Work Text:
Lest My Jewel It Should Tyne
UN
Belle fell back on the pillows, exhausted. Beads of sweat trickled down her brow, and she could feel the dampness collecting stickily at the small of her back. She was aware of the bustle going on in the room about her, but she couldn't bring herself to pay attention to anything other than the pain, ebbing for now. Mrs. Potts smoothed her hair back tenderly, wiping the sweat away with a towel. Belle reached out, and Mrs. Potts grasped her hand firmly. She allowed herself a couple of tears, telling herself that it was perfectly normal to cry right now. It was expected, many women did it, it was nothing extraordinary.
And then the pain began again. Her moment of respite over, Belle gritted her teeth. Her hand gripped Mrs. Pott's like an iron clamp, and a half-strangled yell came out of her.
"Doesn't this ever stop?!" she cried after the contraction had gone. "It's been hours, why isn't it out yet?"
"There, Belle," Mrs. Potts said soothingly. "This is far from the longest birth I've seen, and not even close to being the most difficult. You'll be fine, it'll come when it'll come."
"That's not helping!" Belle snapped. "I haven't had any sleep for the past day and a half! These bloody pains are getting more intense and more frequent by the hour! And you all keep saying it's not ready yet!" She threw her head back on the pillow, thankful that she'd loosened her hair earlier. The last thing she needed was pins sticking in her head at a moment like this. Belle squeezed her eyes shut and threw her hands over her face, missing a look between Mrs. Potts and the midwife who was stationed at the other end of the bed.
"Actually, Your Highness," the midwife said in a surprisingly delicate voice for someone with so strong a build, "I reckon your baby's just about ready to come out."
"What?" Belle asked weakly. She propped herself up on her elbows to look the midwife in the eye. "He's ready?"
"Yes," she said. "Get ready now, Your Highness. This'll be the worst part, but if you're strong it'll be over soon and you'll have your child in no time."
Belle nodded, grabbing Mrs. Potts' hand, and braced herself for the next set of contractions.
---
DEUX
After the climactic argument they'd had in January over children, both Belle and Adam had relaxed about the subject. They both still held the opinions they had before; it wasn't the right time, what with revolution potentially around the corner, their fairly new marriage, and the fact that they had royal duties to fulfil that didn't involve children as well as those that did. But they had come to the (reluctant, on Belle's part) agreement that while they wouldn't be actively trying, if something happened it was clearly meant to be. And while something happened barely three weeks after their fight, Belle didn't realise it until two months later.
"Is that another dress that won't fit right?" Madame Armoire asked, pulling a trifle impatiently at Belle's stays.
"I don't know what to tell you, Madame," Belle said helplessly. "It must be stress from the trade negotiations with Italy. I can't keep anything down in the mornings, but I'm gaining weight somehow. All these brighter lights have been giving me headaches, too! I'm just sorry I'm inconveniencing you so much - it can't be that long since the last time you had to take out a dress."
"Oh, dear, it's no inconvenience!" Belle smiled at Madame's attempt to make her feel better. "Maybe just wear a looser dress today, Belle honey." As the wardrobe mistress turned back to get a larger dress, Belle's gaze flickered to the mirror in front of her. Her chemise was simple and snug underneath the layers she usually wore, and Belle felt relieved at the prospect of being a little less tied in that day. She drummed her fingers absently on her abdomen. Even her chemise was fitting her tighter than usual these days. The other times Belle had gained and lost weight at the castle, it was often only the dresses themselves that needed altering. Just stress, she thought. The trade negotiations have only been on for a week. It'll end soon.
Only been on for a week . . .
A small frown creased Belle's forehead. It had been a busy week, yes, but her dresses had been feeling tighter for longer than that. Her nausea had started a few days before the Italians had arrived, too. Coincidence, she thought. Still . . . Belle's mind tiptoed around the idea. She tried to remember the last time she'd had her courses. That could be caused by anything! she thought. And yet the hope half-lingered within her, like a candle sputtering through the last few centimetres of wax. Belle turned to look at herself side-on in the mirror. She gasped.
