Beauty Meets her Beast Ch. 01

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A retelling of the traditional story.
5.3k words
4.47
79.4k
134

Part 1 of the 7 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 03/01/2015
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peaches07
peaches07
456 Followers

To readers of my other stories: This one is different. It started out as a short story in my 'fairy tales' line, but I quickly realized I had much more story to tell here. The build-up is slower and longer, the character development more in depth, and the sex scenes, once you get to them, are more 'flowery' than my other works, although still rooted in non-con. The resemblances to REBECCA are quite intentional, and I hope you enjoy the melding of the two stories. Feedback and constructive criticism would be welcome.

*****

The day my father lost our family fortune is the day my life truly began. I'd grown up rich and fairly spoiled, though I like to think it didn't corrupt my personality completely, as it had my elder two sisters. A merchant who had found success early on, my father was eager to take risks, and in large they paid off for him. His wealth increased, and with it his ability to take larger risks which paid off in larger and larger profits. A single streak of bad luck turned out to be his downfall. One small misfortune led to another and another, and he threw his funds at the issues with abandon in an attempt to recover. Jealous competitors took the opportunity to turn his creditors against him, and paid off other merchants to avoid doing business with him. The whole debacle culminated in his largest gamble of all - a game of cards. He'd always been lucky and he risked too much - everything we had, in fact.

We three sisters knew nothing of his troubles until the night he came home, broke and desolate, to tell us that we were now poor and must give up our fine things and our stately home. Where we would go, he did not know. My sisters sobbed uncontrollably, beside themselves with grief over the loss of their beautiful dresses and the luxurious lifestyle they'd become accustomed to. I attempted to console our father, though my own head was reeling from the shock and worry of it all.

"I'm glad your mother never lived to see this, Beauty," he cried into my shoulder. "I should die from the shame." I started slightly at the use of my childhood nickname. When I was a young girl, I had been unimpressed with the name Belle, likening it to the giant bells in the church tower that were always waking me up far too early every Sunday to summon the faithful worshipers. My father had explained that Belle meant beautiful woman, not the bells of the tower. Unimpressed, I scoffed that I'd rather be called Beauty so no one else was confused. It became something of a family joke and the nickname persisted throughout most of my childhood, though its use tapered off as I began to mature.

"Where are we to go? What will become of us?" My eldest sister Margaret was inconsolable. She snuffled into her silk sleeves and even used her finest lace handkerchief to actually dab at her eyes, a sure sign of her deep distress, for she never used those articles for anything but show before. Mary, our other sister, clutched her handbag to her chest tightly, as if the answers to all our problems lay inside and must be protected. Tears streamed down her face and she silently sobbed, a peculiar wheezing sound coming from deep in her throat.

"I shall write to our cousin," said Father, "I have been kind enough to him when I had the means, perhaps now he can return the favor."

**

We were allowed to remain in our home for a time, although solicitors were in and out all day long, and most of our belongings were removed. We girls were given simpler garments that had once been set aside for our servants. This sent Mary and Margaret into fresh horrors, though with any choice in the matter removed, they soon learned to sullenly adapt to the coarser, more modest dresses. I bemoaned the loss of my own things; my books, my lovely little herb garden I'd so carefully cultivated for years, the china tea set that had once belonged to our mother that was my special prize. I tried not to let Father see my distress, and to put on a brave face for him and my sisters.

Father did hear back from our cousin before very long, and the news was somewhat of a relief to us all. There was a small farm in the next village over from where he lived, and he was willing that we should move in and take it over, with a break from the usual rent he charged until we were settled in and turning a profit from the farm. The prospect of farm life horrified my sisters, who had never cleaned or cooked a day in their lives. Privately I had my own concerns for myself, but a small hope that I could begin my gardening again and make it useful to us, somehow. We packed up the few belongings we'd been allowed to keep and began the arduous cross-country journey to our new village, Eastwatch.

The journey was long, and dirty. We learned more about ourselves and each other in those weeks spent cramped together in a small wagon than we had previously our whole life. We learned to cook - not well, but enough to eat - and to wash our own clothes, with help from other kindly passing travelers. Margaret sobbed when her first finger calluses began to form, the loss of her lady's hands hitting a new low for her. I missed my soft, comfortable shoes and my warm bed, but I never complained to Father. He heard enough of it from my sisters.

