Author's Note: This chapter will deal with Belle's rape in some level of detail. It's not overly descriptive (Belle is the narrator of the scene and is describing it rather than reliving it, and so chooses to censor and omit the worse details of it) but this is far more detailed than I've gotten to date, and more detailed than I plan to get again. If you think this might disturb you, once the dog is on the bed just stop reading because that's basically the rest of the chapter.
Belle was having more good days than bad ones now. She still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, but she rarely woke up screaming anymore. On the days she did, though, she still couldn't get back to sleep after. Instead, she'd wander the halls a little bit. There were no hall boys here, no one to see her if she walked from room to room in her dressing gown. She wouldn't even carry a candle, instead moving about under the cover of darkness, imagining herself a ghost beyond the need for sleep or fear.
Her life was busier now than they had been. It was a nice change, though perhaps the fact that she wasn't fixating so much during the day meant she was freer to do so at night. It was hard to be sad, though, with Jefferson's daughter around. Belle wasn't quite sure what had convinced him to move Grace into the house (or if it had been her husband's idea, though he had denied it when questioned) but she was glad to have the child around. Grace was actually a bright, inquisitive girl of eleven who had proven to be quite helpful to Belle and Lizzie when Belle had decided she needed a new nightgown.
Rhys had caught them that day in their third hour of work, though how he could have gone that long without noticing the sounds of good humor and occasional frustration that the women had been making, Belle couldn't say. Grace had finally taken over once it became clear neither Belle nor Lizzie had any idea what they were doing. Rhys had come in while they were carefully pinning Belle's existing nightgown to the fabric for Grace to trace with a piece of chalk.
Their initial attempt at pattern making - involving Belle laying down while the other two traced around her - had been less than successful and necessitated sending Lizzie back out for more fabric (luckily, the first one had resulted in enough fabric they were able to make something for Grace out of it). Their second attempt went much better, and it was that one which Rhys had walked in on. Grace had been carefully tracing while Lizzie held the fabric even, and Belle had been sitting and watching the two as she embroidered little flowers on the shift they'd pieced together for Grace from the scraps of their failed attempt while Rose slept on her feet.
He hadn't said anything, and she hadn't noticed him right away. She'd been focused on her work, but also on watching little Grace try to explain to Lizzie that they had to trace about half an inch away from the nightgown or else there wouldn't be enough fabric to sew it and also on poor Lizzie's growing frustration with the entire process. It took her a long moment to even realize someone else was in the room, but when she'd glanced up he'd been there, standing in the doorway and watching her. He'd immediately averted his gaze when she'd smiled at him, as though he were afraid of her having noticed him, but he smiled back soon enough. The sound of the girls quickly fell away when he was looking at her, and she desperately wished in that moment that they had the sort of marriage where she could go to him and offer a kiss, and if she did so he'd feel comfortable wrapping his arms around her. She wished she had the sort of marriage where those little intimacies were expected and comfortable.
Belle didn't quite know where that impulse had come from. She remembered nothing of her parents' marriage, and what she'd seen of other marriages in no way indicated she should expect that sort of thing even in other circumstances. Certainly, she'd never expected it with Gaston. She didn't know why she craved affection from Rhys, or even how to ask him for it. He'd certainly never denied her anything she'd asked for, but she wanted this to be freely given.
There were times that she thought perhaps he did care for her more than he let on. There was no denying he'd been kind to her, far kinder than most men would be to a woman like her, anyway. It was selfish to hope for more, but she still found herself wanting.
It hadn't taken long for Rhys to slink away from the door, and she'd been surprised at how quickly she missed him when he was out of sight.
She woke that night from a nightmare - she was being held down and no one could hear her scream, or came to her rescue if they did. She tried to fight, but she wasn't strong enough and her captor was too large for her to win. She always woke up before he finished what he started, her mind at least protecting her from that final indignity.
The house was quiet as it always was at three in the morning, and Belle took full advantage of that fact to wander the halls looking for some kind of peace. It was counterintuitive to be afraid of the dark when she was in her bedchamber, but to seek it out here. Then again, there was something strangely comforting about being in a place no one would know to seek her out if they wanted to hurt her. She was protected by the shadows and the darkness as she tried to calm her mind. Rosie would join her on these walks through the house, too tired to bound after her like she usually did but too loyal to leave Belle to her own devices.
