V

"While she could hardly fathom what had just happened to her that night, she reached some conclusions before she fell asleep, certain things now made perfect sense; Moon River didn't sound so syrupy, mistletoe wasn't such a bad idea, and perhaps dating was not such a frivolous waste of time after all." E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

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V.

Peter rose from his chair, as did every other man in the room as Cecily entered with the young lady who could only be Belle Desjardins. Once they were introduced, Peter knew that he needed to ask her how exactly to pronounce her family name. That was, of course, if he would have the sense in his head to form words. Peter had never spoken to a woman like her before. Really, he could count on one hand the number of women, excluding those of whom he was related to, that he had had a proper conversation with.

On second thought, could he really count the female authors that he had met? Peter had never really considered them romantic prospects and –

Romantic prospects?!

Peter choked. Shockingly audibly. He had sucked in a breath so violent after the thought had crossed his mind that anyone in the dining room might have thought that he had a vol-au-vent stuck in his windpipe. Much to his humiliation, his mother jumped up beside him, shaky as she was on her feet, and began whacking him in the back to help him cough up whatever he was choking on.

His pride, it seemed. And it came up just perfectly well and spilled onto the floor with the rest of his dignity.

It probably took Peter some ten seconds to compose himself, but it felt like an hour, and to his embarrassment, all eyes were on him, including the golden orbs belonging to Miss Desjardins.

"Do excuse me," Peter managed to mutter, before he bowed his head to both ladies and prayed for the attention to leave him.

Cecily pursed her lips, and in knowing what he did about the dowager duchess, Peter would have wagered that she would have wanted to utter some quip about him needing his mother to cut his food for him, but she did not. At least, not this time. And he thanked God for that.

"Do excuse Belle's tardiness, everyone," Cecily finally said. "She is working tirelessly on Susanna's gown and had to be forcibly pulled away to eat." She laughed. "One would think we are starving you by the look of you, dear."

The attention had left Peter, which allowed him to draw his focus back to Miss Desjardins. If she looked nervous before, then she looked dreadfully embarrassed now. Her shoulders had stiffened and her eyes and lowered once more, and they did so the moment Cecily had joked about her eating.

She was very thin, but she did not look unhealthy. One only had to look at the smooth brilliance of her skin to see that she was exactly how she was supposed to be.

"I am sorry for being late."

She had looked up again, only for a moment, to address the room. Her voice was soft, gentle, and heavily accented. French, Peter could only presume. Her English could be understood perfectly well, but each word sounded different when uttered by her.

"Nonsense," dismissed Grace with a wave of her hand. She rose from her chair to collect Belle as Cecily took her seat at the end of the table, where she was immediately attended to by a footman who filled her wine glass.

Grace wove her arm through Belle's, and Peter noticed her stiffen a little again with nerves. Why was she nervous? Had she not known Grace for months?

"Belle, you, of course, remember my brother-in-law, Jack Beresford, and his wife, my sister, Claire," Grace said, reacquainting her with the couple.

Jack, who was still standing, along with the rest of the men, bowed his head. "How do you do, Belle?"

Peter hoped that he would become acquainted well enough with Belle to use her Christian name. He did not want to shame her, or embarrass himself, by stumbling over her surname.

"It is lovely to see you again," said Claire, smiling in a friendly manner.

"I am well, thank you," replied Belle quietly, managing a small smile.

She looked uncomfortable. Peter really couldn't understand why she would be uncomfortable in a room full of people, aside from the three guests, that she had known for such a long while. He was the one who had just choked in front of the room. If anything, telling her that, he hoped, would make her feel a little more at ease. He wanted her to feel at ease.

Grace then led Belle around to Peter's side of the table, and to the empty chair beside him. "And please allow me to introduce you to my brother, Peter Denham. Peter, meet our friend, Belle Desjardins."

Desjardins. Peter repeated the name ten times over in his head in quick succession as he formulated his next sentence. He was an intelligent young man. Why did he feel like he had nothing but dust in his brain? It certainly felt that way when she opened her eyes and looked up at him, those golden irises were burning a hole on his mind that was quickly leaving it empty.

"I am d-diluted to make your acquaintance, Miss Desjardins." Peter bit down on his tongue, certain that he had pronounced her name correctly, but ... had he really just said that he was –

"Diluted?" Belle frowned. "I don't know this word."

There was a God.

And He clearly had a wicked sense of humour as Jem, the abominable brat that he was, burst into a fit of laughter from across the table.

Belle artfully removed her arm from Grace's and sat down in the chair that the footman had pulled out for her. Once she was seated, the men could once more as well.

Peter glared daggers at his brother, and once he was seated, he threw out his foot under the table in hope and was pleased when his boot made contact with what had to be Jem's shin.

Jem yelped, and quickly shut his mouth.

Once Belle was seated, Peter noticed that she seemed to make herself as small as possible. Or perhaps he was a little unused to a woman who was as little as she was. By his estimation, she would not have been more than ... perhaps fifty-seven or fifty-eight inches tall. She could easily be dwarfed by the grand dining room chair.

Delighted. Delighted. Peter repeated that word over and over in his head, as he prepared to rectify the beginning of their acquaintance. But as soon as he was ready to open his mouth, his mother claimed his attention.

