There is a trigger warning for references to spousal abuse, murder, and psychiatric abuse in this chapter.
Rhys felt incredibly disoriented when he woke up. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or why his head wouldn't stop aching. It took him a few moments to remember that he'd tripped and the doctor had been by. His leg felt better, but his wrist was more than making up for it with a dull ache that felt like he may have been trampled.
He stretched out a little to try and figure out his limits, but his good hand brushed against something and when he looked over he saw his wife asleep next to him. There was a book in her hand and she was laying on her side facing him. She looked exactly like she'd fallen asleep while keeping an eye on him, and that made his heart skip a beat. It skipped another one when her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him and smiled.
"You're awake," she said, reaching out and touching his face. "I was a little worried."
"How long did I sleep?" he asked.
"All day," she replied, glancing over to the windows. "And apparently about half of the night."
"My head is killing me."
"I have some medicine for that," she said, sitting up and moving closer to him. "But you're not allowed to have it until your concussion goes away."
She reached over him to his bedside table for an oil lamp and a matchbook. The sudden burst of light as she lit it burned his eyes and he looked away for a second until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.
"Sorry," she said sweetly, setting the lantern down and studying his face. "Can you follow my finger with my eyes?"
He nodded, and dutifully tracked the movement of her finger in the soft light.
"You seem better," she said, still studying him. "I can give you a bit of the laudanum if you'd like?"
"Maybe a little," he said. He didn't like the idea of being drugged after having just slept for so long, but his head hurt so badly he wanted to cry from the frustration of not being able to fix it.
Belle nodded and climbed out of the bed, and Rhys saw that she wasn't wearing one of her nightgowns - she was wearing a shift and it was shorter and thinner than the things he was used to seeing her in. She must have stayed with him all day without even leaving to change. When she passed in front of the fire (even as low as it was burning) he caught a glimpse of her legs outlined against the white fabric, and when she had her back to him he could see her pale calves visible beneath the hem. He laid back against the pillow and stared at the canopy rather than his wife. He suspected rather strongly she hadn't been thinking of how exposed she would be in the shift, or else he strongly doubted she would have been wearing it.
"Have you gone back to your room yet?" he asked her when he heard her approach.
"No," she admitted, and he could hear her mixing the laudanum with water. "The doctor said you shouldn't be alone."
"So you've been here all night?" he asked, sitting up a little and fixing his eyes on her face. "Have you eaten?"
"I had a tray brought up," she said. "And Grace brought me a book."
"That's good," he replied, taking the glass of laudanum water from her gratefully and sipping down the bitter mixture. "You need to mind your health."
"My health is worlds better than yours right now," she shot back, climbing back into bed with a smile on her face. "Next time I'll put you on the leash and let Rose run free."
He wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much.
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I could go get something."
"I'm not," he said, although it wasn't entirely true. "What did the doctor say about my wrist?"
"Don't you remember?" she asked. "You were awake and talking to him."
"I remember a little," he replied. "But some of it's a bit fuzzy."
"He said you'll be right as rain in about six weeks," she said. "So um, do you remember anything we talked about?"
"I didn't say anything too ridiculous, did I?"
"No no," she replied quickly. "Well, apparently I look like your mother, but aside from that…"
He cringed. He definitely didn't remember saying that, no woman liked to be told she looked like her husband's mother.
"I'm sorry," he said, leaning back against the pillows. "You have the same hair color and freckles, but the resemblance doesn't go much further than that."
"I wasn't offended," she said, poking his side. "You said I was pretty."
"You are," he replied instantly. That much was true - she was beautiful, she was radiant, and sometimes he felt like he was looking at a living painting.
"So I've heard," she replied. "Do you really not remember any of this?"
"Now that you say it I do," he said. "It feels halfway like a dream, to be honest."
"Oh," she said. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course," he replied, rolling onto his side to look at her the same way she was looking at him.
"What happened to your parents?" she asked. "Earlier, you said that they were dead...but I don't think that's the whole story."
He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd known eventually this was bound to come out in the open, but it wasn't something he liked to think about. He'd never told anyone this story, not even his first wife, not even his son.
"My father was not a kind man," he said at last, deciding that was the best place to start. "He would drink, and he would fight...and then he would come home and hit my mother or me. If it was a particularly bad night, he'd...demand marital rights."
Belle let out a gasp of shock and he could see the tension in her shoulders at his words. They both knew that was precisely the life she would have had to look forward to at Nottingham's hands, and neither one wanted to say it out loud.
