"Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone." Fred Rogers

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XIX.

Belle would never disrespect the Ashwood cook, but she had never eaten so well in her life than to have been in the presence of Alex's mother, Madame Amélie.

When Amélie had served Belle a generous helping of makawoni au graten to start, she had uttered to Belle that "we eat well now". There was no reference to her size or weight, or a direct reference as to the reason for her once being so unhealthily thin. It was a simple statement of understanding between them. They ate well now. There was no reason why they did not. They were free women, and they ate well, just like everyone else.

And she certainly enjoyed the warm, baked sheets of makawoni covered in cheese and sauces that tingled on her tongue.

Belle felt as comfortable as she could be at the dinner table, and she did notice that Mrs Denham was being kind to her. She could see that the compassionate woman was desperate to ask her questions, but she was careful not to focus attention on Belle. Instead, she scolded Jem about his table manners, and the fact that he was serving himself a second helping before anyone else had even finished their portion.

She eventually instructed Jem to clear the dishes away as Amélie prepared to serve the main dish. This led to Mrs Denham, Peter, and Belle being the only ones seated at the table. Mrs Denham could not hold herself back any longer.

"Belle," she began gently. "I am certain that you agree Amélie's cooking is divine. Jem will tell you that she is far more talented than I ever was." She laughed at herself. "Is it nice to eat something that reminds you of home?"

Belle knew that she had meant her question in a kind way. She could never presume Mrs Denham, or any of Peter's family members for that matter, would ever intend anything resembling maliciousness. But her question was ignorant, and that was through no fault of her own. She didn't know. She hadn't been taught.

Ordinarily, Belle would have answered with something obliging. She would never dare correct a white person. To survive was to oblige the white man. But Belle did not need to do that anymore. Belle was a free woman. Whatever hold that place, and those people, had ever had on her no longer existed.

Belle looked to Peter, and she found him watching her with patient, wondering eyes. He hadn't leapt to defend her. He hadn't gone to deflect or suppress the question. He was waiting for Belle to find her voice.

"I have never eaten this dish before," Belle replied, her voice surprisingly steady. "I had never been to Haiti before meeting Alex and Madame Amélie. I was born on an island called Saint-Martin," she explained. Belle had been so, socareful to conceal such information about herself. To have such a confession roll off of her tongue almost frightened her.

Mrs Denham's eyes widened. "Oh, I had not realised! I am sorry," she apologised, sounding embarrassed.

Belle bit down on her tongue. She had certainly not meant to embarrass Peter's mother. She was very ill-prepared in knowing how to correct and educate a white person. "Please, do not apologise," Belle begged. "You have nothing to be sorry for. But to answer your question, yes, I am happy to eat this food. It is delicious," and certainly more flavourful than anything that could be called British food. But she, of course, did not say the latter thought. "However, it does not remind me of home. I ... I do not call where I was born 'home'. Truthfully, I do not know where my family came from. I was found abandoned as an infant. That is why my name is Belle Desjardins."

"What does your name mean, dear?" Mrs Denham asked quietly.

"Beauty of the Gardens," Peter answered automatically, seemingly recalling that fact from when Belle had translated her name for him in the beginning.

Mrs Denham's lips parted as her brows furrowed sadly. "Oh, my," she whispered.

"The people who laboured, who were enslaved upon Saint-Martin, and Haiti alike, were stolen from their homelands in Africa. That I know." Though she may have been born on Saint-Martin, there were many people who worked the plantations who had arrived on ships. Belle knew exactly what those ships were like. "Home, I have come to understand, is the place where one lives freely."

Jem returned to the table carrying a large dish of food that smelled divine. He protected his hands from the heat with a large, linen cloth. Once he had set it down in the middle, he plopped back down on his chair. Amélie returned to her chair as well, though she sat back down much more gracefully.

Amélie's comprehension of English was much improved, but she still preferred to speak in French. Belle understood this lack of confidence. To the table, she said, "Ma maison est avec les gens que j'aime."

Amélie had been listening, it seemed, and she understood Belle perfectly. Belle smiled at her. "She says, 'my home is with the people I love'."

"I understand what you mean, Belle, and you, Amélie," Mrs Denham said then. "I believe I do not tie my home to a building, but to people. Were this house empty, I would not feel it was home. And I know in my heart that I have been spoiled with a level of autonomy that you have only begun to grasp yourself. Oh, really, I do not understand at all, do I?"

"But you want to, don't you?" asked Belle.

Mrs Denham took a breath, and she looked upon Belle with a respectful, sympathetic gaze. "I think that you are an extraordinary young woman, Belle," she uttered simply, "with a level of worldliness a woman like me could never hope to comprehend. But that is not an excuse not to try. If I have learned anything from Peter, it is that it is never too late to educate oneself, to better oneself."

Belle felt something swell in her chest that felt astonishingly like pride. Her smile broadened and she felt her cheeks warm. She was certain that she could have done a better job at explaining. She was certain that she could have done more to articulate what had happened. But was she ready to do that? She had barely begun to tell Peter what had happened to her. Despite this, Belle had spoken up to a white person for the very first time in her life. It was an achievement that she would not have been able to do not twenty-four hours earlier.

As Amélie went to dish up the main course of poulet aux noix, made possible by the cashew nuts that Alex had cultivated, Peter squeezed Belle's hand under the table.

Touch that she was not anticipating historically made Belle jump with fear. But she did not flinch at all away from his touch then. He smiled at her, and quietly murmured, "I'm proud of you."

***

The next fortnight saw a belated celebration for Perrie's fourth birthday, as well as Peter and Belle stepping out into the Ashwood village society with their defiant liaison.