"Belle?" Madame Armoire asked. "Is something wrong?"
"No," she said, inexpressible joy filling her heart. She placed her hand on her stomach, which held a slight but definite curve. "Quite the opposite, actually." Belle knew from her face the instant Madame Armoire figured it out. She embraced her, and Belle laughed into her shoulder. "Could you get my husband?"
"Of course, Belle," she smiled. "I'll let you tell him."
"I can't wait to see the look on his face," Belle grinned. Madame Armoire left the room, and Belle turned back to the mirror. Still flushed with excitement, her face grew thoughtful as she stroked her stomach. "A baby," she whispered. "We're having a baby."
---
TROIS
Clarisse was fifteen when she made her official debut at the Royal Court. Belle let Mrs. Potts and Madame Armoire (and their small army of assistants) fuss about her for the best part of two hours, before she gently shooed them away.
"Thank you, Mama," Clarisse said as soon as the door was shut. "I know they mean well, but having so many people around -"
"You don't need to explain yourself to me," Belle smiled. "You're so like your father sometimes it's frightening." She drew closer to Clarisse, who still stood ramrod-straight. "Relax, my jewel. I know you're laced up, but you're allowed to breathe - there's no firing squad waiting outside."
Clarisse did relax a little at her mother's words. She brushed a stray curl away from her face, and smoothed her hands over her dress. "Do I look alright?" she asked, looking the very picture of calm if you ignored the tapping of her feet. Her skirts swished around a little, sea-green with crystals sewn into the tulle underskirt.
"Beautiful," Belle said, walking over and kissing her cheek.
"Mama," she blushed. "You don't need to flatter me. I know I'm too short and my hair is the wrong colour. Even Aunt Elle said that my face had 'character' rather than beauty."
"Good things come in small packages, your hair looks wonderful against the green of your dress, and there's not a prince in Europe who could bag a better hunting prize or skate faster. Beauty isn't everything, Clarisse." Belle stroked her face. "But you have always been beautiful to me. Ever since the day you were born."
"You're my mother; it's practically illegal if you don't tell me I'm pretty. And I mean, sure it's a pretty dress, but beautiful people look beautiful all the time, not just when they're in all their finery." Belle frowned a little.
"You're not beautiful because of the way you look, Clarisse. It's your self that's beautiful. You could see the most attractive person in the world, and think them ugly because of their selfishness or greed or laziness." She looked straight into her daughter's eyes, level with her own - and when did that happen, that growth spurt that placed them at the same height - and held eye contact, to be sure that Clarisse understood. "You are kind, and well-mannered, and intelligent. It's those qualities that make you beautiful, jewel." Clarisse blushed, but Belle kept talking. "Listen to me. When I say you're beautiful, I'm talking about all of that - all of you. Aunt Elle says your face has character. That's her way of saying you're beautiful. Papa says you're excellent on a horse - that's his way. Uncle Louis has commended your wit to everybody in attendance tonight every year since you could talk. All these nobles have to do is hear you speak, and they'll love you."
"But what if they don't?!" Her eyes were a little frantic, now that she was admitting to her nerves. "What if I say something stupid, or I trip and fall over, or nobody wants to listen to what I have to say?"
"Remember it's just Uncle Louis and Aunt Elle up there. They already love you, and they'll take care of you tonight." A manservant discreetly coughed, and Belle held her daughter close. "I'll be two steps in front of you, all the way. And tomorrow you can go riding with the other lords and ladies. You'll be fine. I felt just as nervous the first time I came to Court."
"Thank you, Mama," Clarisse said. "You always know how to make me feel better."
"That's what I'm here for," Belle said, and then she was whisked away with Adam to the ballroom.