"I was just a little boy at the time," he continued. "But I remember how much lighter everything felt the times when he would leave. She tried to put on a brave front, but she was happier when he was gone and we both knew it. It was never more than a month or two at a time, though. Never long enough for her to carry any other children, at any rate - or at least not to term. To this day I don't know how I made it. He'd always blame her, too. As though she were the one…" he couldn't finish that thought, it was far too dark. "At any rate, it was worse as I got older, and it was so hard to be there anymore that I just started working whatever odd jobs I could find. One day, I came home and she was dead. I still don't know what happened. She was just laying in bed and he was sitting at the table drinking and I remember thinking how easy it would be to pick up a kitchen knife and kill him myself. Instead, I ran and got help. The constable came and took my father away, and I was sent to live with my aunts in the country. The last time I saw my father, he was swinging at the end of a noose."
Belle was looking at him with a soft expression on her face, and he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes. He was surprised at how little it affected him anymore to think about. He had been living under that secret for his entire life, and now it was out and he felt lighter.
"Thank you," she said, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. "For telling me, and for everything else."
"You don't owe me anything," he replied. "Nothing I've ever done for you was for purely altruistic reasons."
"No?" she said. "You don't think so?"
"It wasn't," he admitted. "I married you because I met Nottingham and he reminded me too much of my father to want him to be happy. It was an exercise in vengeance."
"And then you gave me a home," she replied. "You've been a wonderful husband."
It was so easy to believe her, no matter what the truth of the matter was.
"Can I touch you?" she asked, and when he nodded she reached out and cupped his face in her hands. He loved when she would do that, when she would reach for him and trail her fingertips across his skin as though she was fascinated with what she saw.
They didn't speak for a long time, but then Rhys wasn't sure what difference words would even make. She had all the information he could give her, this one last secret.
"Does Neal know?" she finally said.
"No," Rhys replied. "I've never told anybody else."
"He deserves to know the truth," she said softly. "He deserves to know you."
"He knows all he needs to," he said. "What purpose can the truth possibly serve besides to make him ashamed?"
"Your mother shouldn't be forgotten," Belle replied instantly. "Have you even spoken her name since she died?"
He hadn't. He'd done his very best to put it all behind him from the day his father died.
"Evanna," he said. "Their names were Evanna and Malcolm Pan."
Belle smiled and kissed his forehead. He'd never have been able to speak of this in the daylight, and he wasn't sure what it was about the nighttime that made words come easier but there was a strange sort of unreality that surrounded all their time together in the dark. They never spoke of sharing a bed, or how they had spent hours laying in that bed touching each other's arms. As far as he could tell, the only one who had even figured out they spent any time together at all at night was Neal. It was like they were leading an entirely separate life after dark.
"My mother's name was Colette," she said after a few moments of silence. "But she died when I was born. I never knew her."
It was a meagre offering, but he drank it up like water in the desert. She was offering him just that little bit more intimacy. Eventually, they both fell back asleep with Belle curled up in his arms. She was a balm to his tortured soul and security in the darkness.
When Belle woke up for the second time, Rhys was still asleep with his bandaged arm weighing heavily on her side. She needed to get back to her room and attend to her necessaries, but he was warm and injured and she didn't want to rouse him or for him to wake and find her gone.
The previous day had been incredibly difficult, but it had been worth it just to have her answers. The mysterious RMP - Rhys Malcolm Pan - had been discovered. She had no idea where the name Gold had come from, but she couldn't blame her husband at all for wanting to lose all association with his father. She couldn't imagine what he must have witnessed as a child, or the strength it must have taken to become the man he was now. If anything, knowing all that only made her think more highly of him.
He had been incredibly open with her, far more so than she had ever expected, and that thought warmed her from the inside out. He trusted her, or he'd never have admitted to any of that, and that thought more than anything else made her heart tingle and her spirit feel lighter. Was this what love felt like - real love? The kind that they put in storybooks and fairy tales? She'd never been in love, and she didn't know who she could even ask. There was a part of her that felt like she could fly, and a part of her that wanted to cry for how much she wanted to never be apart from him. It was terrifying, but strangely comforting as well - if she loved Rhys, then there was no reason to be afraid anymore. She could love him and he could love her, and they could perhaps have the kind of life that had always seemed out of her reach.
Somehow, the idea that he might not love her wasn't even a factor. She hadn't ever thought she'd ever be in love and she could almost giggle with the sheer relief she felt at having a name to her emotions. It didn't matter if he loved her or not, he'd come around and they'd be blissfully, ridiculously happy.