Belle was wandering through the hall downstairs when she realized there was a light coming from under the door of her husband's library. It wasn't a strong light, but in the perfect pitch darkness of the predawn hours, even the slightest hint of candlelight peeking under the door broke into her solitary darkness. She was still unnerved from her dream, and she could still feel the ghosts of hands holding her down and a body pressed against her chest. She was tired of being alone, though, and she was tired of those phantom hands groping her in the darkness to be the only ones she knew.
Bracing herself, Belle turned the handle and swung the door open as quietly as possible. She'd known it was Rhys the whole time, but she still felt the tension melt off her shoulders at the sight of him and nobody else. He was sitting in an armchair with a glass of some amber-colored liquid in his hand, and he got to his feet instantly at the sight of her.
"Belle," he said her name in a breathy whisper that set her nerves on edge in a different way than she was used to. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, stepping tentatively into the library.
"I couldn't sleep," she said softly. "I had a bad dream."
"Oh," he replied, an inscrutable look on his face. "Would you...do you want something to drink?"
No, what she wanted was to feel whole again and safe, but she was beginning to doubt that was even possible anymore.
"I do," she said instead, coming forward and letting him pour her a glass of what turned out to be scotch. "You know, ladies aren't supposed to drink spirits," she reminded him somberly, hoping he would accept her teasing.
"I suppose they're not," he said, sitting when she did as Rosie curled up at her feet and started snoring. "But I won't tell if you won't, and I hardly think a sip of scotch will bring you to ruin and damnation anyway."
"Some people might say I'm already ruined," she reminded him, and if she hadn't been watching him so closely she would have missed his flinch at her words.
"I wouldn't pay much attention to them," he said at last. "They're all damn fools. You're a woman, not a waterlogged book."
His words shouldn't have affected her, but the armor she'd been building around herself day by day since she was raped was failing her now in the darkness and the brutal honesty of the early morning hours, and she felt the tears coming only moments before they were spilling down her cheeks. Rhys was on his feet again in an instant, reaching out to her before backing away and putting the chair between them and she wasn't sure if he was afraid of her or thought she might be afraid of him, but either way the buffer between them just made her feel more alone.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her dressing gown and trying to regain her composure. "It's just...you're the only one who's ever seemed like they forgave me for what happened and for how much I changed."
He came back around from behind his chair, perching on the edge of it and taking her hands in his tentatively. She didn't pull away, though she thought he half expected her to.
"There's nothing to forgive you for," he whispered. "I promise you that. There's nothing to forgive on your end."
They sat like that in silence for a little while as she got herself back under control, though once she stopped crying he took his hands off of hers and returned to sitting in his chair,the silence growing thick and awkward around them. She took a sip of the liquor he'd poured for her, savoring the burning sensation as it slid down her throat. It was a pleasant distraction from the turmoil she found herself in now, sitting across from her husband and feeling as though her heart had been ripped apart and sewn back together in the fifteen minutes since she'd entered the room.
"May I ask you a question?" she said finally, more to break the tension than out of curiosity, though she knew exactly what she wanted to know the moment he nodded his assent. "What are you doing up this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep," he said at last, sipping his drink. "It happens sometimes."
Something in her tone told her she was treading onto treacherous ground, but she needed to know him now more than ever before.
"You have nightmares?" she asked him softly, and he nodded.
"Not often," he replied. "But yes, on occasion. You're not the only one with demons, my dear."
She was thinking of the chest she'd found in the attic, and the baby things with RMP sewn into them. she wanted to ask him about them, and press for an answer to the question, but the lines of their marriage had been carefully drawn and she wouldn't push him further than he wanted when he'd been so careful about not pushing her.
"I'm tired," she said at last. "And so are you. You should come to bed with me."
She'd tried to say it as nonchalantly as she could, but still he practically choked on his own tongue at the suggestion.
"What?!" he squawked, setting his glass down.
"I'd like the company," she admitted. "I feel better when you're around, and I'm sick of being afraid whenever I'm asleep."
His mind seemed to be working faster than he could keep up with as it tried to parse her words, so instead of saying anything else, she stood and held her hand out to him.
"Please," she said. "I just want to not be frightened and alone anymore."
He looked up at her, before finally taking her hand and letting her lead him up the stairs into her bedroom while the puppy dozed still in the library. It was a big step, but she had to believe that it would be all right.
