rowofstars said:
FSP prompt: I want something where Belle comes across something that hints at the events in Gold's past, but she's afraid and unsure of how to bring it up to him/get him to talk about it, and she wonders if it influenced his decision to marry her.
Belle wasn't sure what had taken Rhys to London, and a part of her was a little hurt that he'd gone. It was silly, she knew, to be jealous that he'd been called away. She had known before their wedding that his business would sometimes draw him back to the city, but somehow she hadn't ever quite prepared herself for the possibility of him leaving - she hadn't really thought that she'd become so attached to him that it would matter.
Beyond missing him, though, she was just lonely. Lizzie was good company and they spent hours practicing her sewing together, but an employee wasn't quite the same thing as a friend. Her father had a standing invitation to come visit her whenever he wanted (which he had taken her up on a few times) but he had estates to manage, and honestly she didn't really want to spend so much time with him. Her father was always waiting for her to go back to the girl she had been before, and Belle was so tired of trying to be her that sometimes she wanted to scream. She wasn't that girl anymore. She didn't think she could ever go back to being her even if she wanted to, and something in her rebelled at the very idea of ever being that naive and helpless again.
At the very least, Belle was keeping busy. Her books from the shop had arrived a few days after Rhys had left and she was setting aside an hour or two a day to read and catalog her new treasures. She could have had someone else do it, but she'd missed being around books. It was still hard for her to focus long enough to read one all the way through, but just getting to touch them and move them around felt strangely soothing, even if her focus was lacking.
Her library wouldn't have rows of shelves and books pressing in on her. She could no longer handle the strangely stuffy feeling that she had once found cozy and protective, but she had much more space than she did books to fill it with, and it would be a while yet before she had to worry about overwhelming her room. As long as she was careful, she could feel safe here.
Aside from sewing with Lizzie and moving things back and forth between her bedroom, sitting room, and library, her only other real distraction was the day-to-day minutia of running a house. This is what she'd been raised to do, really. She could manage a team of servants far larger than this one and oversee an estate complete with tenants. She'd been the lady of her father's house since she could read a ledger; she could run Rhys' house with her eyes closed.
She'd begun making little projects for herself to keep her mind occupied. Her latest project was scouring the attic for anything she might want to move into one of her rooms. Rhys had only moved into this house ten or so years ago, but he had still accumulated quite an assortment of things. Belle was beginning to suspect her husband was a bit of a magpie.
The attic was a veritable cornucopia of beautiful things, and Belle was sure she could get lost in there for days if she wanted to. There was something so exciting about being someplace quiet and alone with her thoughts where nobody would come for her. So far, she had found some little statuettes she liked for the library and a beautiful little Georgian writing desk with spindly legs. There was also a set of watercolor landscapes that had a mate in her library already which she had definite plans for.
A little chest finally caught her eye as she prepared to descend the stairs again. It wasn't ornate or special in any way, and that made it stand out amongst the other things in the attic. The chest was made of pine, and it looked older than almost anything else there. Looking into it would be snooping, and she'd been raised as a lady. Ladies didn't snoop - they were patient and never so curious as to go digging through their husband's secret chests. But Belle had been ruined and cast out from polite society and had married far below her previous station. For all intents and purposes, she wasn't a lady anymore. Besides, if Rhys had really wanted to keep everyone out, he'd have locked it, wouldn't he?
The chest, it turned out, was something she definitely shouldn't have opened. It was a hope chest, but couldn't be his first wife's. The things in it were old and worn, and even beside that, they were clearly not of a decent quality. Belle didn't know much about Neal's mother, but she knew that she'd been the daughter of a shop owner and would have had things made of a much higher quality fabric than this. Still, though, even as she took things out and handled them she was struck by the delicate perfection of the stitches. There were baby clothes, too, tucked under blankets. Tiny little things rendered in homespun and stained from use and lovingly cleaned. Someone had cared desperately about these things and the child who wore them.
She shouldn't be looking at these things, and she set them back into the trunk even as another one caught her eye. This one was a Christening gown, though not nearly as ornate as the ones Belle had seen. Inside this gown there was a little tag with initials sewn into it: RMP. She didn't know who the baby who had worn it was, but something about it disturbed her enough to finally shut the lid of the trunk and make her way down the stairs. Someone would need to help her move the writing desk, and she needed to be outside for a little while to put her thoughts together.
A few days later, Belle heard the sounds of a horse. She was in her library at the time, seated at her writing desk although she had nobody to write to. She was awaiting a reply to her last letter from her husband,. She felt her pulse quickening at the sound of the carriage, torn between hope that Rhys had returned to surprise her and terror at the idea of who could possibly be coming to visit.
