Chapter 3

Propensity to Distrust

Belle gave the proper curtsy and smile when she had finished, though her mind was still reeling from the emotions that song had brought. It was her own fault, choosing the song that she always associated with her mother's passing. It was the one that had been left on their pianoforte—her mother's last piece to play—and Belle had determined to learn to play well enough to do it justice. Her mother had taught her much, but she was not yet thirteen when she passed, and her skills were lacking. She was only able to have a year under a governess before Papa had spent too much to keep her. Belle had practiced on her own and pestered Ruby into showing her what she had learned before the piano was also taken away–a frivolous piece of furniture, her father insisted, when it could keep a gentleman's debt paid. She missed playing, and would only play when she was the sole guest at the Grayson's home, or when Ruby pestered her enough to play in front of a small party at their house. It was rather embarrassing, she knew her skills were lacking, but her friend had been so kind to her, and meant well, so she found it hard to refuse her.

"You played that very well, Belle, as I'm sure you know."

Belle shook her head at her friend and insisted that her skills left much to be desired.

Instead of arguing further, Ruby pulled her to one part of the room and leaned over conspiratorially.

"I saw you talking to Mr. Gold. What do you think of him?"

"I'm not yet sure what to think. He is different from his friend, I suppose."

"I should think so! His friend is..." and at this Ruby sighed and looked over at the taller man who sat laughing with a group of young people.

Belle laughed. "You do not have to converse with me for my benefit when you would rather be somewhere else."

Ruby blinked. "Oh no, it is just that…well…he is handsome, isn't he?"

Belle smirked. "Who? Mr. Hatfield or Mr. Gold?"

"Oh you know very well of whom I speak. Mr. Hatfield is so very tall, with such strong features and very good hair. I don't think handsome is a word I would use to describe Mr. Gold, though he might be the richer of the two. He is so skinny and small and, and, well, he has a cane, Belle! He must be at forty at least!"

Belle scolded her friend. But did not argue with her too much. Inwardly she might have said that Mr. Gold had an intriguing cold elegance that Mr. Hatfield was too open and artless to present. She did not give it much more thought and tried to keep up with Ruby's conversation, all the while trying to ignore her own father.

The party broke much earlier than the card party at Mr. Hatfield's. Mr. Grayson knew what to do with her father and helped Belle with him before he could make too much of a spectacle. The carriage instantly filled with the smell of liquor, coming off of her father's clothes and breath, and most likely the hidden flask he had hidden in his jacket.

"Was a good evening–yes, very good ev'ning, all told." He slurred. Belle wrapped herself tighter in her thin shawl, her mother's shawl, trying to raid out the cold air and the embarrassing picture her father made. "Charlie's got a new venture that'll set us up well. I won't even need a lucky night Thursday when we come out on top."

She did not respond. To do so would make him angry, and she did not want a stinging cheek on top of everything else. A venture. A large wager–crippling wager, that was what it was, she was sure. It was the same sort of wager that had made them lose most of their staff and half their furniture. They could not afford to lose much else.

She was thankful for Mary when she entered the cold house and ran quickly to her room. The fire had already been started and she changed quickly beside it and huddled down into her blankets. She tried not to worry over her father's 'venture', or how badly things would go Thursday, or how mortifying the night had been, or how insufferable she thought Mr. Gold had been, yet how surprised she was to find him looking at her so intently when she finished her performance. His look had been so–so sad. As if he had felt the same emotions from her song as she did herself. That seemed unlikely, for in the next moment he had gone back to the stern gentleman who had barked at her in the library and snapped at her after her second apology. The man was a riddle, and it was trying to figure him out that she found sleep at last.

The next morning it dawned clear, if not unusually cold. She was determined to leave the house for a bit, before her father woke and she would need to begin her chores for the day. So few staff meant that she worked in the kitchen alongside their dear old cook, who had stayed on despite the decrease in pay.