Belle was struck with the sudden urge to wake him up and tell him what she'd just realized, but that seemed a little much. She still wasn't entirely sure that what she was feeling was really love. He might know, but asking her husband if she loved him was just a little bit off of being a good idea. It had to be love, because the moment she'd thought the word up her heart had felt right for the first time in weeks. She was full to bursting with this exciting new idea, and she almost missed the moment he woke up.
"Good morning," she said, and the warm smile he replied with made her heart ache with how happy she was. "Did you sleep well?"
"I did," he replied. "My head is feeling much better, although my wrist still hurts."
"I can give you more laudanum if you like."
"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It's bearable, and I'd rather have a clear head if at all possible."
"Okay," she said. "Just tell me if you want more, though. I'd hate for you to be suffering."
"It's more of a dull ache than pain right now," he explained. "Entirely bearable, just annoying."
She smiled at him as sweetly as she dared, wishing he'd ask her why she was so happy because she couldn't think of any way to introduce the fact that she loved him as a topic of conversation.
The sun was high in the sky by now, and Belle reluctantly sat up.
"We should probably get up," she said. "I need a new dress and you need to eat something."
"We should," he replied, sounding almost as reluctant as she felt. It had been a beautiful night together, even as injured as he was. She never really wanted to see it end.
"I uh, I may need you to help me back into my clothes," she admitted, glancing over to where her corset, dress, and stockings were sitting on a chair. She'd stripped them off without thinking, but there was no way she was going to be able to get them back on by herself.
"Oh," he said, seemingly unsure of where to look. "I don't know how much help I can be with my wrist."
"We'll figure it out," she said. "I don't need to be perfect, just clothed well enough to make it to my room so I can call for Lizzie."
"Right," he replied. "I'll do what I can."
It was an interesting trick trying to get her back into a corset when he only had one hand, but somehow they managed for the most part. She was perhaps laced in a little looser than usual, but even with her shoes and stockings in her hands she was decent enough to brave the halls.
"I'll send someone up with a tray," she promised. "And if you like, I can come back after. To read to you?"
"I'd like that," he replied, quirking his lips into a little half-smile that she itched to kiss.
On a lark she got on tiptoes and pressed her lips quickly against his before letting herself out of the room.
Rhys didn't think he'd ever stop being shocked when she kissed him. He was absolutely hopeless, he decided as he stumbled back into bed. His cane was damn near impossible with the broken wrist, which meant he was going to be practically bedridden for six weeks. This was going to be an exercise in self-control. He was already feeling the confinement wearing on his patience and it had been less than twenty-four hours.
Jefferson came in not too long after Belle left, thank goodness. The valet had a tray of something that smelled good and Rhys was reminded that he hadn't had anything but laudanum since lunch the previous day.
"Good morning, sunshine," Jefferson said in an overly chipper voice. "Did you sleep well?"
"If you're going to talk then can you get me the damned laudanum?" Rhys replied. "My wrist is killing me and I'm starving."
"Manners!" Jefferson mock scolded, setting the tray down next to the bed and going to where Belle had left the bottle of medicine. "Didn't you think to ask your wife for any before she left this morning?"
"How do you know about that?" Rhys snapped, reaching for the plate of meat and cheese Jefferson had brought up.
"Please," Jefferson replied, rolling his eyes. "You honestly think Lizzie can't tell the difference between a corset she laced and one laced by a man with one arm? And you're supposed to be clever."
Rhys groaned, but accepted the laudanum water. His wrist hurt like the devil, but he hadn't wanted to worry Belle with it or make her feel worse so he'd soldiered through. Hopefully it stopped hurting so badly once it had time to set (and it already felt better just being immobilized).
"So who knows now?" he asked Jefferson, his temper a lot more even once he had some food in his stomach.
"Just Lizzie and myself," Jefferson replied, dropping down into Belle's chair and sprawling a little bit. "When she started working with the missus I told her to tell me first if anything strange happened, and apparently this seemed strange to her. She's under strict instructions not to tell anyone else. So don't worry, your secret liaisons with your wife remain just that - secret."
"It's not like that," Rhys grumbled, trying very hard to maintain some decorum in the face of near starvation, incredible pain, and Jefferson. "She felt guilty and spent the night to make sure I didn't die."
"Oh I believe you," he replied. "But at the same time, you've been spending a lot of mornings not in your room. So I'm left wondering where you've been."
Rhys let out a loud groan and stared at the canopy of his bed for a moment before he finally spoke again.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing," Jefferson said with a shrug. "Just to see the look on your face when I said that."
