Beauty and Her Beastly Love (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 2) (9 page)

“I trust you,” he said, taking a hand and wiping away her tears. “I trust you to come back and I trust you not to hurt me.”

Beauty stared, as if amazed. She bit her lip and frowned with worry. “What if someone I show it to calls you by your name?”

“No one can find this place. The enchantment prevents someone looking for it from finding it. I get the occasional straggler, like your father, but no one who comes looking for this place finds it. You don’t have to worry about that. Tell your father you made up the certificate and used the name of a long-lost count you heard about. No one will find me here. The carriage is enchanted and can always find its way back when saddled to a horse. Take the carriage to your father. If you go now, you might be able to make it before the last judge goes home. You may be able to get your father out tonight and settle him back at home. Stay with him a few days and then come back to me. The carriage will bring you back.”

Beauty hugged Beast, kissed him on the lips, a long, lingering kiss, grabbed the bags and headed to the door.

Beauty had been too wound up to do anything on the carriage ride but look out the window, searching for the familiar territory that was home. When she got to her father’s house, she found it boarded up, as she’d suspected, so she had the carriage take her straight to the jail. She had the gold and could pay her father’s debts.

Not sure how she could explain a driverless carriage — a horse that simply knew where to go because she commanded it — she had the carriage park a few blocks down, and walked the rest of the way. She’d left the Ferus Lucunditas book in the carriage, along with the bag of clothes she had packed and half of the gold roses. But she brought the satchel with her fake marriage certificate and five gold roses.

It was already dark outside now. This was good and bad. It meant her carriage without a driver at the reins was less likely to be noticed. But, it also meant the jailer might put her off until tomorrow. The value of the five roses she carried with her was more than double her father’s debt.

She passed a few people on the street, but not many. She was the only woman, and she began to wonder if it was a good idea to be out at this time of night. She sighed. It didn’t matter. She had to get her father.

She arrived at the jailer’s door and banged. There was silence, at first, and then someone came to the door, opened it a crack. It was Monsieur Rocharte, the jailer. “Beauty?” he said.

“Yes,” Beauty answered. “Let me in. I’ve come to get my father.”

M. Rocharte opened it further, allowing Beauty to enter. “Dear, your father can’t get out. He owes a great sum in debt. He is to be executed in two days. He also violated a contract for your betrothal.”

“He never signed a contract with M. Dumas,” Beauty said. “It was a verbal agreement. He changed his mind. However, he did sign a contract with my husband.”

M. Rocharte’s eyes widened. “Your husband?”

“Yes,” Beauty replied. “I am married. The beast was a representative of my husband, and my father signed a contract for my marriage.”

M. Rocharte shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Beauty. He’s already been sentenced. I can’t do anything. Only a judge can.”

Beauty reached into her satchel with both hands and pulled out a golden rose. “This is a gift,” she said, holding the flower out toward him. “It’s from my husband and myself to you. It’s to show our appreciation for your taking the time to bring a judge from his home so he can re-adjudicate the case with my new evidence. I have my marriage contract, as well as the payment for my father’s debts.”

M. Rocharte looked greedily at the rose and attempted to gingerly pick it up. Only it was too heavy. Astonishment, then pure avarice, filled his face. He took both hands, lifted the rose, and said to Beauty, “Lock the door when I leave, and do not open it until I come back.” She nodded and watched him leave in the night.

* * *

The power of gold still somewhat shocked and amazed Beauty. The judge convened court after hours, looked at Beauty’s marriage agreement, and took the gold flowers she had in repayment of the debt for M. Dumas. After receiving an extra gold flower for his own time and inconvenience, the judge ruled in favor of Pierre and ordered him released.

Beauty struggled with a weak Pierre to the carriage, which took them back home. In the carriage, she found an iron bar, which was just what she needed to pry loose the boarded door. She wondered briefly if the carriage were enchanted in the same way as the house — the thing she needed would be there. But, she didn’t have time to find out. She needed to get her father inside. He was shivering and gaunt.

