"If I can see pain in your eyes then share with me your tears. If I can see joy in your eyes then share with me your smile." Santosh Kalwar

----

VIII.

"Was he making you uneasy?" Alex asked Belle as soon as he caught up with her. "He told me that he had come to the grocer today to help you but –"

"Mr Denham did help me," Belle said, interrupting him. Looking up at Alex, Belle could see the concern in his dark eyes, and the deep line of worry across his forehead. "He is kind." Safe, she thought.

Alex's brow softened a little. "Kind he may be, but that does not mean that you need him coming near you. I know you prefer distance. You need only say the word and I will ensure that he gives you a wide berth."

Belle understood Alex's need to protect her. Perhaps it was intense. Perhaps it was a little over the top. But it would only seem that way to an outsider. Alex had looked upon, and looked after, Belle this way ever since they had been sold together in the British Virgin Islands. She could see in his eyes that he still had not forgiven himself for allowing that wretched, vile man to lay his hands on Belle, to attempt to violate her as only an entitled villain could. Alex had saved Belle that day, but not before she had prayed to God to kill her to spare her from such a fate. Alex would rather die than given another man, any man, the opportunity to harm Belle again, even if he was perfectly harmless. 

It would be easy, Belle thought, to give Alex her permission to make Peter Denham stay away from her. She had begun to tip-toe into a sort of life that could make her happy here in Ashwood. She was safe with the Beresfords. She had a way to earn her own income. She had food, shelter, freedom. What more could she want? What else was there to a fulfilled life? She had wanted nothing more than these things for years.

Never had she even considered the thought of a suitor, if that was even what a man like Mr Denham could be. Perhaps she was entirely wrong, but Alex seemed to think there was reason to believe it. Belle had never considered anything of the sort because she had never known a man to be capable of loving anything, let alone a woman. She had never seen love before.

That was, of course, until she had seen it with her own eyes. First with Alex and Susanna, and then the duke and duchess. And then, most recently, between the duke's brother and his wife. It certainly existed, and there seemed to be men who were indeed capable of holding onto a woman without harming her.

But to even imagine herself in such a situation was impossible. It was impossible. It would never happen. Could never happen. If there weren't so many obvious reasons as to why it could not happen, there was the sudden fear that had bubbled up into her throat as she imagined herself in the position of one those women.

Beholden to a man. Belonging to a man. To be at a man's mercy.

The very notion was terrifying and unimaginable. Belle envisioned pain, violence, and fear. She could feel the pain, as though bruises had already covered her body. Instinctively, Belle wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to calm herself.

Belle thought of Peter Denham. She forced her thoughts away from her fears, and she thought solely of him, of the man who had fought a battle for her today and won. The man who was the reason why she was carrying her own income home. The man who was safe. She had felt that he was safe. She knew in her bones that he was safe.

Belle was no fool. She knew exactly why he had sat behind her in the shop all day. He had sensed her fear, but he had not pressed her about it, nor had he expected anything in return from her. He had sat there, all day, just because Belle did not want to be alone with Mr Andrews. And she had been too much of a coward to even thank him, let alone to talk to him while he was there. She was glad, at least, that she had found her tongue outside before she had parted from him.

"I don't want you to turn him away," Belle told Alex, quite shocked at the words that were coming out of her own mouth.

All Belle knew was that everything frightened her. She could find fear everywhere. She still was terrified of men, and more so of what they were capable.

But she was not afraid of Peter Denham. And for once in her life, she was relieved to feel something other than fear.

"Are you sure?" Alex checked softly. "I know he is a relation of the family, and you needn't be fearful of offending anyone. They all would understand."

"It's alright," promised Belle. "What ... what exactly do you think Mr Denham has in mind?" she asked. The fear turned her stomach again suddenly. Belle had not expected it. Even if she believed Peter to be safe, her own mind could twist it into something to be scared of. Belle suddenly wished she had not asked the question.

Alex surprised Belle by offering a small, reassuring smile. "Despite my own fears, I suppose you would call them, I don't believe a cruel thought has ever passed through Peter Denham's mind. I think the poor boy is sweet on you. That is what I think he has in mind."

