Wretched Beginnings

Chapter 1

Needs Must

"Come, Gold, stop slithering about in this stupid manner! You'll never get over Cor– excuse me, Mrs. Mills as it stands now– if you do not mix with other people. You'll never find anyone, never have an heir, never…"

"Enough!" Gold said through gritted teeth and tightened his grip on the gold tipped cane. His friend was as jovial as they came, too jovial for someone who had gone through similar sorrows. Too jovial when his own personality stood in such stark opposition.

Jeffrey's forehead creased in concern, Gold could already feel the threads of guilt ignite in his soul–or at least it would if he still had one.

"Sorry, old chap, I know I speak without thinking on the words first, but do not be offended. Nay, hear me out."

Gold owed him too much to not do so, and it was never said that he would be the party that owed someone, anything.

"You've been cooped up too long. I've allowed it, for the sake of a good friend who has been through more in two years than what most would ever see in a lifetime, but your whole reason for coming to this part of the country was to meet new people who were not aware of your, ahem, reputation and past, so as to find a decent sort of women to provide an heir."

Jeffrey only repeated what had been said by them both, though perhaps not in the same words. No, the words were first spoken from a broken man, broken, not for the first time, from the evil heart of a faithless woman.

"I'll die without an heir!" He had said. "And everything I've built will be all for nothing. It was not to have been–not to have been this way! And now, Coraline is gone and my hopes have gone with her. No one who isn't greedy for gain will have me for they say I'm the dishonorable scoundrel. All I wanted was someone who could stand me long enough to provide me an heir and be able to run a house tolerably. That Coraline was beautiful and did not seem to care, nay liked my reputation should have tipped me off. She couldn't be both beautiful and decent."

All of this had been said in such a way as that made Jeffrey never allude to the moment again, except for reminding him of his reasons for coming. For they (mostly Jeffrey) had come up with the sudden scheme of him taking a house in the opposite part of the country where it might take at least a week or so for word to reach that Gold was worth so much and on such a property and had such a history. And in this part of the country things might be smoothed over and gossip prompted in such a way as no one would know exactly whom or what to believe.

Despite Gold's hesitation, the plan had thus far succeeded in exactly such a way. Jefferson was a good eight years distant from his own tragic loss and while not exactly ready to fall in love, would welcome the change should it come. He had a sweet little ward being raised in a nice sort of house in a pretty part of the country that he would more than be happy to give all his worldly possessions (mostly currency and no land of his own to lay claim), should he never find another soul to bind himself. Gold, on the other hand, had entered with one purpose in mind, nay two. First was to find a bride, second was to forget the past six months–the past two years, and really being truly honest with himself (and scoundrel that he could be, he always liked to think of himself as truthful) his whole pathetic life thus far. To be six and thirty and to want to forget all that had transpired–all but one solitary thing, of course, though it caused him the most pain of all he would not forget, and was something even Jeffery could not laugh at.

Jeffrey's plan had worked to the very letter. Jeffrey had taken a house, charmed the neighborhood and caused all the whispers to go in exactly the direction he intended. Now, only a few weeks into their stay, Jeffrey having returned all the calls made, attended his first neighborhood dance (where Gold had only stood by the wall and listened and hurt and wished to go) and attended any such gatherings as his neighbors might wish to give. Finally, they had enough acquaintances that they felt comfortable in hosting a card party. Jeffery's dear Aunt Beatrice had been the lady of the house–the only one of Jeffery's family that was both alive and had no other family to hold prominence and that could also be persuaded to play hostess when they needed one.

"The thing is, you'll not find a girl if you don't socialize. A card party is as good as any for it. Which is why I suggested it, of course."

"Mrs. Hatfield cannot do much else in her time of life, you mean. If you had asked, I would have suggested it was too early for me to be playing cards, don't you think?" Gold turned to his friend with a raised eyebrow.

"Only if it is for high stakes and takes much skill. Play for little and only luck type games and I dare say fate cannot be so against you." Jeffrey replied in much the same tone.

