XXXI

"Love is a journey and a destination - long and excruciating on the way, unexpected and ecstatic if found." Stewart Stafford

----

XXXI.

"Are you satisfied that you have reached a unanimous verdict?" the judge asked the jury once they were returned.

Belle stared at the twelve men intently, her heart having long stopped beating. They had been gone a mere twenty minutes. She was not sure of the normal amount of time that it took for jury deliberation, but Mr Webb seemed to think that it was awfully quick.

It terrified her that, even after all this time, her life was still in the hands of white men.

The first juror rose to address the judge. "We are, Your Honour."

"How do you find the defendant?"

"We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty, Your Honour."

Belle's bones vanished from her legs as they buckled beneath her. She completely missed her chair and she crumpled down onto the floor. She pressed her hands against the rough timber of the floor and watched as her tears fell freely, dampening the wood.

Not guilty.

Of all the English words she had learned, to her, there would forever be a beauty about those two words when place together.

"Oh, dieu merci," she whispered under her breath.

Belle felt tender hands on her back and shoulders, and she knew it was Peter. She could hear the noise of the hall all around her. People were crying out, cheering, protesting ... she could hear Jean protesting. But Belle turned into Peter's chest and her whole body shivered. His arms enveloped her as one of his hands cradled her face.

Safe.

That familiar, beautiful feeling of Peter returned, and Belle wasn't afraid anymore.

"Please stand, Miss Desjardins," the judge commanded.

Belle's body shook as her eyes lifted to meet Peter's. "I need help," she whispered. "My legs ..."

Peter beamed, his smile bigger than any she had seen before. She could see his youth once more on his tired face. His ocean eyes were endless and were only for her. Belle could see his constancy as clear as anything. Such overwhelming feeling did not help with her legs.

Peter helped Belle to stand, and he supported her weight as she faced the judge. In turning away from Peter, she could properly see what was happening around her. The judge's constables were holding Jean to his chair as he cursed at them in French. The judge banged on his gavel to silence the noisy hall.

"I will have order!" he cried, and the noise immediately ceased. He then looked upon Belle with an almost sympathetic gaze. "Belle Desjardins, you are acquitted of all charges. You are a free woman."

Peter's grasp around her tightened as Belle whimpered with joy.

"Jean Leclerc," Judge Steele continued, his voice hardened to one laced with disgust. "I hereby order your arrest, where you will be charged with kidnapping, smuggling and rape, including the unforgiveable and damnable offense of the rape of a child. If and when your guilt is determined, I will have you hanged by the neck until you are dead, and I will see to it personally that your sorry soul is hand delivered to Satan himself."

Peter went to pull Belle away, but she found her feet then, and stood firmly as Mr Ennis came to take Jean away into his custody. He was already in chains, but Mr Ennis helped the constables to pull Jean to his feet so that he could be removed to the gaol.

Jean met her eyes as he was pulled away and cursed her.

"Sorcière!" he cried.

"Et tu peux aller au diable," she cursed right back.

When Belle stepped out onto the street, she inhaled deeply, having never loved the scent of salt and fish more. She was flanked closely by Peter, Alex and Adam, all of whom surrounded her like a live barrier, protecting her from anything and everything. Belle turned towards them, before she stepped forward and hugged Alex for the first time. Belle had never purposefully touched Alex before, nothing less than was necessary.

But it was alright now. She felt that in her bones.

Alex held onto Belle tightly, before she felt him press a soft kiss to her forehead. She could feel that he knew the significance of this touch as she did.

When they parted, Belle looked to Adam. He smiled at her, and he nodded reassuringly as he captured both of her hands in his.

"I don't know how to thank you. All of you," she said to them, her voice shaking.

"You don't owe us any thanks, Belle," promised Adam.

"I don't think you realise just how far this boy was willing to go for you," Alex added, nudging Peter with his elbow. "I'd wager he would have leapt off the ends of the earth if that was where you were."

Belle smiled as Peter chuckled bashfully. "I'm so grateful you came to find me."

"I'm so proud of how you fought," he countered immediately. He pursed his lips as his hand cupped her cheek. "You are brave. A fighter. A survivor."

"I didn't want to ..." Belle's voice trailed off, and she couldn't utter the word "die".

Peter seemed to be able to read her mind. Belle had confided in him before of her wish to die when something terrible had happened. "I'm proud," he said again, ever so sincerely.

"Good day to you all."

Their embrace and celebration were disturbed by another joining their party. Belle turned to recognise the lieutenant who had helped her when she had first fled the shack Jean had brought her to.

"Lieutenant Harrow," recalled Belle.

"Miss Desjardins," Lieutenant Harrow greeted as he removed his tricorn.