Once she got them inside, she lit the fire, because it was freezing inside and her father seemed so cold. He’d been pudgy when she left him, but now he was all skin and bones. No telling what they had been feeding him. Probably bread crumbs and water. No vegetables, fruits, cheeses or meats, probably. She looked in the cupboards, but they were bare. Her father had been in that jail for months, and whatever had been in the home was gone. Perhaps it had been taken when they’d boarded it.

She went out back to the vegetable garden, to see if something, anything, had started to sprout again, but when she got there, it was just a pile of dead vines. It was still too cold. Maybe in a few weeks there would be something. She went in and looked at the rooms. Everything was gone. Everything. They had taken it all to pay her father’s debt to Dumas, and still they’d put him in prison. Still they’d planned to execute him. She needed to do something

She ran back out to the carriage and sat inside it. She closed her eyes and thought of a warm feather mattress wound into a roll. She opened her eyes, and there it was. She said a quick prayer of thanks that the carriage was as enchanted as the manor. Then, Beauty lugged the mattress inside and lay it on the floor a few feet from the fire. She told her father to lie on it, which he did, moving slowly as if the actions caused his bones to ache. She ran back to the carriage, conjured blankets and came back and covered her father. She spent the evening using the enchanted carriage to get the supplies her father and she would need to live for the next few weeks. Clothing, food, pots, pans, another mattress, firewood, seeds for the vegetable garden, more blankets, even a couple of chairs and a small table to eat at.

She had been thankful for the cover of darkness and the cottage’s secluded location. No one saw the magic that had come from the carriage. While she could have packed some of the things, there was no way all that she brought out of the carriage could have fit inside it.

Beauty was exhausted and went to sleep in her old room. She woke early in the morning to her father’s moans. She made him vegetable soup and gave him some bread. He ate that alright and went back to sleep.

He’d barely been awake during the hearing last night. He’d simply nodded when the judge asked if he’d signed the contract. Pierre was generally an honest man, but even he knew lying about that matter was best. Or perhaps he had been so out of it that he would have said yes to anything he thought would grant him freedom.

Beauty spent the next day nursing her father and trying to get the house in order for when she left again. Part of her wanted to take her father with her, to have him live in the enchanted manor with her and Beast. But she was afraid. Beast’s greatest gift to her, that phony marriage certificate, had exposed his real name. She’d told her father that the certificate was fake, that it was created to help her get out of this situation. But she worried that he might figure it out at some point. That he might call Beast Emile, and then, then…. The very thought of what would happen hurt her heart. She couldn’t take that chance. She would have to nurse her father back to health and get him prepared for life without her. She would go back to Beast and tell him she loved him. She would agree to be his wife.

But she needed her father safe and healthy first.

There was a knock on the door. Beauty went to answer it. When she opened it, she recognized the man immediately: M. Dumas. He was dressed in a fine suit, with a top hat hiding much of his sandy brown hair. His face was freckled, and he smiled crookedly at her. She had the urge to slam the door in his face.

“I’m Mathieu Dumas,” he said, tipping his hat. “May I come in, Mademoiselle?”

Beauty shook her head. “It’s Madame,” she corrected. “I am married, and I am sure my husband would not have the man who sought to steal me from him and imprison my father enter this home.”

Dumas’ smile faded, and his nostrils flared. “So, you still want me to believe that you have married someone else?”

“I have,” Beauty said. “And my husband sent gold to repay my father’s debt to you. The judge should have given it to you. Though, I must admit, given that you paid my father’s creditors, I was surprised to find the house empty when we returned the other day. I had to send my footman to bring us supplies.”

Dumas scowled. “So, where is this husband of yours, Monsieur de Verran?”

Beauty smiled and said the exact lie she’d told the magistrate during her father’s hearing. “He is a merchant and was due to meet his ship at port, just as we got word of my father’s imprisonment. He had our carriage packed and asked our footman to safely guide me home and collect my father. He will join us as soon as he can.”

“And your footman?” Dumas asked.

“He went into town to get provisions.”

“But he left the carriage and the horse?” Dumas asked, pointing to the horse tied to a post and the nearby carriage.