Gold thought of this, but had rather not have people connect the gossip that was closest to correct–not yet, anyway.

"No, no. You go on. I've greeted and made pretense at civility for far too long tonight and too many of your male guests have partaken too much of your good wine for my taste. I think I would rather go to bed."

"You cannot mean it! It would be seen as rude!" Jeffrey pleaded to an unyielding ear.

"Give an excuse. A headache is truthful enough, goodnight."

And whether rude or not, he left. Jeffrey returned to the card players and the noise and laughs and the overall displeasing sounds of overabundance–sounds that sounded grating in Mr. Gold's ears.

Mr. Gold did not go to bed. He decided that the evening was still young, and he needed to do a bit more forgetting before he tried to shut his eyes and block out his past. While Jeffery's library was a sorry excuse for the term, it would be quiet, and so he hobbled down the hall towards what he was certain would be much better use of his time than a card party–all the while hating himself for his cowardice. Jeffery was right. He would never find a wife this way–an heir would never exist unless he made some effort. He had told himself that he would never trust a woman again, and certainly never love one and so risk his heart. How then, could he proceed and keep his heart and wits about him?

…

She knew it was a horrid thing to do, and father would be livid–again–but needs must. A servant had been very kind, the son of old Mr. Barlow, down the way. She was glad he had found such a position, as she remembered going with her mother when she was little and bringing their family a basket. He had told her how she might get to the library, and if he judged her for abandoning a party and going elsewhere in a house not her own, he did not say so.

Now she was just getting comfortable. It was a library larger than her own, but smaller than the one of her distant memory, when times were happier and the home full of all that was needed to call it that. She had chosen a book that she remembered her mother holding–or imagined she had. She was sure it was one of the first books to go, as it had been a very beautiful copy and had been a favorite. She remembered it being a lovely shade of blue with golden details, and lettering of just such a shape. This had to be the very title, and she opened it slowly, breathing in the smell it brought, as if it might transport her to that time gone by.

She was unaware of the liquid until she saw it wrinkle the pristine page. Gasping, she shut the book before she could ruin it further and pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed furiously at her eyes to curtail the flow.

"What do you do here?" Were words thrown at her in such a shocked and angry manner that it took her wholly by surprise and the book fell from her lap as she gave a small squeal (very subtle, so that even her father surely could not have disapproved) and tried to stand up.

Caring more for the book than offending a gentleman that approached a lady in such a tone, she pulled it up quickly and cradled it in her arms and stood before the man in question.

He was not young, but not old either, too young to be leaving a card party so early to hold up in his library–or Mr. Hatfield's library, she should say, for the man before her was none other than,

"Mr. Gold!" She said in such shock, and much quicker than she gave thought, for she only knew him by name and from what she had seen, they had not been introduced.

"Madam, I cannot say I have had the pleasure of receiving your name, though you know mine already." It was evident that he struggled to pull out such a string of polite words that meant that he insisted that she give over her name, and he stood a little straighter, though it was made difficult due to the combination of his cane and his natural height. However, though his stature was little, he still was a good bit taller than her, and his face bore such lines as made her heart quicken. She did not like it. His words and his face and his overall manners were all such a contradiction as made her instantly resolve to not be cowed.

"Sir, do we talk when we have not been introduced? Is there no one nearby to perform that duty?" She said once she bowed her shoulders and dipped her head in respect, the man before her only nodded his head a little-she decided to excuse his behavior due to the cane he rested so heavily upon.

"We need no one, just tell me your name–if you please–and why you thought it would be alright to go into another person's library without his permission?"

Belle felt a little shy at his question. She knew it was not the thing to do, but it was so expected at all her friends and acquaintances homes that she had done what had been a habit of late and not thought out the consequences. She wasn't exactly sure how to express this to Mr. Gold, to make him properly understand, so she returned to her first point in a hopeful distraction.