She could feel Peter, Alex and Adam's eyes upon them both questioningly.

"Please let me introduce you to the Duke of Ashwood, Mr Peter Denham, and Mr Alex Whitfield. This is Lieutenant Harrow," Belle introduced.

"Your Grace, Mr Denham, Mr Whitfield," Lieutenant Harrow greeted them all.

"The lieutenant helped me, he saved me, when I first escaped from ... I never properly thanked you, sir."

"No thanks necessary, Miss Desjardins. I am just glad to see justice served."

Peter extended his hand to the lieutenant. "You have my eternal gratitude, Lieutenant. I thank you."

Lieutenant Harrow shook Peter's hand and nodded. "It was my honour to be of service to the lady."

***

Though Belle was free, she was forced to recount her story once again for Jean's trial, which began two days later just as soon as legal counsel could be sourced. Mr Webb refused the case.

Claude was once again persuaded to testify with a yet again reduced sentence. His one year became six months, and his confirmation of Belle's accusations made her case a very simple one. She couldn't be torn down. She wouldn't be made to feel like Jean's actions were somehow her fault. Jean was condemned, and it was only a matter of time.

The jury had taken twenty minutes to deliberate on her verdict. They had needed only ten minutes to deliver Jean's guilty one.

Belle left the hall for good just as the judge laid down Jean's death sentence. Instead of listening to his fate, he screamed, "Sorcière!" over his shoulder, over and over.

They left Plymouth that very day, with one last stop at the harbour so that Adam could leave a one-thousand-pound cheque with Lieutenant Harrow. Of course, he had tried to refuse the reward money, but Adam had insisted upon it. The money would be there once he had finished his career to fund a comfortable retirement for his chivalrous and honourable service.

Their first stop on their journey back to Ashwood was in Torquay. After paying an innkeeper for rooms for the night and eating what was perhaps her first decent meal in weeks, Belle asked Peter if they might go out for a walk.

And at her request, she watched the blood drain from Peter's face as he turned ashen white. Peter looked out the window of the inn dining room at the setting sun and shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "It is going to be dark very soon. I won't have you out at night."

Belle could see the fear on Peter's face, and she knew where it had come from. Perhaps it would have been wise for her to be afraid also, but she wasn't. It was exhilarating to not feel afraid for perhaps the first time in her life.

But she could see by the look on Peter's face that he was afraid. She could see the sleepless nights underneath his eyes. He looked exhausted and wrecked, and it was Belle's disappearance that had done this to him.

"I hope you do not blame yourself," she murmured fearfully.

As soon as the words escaped her lips, the flash of an expression across Peter's eyes confirmed it for her. Belle's face fell.

"Peter," she appealed.

Peter averted his eyes from Belle's. "I know that what he did ... I know it was not my fault, the same as it is the furthest thing from being your fault. But it was me who put you in the position to be taken in the first place. I took you out of the assembly. I placed you in danger, and I am not prepared to do that again. I made a promise to keep you safe."

Belle wondered if Peter had slept at all since the night she had been abducted from the assembly. Had he spent all this time punishing himself? Belle reached out and pulled on his arm, her hands sliding down to entangle her fingers with his.

"He told me ... oh, I don't know the English word ... se vanter." Belle thought hard with frustration. She so desperately wanted to make her point and she could not find the word. "When you ... when you laugh and speak," she muttered, "and tell a story but laughing and speaking because ..." Belle stopped talking and turned her head, searching the room quickly and finding Alex sitting beside Adam at the bar, both quietly enjoying a drink. "Alex!" she called.

Alex turned immediately, with an almost alarmed expression on his face, as though he was ready to throw his fist. How terribly she had frightened everyone, it seemed. "What is it?"

"Se vanter," she called to him. "What does this mean?"

Alex's brow furrowed, but he sat back down on the stool and let out a breath. "To brag, do you mean?"

To brag! "Yes!" she cried, before she turned back to Peter and exclaimed, "brag!" She gripped his hand tightly. "He brag to me," she insisted. "He brag that he knew where I was, that he knew every place I had been. If it was not at the assembly, it would have been somewhere else."

Peter shook his head as he used his free hand to tuck one of her curls behind her ear affectionately. "Why, oh why, am I allowing you to make me feel better after everything that you have been through?" he asked rhetorically.

"You cannot always be the one looking after me. That would hardly be fair."

Peter chuckled and Belle beamed. She had made him laugh.

"I'm free," she uttered, "and I am not afraid. I have nothing to be afraid of anymore. I fought and I won. You said so yourself."

