out. "Neal is having trouble with some investors, and I'll need to be in the office."
"Oh," she replied. "Alright."
London was the one place he knew she wouldn't follow him. Not yet, anyway. He could go to London and let her affections fade. She'd be safe in their home and near her father. He knew it was cowardly to run away from her like this, but he wasn't prepared for any of this. He'd not thought through the reality of being a husband before he'd become one, and now it was too late.