↳ You think that because you are rich, and my father is in… reduced circumstances, that you can have me for your possession! I suppose I should expect no less from someone in trade! I don’t want to possess you! I wish to marry you because I love you!
He never looked at her; and yet, the careful avoidance of his eyes betokened that in some way he knew exactly where, if they fell by chance, they would rest on her. If she spoke, he gave no sign of attention, and yet his next speech to any one else was modified by what she had said; sometimes there was an express answer to what she had remarked, but given to another person as though unsuggested by her.
I totally watched it from about half past eight at night to one in the morning, because I have lost control of my life. But it was good; really good. The woman grew on me episode by episode, and Richard of course was wonderful. I am such a sap for stories like this; love having no bounds, no class restrictions, true love conquers all.
Richard Armitage gives me way too many feelings for me to handle. I don’t know what to do now. Send help.
And can I just say that I love when she leaves the North, and he’s watching her carriage leave…and all he wants her to do is turn around…to look at him…like…
I would have looked, John. I’m just so in awe with him, seriously.
OR OR OR OR WHEN HE JUST SMILES AT HER WHEN THEY’RE AT PARTIES OR AT ONE ANOTHER’S HOUSE?
AND THAT KISS AT THE END OH MY GOD. My face literally turned into that heart eyes emoji. The way John Thornton looks at Margaret when he kisses her, and how fucking delicate he is with her, GUH.
TALK ABOUT HARRY POTTER AND THAT TIME I COULD NOT EVEN.
AND THEN…AND THEN WHEN HE SEES HER IN THE REFLECTION OF THE TRAIN AT THE STATION AND REALIZES THAT SHE’S STAYING WITH HIM:
Clearly I loved North and South, and I loved him in it.
I did as I set out to do last night, and that is fall in love with this man all over again. But I didn’t just once, I did about twenty to thirty times. Not sorry.
Summary: Eager to provide for her parents and herself, Belle French accepts Neal Cassidy’s marriage proposal. She is upset when his father, the haughty Mr. Gold, opposes the match. The situation takes an awkward turn when she becomes attracted to her future father-in-law. Edwardian Era, Historical AU.
Notes: Not beta-ed, expect mistakes.
Special thanks to @onceuponanovel for the lovely artwork. I love you, sissy!
April 1915 Storybrooke Belle planted herself on the window seat, resting her shoulder against the frame and sniffed the fragrant breeze that wafted through her open window. Outside her bedroom window were clusters of lilac trees, which had recently opened up and bloomed. Blossoming lilacs were always a sure sign of spring.
Cracking open “North and South,” she traced over the words and picked up where she left off: Mr. Thornton’s proposal to Margaret Hale and her prompt rejection. She had only read the book a hundred times or so but it never got old. Not on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
The soft tap of kid boots on the kitchen hardwood floor informed Belle that her mother was near. Belle’s bedroom was just off the kitchen and it was situated so that she could hear all of the commotion that went on in there. There were many conversations that she eavesdropped on when she was a curious, young girl. A knock sounded and her mother entered. Mother’s cheeks were flushed, piquing Belle’s interest. Her mother never rushed about. Her pace was always slow and her steps dainty.
Mr. Thornton did not speak, and she went on looking for some paper on which were written down the proposals for security; for she was most anxious to have it all looked upon in the light of a mere business arrangement, in which the principal advantage would be on her side. While she sought for this paper, her very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in which Mr. Thornton spoke. His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, as he said:–
“Margaret!” For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by dropping her forehead on her hands. Again, stepping nearer, he besought her with another tremulous eager call upon her name.
“Margaret!” Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face, almost resting on the table before her. He came close to her. He knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and whispered-panted out the words:–
“Take care.–If you do not speak–I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way.–Send me away at once, if I must go;–Margaret!–’” At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder, hiding it even there; and it was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close. But they both kept silence. At length she murmured in a broken voice:
“Oh, Mr. Thornton, I am not good enough!"
"Not good enough! Don’t mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness.”