---
QUATRE
Adam paced the floor urgently. He hadn't seen Belle since the previous morning, when her face had blanched over at the breakfast table and she had doubled over in pain. He'd immediately rushed to her side, but he'd no sooner got there than she was sitting upright again, reaching out to give him a fond kiss and a smile. Immediately, she'd been whisked away by Mrs. Potts, while Cogsworth had been instructed to alert the midwife. Adam had followed Belle and Mrs. Potts up to the hallway leading to the room they had chosen for her to give birth in before he was stopped.
"Mrs. Potts -"
"Master, forgive the impertinence, but this is women's work," she said. "I've known you since you were a child, sir, and you'll fuss about her every time she has a contraction. You'll frighten her." She must have seen the barely-concerned fear in his eyes, because she softened her no-nonsense tone for her next words. "This is her first child, so it may take a while."
"How long?" he asked, already worrying at his lip.
"Hours. Maybe a whole day. It varies." Behind the closed door, he heard Belle grunt in pain, and his feet ached to be in there with her.
"Master, you don't have to worry. I'll take good care of her. Try to prepare the nursery, or get some work done."
"Do you honestly think I could work at a time like this?" he asked frantically. He was dangerously close to shouting, but he knew it wouldn't help Belle stay calm
"Your father was the same when you and Charmant were born, you know," Mrs. Potts smiled. "At least make sure to get some rest at night. Your wife will be exhausted once she's finished, and we don't need you too tired to function as well." With that she had patted his cheek and disappeared into the room, leaving Adam to linger outside.
Somebody - probably Cogsworth - had spread the word throughout the castle, because nobody approached Adam except to bring him some food at the usual mealtimes. Every time a maid emerged from the room, he rushed up to her and asked what was happening in there - if Belle was alright, if everything was going as planned, if there was something he could do. He tried not to feel sick, when nearly six hours later one unlucky maid brought out a whole pile of wet, stained cloths. She reassured him that they were just used to clean Belle, mop up any sweat and give a little relief, before she bustled back into the room.
He tried not to dwell on the fact that hundreds of women died in childbirth. He especially tried not to remember that his mother had been one of them.
---
CINQ
Belle had refused to stop being active just because of her pregnancy. Much to Cogsworth's horror, and Mrs. Potts' disapproval, she had continued to climb the library ladders and run around outside, much the same way as she had before.
"They're only worried about you," Adam said one lazy day in early June. He was sat under the fir tree, a favourite spot of theirs. Belle lay on her back perpendicular to him, her head on his lap, looking up at the sun shining through the leaves. Her pregnancy bump was pronounced enough that even though she was lying flat, it was still visible. Adam ran his fingers through her loose hair. "And to be fair, nobody thought climbing the library ladders was a good idea even when you weren't pregnant."
"That's just because they didn't think I'd do it," she said. "And I don't need to be handled delicately with fine gloves like a china doll. You know what farmer's wives do when they fall pregnant in villages?"
"What?" Adam asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
"Keep working," she said. It didn't have much venom in it, though.
"Well, despite what you say, I for one am glad that you're not a farmer's wife," he said, lifting her hand and kissing it. "I'd hate to see you doing physical labour when you're trying to grow a person at the same time."
"Are you doubting my multi-tasking skills?" Belle mocked.
"Never," Adam said. "Only on pain of death." Belle laughed, cheerful and musical, and suddenly froze. "Belle?" Fear sparked within Adam, and he suddenly had all sorts of horrible visions in his head of Belle sick, the baby ill, something happening to the both of them.
"No, sweetheart, I'm alright," she rushed. "I just . . . I felt him move."
"You did?" Adam was bolt upright, and he hesitantly reached out a hand.
"He's stopped," Belle said regretfully. "I'm . . . I'm not sure you'd even be able to feel it."
"He'll do it again, I'm sure," Adam said. He tried to school his voice to seem easy and relaxed, but really he was practically bouncing with excitement.
"Help me up?" Belle asked.
"Why?"
"You're jiggling your leg, and it's really annoying when I've got my head in your lap."