Of course, the rumours had been circulating as rumours tended to do, but Peter had proudly escorted Belle to and from Mr Andrews' store each day. He dined at Ashwood House, and she was invited back to his mother's. And she attended the Ashwood parish church service for the first time since arriving in England. Belle did not think that Susanna's wedding could be counted.

The church was where the term 'defiant liaison' had been coined by tasteless gossips. The dowager duchess had been the one to declare those women as such directly to their faces.

To be so defended by the highest-ranking woman in the village next to Grace was deeply humbling for Belle. Home was where one lived freely, but it was also where one felt accepted as part of the family.

Ever since she had accepted that she was a free woman, she was slowly starting to accept the happiness that she could have with Peter. At times ... Belle felt that it was all too good to be true, as though something might happen to spoil everything. But that was the pessimist, the tortured girl inside of her talking. She still needed to learn to ignore her.

Then, she supposed, Peter leaving to return to London was spoiling things, and she felt very selfish for thinking that. Peter's life and his business were in London. He had been away for a long while and it was high time that he returned. He had explained to Belle that while he had been away his printers had been filling their order for their new book, "Confessions of a Lady". Peter had promised to send her a copy.

Regretfully, their reading and writing lessons had barely begun. Belle was still not at all confident, even if she felt as though her spoken English improved each day.

They sat together under the shade of an evergreen tree in Ashwood House's palatial garden. It was Sunday, and Peter had arrived with his family for dinner, before he and Belle had stolen away outside for a quiet moment alone. It would be their last before he, Jack, Claire, and their two daughters would depart for London the following morning.

"Would you like to travel to London one day?" Peter asked her quietly.

"Do you love it?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, I do."

Then Belle nodded, managing a smile. "Then yes, I would love to travel there someday." Someday seemed impossibly ambiguous. She didn't like it at all, and she was most definitely hiding behind her smile. It didn't seem fair that their defiant liaison was coming to an end. Of course, Belle knew that it was not final. But they would be thirty miles from one another. It was not as though he could walk to her door like he had been doing each morning. Peter would be returning to his life, and Belle was a little unsure of where she belonged.

Though they were both seated, Peter's tall torso meant that he was still a head above her in height. He looked down upon her with a caring, gentle smile. "You are touched by an angel, without a doubt," he murmured.

Belle's stomach fluttered as Peter reiterated perhaps his most meaningful compliment to her.

"If I am, then you must be as well," she countered softly.

"I will be back for the Winter Assembly," he told her. "It is an annual ball held here in Ashwood. Ordinarily I would miss it, but there is someone here I would like to dance with," he hinted. "And I did promise my brother I would be there for a little encouragement. He plans to woo a young lady." He chuckled. "But, in the meantime, would you do something for me?"

"Anything."

Peter pursed his lips. "I want you to write to me."

Belle felt the blood drain from her cheeks as she quickly looked away from Peter, focussing her eyes on a fountain in the distance so that they would not well up with embarrassment. Even though logically she need not be embarrassed, it was hard not to be when something that others did with ease was so challenging.

"Don't look away from me. My time left with your angel eyes is limited," he appealed, attempting to making her smile.

"I can't," she said quickly, her voice bordering on unsteady.

"Belle," Peter said again tenderly. "Please, please don't feel bashful with me. I believe I have made enough of a fool of myself since we both met that you need not feel embarrassed ever again."

Belle did not laugh. "I can't write," she said again, this time more firmly. "You know this. I couldn't read your letters either." At this confession, she buried her face in her hands with frustration. This was normal. Correspondence. It happened all the time. Every morning she watched as Adam, Grace, and Cecily received letters from friend, neighbours, and the like. Lord, she would love to be able to correspond with Peter, to maintain their connection through their separation.

"Belle, I would be happy to receive a word, a blot of ink, anything from you," Peter promised her. "Even if it is just a 'good day, Peter', so that I know you have not forgotten about me," he teased.

Belle looked up then, frowning. "Forget you?"

Peter smiled sincerely. "I know what you are capable of reading, and I will write accordingly," he told her. "I am not expecting essays, but I would like ... I would love for you to write me anything. Would you try, please?" he implored.

Belle's heart lurched as she quietly confessed, "But I do not know how to spell your name."

Peter suddenly appeared inspired as he took her hand and gently turned over her palm. Using his opposite index finger, he began to write, articulating as he did. "P ... E ... T ... E ... R."

Belle's skin tingled at the softness of his touch.

"Will you write me?" he asked again hopefully.

"I will try," promised Belle.

----

Hope you enjoyed it!! The Winter Assembly looms ... and what a drama filled night it will be .... !!!!! Seatbelts on, friends ;)

MERRRRYYY CHRISTMASSS!!!! I hope you all have had the most magical holiday!! I truly had such a lovely day with my family. I was very spoiled! My favourite gift, however, was my Kris Kringle (Secret Santa) gift I got from my cousin. She knows I am an absolute Taylor Swift stan, and so she bought me all these gifts that corresponded to her lyrics! She even researched what Taylor's favourite candle was and bought me it! She then had my favourite lyrics printed on a tote bag for me in her official font! As well as a t-shirt that said "Taylor's Version". Seriously the most thoughtful gift I have ever received! I was literally crying in front of my whole family as she was explaining it. I was soooooo touched!! 

Honestly, thought > everything! 

I hope you were spoiled and felt all the love! And if Christmas wasn't great this year, know that I am happy you're here, and I hope I am able to give you a little light this holiday season. 

Know that you have made my year enchanting. I love you all to pieces xxx

Vote and comment <3