Rhys had no idea what was going on. He rarely had those nights where he couldn't sleep anymore, but he'd been so agitated that night that it had been a fool's errand and he'd wound up in his library trying to clear his head when Belle arrived to ask him into her bed. He knew she had only meant to invite him to sleep, but the casual intimacy of it was startling and terrifying. It had been so, so long since he'd shared a bed with anyone in any capacity and he'd truly never thought to ever be that close with Belle.
He hadn't been in her bedchamber since she'd moved in, and the little feminine touches strewn about unnerved him in their own way - hair ribbons and necklaces left casually on the vanity - as they walked silently through her sitting room and to her bed. Belle's shoulders were stiff as she took her dressing gown off and set it over a chair. It broke his heart a little bit, realizing this would be the most exposed she'd ever been to a man and how brave she was being to trust him in her most private place with her.
Belle was still so beautiful, even in her fear, and in her nightgown with her hair braided and draped loosely over her shoulder she looked like some sort of fairy, the kind his mother used to tell him stories about when he was a boy. He didn't dare to look directly at her, for fear of making her self-conscious about his presence and of being unable to control his physical reaction at the sight of her.
It took him a moment to realize he was in his own dressing gown still, and then to remove it and place it on an end table. Jefferson would have his head for not hanging it up, but Rhys needed Belle to see that he had no interest in taking the upper hand from her.
The bed had already been pulled back and slept in for at least part of the night, and Belle eased herself into it slowly, and he did the same taking all the time he could to give her a chance to change her mind and turn him away. She didn't say anything, though, as his head settled onto the pillow next to hers. The bed was big enough that if both stayed on their own side, there was no reason to touch each other, and he had no intention of doing anything more than sleep (assuming he could even manage that, attuned as he was to her presence).
They lay like that for what felt like ages, neither one making any sort of movement or sound. The were there so long that he was sure she must have gone to sleep at last, when he felt her shifting next to him, and slowly her hand found his under the covers. She wove her fingers between his and he could feel her scooting just a little closer. They still weren't touching aside from their hands, but he could feel the warmth of her seeping into him and he knew at that moment that he'd seriously underestimated her when he'd proposed. Belle was strong and brave and resilient, and whether she knew it or not, she would have been all right even without his attempts to rescue her. It wasn't a question now of whether she could ever be whole again, but of how greatly she was going to change his life as she healed.
Rhys didn't remember the last time he'd slept as well as he did with Belle's hand in his. It was a strange thing, sleeping next to each other like that. He'd half expected her to not be able to look at him in the morning, but she was all sweet smiles and a tentative invitation to join her the next night if he liked. He could only count his blessings that her maid was used to being summoned after Belle awoke rather than being in her room in the mornings, and that Jefferson was used to him falling asleep in chairs sometimes. Nobody even noticed anything strange about him returning to his bedroom in the morning, or asked where he had been.
It was very tempting to pretend like they'd never shared the bed and to go on leading their separate lives in the same house, but she'd sought him out the following evening after she'd already had her hair brushed and braided and asked him back again - and how could he resist the innocent temptation of her company in the dark?
The process of getting into bed together was a little less awkward this time around. She had been less nervous about shedding her dressing gown, and he'd been less afraid of overwhelming her with his presence. They both knew she'd never shared a bed with anyone before, even in this innocent fashion, and he didn't want her to regret him.
After a few days of sharing her bed nightly, things were no longer strange between them. He was used to the feel of her hand in his as he fell asleep, and he wasn't sure he'd have been able to sleep without it anymore. He was sleeping better, as well. Rhys had instructed Jefferson to simply lay out a new suit in the morning and to otherwise leave him alone until summoned, and the valet had been too excited at the prospect of spending the breakfast hours with his daughter to question why he was suddenly not needed to help his employer dress to cause too much of a fuss.
It was easy to forget the reality of the world those nights, but just because they weren't thinking about the bad things didn't mean the bad things had gone away. On their fifth night together, Rhys was woken up by Belle whimpering and thrashing in her sleep. It took his mind a few seconds to go from dead sleep to recognizing the sounds of a nightmare. He didn't even think twice before reaching out and shaking her shoulder, which had the dual effect of rousing her from her sleep and setting her into a panic trying to pull away from him.
