XIII

"Never above you. Never below you. Always beside you." Walter Winchell

----

XIII.

Peter couldn't show his anger. He couldn't show Belle one ounce of the fury that was pulsating through him. He had never felt anything like it before. He had never had cause to feel so inhuman, so furious that he might have ripped the heads off of the men that Belle had spoken of.

And what angered him, and what hurt even more, was that the assault she spoke of, it was but one day in her life. She had told him of her escape from Saint-Martin, but she had not detailed about what, or whom, she had escaped from. She had spent years enslaved on that land. Only God knew what had happened to her there.

And God had watched.

If there was any justice in this world, He would smite down every last one of the evil blackguards who had dared violate Belle, and any other woman who had the misfortune of coming across them.

Peter didn't want to be furious at God. He couldn't be furious in this moment.

When Peter looked into Belle's beautiful, golden eyes, he saw such a frightened, delicate young woman who desperately wanted safety. And by confiding in him, by telling Peter her tale, Belle was trusting him to be a safe harbour for her. The momentousness of this moment for Belle was not lost on him, even in and amongst his anger.

Peter decided then and there that he would never show Belle anger. No matter what happened, what became of them, he would never be like any of the villains that she had happened across in the years of her life that had led her to be here.

Before now, Peter had never had cause to be an angry man, and that had made him well practised in gentleness. He was a gentle man, and perhaps that was one of the reasons as to why Belle had trusted him.

And he doubted that she had ever trusted anyone like this before.

"I wish that I wasn't afraid," Belle whispered, almost as though it was a confession. "I want so badly to be brave."

Peter felt her trembling against him, and he was at a loss as to know what to do save for holding her tightly. "You are brave," he uttered back quietly. Lord, how could she think she was not? Peter could not even begin to imagine what Belle had survived, what she had fought through. And he hoped one day that she would enlighten him. "You are a survivor, a fighter. I can see it in you."

Belle's trembling grew worse, and Peter worried that he had said the wrong thing. Before he could apologise, she murmured, "There were so many times when I wished that I would not survive. Is that not a mortal sin?"

Her words were like a dagger to his heart as the gravity of her confession dawned on him. Lord, he wanted to hold her and never let go. He held her in his arms now and in this moment, Peter knew she was safe. He never wanted that to change. "No," retorted Peter fiercely. He rubbed Belle's arms comfortingly. "That is being human, and it is not a mortal sin."

But Belle still trembled.

"What can I do?" Peter asked anxiously. "How can I make you feel safe?"

Belle almost startled him with the speed in which her eyes found his. Her golden eyes were glassy, and her lids were swollen, but she looked into him. "You are safe," she whispered. "I know that I am safe when I am with you."

Peter prayed that knowledge brought some comfort to her.

Because he was, without a doubt, falling head over heels in love with her.

***

Peter smelled the forge before he saw it. He would forever recognise the scent of a forge no matter where he went. The smoke triggered a decade's worth of memories for him.

Owing to the fact that he had only been a boy of ten when his father had died, Peter had little hope for securing an apprenticeship as their family did not have the money. And Mrs Denham certainly never could have afforded to send Peter onto university, no matter how clever he was.

Peter had been realistic as a young teenager. No matter how well he had done at school, further education was impossible. He was the man of the house, no matter his age, and it should not have been up to his mother and his eldest sister to earn an income to support the family.

Luckily for the Denhams, the Ashwood blacksmith, Jim Ellis, had quickly fallen in love with Mrs Denham's second daughter, and Kate had persuaded her new husband to take Peter on as an apprentice for a fraction of the cost.

Peter remembered feeling excited, relieved, glad even, when he had secured his apprenticeship. He had always been an eager student, and he was keen to learn this new skill. He knew that it meant his family's future security.

Jim had been an excellent mentor and an even better friend. Peter had quite looked up to his brother-in-law as a father figure for a long time.

And while Peter had all but mastered the blacksmith trade, he could not deny that his ambition was still there underneath the surface. He had brains in his head and determination in his heart and he needed to go. While Peter would never regret leaving his apprenticeship and going into business with Jack, he would always carry guilt for leaving Jim.

He was the one man, really, who knew Peter best. They had spent years in each other's company, beating away at an anvil and talking about life.

When the forge came into view, Peter could hear Jim's hammer, and he did smile. Peter had caught up with Jim at family suppers and gatherings, and he had, of course, been at the wedding the day before, but Peter had not been back to the forge.

Jim placed his hammer down when he saw Peter walking towards him, and he removed his gloves and placed them down on the anvil. Jim was a strong, burly man who was built like an ox. The work had had a similar effect on Peter's body, though he was a few inches shy of Jim's height, and about a foot less on his shoulder width.