"Alright," he said. "And right on cue," he added as he helped her up. A soft wind blew through her hair, copper strands highlighted by the sun. "I can see Cogsworth looking for us, as usual."
"I suppose we should go back in, then," Belle sighed. "I'll see you later?"
"Later," he promised. He kissed her, pressing her close. He could feel her larger belly pressing against him already. It both frightened and excited Adam beyond all measure that in less than half a year, they would have a child of their own.
---
SIX
What caught Belle's attention in the room, for the first time in about twelve hours, had only been there for thirty seconds. Her legs were burning with all the work she'd put in, her body was exhausted, and up until this point she had begun to think that the child was never coming out. Despite what the midwife had said, it had taken another hour or so, and Belle had felt just about ready to give up. She worked her aching muscles one last time, tears streaming down her face. And suddenly, there was a baby in the room.
Her baby.
A second ago Belle had felt like she was sleepwalking through birth. Now, she couldn't feel more awake. She watched as the midwife took her baby away, cut it and rinsed it and dried it. It had started crying plaintively, and Belle suddenly wanted to have it near her more than anything. Belle sat up, and Mrs. Potts hurriedly propped up some pillows for her to lean on. She wanted to thank her, but she also wanted to see her baby, to hold it close and marvel at it. The midwife walked over, and the bundle in her arms - it was so tiny.
"Perfectly healthy, I assure you," the midwife said, and Belle realised she'd spoken her last thought aloud. "All ten fingers and all ten toes. And a powerful set of lungs. She'll be a loud one."
"She?" Belle asked, and the relief of finally knowing did nothing to make her want less.
"A daughter, Your Highness," the midwife said, and finally she handed the baby to Belle.
She was so much smaller than Belle had anticipated. Her little arms and legs kicked wildly, her hands bunched into fists. Her face was bright red - really, her whole body was - and her eyes screwed up as she cried. Soft, downy hair covered her head, its colour indeterminate. Belle didn't realise she was crying until she saw the teardrops on her daughter's face. My daughter. She pressed a kiss to the baby's head, and cooed gently. At the sound of Belle's voice, the baby seemed to calm a little, and Belle rocked her back and forth a little. She opened her eyes, and they were a deep, dark blue.
"Eye colour can change, Majesty," the midwife said. "I wouldn't set blue in stone."
Belle could only nod. She had barely been in the world for five minutes, and already she loved the baby with a fierce, deep affection.
"Call Adam," she managed eventually. "And notify everybody else. Tell them the good news." The midwife nodded, and pointed at a young maid who scurried out the room.
Mrs. Potts lingered by her side, while the midwife washed her hands and arms. "I know you and the Master had settled on a name for a son."
"Alexandre," she murmured. "We had debated Marie, for a girl. But she doesn't seem like a Marie to me."
"Marie would have followed tradition," Mrs. Potts said, although it wasn't sternly.
"Since when have we ever followed tradition?" Belle asked. "No, we need to think about a name together. One that suits this girl perfectly."
"Do you have any other ideas?" Mrs. Potts asked.
"My grandmother's, maybe. It was a lovely name." Belle smiled at the baby, even though she was starting to cry again. "I mean, goodness knows how many other names she'll have foisted on her to satisfy all the relatives, but I'd like to know her as just one name, not Marie-Eugenie-Joseph-Phillipe-Hélène. Just one name. No matter what it'll be."
---
SEPT
A matronly lady leaned over to Belle as Clarisse walked into the ballroom, straight and tall, and said, "Your children are a credit to you. How many do you have?"
"Three living," Belle replied. "I see you've recognised my daughter coming in. My son is with the younger children over by the table, and we have another son at home."
"Why not bring him?" the matron asked.
"He's only a few months old," Belle replied. "We wanted him to be a little older before bringing him to court; we don't come often, and while it's a nice thing for the children to remember or look forwards too, it's such a fuss at the time." She laughed self-deprecatingly.