“There were two horses,” Beauty said. “He took one. Good day, M. Dumas.” She shut the door and locked it. Breathed out. She was now gladder than ever that her father had stumbled onto Beast’s manor. She could not imagine being married to that man. He was cruel and heartless. He would never have been gentle with her, not the way Beast was. He never would have read with her, laughed with her, listened to her.

She was glad to be rid of him.

* * *

Beauty spent the next weeks getting the place back into shape, tilling the garden, planting it, and nursing her father back to health. Pierre no longer woke up whimpering in the night, and he no longer had saggy folds of skin to indicate his impoverished waistline. He was getting healthier, and Beauty was glad of it.

She was sad, though. She had not seen Beast. She had expected him to look in on them, to project to her. She’d even tried talking to him at night, once her father was asleep. She had hoped that he would use his mirror to see her. She always apologized for taking so long and promised she would come back as soon as her father was in good health and he could take care of himself.

She thought that time had almost come, even though it was beyond the few days she had promised Beast.

That night, she made her father pheasant. She said she’d caught it out back, but it had really come from the carriage. She’d basted it well and made her father’s favorite sides of yams, braised beans and croissants.

“Father,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that I have to go soon. I have to go back to Beast.”

Her father looked up from his plate, a mix of shock and sorrow on his face. “Beauty, no. It’s too soon. And that creature,” he shivered as he spoke. “He was so ghastly.”

Beauty shook her head. “Father, I made a promise to him. He let me leave to come help you, but I promised I would go back. I will keep my promise to him, whether I want to or not.”

“Beauty,” her father said. “You shouldn’t go to this creature if you don’t want to. What about your husband?”

“Father, I told you that was all a lie. Beast created it for me, using the name of a count or duke or some such who disappeared years ago. I must go back with him. He’s not unkind to me, father.”

“Do you want to go?” her father asked.

Beauty paused, not sure what to say. Did she want to go back to Beast? Unequivocally, the answer was yes. But did she want to leave her father? No, she didn’t want that. And that really seemed to be what he was asking. “No, father,” she said. “I don’t want to leave you to go to him. But, I must.” She paused, thought a minute. “I would love to have you both in my life. He’s really not bad, father. He isn’t.”

“He just demands that you stay with him.”

She shook her head. “That’s just it,” she said. “He let me go, because he trusted me. He trusted me in a way that I can’t really explain to you, Papa, but it means a lot to me. And I can’t let him down. I don’t want to let him down.”

Her father looked quizzically at her. “So you do want to go back?”

She sighed. “I want to see him, but I don’t want to leave you.”

Her father nodded. “No, it’s alright,” he said. “All daughters must grow up and move on.”

Beauty nodded.

“Are the two of you married?” he asked her.

Beauty shook her head. “He always said I had a choice. He asked me to marry him, and I told him no. He never hurt me because I refused him. He’s only been good to me and, truthfully, I miss his kindness.”

Her father nodded. “I guess I knew you would go back to him,” her father said, then took a bite of his pheasant. “He wrote all those books that you love.”

Beauty stopped and stared at her father. “What?”

“Your Beast. His name is Ferus, right? He wrote the books.”

Beauty shook her head, still baffled by what her father was saying.

Pierre saw her confusion and started to explain. “I was looking for you earlier. Little did I know you were out hunting pheasant,” he said chuckling. “I went in your room and on top of your bag was one of the books. The one with the rose imprint and the name Ferus Lucunditas. I opened it, because it looked newer, and the dedication on the first page of the book was to you. It was signed, ‘Beast.’”

Beauty felt pure shock. She hadn’t read the book, even though he’d specifically said she should read it. She’d thought about opening it many times, but decided she wanted to read it with him. She’d been toying with reading it last night, but decided against it, thinking that reading it would make her miss him more. She’d just set it on her bag. Her father was staring at her, she realized. She wondered if all the color had drained from her face. That’s what it felt like. “Did you read the book, Father?” she asked, choking out the words.

Pierre shook his head. “I wanted to, but the book snapped shut, on its own.” He shuddered at the memory. “I figured it was one of his enchanted books, one that knew I wasn’t the owner and decided to shut me out.”