"Please sir, shall we not be introduced first?"

Mr. Gold groaned and gave her a sharp glare that would have withered the strongest person and it was all she could do to remain standing, though her chin was not quite so high as it had been before.

"Very well." he finally said and turned about and left.

She thought he might leave her to her own thoughts, but that was merely wishful thinking. It was no time at all before he came back with the tall, wild haired man she knew to be Mr. Hatfield. They greeted each other politely.

"I find myself having the great honor–Miss Ashe, Mr. Gold, Mr. Gold, Miss Ashe."

Now it was their turn to do their duty–a short bow and a curtsy, stiff on his part.

"Thank you, and now, Miss Ashen, if I may ask, what you were doing in Mr. Hatfield's library?"

"Steady on, Gold." She caught the taller gentleman say through the large smile on his face. To her he said, "Of course you are welcome to the library, though I hope the party has not bored you as much as it has my good friend here."

She smiled at the man's open and easy manners, though she felt every bit her error and hoped her adventure would not get back to her father. "Oh no, sir, and I must apologize for my blunder. I-I will confess that I am used to making escapes to my friend's libraries. I am no card player, though my father dearly loves them, as I'm sure you've observed. Your servant was so kind as to direct me and I was hoping to come and go without notice and without disturbing anyone. I apologize, sir." She bathed her words with the genuine desire to show humility. She was Miss Ashen, daughter of an impoverished gentleman, found guilty of exploring a wealthy gentleman's home. She knew exactly where she stood.

Mr. Gold's look was still all sharp lines and stormy eyes, but Mr. Hatfield looked all that was polite and kind.

"I am sorry for disturbing anyone." She stammered only a little and decided that looking at Mr. Gold's eyes for a second and then no more was the best route to take. "And if you will excuse me, I'll go back to the card room, I'll leave you, sirs." she glanced at Mr. Gold for only a second more, his glare could break the hardest surface! She escaped, back towards the card room to wait until her father had embarrassed himself to the point of it outweighing the known difficulty of persuading him to quit both the cards and the wine. She was glad it was a simple house party where stakes could not make them much poorer than they were already.

She sat herself in the shadows, hoping her father would take no notice of her, most of the men present were already aware of her situation and what exactly she would be bringing to a marriage and would not be tempted by so little.

She would not have a peaceful night, this night.

Mr. Hatfield had entered the room again, and her father loudly beckoned him over with compliments to his hospitality. Mr. Hatfield said all that was polite, said something that she could not discern. Then it began. A new hand was being played and Mr. Hatfield was requested to join.

"Does my Belle–the Miss Asher there, not look well tonight, sir? Her name does her credit, I think. Would be a lucky man who could hold such a flower on his arm as her, eh?"

It was all too much, and she felt her cheeks heat and her eyes sting from the mortification, but now there was no library where she could escape.

It was her fortune that her father had been sober when called upon by Mr. Hatfield, and she was able to be introduced to him with almost no embarrassment. Now that the wine had been handed freely, her father did not watch his tongue. She wished she were back home. No, that was not it, exactly. She wished things were different… If only….

But it was not to be thought. It could only bring grief, and she had enough of that already. Better that she wait and try not to notice the looks and chuckles in her direction and bear it as best she could.

Author's Notes:

I've actually wanted to try my hand at a Pride and Prejudice fanfic, but it seems rather intimidating to get right. Instead, I am using Rumbelle to help me explore the world and words that would do a Regency fic justice, but using characters that I already have well established in my head. You can let me know if I get some historical facts or wording wrong. There must be forgiveness, as with any historical fic with minor errors. I am researching as I go, but I can easily get something wrong. I am hoping this will help me to explore the P&P world later.

This is not a Rumbelle version of P&P, rather, I am using the aesthetic and blending it with the characters we love. I hope you enjoy it! I would love to hear what you think!

Note: French was an English surname that meant Ash Tree? or something like that? It sounded better than leaving it French in a Regency fic.