We reached our new home and settled in as best we could. Farm life was difficult to adjust to, but we tried. The neighboring villagers were curious, our unusual circumstances drawing in their questions as well as their kindly advice. Small gifts were made by the most generous; a pat of butter here, a morsel of salt pork there. What with one thing and another, we began to develop a routine and to actually grow comfortable in our new life.

Rumors abounded throughout Eastwatch of the mysterious Lord of the province. It was whispered that he was a monster, cruel and hideous, who stayed in his castle and never came out. 'He's disfigured' whispered the girl in the marketplace. 'he eats small children who don't obey their parents,' chided the old ladies. 'he's an immortal monster, sent to terrorize us' jawed the old men around their hearthfires. Monster or no, he was a recluse, and we never saw him.

Months after our new life began, Father received a letter from the city. A ship that had been presumed lost had come into harbour, and Father was summoned to the city to take account. There was great excitement in our home that evening. My sisters fairly drooled over the prospect of having money again, and even I began to think with longing of how some money could ease our burdens. My father began to prepare for the journey.

"What can I bring back for my girls?" he asked us over our last dinner together.

"Finer dresses!" Piped up Mary immediately, then had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Or perhaps some new fabric, to make a new dress," she amended.

"Please Father, some gloves," pleaded Margaret, casting a glance at her callused, freckled hands. "at least I could protect them from the sun."

"The finest lady's gloves," promised Father, "and of course new fabric. Rolls of the most beautiful I can find. But Beauty, what about you?"

"I don't need anything, Father. Just for you to return safely."

"Please, dear, there must be something you desire." I thought for a moment. My little herb garden was flourishing and I had learned to care for other food bearing plants as well, but I longed for something pretty to look at sometimes.

"Rose seeds?" I asked. "If it's not too much trouble. I'd love to see them in full bloom around our house."

"Of course!" Father smiled, and we were all filled with hope. We settled into bed early that night, and Father left the next morning at first light. Our lives went on more or less the same without him, and before we knew it two months had passed and we began to anticipate his return. The weather turned cold and we feared that a snowstorm might keep him from us longer, a fear that unfortunately turned out to be true, and the very thing that would tear me from my family.

A blizzard struck the town of Eastwatch. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but whiteness. The snow swirled all through the night, building higher and thicker as we fervently prayed that Father was safe somewhere, and warm. Margaret swore she would not mind forgoing the gloves, if only he would return safely. In the morning, the snow had stopped, but the world seemed empty, too quiet. We couldn't hear anything or see anything but snow. It felt as if we were the only people left in the world, as if the blizzard had wiped out all traces of the human race save our little home. Through the silence and the white, Father appeared on the horizon.

We ran to him, eager to relieve him of his burdens and bring him in to warm by the fire. Upon reaching him, we drew back in concern. He looked so haggard, he appeared to have aged years, and it wasn't just his unkempt traveling beard. His eyes lit up briefly when he saw us, but quickly the joy turned to something else... sadness perhaps. We hustled him in to the hearth and plied him with hot tea and a biscuit, anxiously awaiting his news, whatever it might be. In time, as his hands warmed and steadied, and his tea cup was emptied and refilled, the story came out.

The ship, as it turned out, had already been plundered by pirates and was nearly stripped bare save a few items the crew had hidden. The trip had been almost worthless for him. After paying the crew what he owed them and covering his lodging, he had barely enough for the return trip, let alone fine silks and gloves.

"It pained me to return without the gifts for you girls," said Father, looking at Margaret and Mary. For some reason, he had avoided eye contact with me since returning, but I was too concerned over him to give it much thought. Margaret and Mary instantly shushed him, making the proper noises over concern only for his health and well being.

His return trip had been uneventful until yesterday. When the snow had started, he had foolishly thought that he was close enough to home to beat the worst of it and attempted to put extra speed into his mount, spurring the nag on through the whiteness. Before long, he was lost. He found himself wandering in circles through unknown woods, and began to despair of ever finding his way home, when he came upon a castle gate. Expecting it to be locked, he wheeled the horse around and pushed on it anyway, surprised when it silently slid backwards, baring the path to the castle to him. He pressed onward, unsure what to expect, but willing to risk danger for a chance to live through the blizzard.