"I'm too old to be hired anywhere else. I'll cook, Miss Belle, just you see if I won't." and so she did. Belle and Mary helped as best they could, for they were both busy enough with their own responsibilities. Mary, looking after the few rooms they kept open and aired and that had enough furniture to constitute anything being done to them, and Belle with trying to manage anything that could not be done by Mary, or Hannah, the cook, or their one male servant. It was not enough for a house that had once been something, like theirs, but it was all they could afford. She was also responsible for overseeing the servant's work, kept the books and did her best to see to the less fortunate around them.

She was able to take the morning walk to town, she desired. The rain had left sharp, November winds and her shawl and worn boots were hardly a match for the weather. There was nothing for it, but to walk at a brisk pace and allow the exertion to warm her. Town was not too far, in any case.

Soon storefront windows glowed warm and bright showing off their goods to the passerby. Belle was only interested in the circular library, which lay on the other end of the street and was also home to the haberdashery shop, where she frequently bought thread to try to hem up her already made over gowns. There were few to bother her on such a cold and early morning, and she was glad to finally be inside the warmth it offered.

"Miss. Ashe, what a pleasure!"

"Hello Dobson, how are you today?"

"Quite well, ma'am, quite well."

Belle laid one worn gloved hand over the other on the counter and asked her frequent question.

"Have you anything new?"

Dobson smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. "Indeed I do, indeed I do. It's a gothic romance–will that be exactly your thing, do you think, miss?"

"Not normally, but I will admit I'd just about read anything–I'm in that sort of mood."

"In that case." and he turned round to the shelf where rows of books sat, most of which Belle had read the last time they had come through.

…

He had little sleep. Miss Ashe's haunting song struck him more than he would have liked to admit, and he had woken earlier than usual and decided to try for the circular library. Jeffrey's library was a sorry affair so he was off to where he had been directed in search of new reading, even if half of it was more ladies romantic nonsense and the shop boasted more fabric than books.

A bell announced his entrance and the very person he had been trying to get out of his head was leaning over the counter, thumbing through the pages of a book. The clerk looked up at him.

"Just one moment, sir."

Without having looked his way, Miss Ashe gave the man a thank you and turned to face him.

"Mr. Gold!" Her cheeks were still pink from the cold outside, the light through the windows made her eyes an even sharper blue than he had seen yet.

"Miss Ashe." He bowed, slightly.

Miss Ashe gave a pleasant smile, a smile that did something to the rhythm in his chest, and he did not like that it did so.

"Have you come for gloves or books, sir?" She initiated. If this was her way of weaseling, he would not steep to her level

"Books." he said shortly, gruffly, in a tone that barked, "Get away now!"

Instead of startling and backing up, or running from the shop to get away, her face brightened, and her smile widened even more.

"Our selection is not as fine as the cities' boast, but there are several that I would recommend if you will allow." Those eyes were too bright, her smile like a bit of warmth cutting through the cold iciness of the November day, and perhaps a piece of his stone cold heart–and that he could not allow. He could not be so exposed again. His glance at her own book helped him throw a cold blanket over the conversation.

"Your own selection allows me to conclude that our tastes are not in unison, I thank you, good-day." And he bowed and used his cane to turn to the side to let her pass, something he was hinting strongly that she do. The sharp blues caught his meaning, her chin rose ever so slightly, but the warmth that had been in her eyes before was now transformed into something that he instantly missed. She left but he could focus on nothing but her being there for the rest of the outing.

It was ridiculous. He would conquer this. He must.

…

"When is our next event?" Gold laid down his cards. He had, of course, won the hand. Jeffrey made no lamentation of this fact, for he had grown quite used to it. To play any game with any level of skill was to give the game up to Rupert Gold. Gold was unsure if the way he could observe, memorize and anticipate a play or card was a blessing or a curse, but it had made him a great deal of money, and helped provide him with many enemies, thankfully they did not include Jeffrey Hatfield.

"What's that? You are actually in anticipation of such an event?" Jeffrey's face became one of mocked shock and eyes that held a good deal of mirth.

Gold groaned.