"Belle," he whispered as she flailed under the blankets. "Sweetheart, it's just me. I'm sorry."
"Rhys?" she said in a watery voice, ceasing her struggles almost instantly.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "You were having a nightmare…"
He didn't even have time to finish his apology before she was clinging to him tightly and hyperventilating against his neck. Her entire body was wracked with strange, choked sobs and she was shaking so hard that he had his arms around her before he knew what he was doing.
"What's wrong?" he asked her. "What was it?"
"It was him," she sobbed. "I was back there again with him and I couldn't get away and people kept walking in and nobody said anything."
Her tears were warm and soaked through his nightclothes and into his skin, and it was all he could do to contain his rage on her behalf. Rage at the person who'd hurt her, but also at the ones who'd made it worse through inaction.
He couldn't spare rage, though. She needed him to be something else right now, so he shushed her and breathed little affirmations into her hair as he held her close. He was shaken to his core by the strength of her trust in him when it had never occurred to him that she might seek him out for comfort. The fact that she believed he could protect her made him feel stronger.
She was still hyperventilating, but her sobs had evened out a bit as he'd comforted her, and that in and of itself was beautiful.
"Shhh, sweetheart," he whispered to her. "Deep breaths, all right? Nice, deep breaths."
Belle shook a little as she inhaled and exhaled in time with his breathing, and then shuddered a final time when she finally seemed to regain herself.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, still not pulling away or moving her face from where it was pressed against her chest. "I don't usually get nightmares that badly anymore."
"Anymore?" he probed gently, hoping she'd understand that he would listen to her if she wanted to talk.
"I used to get them a lot," she replied. "Especially right after. It's mostly okay now, I haven't woken up screaming in weeks."
"I'm sorry," he said for lack of anything else to say. She deserved so much more.
"It's nothing," she said with a weak voice. "I'm used to them."
Her quiet acceptance of her own suffering hit him hard. She was hurting, she'd never stopped hurting; he couldn't save her from that.
Belle couldn't move away from him yet. Her lungs were burning from how deep she'd been breathing since she woke up, but the dream had been so damn real that she could smell the stale scent of drink that had been on Nottingham's breath in the library, and she had filled her lungs with Rhys instead. He was clean and smelled of the cotton of his nightshirt and the lilac sachets that the servants used for the linens, and right now he was her entire world. He was all she could smell and hear and feel, and with the lights out that was all she needed. Rhys hadn't been there at all, and the fact that he was here now meant that she was safe and whole and nobody would hurt her in this little sanctuary they'd built in her bed.
"You're safe here," he said almost in response to her thoughts. "I promise, you'll be protected."
"I know," she replied, crushing her body closer to his as though she could keep out the bad thoughts if she were just closer to her husband. "I trust you."
He didn't reply to her, but his hands stilled on her back for a split second and she knew he'd heard.
"It's not about being frightened anymore," she admitted. "I'm not afraid. I know I'm safe, it's just...I can't convince my mind sometimes. It's like being a mad woman when it hits, but I can't control it. I know nobody else will hurt me, though. I do."
She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more, because sometimes there was a very real fear that somebody else would try to hurt her. Not Rhys, really, or Jefferson anymore. But there were more than just those two men in the world and someday she would have to face some of them. She clung to her husband until she felt him shift away from her, and she was about to beg him to stay and not leave when she realized that Rosie was whining next to the bed. Rhys reached down to the floor and scooped the puppy up, putting it on Belle's other side. The poor thing must have been woken up by the commotion and come to see what was wrong. Once the dog was set on the bed behind Belle, she started sniffing around for the source of distress before settling for licking the tears off of Belle's cheeks. Belle giggled a little, burying her face further into Rhys' chest and reached back to scratch the puppy's head. Rosie seemed to sense it was okay now, settling into the bed at the small of Belle's back and falling asleep again.
With her husband in front of her and the dog behind her, Belle finally felt herself relax again. There was absolutely no pulling away from Rhys without disturbing Rose, and she didn't feel like going anywhere yet. She was warm and safe, and there was nobody who could get to her now.
"Better?" he asked her after Rose had settled.
"It is," Belle replied, taking another deep breath to fill her lungs with the scent of him again. "It's just so strange how it won't go away."
"It's not meant to," he said. "Some things are meant to stay with you."