Upon reaching the castle, he found the stable, warm and inviting, and left his horse there. Hoping to meet with a friendly host and hospitality, he continued to the castle. Again he pressed against the doors, and again they fell open, so he proceeded forward, hallooing as he basked in the warmth from the fire of the Great Hall he found himself in. There was a table laid before the fire, and when he lifted a cloche a plate of steaming food greeted him. His stomach growled and he fell on the food before he stopped to think, only realizing after he'd finished what he'd done. He called out again, but still received no response. His stomach full, his body warm, he soon began to feel sleepy. The chaise lounge nearby was equipped with a warm fur, and before he knew it he was passed out.

He swore he woke up and heard rustling, saw the glimpse of a shadow, but when he called out there was no response, and sleep quickly reclaimed his exhausted body. In the morning he woke to the roaring fire, a sure sign that someone must have been there and tended to it while he slept, and the table laid out again for breakfast. He ate with gusto, a rasher of bacon and fresh eggs washed down with copious amounts of strong tea. When he'd eaten his fill, he stopped to look around again, hoping to thank his host. He saw and heard no one, so with resignation, he began to attach his cloak and make ready for the journey home, when the table decoration caught his eye. A single rose had been placed in a bud vase in the center of the table. In his hunger, he hadn't noticed it earlier, but now it stood out to him. Thinking of his daughter's plea for rose seeds, he thought that perhaps he could take her a single rose, and at least that would be something. He plucked it from the vase and tucked it carefully inside his jacket lapel to protect to it from the cold. As he made for the door, he heard footsteps behind him - heavy ones. He turned to face one of the largest men he'd ever seen.

The man was tall, well over six feet and probably close to seven. He had broad shoulders and a large, muscular build, but what stood out most was his face. The right half was scarred horribly,a string of gash-like scars stretching from forehead to beneath his shirt collar. It looked as if he'd been mauled by an animal.

"How dare you!" fumed the man, and Father stepped back in fear. "How dare you, to take one of my roses, which I value above all, after I fed and sheltered you for the night! I hope it was a peaceful sleep, for it will surely be your last." He had nearly reached father at this point, and Father fell to his knees to beg for mercy. His story came pouring out: the ship, his daughters, the journey home through the blizzard. He explained his desire to bring his daughter a rose only, not to offend his most gracious host. The man pressed for details of the daughter, and after he appeared to have received information to his satisfaction, he introduced himself.

This was no ordinary rich gentleman, this was the lord of our province, Lord August. After proper introduction, Father begged his lord for a boon, for forgiveness. Lord August gazed into the distance.

"I know they speak tales of me in the village. Do they speak of my marriage?" he asked.

"Marriage?" stammered Father, for this was the first he had heard of it.

"I was married. My wife, rest her soul, was obsessed with roses. I built a magnificent greenhouse for her, so she could have them year round. I keep them in her honor." Father blurted out more apologies, condolences for the loss of the lord's wife, but they fell on deaf ears. "The penalty for stealing roses is death." Father fell to the ground in misery. "However," Lord August spoke again. "you have intrigued me with your stories. I will let you go, and let you live, on one condition. You send your daughter, this one you call Beauty to me. I will let her work off your debt. Long has this castle been without feminine charms, perhaps it is time we changed that."

"Surely you don't believe I would subject my daughter to such debasement!" objected Father, and the lord laughed.

"Rest assured, I will not force myself on the girl. I mean only that she may work off your debt in my greenhouse, by caring for the flower you would have stolen from me. She will not be mistreated." Father tried to voice objections again, but the lord cut him off. "Go now, before I change my mind. My squire will escort you to the edge of the forest and point you towards the village. Send me your daughter within the week, or I will come and mete out your death sentence myself in front of your girls." A young boy appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and helped Father off the floor. He guided him firmly out the door by his elbow, Father still looking back and begging that his daughter be spared. The lord turned his back and left the room, and Father saw no choice but to go with the squire. He tried asking the boy questions about his master, but the lad only shook his head and pointed at this throat, indicating his muteness. It was a fairly short journey to the forests edge, and the boy pointed to father which way he must continue. Father thanked him and went on his way, scarcely able to believe the events of the morning.