"Mornin'," Jim greeted, giving Peter a grin as he walked out onto the street. "What brings you down here?"

"I thought I'd come to see the forge," replied Peter. "It's been a long while."

Jim embraced Peter as an old friend, and he jovially slapped him on the back. "There's no shortage of work if you're wanting to do a few jobs for me," he joked as he beckoned Peter inside.

The forge hadn't changed much at all, and for a moment Peter felt like he was fifteen years old again and coming to work, about ready to pick up where he had left off the day before.

"That horse needs shoeing, if you don't mind." Jim nodded towards the open stalls at the back of the forge to where a chestnut coloured horse was waiting.

Peter had shoed dozens of horses in his time. He wondered if he still had the touch. The tools were still where they'd always been, and he collected what he needed. He then walked over to the horse and opened the stall door, clicking his tongue and running his hand over her rump to let her know that he was there. She whinnied in response and Peter continued to calmly pet her.

Peter ran his hand down her first leg and squeezed the tendon above her ankle, before feeling her shift her weight onto her other three legs and allowing him to lift her hoof. Peter tucked his hip against the horse's hock and gaskin, before using the inside of his knee to pull the hoof out slightly and between his legs. Peter used a hammer, a clinch cutter, and a metal pull off to work the old shoe off before using a hoof pick to clean away the compacted debris.

Peter remembered the steps that Jim had taught him years ago and went to work. It might have taken him a little longer than it had used to, but eventually, the mare was as good as new.

"Good girl," Peter commended softly.

"I can't convince you to come back, can I?" Jim asked, coming up behind Peter to rub the side of the mare's neck.

Peter chuckled. "I'm sorry, you know."

"Ah," Jim shook his head, slapping Peter on the back. "I'm just joshing. I know your dreams are far beyond this place. You're just lucky I've now got a son of my own to pass it on to when I'm too old to wield a hammer."

"I'm that glad for you."

"I'm that glad for you, too," replied Jim, pride in his eyes. "Go on then," he then encouraged. "Out with it. I know you didn't just come down here for a peek at the scenery."

Peter laughed nervously. He had been through a whirlwind of emotions since the wedding the day before. But that was nothing compared to what Belle had been through. But in and amongst it all, he had realised that he was falling in love with her. Perhaps he already was in love with her. He wasn't certain. He had never been in love before. He had very little experience with these sorts of things. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to approach it. Peter certainly knew that he needed to be gentle, patient, and delicate, but how did he go about things like courting?

"Let me guess. She speaks French, she sews dresses, and her name starts with a 'B'," surmised Jim.

Peter sighed. "Am I that transparent?"

Jim chuckled. "Yes. But it means that you're an honest man. You really care for her, then?" His eyebrows rose.

Peter nodded. "I think I more than care for her," he confessed.

"She's a timid little mouse, isn't she?" Jim folded his arms across his chest.

It did not surprise Peter that this was Jim's assessment of Belle. He would guess that it was the probable assessment of many in the village who were used to seeing Belle with her head down, not speaking unless spoken to directly. Timid, maybe, but she was so much more than that.

One had a right to be timid when they had been through what she had been through. But she was also talented and modest and humble. She also had a sense of humour, a very quick wit at that, to be able to joke in a language that was not her mother tongue. Peter knew that there was certainly much more to delight in if she allowed their acquaintance to continue.

"I really care about her," Peter said seriously. "I want to ... but I don't know how ... it is so much more complicated than normal courtships and I wouldn't know where to begin if this was normal."

Jim leaned back against the stall door and furrowed his brows. "How is it complicated?" he asked.

"I can't say," replied Peter. He would never betray Belle's confidence.

"It is because of her colour?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "No," he snapped, in a tone he had never used with Jim before.

Jim put his hands up defensively. "Alright," he said quickly. "Alright, I was only asking. There'd be many a stupid man who would have a problem with her colour, but I know you are the farthest thing from stupid."

"I think she's beautiful," Peter uttered. "But she has endured so much, and I don't know how to ..."

Jim took a breath. "Love, courtship, marriage, it's all complicated. I don't think you would find a couple in fifty miles who would say everything had been easy, and that there had never been any trouble."

"You had it easy," countered Peter. "You and Kate worked out perfectly. You never had any trouble." The words escaped his mouth before he'd even realised what he was saying, and as soon as he'd said them, Peter could see more than one ghost in Jim's eyes.