"Perhaps," she said, feeling herself start to fall into the place between waking and sleep where everything felt like an odd dream. "But it was so real. It was like I never left the library, and he was still there."
Rhys made a little noise of affirmation, and her sleep-drugged brain took it as encouragement to continue.
"I was being held down," she said, feeling the words force themselves out now that she'd started. "And I was trying to fight, but I couldn't breathe with my corset being so tight...and then I couldn't move because he was so heavy and so I stopped fighting him and just hoped he'd get off so at least I could take a breath and then his hands - he was pulling my skirts up and I did try to stop him again but he just kept going. It was like I was nothing, I couldn't do anything to make him stop no matter what. I tried to scream, but I couldn't breathe...I should have screamed."
Rhys was kissing her temple, and petting her hair, but he didn't interrupt and she was so damn grateful for that because she'd never told anyone about it before. Everyone knew what had happened next, but she'd never said the words and now she couldn't keep them in.
"I remember staring at the curtains after that," she continued, talking through the tears that were flowing freely again. "I just turned my head and looked towards the window and just prayed he'd hurry up. I remember wishing the curtains were open so at least I could see outside, but instead I was trapped in the room with him and he...that's when he was working with his trousers and I just didn't know what to do. He stopped for a minute and I hoped that was it, but he just yanked my blouse open. He said it was so he could see and called me beautiful, and he kept muttering it over and over again. And then..." she still couldn't say what had happened next, but Rhys knew that part anyway. Everyone knew that part. It had hurt, but more than the pain had been the feeling of emptiness that had hit her afterward - it was as though she were just than an empty vessel or an object that could be used and discarded afterward with no more thought than one might toss away an old newspaper or a shirt that had been soiled. And then, the worst part. "Afterward, he got off of me and put himself together...and then he thanked me, and said it had been his pleasure as though I'd encouraged him or even wanted him to do it. And that's when I started crying. I just wanted him to go away and leave me be, but he wanted to stay and talk and that's when everyone else came in. They were playing hide-and-seek and were still missing one of the group. My dress was still open and even if it hadn't been, everyone knew."
She bit her lip to keep from sobbing outright, but she could still smell Rhys and Rosie was still warm against her back, so she knew it was okay. It was still just the two of them there in a dark room in a house far away from London, where nobody would ever come to hurt her.
"And they blamed you," Rhys finished the story for her, and she almost loved him in that moment for the anger he had on her behalf.
"Not right away," she replied. "Mary Margaret - Lady Nolan, it was her house - she took me upstairs and gave me laudanum water and helped me clean up and put me to bed. I didn't find out until later what had happened in the library afterward. Gaston called him out, but he refused and said he'd done nothing wrong. Lord Nolan told him to leave and the party broke up, but they all knew what had happened. I don't know who started the gossip, or if it was more than one. By the next morning, my father had come to collect me and my engagement was off and I was ruined."
She sighed, and let him hug her even though he didn't seem to know what to do about it. It was enough.
"Do you want some space?" he asked softly, and she shook her head.
"I don't want him to be the last person to really touch me," she admitted, and he whimpered a little before holding her tighter against him.
"I'm sorry, Belle," he whispered to her. "No one deserves what happened to you, no one should have to face that alone."
"They tried," she replied. "Gaston and my father both tried."
"It wasn't enough," he said firmly. "Your engagement never should have been broken over that."
"I'm glad it was," she said, not even realizing until she said it how true that was. "If it had to happen, I'm glad I didn't marry Gaston. I'm glad I married you."
If he'd been uncomfortable before, he seemed completely out of his depth now. She could feel his fingers tensing up and twitching a little bit where they sat on her back, but she couldn't take the words back now and wouldn't if she could have. It was the truth. She was glad to have married him, and she was glad to have had the choice of him.
She would probably regret her candor in the morning, but there was a lightness in her chest that hadn't been there before, and she hadn't realized how heavy the weight of never having said the words out loud had been before. She'd carried her burden so long that she barely remembered what it felt like to have it gone.
It was comfortable between Rhys and Rose, and Belle let her eyes begin to grow heavy at last as sleep began to claim her. She drifted slowly off to a dreamless sleep in her husband's arms, feeling for the first time as though she could someday not be so frightened as she had been. Perhaps this wasn't the life she'd always dreamed of, but it was warm and she was safe and how could she be unhappy with that?