"And that brings us up to now," Father finished his story sadly. "Of course, I will return, before he comes for me and receive my punishment."

"You will do no such thing," I said. "I will go. This sentence of caring for roses is not so harsh. Certainly it's better than your death! How long can it take to work off one rose anyway? A few months, perhaps. You will hardly have a chance to miss me." Father objected, but after my sisters took up my part he found himself without a leg to stand on and resigned himself to my fate. I put on my brave face and declared that I would set forth the next day, for the sooner I started working, the sooner I would be done. I brooked no argument on this point from my family, and we spent a close, if quiet night as a family together again.

*

In the morning, I slipped out before my sisters or father awoke. I couldn't bear the long, tearful goodbyes I knew were imminent. I left a note on the kitchen table, put on my best walking shoes, ans set out on the path Father had detailed for me the night before. It was still chilly from the snow, and I wrapped my cloak about me tighter. Soon came sunrise and the cold in the air abated slightly. The sky was lit up in glorious shades of pink and orange, which I decided to interpret as a good omen for my new circumstances. The path was still broad and easy to find despite the snow, and all too soon I arrived at the castle gates. As they had for Father, they swung open easily at my touch. It was but a short walk to the castle, and I braced myself as I pushed the door open. What would I find on the other side?

There was a blazing fire in the Great Hall, as there had been for Father. I nervously called hello, wondering if there would be anyone around or if I would be expected to take care of myself. To my relief, there was a scuffling and a large woman appeared from behind a screen.

"We didn't expect you so early," she said, coming toward me. "You are Beauty, aren't you?"

"Actually, it's Belle," I corrected. The woman smirked slightly and came to a halt in front of me.

"You may call me Mrs. Delver," she said. "I'll show you to your room." I followed her from the Great Hall as she set off at an impressive clip for a woman of her size and age. We went through twists and turns and up staircases till I was completely lost. Finally she stopped in front of a set of double doors. She opened them to reveal a fine estate room, complete with a four poster bed and a magnificent window overlooking the grounds.

"There must be some mistake," I stuttered. "I'm here to work off a debt..."

"His lordship was very specific about your room," said Mrs. Delver. "I trust you can get by without a lady's maid, a common girl such as yourself?" The snide tone of her voice told me exactly how she felt about me being given such quarters.

"Yes, of course," I responded, still in awe of the fine room, and wondering what kind of work I was going to be doing exactly that merited such a room. Surely pruning and weeding a few roses didn't earn a girl a place like this.

"His lordship expects to see you at dinner. Down the hall to your right, second set of stairs, then right again. You'll find a suitable dress in the wardrobe." She sniffed a little at my plain dress as she spoke, and wheeled and was halfway down the hall before I could ask what on earth she meant by dinner with his lordship. Lords did not dine with girls from the village. I was filled with trepidation. What did this all mean? I stepped into my new room to look around. The coverlet on the bed was a masterpiece all on its own, covered with intricate embroidery of flowers and birds. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. The four poster frame itself was impressive, made of some dark, sturdy wood I didn't recognize. It was smooth and cool to the touch, and I marveled at the thought of sleeping in such a bed.

I opened the wardrobe and it was indeed full of beautiful gowns, most finer than what I'd worn in the city even when we had money. This lord was obviously very well-to-do, to waste such garments on well, a gardener. I pawed through them, wondering which one would be suitable for me to wear to dinner. I settled on a deep crimson gown that was lovely and lush to the touch but also quite modest. All the dresses appeared to be slightly too long for me, and as I changed into the crimson dress I wondered who they had been made for originally. Was it possible these were his lordship's wife's dresses? Or a mother, or sister perhaps. I picked up the overlong skirt and examined myself in the mirror. I didn't know what to do with my hair, so I left it in the messy bun that had become habit for me since we moved to the country. In the city my lady's maid would pin and curl and tuck it for me, but it was all I could manage to pin it up off my face and hope it stayed there. To my surprise, the window showed me the shadows outside had grown long and dark, and I realized it must be nearly time for dinner. How quickly the day had passed!

peaches07
peaches07
456 Followers
12