"Sweet on me?" Belle repeated. "Why?" She had not meant to sound so in disbelief, but she could not help it. Anyone could understand why the idea would seem a little ridiculous.

Alex laughed a breathy chuckle. "Well, I have come to understand that to some people, good people, appearance is simply that," he murmured. "Good people do not see skin like ours and think less. Good people take the time to appreciate us for what is on the outside, but what is also within."

Belle did know that to be true. Once again, she had seen it. "Susanna is good people."

Alex grinned as he nodded. "Susanna is very good people. And perhaps, just maybe, Peter Denham is good people, too."

***

Peter Denham did not visit Belle again that week. She was not frightened to be alone with Mr Andrews in the grocer. She knew that he had been right when he had when he had claimed that Mr Andrews now knew her worth. But the very fact that he had not been to visit her did make her wonder whether or not Alex had reneged on their agreement and he had instructed Peter to stay away from her.

But, of course, this was not true. Belle, instead, came to the conclusion that perhaps Alex had been wrong, and that perhaps Peter wasn't sweet on her. Really, this made sense. This was practical. And it did not bother or disappoint her one iota. 

Belle made peace with the fact that she had entertained the thought for a silly moment, and that was that. There was a reason why she never considered such things for herself, and it was a compelling reason at that. Belle did not like to remind herself of it, but it was always there.

So, she carried on, like she had been doing long before Peter Denham had arrived in Ashwood.

Belle had begun to work on Susanna's dress using the real fabric. While she had sewn a thousand garments in her time, she felt inept when she handled such expensive fabric. She was terrified of pricking her finger and getting blood on the silk. Or accidentally lighting it on fire. Or throwing it out a window. She was unsure how the latter might happen, but Belle was still conscious of keeping the windows latched just in case.

The following Sunday, as the family left for church, Belle sat up in her bedroom. She always prayed on Sundays. She prayed every day, but especially on Sundays. She sang, too. She sang the hymns that she had learned as a child, and she said her thank yous for her blessings, as there were indeed blessings in and amongst the fires.

It did fill the pit of her stomach with guilt that she did not attend church like everyone else on a Sunday, but what could be done? Even though the Beresfords were good people, like Alex had described Susanna, that did not mean that everyone else in the village felt comfortable enough to accept her skin for what it was.

Really, Belle thought, it would be very un-Christian of her to deliberately make people uncomfortable in a church. Even if, perhaps, the more Christian act would be for the people of Ashwood to love thy neighbour.

After Belle had said her prayers, she returned to working on Susanna's dress. As much as it had been unnerving, Belle had cut the pieces to size, and she had sewn together the shell of the dress through the week. It looked very simple without the embellishments that Belle had designed. Today, Belle was making the petal sleeves.

As she was midway through sewing the first sleeve, Belle was startled by a sudden knock at the door.

"Come in, please," Belle called, gently placing her work on the table as a housemaid entered the room.

"Excuse me, Miss Desjardins, but you have a visitor." 

Belle's brows rose. A visitor for her? On a Sunday, no less. She had never had a visitor before. She did not have any acquaintances in order for them to visit. Everyone she would consider an acquaintance or friend either lived in this house, or they would be at church.

"Really? Who is it?"

"Peter Denham, miss," replied the maid. "He is waiting down in the drawing room."

Belle was suddenly so thankful that she had emptied her hands of her sewing, for she would have certainly pricked her finger in that moment and ruined Susanna's sleeve. Belle certainly hoped, for the maid's sake, that her expression was neutral. "Thank you," she said. "I will come down right away." Why on earth was Peter visiting her? Should he not be at church? He was expected this evening for dinner, anyway. Why had he come now?

As she walked down the hallway and descended the staircase, Alex's words floated back into her mind. "He is not sweet on me," Belle hissed under her breath, in French, too, just in case she was overheard. "He cannot be sweet on me."

A footman was waiting by the drawing room, and as soon as she approached, the door was opened for her.

The drawing room was bright, owing to the large windows letting in the morning sun. It was immaculate, yet empty, save for the well-dressed gentleman waiting by the fireplace. He had been leaning against the mantle and had straightened his posture just as soon as Belle had walked into the room.