"Understandable," the matron said with a smile of understanding. "I felt the same with my children. It's so strange to see them all grown up - some even have their own children here!" She chuckled heartily, then seemed to remember her manners. "What are your children's names?"
"Clarisse and Louis Charles are here tonight, Georges is at home." Eugénie, Hélène, and Joseph-Phillipe are also at home.
"Delightful. I look forwards to meeting your daughter." The matron curtseyed. Behind her, Clarisse gracefully extended her hand towards her uncle, for him to formally introduce her. He kissed it paternally before leading her to the lord next to him, an older man with a friendly twinkle in his eye. Belle could see when her trained poise gave way to genuine relief, but to anyone other than herself or Adam, it would have been unobservable.
"I'm sure she'll be glad to meet you," Belle smiled.
---
HUIT
Clarisse was about six months old when her eyes finally settled on a colour. Belle was leaning over the crib to say good morning to her, when she suddenly noticed their hue.
"Adam!" she called. "Her eyes!" In an instant, he was at her side. Despite the sleepless night the two of them had just had, with Clarisse crying for several hours on end, he still gazed down at the little girl adoringly, putting his finger out for her to grasp in her tiny hands.
"Yours," he said as Clarisse smiled up at them. "They're your eyes. It's like somebody took a perfect copy and placed them in her eyes while she was sleeping." He wound an arm around her waist, and nuzzled his chin thoughtfully on the top of her head.
"They're too green to be mine," Belle said, leaning into him and trying not to yawn. "I think they're hazel."
"They're definitely yours, Belle," Adam said, cracking a smile. "Their spirit, if not their exact shade."
"Sweetheart," Belle smiled, and she kissed him tenderly. "You flatter me. Anyway, if she has my eyes, she's definitely got your hair."
"Not possible. For one thing, my hair is red, and hers is blonde," Adam said, as the baby began to cry for attention.
"It's red."
"It's clearly blonde."
"I'm telling you, it's red!" Belle laughed. "I know I'm right, and you'll see in time." She kissed his cheek, to show that she was only teasing him.
Adam reached down and lifted their daughter up, cradling her close. His entire hand could cover her body, not including her head, if he splayed his fingers out. Belle watched as he dropped little kisses over her face, and she stopped screaming for the moment.
"Morning, my jewel," he said to the baby.
---
NEUF
"She just follows you everywhere, you know."
"What?" Belle's comment roused him from the half-sleep he was in. The warm library fire and the small print of the book he was reading had allowed him to relax a little too easily. Adam turned his head to look straight at Belle again.
"Clarisse," she clarified. "She's only three years old, and she follows you everywhere." She smiled. "It's very adorable. She keeps saying she wants to help with the maths and the columns."
"I could probably use some help with the maths and the columns," he joked. "I've always been awful at arithmetic."
"She's good," Belle said. "Well. It's hard to get her to sit still long enough, but once she's at her books she just works away. Addition and subtraction so far, and she can count higher than I could at her age." She sighed, and rubbed at her belly, wondering when this second baby would kick hard enough for others to feel. "Maybe this one will like stories better."
"Huh? What does that mean?" He settled closer to Belle, settling his arm around her shoulders.
"She adores you, and sometimes I just feel like her teacher. I know, I know it's silly, and she loves me just as much," she said, waiving off Adam's concerned face. "Sometimes I just wish she'd seek me out as often as she does you. Half the time I see her she's either being scolded or being chased after for lessons."
"She enjoys the lessons, most of the time," he said. "She tells me you're the smartest mother in the world. She's not identical to you, but I know she loves you dearly. When she's older, she'll get to spend more time with you."
"I know," Belle grumbled. Adam laughed at the little pout on her face, and within her, Belle felt the baby kicking. Quick as a flash, she grabbed his hand and guided it to her belly, but the baby had already stopped.
"Again?" he sighed. "I don't understand. Clarisse kicked all the time when you were carrying her."