"Remind me why I haven't fired you again?"
"Because," Jefferson replied cheekily, leaping to his feet. "Your wife is incredibly attached to my daughter."
Jefferson winked and dodged the pillow Rhys threw at him expertly, then he moved around the room gathering the shaving things.
"If I have you killed we can adopt Grace!" Rhys yelled after him, but Jefferson just chuckled and went about his business.
"Do you want me to shave you?" Jefferson asked. "Or does your wife prefer a man with whiskers?"
Rhys grumbled about it, but eventually he was sitting in the chair letting Jefferson make him presentable. He'd never admit to how good a job Jefferson did, but the other man at least kept things interesting. It probably helped his affection for his valet that the medication had begun to take effect at that point, though.
"So things are going well with your wife?" Jefferson asked once Rhys was fairly cleaned up, and this time his voice had lost its teasing note.
"Why do you ask?" Rhys replied before answering. As a general rule, their relationship didn't include these sorts of conversations.
"Grace like her, too," Jefferson said simply. "I'd hate to think she was unhappy."
"I didn't know you cared," Rhys replied, relishing this little bit emotional leverage on the other man - a rarity for their relationship. "But don't worry yourself, she's been happy enough lately."
"Good," Jefferson said, gathering Rhys' dishes back onto the tray. "Are you planning to tell her you're still in pain, or were you just going to keep secretly taking the medicine when she's not looking? Because if she's going to be spending the night here more often, you're going to be in a lot of pain for a few days."
"That's more my business than yours," Rhys replied.
"So that's a 'no' then," Jefferson said, raising his eyebrows teasingly. "I'll tell her you're ready for visitors."
He wasn't even really taking much of the laudanum. It was just a few drops in water, just enough to take the edge off. He was barely feeling any effects at all - the concussion had made him more light headed than the medicine did. He mostly just felt happy, which was hardly a bad thing, especially when Belle was in and out. It felt like Jefferson had only just left when Belle returned, this time wearing a simple day dress with a book under her arm. There was a beatific smile on her face that made him feel like he was floating. Why even bother with the laudanum when Belle was so much more potent?
"Hello," she said, coming to sit in the chair Jefferson had vacated earlier. "I thought I might read to you, unless there's something else you'd like to do?"
Well, actually there were a lot of things he'd prefer to do, but he was fairly certain that was the laudanum and not him. Perhaps the medicine had been a poor decision, because his head had a pleasant fuzzy feeling now.
"I'd like that," he said at last, forcing himself to stay seated and focused on her voice and her lips. He had no idea what she was reading, just that it was beautiful and she was here and that was going to be enough.
Ruby Lucas was great fun on a ride, though Gaston couldn't imagine a situation in which she wouldn't be enjoyable company. She didn't hold the horse back; she pushed herself into a gallop in the open fields and jump low fences. He wasn't quite sure how she managed in a side saddle, but it was impressive as hell and he was more sure than ever that he had to at least try to pursue her. After all, the worst she could do was politely decline and then he'd be in exactly the same situation as he was before - and he had always so enjoyed a hunt.
She was also quite stunning in a red velvet riding habit. She certainly knew how to pick a theme and stick to it.
"We should probably head back," she said after an hour or so of riding. "I have to check my telegrams."
"Are you expecting a message?" he asked, giving the horse its head back to the house.
"Not a particular one, no," she replied. "But there's always something to do with the company, and sometimes I swear these men can't decide on a tie without consulting me."
"What company?" he asked her quickly. This was the first he'd heard of her being involved with any company. To be honest, he'd completely neglected to ask after her economic prospects at all. For all he knew, she was a penniless spinster living on the charity of relatives.
"The steel mill," she replied, glancing at him curiously. "You know, Lucas Steel. It came to me after my parents died."
He'd heard of Lucas Steel when he'd arrived in the country - it felt like men couldn't help discussing investments over here, and Lucas Steel was considered to be a fairly safe bet. He just somehow hadn't connected this steel company to the woman perched on a horse in front of him.
"You own Lucas Steel," he said dully, and she pulled her horse up short to openly gawk at him.
"Yes," she replied. "You didn't know?"
"No," he said honestly, trying hard to figure out exactly what to say to her to make up for this total lapse. "You mean you run the company yourself?"
"Well, I'm not exactly on the production floor," she said. "But I approve all the major decisions and act as the president."