He did look well. Belle really liked that despite the fact that he dressed in the fine robes of a gentleman, his youthful face humanised him. She liked that dearly. Peter certainly wore his Sunday best. His dark hair was combed neatly, and his jaw was clean shaven. His blue eyes found hers immediately.

To Belle's surprise, there seemed to be genuine concern in his gaze.

"SOUP!" Peter suddenly shouted, in a very strange attempt at a greeting.

Belle almost was uncertain that she had heard him properly. She translated the word in her head, and he seemed to have shouted at her about soup. Did he mean the food? Why would he be talking about soup?

Peter's cheeks flushed red a little bit as he shook his head. "Forgive me," he murmured bashfully. "Oh!" Peter then bowed his head to her, as though he had forgotten the act in his odd declaration about soup. His cheeks reddened further. "Oh, Lord," he muttered under his breath. "What's a bet God's on my side and she's got no idea I just shouted at her about soup instead of bidding her good morning?" Peter murmured to himself.

Belle couldn't help but smile. She liked this. She liked that he was bashful. She liked that he had seemingly made an error. It added to the safe. It built up the safe. It reaffirmed the safe.

"What kind of soup?" Belle asked. She smiled, enjoying the feeling, and enjoying the fact that Peter's embarrassment worsened. She didn't understand why he was embarrassed, but she liked that he was.

Peter ran a hand back through his head and laughed awkwardly. "So, you did understand that?"

Belle nodded, still smiling. "What kind of soup?" she asked again.

Peter took a breath, settled himself, and then bowed his head again. "Good morning, Miss Desjardins."

Belle curtseyed in return. "Good morning, Mr Denham," she replied. But she would not relent. "What kind of soup? Or does soup mean something else in English and not the food?"

"No, no, you are right. I yelled at you about the food." Peter rolled his eyes at himself. "Thank God my brother did not witness that, or I would never hear the end of it." He was still embarrassed.

Belle had not seen Peter since the Monday before, the very day when Alex had indicated to her Peter's possible intentions. In the six days since, she had convinced herself that Alex was wrong. Walking down the stairs moments ago, Belle had done so once again.

And yet, here she stood, smiling in a way she had not done so in ... ever ... because it pleased her in a way that she did not understand that this man was bashful in front of her.

"My mother has pea and ham soup on the stove for luncheon after church. When you were not there, I worried that you were ill and I meant to go home and fetch you a bowl ... but, as you see, I came straight here instead and completely forgot the soup. Hence why the moment I saw you, I shouted at you about soup." Peter shook his head. "Please forget I ever did that."

Peter had noticed that she was not in attendance at church. He had worried for her health. And he had meant to fetch her food. Belle slowly made sense over what he had just said in her head, ensuring that she had understood him exactly.

Peter cared. Belle understood that well enough. What she also understood was that she liked that he cared. But then came the problem, the fear, the worry, as to why she had never considered such a man for herself. No matter how she liked that Peter cared, Belle still could never –

"Are you well?" Peter asked, concerned, as he interrupted Belle's train of thought. "Or are you ill? Have I pulled you out of bed? Please forgive me if I have. You don't look ill, thankfully. You look remarkably ordinary." The moment the word escaped Peter's mouth, he turned away from her and rested his head against the mantle.

Ordinary. Ordinaire, Belle translated for herself. Well, she supposed ordinary was not frightful, or dreadful, or unsightly.

She jumped when Peter banged his head against the mantle. "I have a mind to walk out, and then walk back in again, and pray that a bloody miracle happens, and you forget this whole conversation. What is wrong with me?" Peter asked himself.

He was embarrassed again. Belle smiled.

"You are anything but ordinary," Peter promised her as he pulled at the cravat at his neck. "Why am I sweating?" he asked himself again. "Why did I just announce that I am sweating?"

Belle giggled, and immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

Peter's blue eyes narrowed. "I am going to leave now, before I embarrass myself any further." Peter collected his hat, which he had placed down on one of the end tables, and placed it atop his head.