"Believe me, this one kicks all the time, too," Belle said darkly. "He just stops as soon as somebody else tries to feel it. He'll be a troublemaker too, I bet you anything."
"Or maybe he just has stage fright," Adam teased, chuckling at his own joke. Under his hand, he felt a definite kick. He looked up at Belle, the excitement on his face the same as when Clarisse had kicked for the first time "There you are," he murmured. "Took you long enough to meet your papa."
---
DIX
Belle watched her husband and her daughter skate around the frozen pond, matching red hair flying around them. As he lifted Clarisse up into the air, Belle heard Louis laughing beside her. She applauded, the sound muffled, and she saw the excitement in her little girl's face as Adam pulled her back to earth. He spoke to her quietly for a moment, and then Clarisse skated swiftly over to where Belle and Louis were standing. Already she had found her feet while skating, Belle mused, and she was only nine years old.
"Mama," she said, still a little out of breath from excitement, "Papa said I could try to teach Louis how to skate! Where're the ice-skates?"
"Where they always are," Belle said. "Remember to be careful with him, Clarisse - he's only six. He's not as big as you are."
"I know, Mama!" she huffed. She grabbed her brother's hand and half-marched him over to the bench, where she carefully sat Louis down and laced his skates up for him. Clarisse could be rash, easily excitable and often rough when she was caught up in a scheme or plan, but Belle knew she would never deliberately hurt someone younger or more fragile than herself. As the children skated around the lake, she walked over to meet Adam at the bench as he pulled off his skates.
"Well?" she said slowly. "Did she help you with the maths and columns?" Adam grinned up at his wife as he struggled gamely with his laces. Clarisse's childish remark six years ago had become something of an in-joke with the castle family since then.
"I may have cut it a little short so she could go outside," he said, his cheeks still rosy. "This only happens a few times before they tire of us."
"Hopefully not for a few more years, if we're lucky," Belle said. "After all, this family's still growing." The look of astonishment on Adam's face was the same today as it had been ten years ago, when she'd announced her first pregnancy in a white chemise in the middle of urgent trade negotiations. "Does three sound like too many children to you?" she teased.
"I will take however many children we are blessed with and be grateful for them every day," was his response, grinning like the young man she first fell in love with as he leaned down to kiss her.
---
ONZE
"Mama, can I ask you something?" Clarisse's intelligent brown eyes, bright beams of green woven through the otherwise dark iris, darted away from her clumsy sewing to her mother, who was bouncing her (still fairly new) little brother on her knee.
"Of course, darling," Belle replied. She settled the baby - whose name had finally been decided as Louis Charles - back into the basket at her feet, folding his long gown in so it didn't trail on the floor. "What is it?"
"How did you meet Papa?" For a moment, Belle's mind went blank. While she and Adam had discussed this very situation shortly after Clarisse was born, she hadn't really thought that she'd need to tell her so soon. "Because," Clarisse continued, "Jean-Paul said that you used to be a commoner like Auntie Elle, and that she met Uncle Louis at a ball, and he wanted to know how you met, because Papa was too sick to hold a ball before you got married and he got better." As Clarisse prattled on, Belle knew the way to introduce the discretion Clarisse would have to engage if she could know the truth safely.
"It was like a story," Belle said carefully. "Do you want to hear it?"
"Yes!" Clarisse cried.
"You wouldn't rather work on number lines or run around outside?"
"I like maths and outside, but you tell the bestest stories, Mama." She'd already put away her sewing, and Belle suppressed a smile. Stories and a hatred of sewing seemed to be some of the few things they had in common.
"Alright. Well, it starts the same way every story starts. Once upon a time, a young prince lived in a shining castle . . ."
When Belle had finished her story - edited only only to soften the blow of Maurice's imprisonment and Gaston's genuine menace, to avoid frightening her five-year-old - Clarisse sat for a moment, chewing her lip. Belle continued to sew, letting her daughter think the tale through on her own.
