An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“By the way, there’s... news. A replacement for Gains.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair. “Oh? And what’s this replacement like?”
Belle avoided his gaze, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “Young. Wealthy. A perfect match…”
“For what?” Jack’s tone sharpened, though he already knew the answer.
“For me,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mother’s invited him to dinner tonight. She’s making it very clear what she expects.”
Jack snorted, crossing his arms. “Well, that sounds like it’ll be a delightful evening.”
Belle scowled. “Delightful for Fanny, maybe. But I’ll hate every second of it. It feels like I’m being auctioned off, and tonight’s dinner is Mother’s way of closing the deal.”
He smirked, shaking his head. “Must be tough, being so desirable.”
She shot him a glare, but her lips twitched. “You wouldn’t survive one of these dinners. They’re insufferably dull.”
“Charlie’ll be there, won’t she?” Jack asked, leaning casually against the counter. “She’s bound to make it more... entertaining.”
“She will, but it doesn’t change the fact that Mother’s determined.” Belle folded her arms, her voice softening. “She wants me to settle.”
Jack straightened, his teasing demeanor giving way to something more serious. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing. “Belle, a woman like you shouldn’t have to settle.”
Her breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze. “And what should I do, then?” she asked, her voice quiet but defiant.
“You should fight for what you want,” Jack said, his tone firm, his eyes unwavering. “Not what someone else thinks you should have.”
Belle stared at him, her heart pounding. His words echoed in her mind, wrapping around the unspoken truth she wasn’t ready to voice. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Maybe it is,” Jack said with a shrug, though his gaze softened. “You just need to ask yourself what do you truly want. Not what your mother, your father, society, ...me think you want.”
The room felt impossibly still, the air between them charged. Belle wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she studied his face, every detail committing itself to memory—the determination in his eyes, the faint curve of his smirk, the tension in his jaw.
“I...” she began, but the echo of footsteps in the corridor broke the moment like a snapped thread.
“We should clean up,” Jack said abruptly, turning away to gather the remaining instruments. His movements were efficient, but his posture was rigid.
“Yes, of course,” Belle replied, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. But her thoughts were far from the patient they’d just operated on. Jack’s words lingered, their meaning sinking deeper with every passing second. What do I want?.
They worked in silence, the rhythm of their cleanup oddly soothing yet tense. As Belle rinsed the last of the tools, she found herself glancing at Jack, her chest tightening.
What do I want? she thought again.
Jack, of course, hadn’t waited for her to decide. He was already moving forward, his long strides carrying him swiftly to the door before she could say anything more. He hesitated briefly at the threshold, his hand gripping the frame as if he might turn back...but he didn’t. Without another glance, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving her alone in the now quiet room.
The air felt heavier without him, the faint scent of antiseptic and carbolic acid mingling with the lingering warmth of his presence. Belle stood frozen, her heart aching as the weight of his absence settled over her. She clutched the edge of the counter for support, staring at the spot where he had stood just moments ago.
“I want you,” she whispered into the stillness, her voice trembling with the admission.