Belle suddenly felt disappointment. "I am sorry for laughing."

Peter shook his head. "I would laugh at me, too. You wouldn't know that I am considered to be the brains of my siblings." Before Peter could start towards the door, he asked again, "Are you ill? That is what I came here to find out. Do you need anything?"

"I am perfectly well," she replied softly. "And I am sorry, really. I shouldn't laugh. It is cruel of me to laugh when you have come to bestow a kindness."

"I suppose you do owe me an apology, seeing as it is your fault that I am making a fool of myself," Peter agreed, some of his bashfulness disappearing as a nice smile appeared on his face.

"My fault?" repeated Belle. "How?"

But Peter did not answer. "Why do you not go with my sister to church?" he asked curiously. "I know it is none of my business, so please tell me to mind it if you like."

Belle's smile faded as her mind went to thoughts of good people ... and people who were good in other ways. Belle did not want to deny the issue. Perhaps her brutally honest answer would help her to know for certain whether or not Peter was sweet on her. "I do not go to church because I make people uncomfortable," she told him. "I make people uncomfortable wherever I go. I have done all my life."

"Hang them."

Peter's answer came so suddenly and so forcefully that it made Belle take a step backwards. Hang them. Did that mean she shouldn't mind them? The anger in Peter's tone told her that she was right.

"There are small minded idiots in every corner of this world ... or, at least what I have seen of it. You are far more worldly than I. Hang them and their stupid opinions."

Belle certainly wished it could be so simple. 

Peter seemed to sense this, as his voice softened when he spoke next. "I cannot imagine how that must feel, to worry, or to know, that you are making someone uncomfortable. I am so sorry you have had to experience this in my village, amongst the people of whom I have grown up with."

Belle had not realised that her eyes had begun to well up before a tear spilled over her eyelid and tricked down her cheek. Peter seemed to notice this immediately and approached her for the first time as he fetched a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

Belle accepted it with a quiet thank you and quickly wiped her eyes. 

"What do you mean this has happened all your life? Surely there has been a time ... maybe I am terribly naïve, but surely there was a time when you did not have to worry about what ignorant people thought," Peter wondered out loud. "Again, please tell me to mind my own business. I am leaving, you know. I fully intend to go and stew in embarrassment for the remainder of the day." His tone told her that he was trying to make her smile again.

But Belle wanted to tell him. She had revealed something about herself, and she was entirely uncertain whether she had done it purposefully or not. Belle had been very careful with the details that she had shared. Not even Alex knew the country from whence she hailed. But she had shared a detail about herself with Peter, and he had noticed it.

And then, Belle found herself sharing. "Where I come from, there are people who practise other religions. I don't know if you've ever heard of Obeah or Vodou ..." Peter shook his head. "They are peaceful people, but outsiders, many of the people I knew, were afraid of them, often accusing them of being witches or demons. They saw me the same way. They said God cursed me." Belle could not quite believe that the words were coming out of her mouth.

But Peter listened diligently, his brows furrowing. "God cursed you? How?"

Belle looked up at Peter, knowing that he could see the reason on her face. With her hands, Belle gently placed her fingertips underneath her eyes. "God cursed me with witches' eyes. Demon eyes. Evil eyes. Devil eyes. They saw me as unnatural. So, you understand? I have spent my whole life making people uncomfortable." 

"And so you look down," Peter uttered softly.

Had he noticed that also? Belle couldn't help but drop her eyes.

"Stop," Peter instructed. "Look at me." Belle obeyed. "I think you'll find that the colour gold, in the religious sense, embodies the divine. God didn't curse you, Belle. In fact, I think it's clear that you were touched by an angel."

----

Hope you enjoyed it!

I. Love. Peter.

I love this boy so much I wanna cry. I was freaking laughing while writing all his embarrassment because I could just see and hear it in my head. Ugh, I love him.

Thanks so much for all your love, especially in the last few weeks. I'm okay, but I'm not, but I am. What's helping is the fact that we are back at school on Monday! I get to see my kids! I'm so excited. Just wanna be with my babies and have fun, and watch their little brains work hard.

Focus on the good!

Vote and comment xxx