"Mama, is that really truly true?"
"Really truly," Belle said.
"Then why does Jean-Paul think that Papa was sick?"
"Because, my jewel, magic can be a dangerous thing. Not everybody would think Papa and I told the truth about how we met." Clarisse's face hardened a little, and Belle was almost shocked to see that Clarisse had the same set jaw as Belle did when she was angry. Her daughter was angry so little, it gave her a small jolt every time Belle saw her own expressions in that small face.
"But you're not lying!"
"I know," Belle said, hoping to avoid Clarisse shouting at the top of her voice. "Not everything has to be a secret, though. Uncle Louis knows most of the story; so does your Grandpere."
"What can I tell Jean-Paul?" Clarisse asked after several minutes of thinking on the subject.
"Tell him that we met when my father was lost in the woods, and Papa gave him shelter. I followed him out, and the rest is history. It's the truth, after all."
"Okay," Clarisse said. "Mama? Can you tell me another story?"
"I'll tell you my favourite when I was a little girl," Belle said. She patted her lap, and Clarisse scrambled up into it. Belle kissed the top of her head, wrapping her arms around Clarisse's short body. "It had far-off places, daring sword-fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise. Comfy?" Charisse nodded. "Then let's begin. Once upon a time, in a far away land . . ."
---
DOUZE
Later in the evening, Belle happened to catch Clarisse's eye. She glided across the ballroom to her mother's side, the most graceful move Belle had ever seen Clarisse make away from the ice. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness and excitement, and Belle couldn't help feeling a little pang of sadness.
"Mama, you were right," she grinned. "I mean, I didn't think you'd be wrong, but there really was nothing to worry about."
"I told you," Belle smiled. "How have the courtiers been?"
"It's not that different to when I met them before, really." Clarisse flung a look back quickly before continuing. "I didn't realise there would be people my age here as well. It's nice - I met some people who seem to like me."
"They'd have a hard time not liking you," Belle said. "What are they like?"
"There's Emilie - she likes maths as well, but I think she's tons smarter than me at it. And there's Louise, she said I looked really pretty. That's them over there, with the blonde hair." Clarisse waved, and Belle followed her gaze to see two girls waving back. One was taller, with pale blonde hair and a pastel pink dress; the other was about the same height as Clarisse, wearing a dress of what looked like forest-green velvet that complimented her dark gold locks. She knew their parents from previous attendances at Court and had met the girls before - she remembered them as both polite and shy in front of her.
"And I was talking to Michelle earlier, but I think she's gone already," Clarisse continued. "Oh, and there's, uh, Nicholas talking to Uncle Louis." Her normally calm daughter's hesitance caught Belle's attention, and she scanned the room to find the boy talking to her brother-in-law.
"Is that him there?" Belle asked. Clarisse nodded, somehow blushing even redder than before. He looked about the same age as Clarisse, with simple but elegant clothes and short, sandy hair. He didn't look much taller than her daughter, and his face seemed on the forgettable side of handsome, Belle noted. Looking at him, he didn't seem like someone Clarisse would stutter over. "So what did you talk about?" she asked lightly.
"Oh, not much," Clarisse said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and suddenly Belle understood her nervousness. "Well, I mean - we talked about horses a little. He seems to be a really good rider, from the stories he was telling me. I told him about that time with the stream and the log when I was eleven, do you remember that?"
"No, that was Papa who was with you then," Belle said.
"Oh, yeah," Clarisse said. "Anyway, he likes maths, too - well, I say maths, I'm not really sure, we were complaining about how hard it is to comprehensively calculate correct tax rates for a while. And he likes reading! I told him about the stories you used to tell me when I was a little girl, and he thought they were really interesting! He's been reading novels from England, and then we started talking about languages, and he told me he didn't know much Italian so I said he could borrow a book, and then -"
"Jewel," Belle laughed, "if you talked so much to Nicholas, why on earth did you break yourself away to come speak to me? It sounds like you were having a great time."