God bless her, but he really did not want to be speaking about his business at that moment, a fact in itself that shocked him completely. All he could think about was the woman beside him probably thinking that he was a bloody fool who did not know how to speak properly.

Mrs Denham thankfully moved onto conversation with Claire after the first course, and Peter could finally turn his attention back to Belle. She had not spoken a word voluntarily. He had heard her respond to questions when she was asked, but she did not offer anything new to the conversation. She seemed very submissive, subservient, and timid in nature.

"I do beg your pardon, Miss Desjardins," Peter said finally, and, thankfully, correctly. "What I meant to say earlier was that I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

He was looking at her profile exactly, and he could hardly believe his eyes at the perfect lines that were her face. Her full lips parted as she gently turned her head to face him. Her eyes were lowered first, before she carefully looked up at him. "Thank you," she replied.

Peter's heart fell a little. He would never want to be rude, but it seemed like quite a rehearsed answer. Though, through listening to her while being engaged in conversation with his mother, a lot of her answers had appeared rehearsed. She didn't volunteer information. She did not contribute or ask her own questions –

"What does that word mean?"

Peter blinked, dumbfounded.

"I don't know it." Belle pursed her lips as she waited for him to answer.

Belle had asked him a question. And once again, every bit of knowledge that Peter possessed had promptly fallen out of his head. He was the first person that she had engaged with, and he was about to look like an utter fool in front of her for the second, or third time that evening.

Think Peter, he commanded of himself. He noticed that Belle had not touched her wine through the first, second, or the current course. "Are you going to drink your wine?" he asked, and Belle shook her head. "Would you pass me your glass?" The moment he asked the question, Peter thought better of it, and added, "I shall do it, not to worry."

But Belle had already begun to reach for her glass as Peter went to collect it. In doing this, Peter brushed the back of Belle's hand with his own, and anyone might have assumed that his hand was a scalding iron by the way that Belle pulled her own away and hid it under the table.

Peter froze, staring at her, a little startled, as he watched her shoulders rise and fall quite rapidly as she looked like she was ... panicking. Belle's eyes were lowered, and she looked to be whispering something to herself. Was this reaction all because he had touched her, albeit so briefly?

Belle did not like to be touched. It made her panic. Peter made this connection immediately when recalling how she had stiffened when Grace had taken her arm. And Peter suddenly felt very ashamed for questioning her, and for causing such a reaction himself.

Peter seized Belle's wine glass and collected his own water glass. His actions captured her attention, though her shoulders were still rising and falling quickly. Peter poured the remaining water from his glass into Belle's wine glass and watched as the deep red liquid softened to a dark pink.

"To dilute means to thin a solution with water," Peter explained. "Do you see?"

"I see," Belle whispered. "I understand this word."

And her shoulders eased. Peter smiled; he couldn't help it. He hoped that his little experiment had helped to calm her in some way. For his own pride, he was pleased that it had worked, and that he hadn't spilled the wine everywhere.

Peter wanted to apologise to her. Furthermore, he wanted to ask her what frightened her so. But now was neither the time nor the place, at least for the latter. And for the former, he did not want to draw attention to her. Belle did not seem like the sort of young lady who enjoyed any sort of attention.

But Peter did not want their conversation to end. Belle had already turned back to her own meal and had cut a piece of asparagus to put into her mouth. His eyes fell upon her place card and he had an idea.

"I find it a little fascinating that family names often have meanings. My own, Denham, for example, means village or valley, or something along those lines." Peter knew that his own name, really, was terribly dull. "Does your family name have a particular meaning?" he asked.

"Yes," Belle confirmed, her voice a little steadier. "I believe, in English, it means 'gardens', like outside with flowers."

Peter could not mask his smile. He found it very endearing that Belle had explained what a garden was to him. "How beautiful. And it is certainly very interesting. Is it occupational? Was your father a gardener, perhaps?"

"I do not know," Belle replied softly. "It is not my family name, as you say. I was found in a garden."

And whatever confidence that Peter had found to continue the conversation vanished as he had once again spoiled things with his own ignorance and folly. What sort of idiot asked a young lady such as Belle about her father without first knowing her situation? She was clearly a girl who had not known a gentle hand, and Peter was not helping the situation.

"I am sorry," Peter apologised immediately. "Please, forgive me. I do not know what I was thinking."

Belle was found in a garden. What a start to her life. The very knowledge of it affected Peter in quite an alarming way, and he could only begin to imagine how her life had progressed from there. He, of course, could discern the lack of a gentle hand. What trouble, what danger, what cruelty had she known?

All she had endured had led her to this, to this night, seated beside a blabbering boy who did not know the first thing about talking to a woman.

"Monsieur Denham," Belle said, capturing his attention immediately. She was looking at him, her head a little cocked to the side as she appraised him.

This very appraisal made Peter straighten his posture immediately.

"Sûr."

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Safe.

Hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for all your well-wishes - after some rest, my arms are feeling much better!

I took last night off and instead binged my way through the last few episodes of Lucifer and balled my freaking eyes out through the finale. I can't believe it's over. I have loved that show so muchhhhhhh.

Alright, skincare time and better hit the hay. Good night xx

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