"You are free to do whatever you please," Peter said quite serenely, "and I am honoured that you would exercise your freedom to walk with me." His voice then grew firm, but Belle could still see the warmth in his eyes. "There is perhaps a half hour of good light left. Can we return then?"

Belle grinned as she nodded.

The tide was rolling in along Babbacombe Beach, and there was very little of the pebbled shore left exposed. Belle loved it, nonetheless. She had sailed the Caribbean and had experienced some of the most beauteous places that the Earth had to offer, and yet as the sun set in the horizon and bled glorious pinks and oranges into the sky and across the ocean, she was quite certain that God had touched Devon. At this time of day, it was quiet, save for the sound of the wind whipping around the cliffs and the soft waves breaking over the rocks. Belle had removed her shoes and was walking over the smoothed rocks enjoying the feeling of the freezing water as it brushed up against her ankles.

Perhaps it was a little insanity to be dipping her toes in the ocean in December. The water was icy, the air even more so. But she didn't care. It made her feel alive.

"Before travelling to Plymouth, I'd never seen the ocean before," Peter confessed as he walked beside her. He, too, had removed his boots and had rolled up his breeches. "I don't think the Thames counts. It's filthy. The sea, though. It is remarkable."

Belle looked out on the ocean and marvelled at its expanse. It occurred to her then that perhaps she saw more beauty in it now then she ever had before because she was truly free. Why, on Saint-Martin, the ocean had been like prison bars surrounding the island.

"I think, in a way, I am seeing it for the first time, too," Belle replied.

They walked in comfortable silence along the beach, and when the feeling began to disappear from their toes, they made their way back to the stone retaining wall that separated the shore from the street.

Belle spied Peter watching her out of the corner of her eye as she stepped back into her stockings and tried to awkwardly maintain her modesty in a public area as she pulled them up her legs. Despite her slight embarrassment, she was reminded of the reason why she had wanted to be alone with Peter, why she couldn't wait until they were returned to Ashwood. If she'd left this weighing on her for the rest of their journey, then she would have certainly gone mad.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Why haven't you asked me anything?" That actually hadn't been her question, but it had escaped her lips without her realising. And as soon as she'd asked the question, she was glad. She certainly had been wondering that, too.

Peter frowned helplessly. "Asked you anything? Do you mean about your experience? What happened to you while you were ..."

"Yes," she interjected.

"Belle, I have a thousand questions that I want to ask you. I have a thousand questions that I am afraid to hear the answers to." He flicked his eyes away, and Belle could have sworn for a moment that she saw them become glassy. "But you shouldn't have to answer them to pacify my curiosity, my anxieties."

"I fought and I won, remember? I didn't let him hurt me." It seemed clear to her that Peter's worries, and indeed his guilt, centred around the possibility of her assault.

A sound escaped Peter's mouth that almost sounded like a hiccough. He groaned, before snatching her and pulling her into his arms. Belle didn't shy away. She never would again. She snuggled into his embrace.

"Yet again," he mumbled against her hair, "I cannot believe that it is you who is comforting me." Peter kissed the top of her head, and Belle felt a shiver flutter down her spine. "I'm so proud. So proud," he whispered.

Belle smiled against his chest. She felt his hand rub over her back, and her eyes opened, and she was reminded of her original question. "Peter," she whispered.

"Mm."

"I have another question."

"Yes?"

"Did you hear ...?" Belle swallowed nervously. She didn't quite understand why this of all things made her nervous and apprehensive. Of all the things that Peter had learned about her, from her own lips and from the trial, this was hardly the worst. And yet, it was troubling her. "Did you notice what Claude said ... what he said about my back?"

Belle had been the one to first state that she had been lashed while enslaved. But Claude had been the one to insinuate, or state very plainly for all to hear, that her back was a mess. Sadly, he was not lying.

Belle felt Peter stiffen against her and his hand froze on her back. However, she felt his fingers spread against her ribs.

"Yes," he confirmed quietly. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am that such a terrible thing happened to you. I wish it hadn't. You cannot know how I wish it hadn't, how I wish that none of it had happened."

"I don't remember much of it happening," she confessed. Belle had passed out from the pain after only a few minutes. What she remembered most was the pain afterwards. How one of the wounds becoming putrid had nearly killed her with fever had one of the other women not treated her with an old remedy. How she had been unable to sleep on her back for months.

And while it didn't pain her any longer, she could still feel it. She could still feel the hardened tissue against her clothing or when she laid down at night. Belle didn't like to look at it in the mirror, but when she did, it sickened her.