"He asked me to dance," Clarisse said quietly. "I wasn't sure if I could, so I went to ask Papa, but I couldn't find him anywhere. So? Could I say yes?" She looked at Belle, the hope obvious in her eyes.
The small pang of sadness Belle had felt turned bittersweet. Logically, she knew that her daughter was only fifteen, and that all manner of things could happen in the future, and her crush might not ever develop beyond this stage. But she also knew that forbidding her daughter to dance would only delay the inevitable. Belle remembered the old song she had sung that first night with Clarisse. She would always be her jewel, but she wasn't a baby any longer.
"Of course you can say yes, Clarisse," Belle said. "Go enjoy yourself." Clarisse pulled her in for a quick embrace, and Belle found herself welling up slightly. She hadn't been hugged by Clarisse like this since she was a little girl. She held her daughter close. There was no need for her to feel like everything was ending, she told herself as Clarisse gracefully walked over to Nicholas. Clarisse wasn't a child any longer, but Belle would always be her mother.
---
TREIZE
Adam was brought into the room just as the baby burped. Belle laughed at the loud noise coming from so tiny a child, and settled her back in her arms. The baby's blue-veined eyelids fluttered contentedly, her arms and legs relaxing their movements. Belle pulled the blanket around the child a little tighter, while still keeping her close to Belle's skin. The door clicked open and Belle saw her husband, dark-eyed and dishevelled from what she assumed was lack of sleep.
"Is that . . . ?"
"Our daughter," she whispered. He pulled up a chair beside the bed, and looked at the small bundle as if the whole world was in it. To them, it was. "Do you want to hold her? She's just been fed, but I don't think she's sleepy quite yet."
He looked at her with such earnestness that she couldn't even laugh at it, although Belle was sure the same expression had been on her face half an hour ago. Carefully, she lifted the baby off her chest and handed it to Adam. She fit perfectly along his forearm, although he held her as though she could break at any moment, keeping her a little away from his body.
"Hold her closer," Belle directed. "At least, that's what the midwife said to do." He drew the child closer to his chest, one of her arms breaking free from the blanket as he did so. More by accident than anything else, she grasped a thin lock of his hair. She watched as Adam traced her features with his fingertip. Finally, he looked up at her.
"She's perfect," he said. "I mean, not that I expected there to be anything wrong with her, but - well, you know."
"Yeah," Belle breathed. She watched him watch her. "Her eyes are incredible, aren't they?"
"I heard they don't always stay blue, but they are beautiful," he said. "The name we thought of. Do you still think that it suits?"
"Honestly, no." She could hear the baby's breathing even out, and suspected she was falling asleep. "My grandmother was called Thérèse, but that doesn't seem quite right either."
"What about . . . Clarisse?" Adam said quietly. "It was my mother's name. We could still have Thérèse as a middle name. Well, one of the many middle names she'll be saddled with."
"Clarisse Thérèse," Belle said, pulling the name out on her tongue. "I like it. Just as long as she doesn't have as many middle names as you."
"It was a time of political stress, and middle names were less legally binding than contracts, alright!" he laughed quietly. "But I'll talk to Charmant about the middle names." Belle yawned, and suddenly all the stress she had been under for the past day and a half seemed to catch up to her at once. "You rest," Adam said, kissing her lightly. He gently settled the sleeping Clarisse beside her. "I'll announce her name."
"Alright," Belle said. "I love you."
"Love you too," Adam said. "And I love you, too," he said to Clarisse.
"Seconded," Belle said. "She's precious, isn't she?"
"Mm hmm," he nodded.
"Love you, Clarisse," she sighed. She sang under her breath, careful not to wake the baby, until sleep roused up to claim her in her first night of motherhood.
"Bonnie wee thing, canny wee thing,
"Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
"I wad wear thee in my bosom,
"Lest, my jewel, it should tyne."