"You know how I feel about them, thus, I cannot remember what you tell me we have agreed to attend. But I…" He paused, knowing his next words would give him a look once he said them, and he could anticipate people's reactions, especially those he knew well, about as well as he could anticipate the play of a card. "I do want to begin my goal in coming here, in earnest. You are correct…" At this there was the look that made an involuntary smile play on Gold's face, despite bearing the brunt of the humiliation. "I will make no headway in my endeavor if I do not make myself known to others."

"I can't say I'm not glad, but what brought this about? You were content to sit in the shadow, yesterday, when you…It's Miss Ashe, isn't it?" Jeffrey's eyes simply danced about in mirth once he caught on to his new idea.

"I do not understand your meaning." He was lying a bit too often for his taste. "That is to say…" He began to amend.

"You do not have to say more. She is a pretty thing. No money to speak of, but you've got it in spades. She's not high enough in any sphere to be annoyed that you aren't truly the son of old Mr…"

"Apparently I must say more, for you've got it all wrong. I want to meet other young ladies. As of yet, I've only held something that resembles a conversation with Miss Ashe, and I do not think she will be appropriate at all. She's desperate, a desperate woman will use whatever means possible to raise herself. It would be just like last time."

Jeffrey's face screwed in a grimace. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think? You've met the girl, what, twice?"

"Three times." Gold instantly regretted his correction, as his friend's eyebrows rose all the way to the tips of his wild heap of hair.

"Three times." Jeffrey smiled. "And while her father might be a bit of a…"

"Blaggard, beast, brute…" Gold supplied, which caused Jeffrey to send another look his way. He had thought a good deal too much about this.

"Exactly. But that does not carry on to the daughter."

"Does it not?" Gold felt his fist clenched without meaning to. Too late he found he had let old memories sully his present state of semi contentedness.

"You of all people should know that the parent does not, the child's character make." Jeffrey looked as close to reprimanding as he would ever do. It was not in Jeffrey's nature to dwell on disagreements for long.

"I would say it was the exception, not the rule. But I take your point–I do not wish to argue further. But let me say this and take heed of my words, Miss Isabelle Ashe will take the first opportunity to improve her situation, no matter how low she must stoop. I will not be party to her schemes."

"Who lives up to your standards then? I've heard you swear you will not marry for love and I can understand that. But how can you go about marrying someone without some level of trust?"

"Simple girl, simple family, with money enough not to need mine, and low enough socially that they will not expect preference from me. Trust will have nothing to do with it. Paperwork will have to do all of that for me."

"I say this again, Gold, and not with teasing, for it hurts me to see you so broken over Coraline. You have no heart. No, you do have heart but you let so much of it get broken and bruised by that vile excuse for a woman. They aren't all like that, you know. My Alice never was."

Gold would not argue. Though the words "But you were never married, you do not know that for sure." was on the tip of his tongue. He would not hurt his friend, though he might have much heart to speak of. Alice Lewis had been a sweet girl, engaged to Jeffrey for only a few months (though they had known each other a good many more) before she had caught a bad illness and died. It had broken him to the point that even Milah felt sorry for him and agreed to have him stay until his heart could heal. No, he would not argue with Jeffrey, though Gold's experience taught him cynicism, he would not steal his friend's optimism for the world.

"Of course." He said quietly, finally. And he spoke no more about it.

Author's Note:

History notes:
Circular libraries were quite popular at this time, but mostly for young ladies, but visits from men were not unheard of. I went with it, lol. Because this was a smaller town, the library was part of another shop.

Even the poorest gentry had servants. In P&P they had house servants as well as a cook. (Mrs. Bennet was very upset that Mr. Collins would assume that he daughters had cooked) I felt like that this number sounded about right, and thought about Sense and Sensibility (you'll see some other similarities in the next chapter as well) when thinking about the reduction of staff.

Story Notes:
Yes, I did take that quote from Pride and Prejudice 1995 BBC movie. (if you spot it, bonus points! lol) It was just too tempting.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts, predictions, etc.
Thank you for reading!