He could have fainted from the shock of it all. He'd thought she was a debutante with a broken heart and family money - he'd only been vaguely aware that her parents were dead. Somehow, he had somehow completely missed the fact that she was sole heir to a major steel corporation.
"You really didn't know," she said after he didn't respond right away.
"I didn't," he admitted.
He was horrified to tell her that - he'd had no idea who the hell she was, really, and had decided to pursue her without actually looking into who she was. How could he possibly explain any of that, though?
"Oh," she said, the shocked expression on her face slowly being replaced by a warm smile. "I just thought...well, never mind what I thought."
She wasn't upset. Gaston had no idea why she wasn't upset, because it had been a ridiculous oversight on his part. There wasn't any sensible reason for him to have pursued her without having at least some idea of who she was.
"Come on," she said, when he didn't say anything for a little while. "We need to get back."
"We do," he said apologetically, bringing his horse up beside hers. "So tell me about your business."
"Sadly, it's far less interesting than you might believe," she replied. "I spend my days going over account books and dealing with a group of adult men who squabble like schoolgirls."
"You strike me as the sort who knows how to handle squabbing men," he said. "Or school girls, for that matter."
She chuckled lightly.
"I've certainly become accustomed to it," she said lightly. "It's taken some practice but it's paid off."
Their ride continued in amicable conversation, and they parted ways before he truly wanted to stop talking to her. That was a good sign, wasn't it? That he didn't want to stop talking to her?
By the end of the first week, Rhys wasn't really in any pain anymore and Belle couldn't be happier. Neal had waited until his father was feeling better to return home, but eventually his trip couldn't be extended any longer. Rhys had made it downstairs to see his son off, though it was a struggle for him to go very far at all and he had relied on Belle to help him maneuver far more than she thought he was truly happy about. Afterward, he had collapsed into the chair in his study to go over correspondence comfortably and Belle had taken a much needed walk with the dog.
While Belle had been fixated on looking after her husband, care of the puppy had largely fallen to Grace, who had taken on this new job with aplomb - right down to letting Rose spend the night in her bed. It had been days since Belle had even had time to go into the garden. Not that Rhys kept her intentionally, but she hated to think of him trapped in the room by himself all day, so she had been spending as much time with him as she could. They were going to need to figure out some way for him to walk without the cane or to be able to lean on it without his wrist hurting, because she wasn't sure five more weeks of being confined to bed was going to do much besides drive him absolutely to the point of madness. He already seemed to be seconds away from peeling the wallpaper off just for lack of anything better to do, and she was desperate to help him in any way she could.
The London doctor who had originally seen Belle after she had been ruined had diagnosed her with hysteria, and when she didn't immediately recover he had recommended she be confined to her room and have all her books and embroideries taken away so as not to overstimulate her. He'd told her father she needed quiet and calm in order to settle her nerves and make her more docile. She was allowed two hours of mental stimulation a day, and those hours were the only time she had felt human for the entire ordeal.
She honestly didn't know how long that treatment had lasted, though it couldn't have been longer than a few weeks. It had felt as though her sanity was being forcibly stripped from her at the time, as she sat in the room and watched the people outside her window go about their lives. She would make up names and stories for them and she was sure that was the only way she had kept herself from completely losing her mind. Once her confinement was lifted, though, she'd learned just how far she'd fallen. People would cross the street to avoid her and women she had called her friends now wanted nothing to do with her. It had been a dark place, and she still blamed the lingering effects as having been the catalyst that led to her attempt on her own life.
After she had failed to kill herself, Dr. Hopper had insisted that she needed plenty of fresh air and no reminders of what had happened, and she had been shipped off to the country as soon as she had been capable of being transported. . Suddenly, distractions had been plentiful, only by then she had been incapable of focusing on them. She would do anything to spare Rhys the same awful sensation of madness, and so she hovered.
They had spent every night since the accident together in his bed, and Belle felt keenly that they were moving towards something new between them. She'd been forced to give up reading the scandalous book, so instead they had been going through books of Hindu poetry that made her toes curl and her heart skip a beat in the lyricism of it all. She had no further doubts in her mind that she loved her husband and wanted to be with him as a wife. She was hindered, of course, in that she had no idea how to even behave as a wife, but she had hope that they were off to a good start.
Rose was bounding through the bushes again, and Belle didn't truly have it in her heart to stop the puppy. Let her enjoy her freedom to run and play. There would be time enough for decorum later, when Rose would be a lap dog who couldn't run and spent her time with Belle in the library. Right now, she wanted her to be free and to carry those memories with her if dogs could even remember such things or call them up when they were sad.