AN: Okay, it has been, what almost a year since I removed this story from Fictionpress? I cannot remember exactly but it has been a while. I have now decided, after careful consideration, to repost it here. As anyone who has read it previously will notice, I have re-written and revised it, adding things here and there while changing the rest and leaving some of it the same. I'm still not sure whether or not this is the right decision but I was blown away by the amount of sad reviews and emails I received when I removed the story and after the hard times that I was going through had ended I began thinking about reposting it. So now I have, and I hope that you all enjoy it, whether this is a new read for you or you are happening upon it a second time. I would like to mention that I am doing this solely because you loved it so much, and I ask you to once again show your support of the story. I intend to update approximately once a week, depending on the amount of time I have to once again go over the next chapters, the amount of reviews I receive and the amount of free time I have in general. Thank you to anyone who reviewed it the first time, and a big thank you to anyone who reviews it now.

Father met Mother when he was twenty-nine and she a mere sixteen. He was a young merchant, traveling along the border between Spain and his homeland, France. A day in late June he was bringing his wares through a small Spanish village when the horse he was riding suddenly bolted across the road, startled by the sound of a woman screaming. He managed to get the spooked horse under control, but not until he had nearly run-over a young woman standing at the side of the road, causing her to fall and drop the bundle she had been cradling. He jumped off the gelding and helped her to her feet, his large brown eyes meeting her startled green ones. The rest, as the older servants liked to say, was destiny.

With her father's permission, they were married within a few months and moved to a large mansion by the sea in South Western France, near the border of her homeland. He made connections within the town quickly and became good friends with the Lord and Lady living in the castle nearby. Mother, not used to such grandeur, was dazed and lost. The endless parties and teas confused her, and she wasn't sure about the intentions of the cold-eyed wives of the other merchants, never-mind the scheming noblewomen. But she loved Father, and he loved her, so they were happy together.

A year after their marriage, she bore him the first of three girls; a stout, chubby infant they named Ganice. The second came a couple of years later, and she was called Jodei. Even when they were young, both of them looked remarkably like Father, with the same doe-like chestnut eyes, straight auburn hair and astounding height.

I, the servants whispered uneasily amongst themselves, was a mistake. I should have never been born, especially not so soon after the last one - only just over nine months after Jodei. The result of my birth was the death of Mother, during the height of her contractions.

It began when I was young. I was always a quiet child, unnoticed by most. My sisters weren't much older than me. When I was born Jodei was not even one, and Ganice was four. They were the only ones who didn't view me as the one who had killed the beloved Lady of the House, even though she had been their mother too.

My nursemaids were kind. I can't say they weren't, but as I grew older I noticed them whispering. I heard their gossip in the corridors and it was only by eavesdropping that I first discovered how my mother died. I was six. No one had ever told me, my sisters, who barely understood it themselves, thought it best I didn't know, and the only servants who talked to me were my nursemaids. Even they didn't seem notice me often, and I managed to slip away often, hiding in the library and pouring over Father's books.

It wasn't until I was eight that I began to realize I didn't look like the rest of my family. My sisters were tall and slim, with large chestnut eyes, full of innocence. Their auburn locks were admired by all their friends and, as we were far from Paris, and the fashion world, many of the ladies in town fashioned their hairstyles on Ganice and Jodei's.

I was much shorter than them, but I had large hands and feet. Ganice and Jodei said that meant that I would grow taller but I never seemed to. My hair wasn't a beautiful shade of auburn as theirs and my fathers was, it was a much lighter red, with lots of natural blonde streaking. My nursemaid said I took after my paternal grandmother who had come to France from England, to marry my grandfather. Many made comments about my hair, which was much lighter in colour than anyone else I knew, but not all of the comments were kind ones.

My father was an extremely well to do merchant, with many titles in our town. I knew he loved me, but all the same I never felt he gave me the same amount of attention he gave my sisters. As a child I couldn't even begin to comprehend as to why this was and I looked elsewhere for comfort. So I began to read a lot, beginning with Jodei's discarded toddler picture books and moving slowly up to the ones Ganice bought in her adolescent years. By the time I was 12, I had read every single one of the large, hand-bound volumes in Father's library.

I became quite a scholar, learning Greek, Latin, English and Spanish. My father praised me on occasion at how educated I was becoming, the only praise, in fact, I think he ever gave me, and it was at these times I was my happiest. My nursemaids were completely scandalized that he let met run loose in the library as I did, they did not believe in the education of women and did not understand why my father allowed me to read the way I did. Personally I think he was just happy to have me out of the way and doing something that kept me quiet.

My sister's were the ones who began to call me "Belle." My mother had named me Isabel, adhering to Father's wish that I be named Isabelle, but changing it so that it was spelt in the way of her native country. Ganice started calling me Belle when I was young, telling me how beautiful I was and insisting that I needed a French name as well as a Spanish one, to cover both sides of my heritage. As I grew older, I heard some of the maids whispering how ironic it was that I received the nickname that meant beautiful when my sister's far outshone me in the looks department.