"No, Peter," he murmured. "We haven't had it easy, and we are not free from trouble. It might have seemed that way in the beginning, and perhaps it was for a little while at the start of our marriage, but it hasn't been easy.

"Did you ever notice the five sycamore trees, the saplings I planted out back?" he asked quietly.

Peter nodded slowly. Kate loved those sycamore trees. She had always tended them diligently.

"Buried underneath them are five souls, five of our babies."

Peter felt his stomach fall out of his body and onto the floor. He felt like a right cad for ever assuming that Jim and Kate had had it easy, but how could he not have known? He had been here, in the house ... how could he not have known they were suffering?

"People hide their pain well, don't they?" Jim continued. "Kate masks her grief remarkably, but it's to me that she turns to for comfort, and that privilege isn't lost on me."

Peter felt keenly for his sister, but also for his friend. He was also so glad that they had finally been blessed with a healthy son. But Peter saw the parallels between himself and Jim. He hadn't been able to see it, but Kate had been suffering a terrible trauma, too. They both had.

"People who have suffered, or are suffering, will turn to the one they trust. Not because they need to do something remarkable, but for the person they have always been. I am not any different to the way I was the day I met Kate Denham. I have always been as I am, and I always will be. I am her constant. Healing takes time, but it does happen. Being there, being yourself, being her constant is what you need to do."

----

Hope you enjoyed it!

I'm just so pleased that Peter finally knows what to do and everything will just work out perfectly. Don't you just love happy endings?

Oh.

Oh wait.

It's only Chapter 13. I guess this means you've got to get your tissues ready and I need to get my glass to get my fill of reader tears. Ohhhhhh they'll be coming hehehe.

But first, I want to take you on a little journey back in time.

Picture this: it's November 20, 2011. Little Laura is 17 years old, just finished Year 11, in high school, and messing around on the App Store on her Samsung Galaxy (hated that phone). She loves to write. She's done it for years on the family computer, saving documents under ambiguous titles so her family doesn't discover them. She's written one full length book in her time. She was 14. It was terrible. It will never see the light of day. She loves romance, particularly historical romance, and she adores Jane Austen. She sees this weird orange app that says: "Wattpad: Millions of Stories", and she thinks, "Hey, I like stories". She downloads it.

At first, she thinks it's like iBooks. She doesn't realise these books are written by normal people like her. Until she reads a story that isn't finished she realises that people are actively posting their work. She gets her old COMPAQ laptop out (the one that is missing an 'm' key) and looks at Wattpad on a desktop for the first time. There she realises that she can post some of her own work. And she does. She starts writing and posting.

She works at an amusement park that summer, and she checks her phone constantly, silently freaking out when her first story reaches 100 reads. And slowly, very slowly, she gets better, and people start to follow along, and she continues. She finds a community of people who love the same kinds of books she does. She continues still, writing books she wants to read, filled with romance and drama, FAMILY above all. She loves writing about families. She loves to create beautiful families.

In 2012, she writes her first historical series, the "Regency Series". She's super proud of it, even if future Laura knows it could be better. In 2013, she begins a story called "The Accidental Duchess", and this is the first book of hers that really takes off. People love it, and she's never felt so confident in her life. She adds five more books to that series. Over the next few years she writes "The One Series", "The Kensington Series", "The Banes Sisters Series", and now she currently writes "The Ashwood Series", with a few stand alone books in between. In ten years, she has written over thirty books, and she has felt your love on every single one of them.

And that brings us to now. 10 years. 10 years we've spent together. I hope you know that it is YOU that has kept me here. Without YOU I would have given up a long time ago. My books, my ideas, would just be another scribble in my notes app that would never get written. I thank YOU from the very bottom of my heart. Whether you've been here with me since I was 17, or you just found me last week, thank YOU! Thank you for your endless support, your willingness to follow me wherever the inspiration took me. Thank you for filling my books with so much positivity. Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for lifting up a girl who really had no confidence at all, and making me feel like I'm talented, like I can contribute something to this world. I want to cry every time I read a comment saying that my books have brought someone joy, or comfort, or anything in between.

If I've made you smile even once over this past decade, then that fills my heart with joy. I truly do feel like you and me are friends. I've been rambling on in my author's notes for a decade now, continuing on our conversation each chapter, and I feel like we know each other. What you see is what you get. I'm a hopeless romantic who will keep writing so long as you want me to.

Thank you for 10 years.

I love you all xx

I have written the bonus epilogue for "The Stowaway" as promised, but I'm not able to post it yet! The Stowaway is shortlisted in The Watty Awards so I have to wait until after the winners are announced on December 3rd. So keep an eye out then xx