The library faced out over the front of the house, so she went to the window and looked out. She saw a man, and it took her a moment to recognize Jefferson from straight above. She felt her shoulders sag as the tension that had crept up her spine from the moment she first heard the horse in the drive. She hated these little moments of fear she still had. It was close to a year since the...incident. Belle was starting to wonder if she'd ever stop feeling that sense of impending doom.
If Jefferson was back in the house, then it was likely a message for her, so when the inevitable knock came at the door her only surprise was that he hadn't changed or cleaned himself off before coming to see her. She turned and saw the man himself standing there waiting for her audience. He still had his traveling clothes on, which wasn't at all like him.
"Is my husband alright?" she blurted out, suddenly concerned again.
"He was the last time I left him," Jefferson replied flippantly, dropping into a courtly bow. "He sent me with a message."
Jefferson reached into his bag and pulled out a letter sealed with wax and offered it to her. Belle recognized her husband's seal and smiled at it in spite of herself.
"Is that all?" she asked, holding the envelope close to her chest. "He can't have sent you all this way for a letter."
Although if he had, she was going to be in desperate danger of falling head over heels in love with him.
"No," he admitted. "I'm supposed to be getting his rooms ready. He's planning to return this week."
Belle didn't really believe that, and didn't make any attempt at hiding that fact. The maids could have opened the rooms with a note, and he certainly didn't need to make Jefferson ride all the way back from London just to deliver a note. She eyed him, and he seemed to be fighting to contain a bit of a smirk as her gaze traveled down to his bag, still sitting at his hip...and moving.
"Your bag is awake," she said, and he instantly turned to his side, pulling the flap up.
"There was also a gift to go with that letter," he replied, reaching into his bag and pulling out a little ball of fluff that he held out to her.
Belle gasped, tentatively taking the puppy into her hands. It was a tiny little white and blonde King Charles Spaniel with a large red ribbon tied around her neck.
"Oh my goodness," she couldn't help but squeal. "Where did she come from?"
"This little girl is the product of one of the top breeders in the city," Jefferson said with a smug little grin that told her this had been at least partially his idea. "Your husband thought you might appreciate the company."
"He thought right," she cooed, curling the puppy up in her arms like a baby. "She's so precious. Does she have a name?"
"That would be your choice," he replied. "She's freshly weaned this week, which is why I returned early."
"Hmm," Belle hummed more to the puppy than to him. "I'm going to have to think about that."
The puppy was adorable with curly fur around her ears and belly. Belle's father had spaniels he kept for hunting, but the King Charles line was a companion animal. The little baby was extremely awake now, and was already wriggling around with excitement at the new person to meet. Belle set her on the floor and she instantly dove under Belle's skirts. She shrieked and giggled, backing away from the puppy who bounced after her.
Jefferson was watching her curiously, and she was surprised that she'd almost forgotten he was even there.
"If there's nothing else?" he said cheerfully.
"No, no," Belle said instantly. "You can go. Thank you for bringing my gift."
He gave her another one of his flamboyant bows before leaving her alone with the puppy. There was so much she would need to do still - the dog would need a name, and a bed. She would need to get collars and leashes, too. The puppy was now sniffing around the floor, and Belle suddenly realized that the dog had been inside a bag for hours and had been woken from a nap to meet her. It was probably time for a quick trip outside.
It had been awhile since Belle had gone on one of her long rambling garden treks. She was still taking a daily walk out of habit, but she wasn't taking nearly as many because of her panic states. Having the puppy with her almost made it feel like a normal occasion. She wasn't broken and ruined, she was simply a lady walking with her dog. The sun was shining and the puppy was bounding through the flower beds. Belle should probably stop her and insist she stay to the grass, but she couldn't bring herself to put an end to her joy.
"Look at you," she cooed to the puppy as she crouched in the grass next to the rose bushes the puppy was sniffing around. "Are you a little flower today?"
The puppy was absorbed with digging a hole as Belle kept chattering at her.
"Are you a little flower? A little rose?" she asked the dog, surprised when the puppy's head snapped up and she came bounding over. "Is that your name? Are you Rose?"
The puppy wagged its tail, trying to climb into Belle's lap and succeeding only in knocking her over. This seemed to suit Rose just fine, because it allowed her to lick Belle's face and knock her hair half out of her pins.
If her father could see her now, she doubted he'd even recognize her. Something about that thought soothed Belle a little bit. She was getting better, and she just had to remember that. She was better today than she had been when it happened, and maybe next year would be even better.