That was around the time that they stared tripping all around the house and breaking so many of our possessions that Father eventually fired them. I think Jodei, with whom I was very, very close, suspected me but she never said anything, either to me or Father.

Then, shortly after my fifteenth birthday, Ganice became engaged to a promising young soldier in the Lord's service, a nice young Spaniard named Desi Arnaldo. He thought I was quite amusing and we had several good discussions in Spanish. They met at a ball Ganice attended at the castle, Desi was on guard duty at the gates and he caught her when she tripped on her gown on the way up the steps. As Ganice tells it, their eyes met and she was speechless for a moment, gazing up into his handsome face. For the next few weeks she began noticing him whenever she was in town and eventually he got up the courage to approach her. Their courtship was a whirlwind of gossip in the town and it wasn't long before Desi came to Father, asking for Ganice's hand in marriage.

Father replied yes quite quickly and a few months later, everyone in the household was getting ready for the wedding. Ganice spent all her time stitching and embroidering for her hope chest while Jodei and I watched in silence. It was only two weeks before the wedding date when disaster struck.

It was a Sunday, right after church, when Father announced that he must go away for awhile, to try to repair the damage his partner had made in their trading with the countries of the Mediterranean. Ganice, of course, was devastated for that meant he would not be back in time for the wedding. When she told him that they would postpone it until his return he shook his head and told her to go on with it without him and that it didn't matter whether he was there as long as she was married.

Then he had turned and embraced the three of us, asking us if there was anything he wanted us to bring home for us. Ganice smiled and, with only a slight blush, told him she would like a baby-cradle painted by one of the famous Italian painters. He laughed and promised to see what he could do. Then it was Jodei's turn. She took his rough, calloused hands in her own soft, slender ones and told him the only thing she wanted was for him to return safely.

After a few minutes he convinced her that she must want something else and finally she replied, "a nightdress made with fine Egyptian linen would be wonderful, Father." Then he turned to go, never even looking at me. "What about Isabel, Father?" Jodei said quickly, seeing the look of hurt upon my face. He turned back to us and looked at me for a moment before settling his eyes on the wall behind me, still afraid to look into my eyes and see my mother. "Well?" he asked gruffly. "What do you want?"

I took a deep breath and squeezed Jodei's hand in mine. "Some flower seeds maybe…" I stammered, gathering my courage. "Roses maybe… some new ones for Mother's garden." I knew immediately this was the wrong thing to say when I saw a look of pain travel across his face but he nodded and vanished through the door before we could even say goodbye.

Desi came to our house that day looking anxious and distressed. When I answered the door, my polite greeting was cut off by him pushing past me roughly. "Desi what—?"

He brushed me aside. "Not now, Senorita Isabel." I watched at him uneasily as he strode into the parlour, where my sisters were having tea. Following close by his heels, I was startled by his manner which was usually so polite and gracious and was at the moment blunt almost to the point of rudeness. Ganice stood and smiled sweetly at him as he entered the room but sat down again, shocked when he brushed her embrace away carelessly.

"Your father?" he said restlessly, glancing around nervously as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the sofa or chairs, "Where is he? I must speak with him." Ganice looked hurt and didn't answer. Jodei noticed our sister's distress and quickly butted in.

"He left today," she told him. "On a merchant ship bound for the Mediterranean. Desi groaned as if this was the worst news possible. He began mumbling to himself. From the confused looks on my sister's faces I knew they couldn't hear him but after years of eavesdropping, reading lips and pretending to read while listening in on conversations during which the speakers thought I was so engrossed in reading they thought I would not listen or understand, I was able to understand most of what he said.

"No…this can't be. But why? Who? Maybe…No, that's impossible," I could only frown in concern and confusion while I listened to his muttering. Finally Ganice stood up and put her hand on his shoulder. "Desi, darling what is the matter?" His stupor was broken and he turned to look at her. "Nothing," he said absently.

The three of us exchanged glances and decided not to push it. "Desi?" Ganice said hesitantly. He looked up at her. "I needed to speak with him," he said quietly. "On a matter concerning our marriage. My father is deathly ill and I must return to Spain." He said his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I don't want to go…I had wished to talk to your father first but-" He stopped suddenly and shook his head. "We will postpone the wedding until our return." Ganice's eyes widened and filled with tears while Jodei and I looked on in wide eyed silence. He began whispering in our sister's ear and we looked at each other. This was not good news. Turning back to them we saw him lean in to kiss her and quickly exited the room, not wanting to intrude upon their private moment.

A few hours later Ganice came into my room, her eyes red and puffy from hours of crying. I hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "It'll be alright," I reassured her, with all the innocence of a fifteen year-old girl. "Desi will return, as will Father, and you'll get married." She pulled away and looked up at me. I could see the pain and anguish in her expression but I continued to comfort her.

Finally she began to calm down and let out a small laugh, "Yes, they'll come home and Father will have so much money from the trade in the Mediterranean that the wedding will be twice as big," she said and smiled at the prospect. I just laughed and nodded and continued to reassure her. There was a feeling of dread filling me, though, and I knew that no matter how much she wished that would be, that something was about to happen.