Belle suddenly felt very vain to be fretting like this. But she couldn't help it. She was the farthest thing from a debutante lady, from someone like Susanna. "I ... I don't want you to be shocked ... or repulsed ..." A deep blush filled her cheeks as she realised the presumptuousness of this conversation. They were not engaged. Their courtship, if it even had been one, had not been made official.

"Stop," Peter practically commanded.

"They are not even the worse ones," Belle continued in a ramble, ignoring Peter's instruction. "There is a terrible, awful scar here." She ran her hand over her abdomen. "It was where a sabre sliced me when Alex and I were hiding on his father's ship. Perhaps the cut would not have been so bad had they not burned the wound closed. The burn is the worst part –"

"Belle, for God's sake, stop." Peter silenced Belle by capturing her jaw in his hand and lifting her face to his. He was looking down upon her intently. "Hear me," he insisted, "you are beautiful. You are the most beautiful woman that I will ever lay eyes upon, and no scar, inside or out, will ever change my mind." He squeezed his hand so that her lips puckered, and she let out an unwilling raspberry. "Do you understand?"

Belle nodded.

"Good."

"I want you to understand something else," Peter continued. "I even learned it in French so that nothing could be lost in translation."

Belle's lips were still embarrassingly puckered in Peter's grip, and she could see his amusement. But there was a seriousness, a fierceness in his eyes as something took over him.

He released her just as he uttered, "Je t'aime."

Belle's mouth opened in shock, and when she couldn't speak, Peter paled.

"Oh, God. Did I say it right? You do understand, don't you? Don't tell me that I accidentally insulted you by muddling up a word. Of course, I managed to do that. Managing anything remotely suave or romantic is simply not my forte."

"Stop!" Belle cried as she found her voice. Her eyes indeed welled up with tears. "You said it right! I understood. Your accent is terrible, but I understood." She laughed as the tears rolled over her eyelids and fell freely down her cheeks. "Do you mean it? Really?"

"If you are going to laugh at my French accent then I might just take it back," Peter teased.

"No!" Belle exclaimed. "No, you can't! I won't allow it."

Peter chuckled. "Yes," he confirmed, brushing over her cheekbone with the back of his knuckles. "I mean it. Terrible French accent and all. Je t'aime. I love you. Every beautiful, incredible part of you."

Belle closed her eyes as she allowed Peter's words to rush over her. It felt very much like the waves capturing her ankles, only this time the feeling was warm and intoxicating. "Je t'aime," she murmured, her smile so wide her cheeks were hurting.

"Are you correcting my accent, or telling me that you love me?"

Belle's eyes snapped open as a laugh escaped her throat. "I love you," she said again, in English this time.

"You do?"

"I don't want anything to get lost in translation," she replied, grinning as she used Peter's words. Peter quickly returned her smile, his eyes lighting up, beautifully reflecting the brilliant oranges across the sunset sky.

Peter's eyes dropped to her lips for the briefest of moments, before he looked back into her eyes, silently asking for permission. Belle was so used to being afraid when it came to any sort of physical touch, even if it had only been the kind hand of a friend. There was once a time, not even that long ago, when she was quite certain that this would never be a possibility for her.

Belle could not change the past. There was nothing that she could do to go back and stop what she had endured. But now she was free. She was free to choose to her own path, her own life, and the deep privilege of that fact would never be lost on her, not knowing that there were so many like her without that luxury.

Peter was her choice, and she could feel it in her bones that he would be a choice that she would never regret making. Belle closed the distance between them before he could, and she kissed Peter with everything that she had.

---

Coming to you one day early!!

I make my characters suffer, but I make up for it in the end, don't I?!?!? Just gotta keep those seatbelts on and I'll get us there in the end :)

We're not quite done yet, but we're close. And then you'll be able to buckle up all over again for the Jem and Cressie sh*tshow!!! :DDDDDD Man, what a torture cycle I'll bring you on there ... hehehe

I was home from work yesterday sick and I went into work this morning. Wasn't feeling any better but I'd done three negative tests and I felt too guilty to stay home. My kids were apparently so worried about me which was so cute. I found a stack of work that my substitute had done with the kids for display but ... get this, this is how anal I am. I literally can't bring myself to put the work up on display because their work isn't on the coloured paper I would use, nor are their names written on their work in my handwriting. I have issues lol. I'm very colour coordinated and I like their names to be in my handwriting - oh, and their names were also written on the wrong part of the paper which was another problem hahaha

But I was sent home from work anyway by my team who were so lovely in looking after me. I wish I didn't feel so guilty. I always feel this way if I feel like someone is picking up my slack. Do you guys feel like this, too?

I'll see how my energy levels are tomorrow. I'm not sure I'll be able to pull two late nights in a row so if there's not a chapter tomorrow night, that's why.

Vote and comment!!