A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  “That's what I think about, Belle.” Drew's voice sounded hollow, broken. “Day in, day out, I lie here in this accursed bed and that's all I can think about.”

  “Then get out of the damned bed, Drew,” Belle’s voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “You did better than most young officers at Inkerman and whether you believe it or not, your men made out better than most that day. I know plenty of men who are still alive because of you and they would agree with me.” Drew made a disparaging sound, but Belle ignored it. “You can't change what happened, but you can change the fates of soldiers yet to come. Sidney Hebert, Mary Seacole, Miss Nightingale, even Duncan and I, none of us can do it without the assistance of men who've been there. We need your voice, Drew. Help us convince the lords to sponsor reforms on how officer commissions are awarded. You come from the nobility, Drew. Your brother is an earl. Tell him. Let Michael fight this battle with you.”

  Michael heard Drew whisper brokenly, “You don't know what you're asking, Belle.

  “Yes, I do.” There was an underlying tremor in her voice and Michael wanted to go to her, to help her stay strong as she battled on for Drew's sake. “Every time there's a thunderstorm I know what I'm asking of you. We promised to stand by one another, Drew, but I wrote you and you never wrote back. Not once. And worst yet, you tried to leave me behind.” Her words caught on a sob. “You broke your promise. I kept mine, but you broke yours. How could you do that to me?”

  “I didn’t want to,” Drew answered, sounding stricken. “God, Belle, it’s the nightmares. The memories. It’s....”

  “I know,” she said softly, “but don’t you think I see their faces when I close my eyes? Don’t you think I don't hear their cries even now, years later? Three months ago Archie Pendergast put a pistol in his mouth. I won’t let you leave me too.” She was crying now and Michael fought the urge to go to her, to go to them both. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me behind, Drew. You promised me.”

  “I’m sorry, Belle,” Drew’s voice broke, “I won’t. I promise I won’t.” Michael heard the sound of rustling skirts. She’d gone to him and Michael tried not to imagine their embrace. She loved Drew. She truly loved him and he loved her. Michael felt an unpleasant tug at the center of his chest. After all this time Drew had what he'd always longed for, her love and though Michael knew he had no business wishing things were different, he couldn't help but want her in his arms tucked close against his chest. God save him from being such a selfish bastard.

  “Look, you’ve turned me into a watering pot.” He heard Belle struggle for a light tone. “I shan’t forgive you for making my nose stuffy and you know what I look like when I cry.”

  Drew’s voice was raspy. “You look quite ugly. Blotchy cheeks, puffy eyes, big, red nose – a veritable hag.”

  “Thank you very much, you horrid man,” she sniffed. “I shall remember your kind words when we start working your legs tomorrow. I’m going to my room and when I return we will get you into your chair. No arguments.”

  “Yes, Belle,” Drew answered. He tone was humble, but it didn’t hold the defeated quality Michael had come to fear.

  “That’s better,” Belle said. Michael heard her move towards the door. He stepped away from the door and when she opened the door he stood watching her from across the hallway. Her eyes met his and Michael knew his brother had only teased her about the effects of crying on her face. Belle dropped her eyes and hurried down the corridor.

  Michael entered Drew's room. His brother looked to be in abject misery, but for the first time in years, he looked relieved to see his older brother.

  “Michael,” he began, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to be just another burden to you, to be less than a man – not to you.”

  “You were never a burden, Drew. You never could be.” Michael cleared his throat to speak past the emotion he felt. “You were annoying, certainly; that’s what little brothers do best, I suppose, but you were never a burden.”

  “Belle’s not who you think, Michael.”

  “I’m learning that very quickly and if you wish to marry her, you will both have my blessing.” There, he’d said it, oddly painful as it was.

  Drew blinked at him. “No. We don’t wish to marry. Right now though, someone needs to look after her.” When Michael hesitated, Drew continued. “Please, Michael. She’s devastated. There’s still so much about her that you don’t understand. Find her. Take care of her for me.” Michael nodded and left.

  He found Belle in the gallery at the end of the wing. He’d heard her before he saw her. She was crying again, or still – great wracking sobs. She was looking into one of the glass display cabinets, her arms folded protectively around her stomach as she vented her terrible distress. He knew what she'd seen, Drew's medals that Michael had proudly placed near the portraits of their ancestors.

  Michael called her name. She straightened, but kept her back to him. “He promised me,” she said. It was a phrase she’d repeated today and he wondered what it meant. What promises had they exchanged. “We all promised.” Michael went to her and pulled her into his arms, not stopping to consider the wisdom or the folly of the idea. He just wanted to hold her. Belle curled herself into him, tucking one fist between them. She clutched something in her hand, but he couldn’t see what it was.

  “What did he promise you, Sweetheart?” The endearment fell from his lips before he could call it back. He’d called her this before, but at the time it had been a jibe meant to bring her down a peg. This time the word felt different to him. She felt different. “Did he promise you marriage?” No matter how much he’d once wanted Araby Winston to receive her just desserts matters had changed today. This woman clearly had a heart and it was breaking. He rubbed her back as she wept into his shoulder.

  “No. Drew and I love each other, but not like that. We’re not in love. Next to Duncan, he’s my best friend in all the world.” She pulled back and gazed up at Michael, her face streaked with tears, her nose running. In spite of her distress, Michael gave her a wry smile. It turned out his brother was right, after all. She was a mess when she cried. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. He kept his arms around her loosely while she dabbed her eyes and gustily blew her nose.

  “There were nine of us,” she began. “Duncan, Molly, me and our six special patients – ones who never should have survived, but did. We became more like friends, really. We all promised that no matter how desperate we became, no matter how lost we felt, we would never give up on each other. We would never leave the others behind. I’ve tried to keep that promise, Michael, we all have. That’s why I was at Viscount Isley’s home. I was looking after his younger son, Larkin. He’s one of the six. Archie Pendergast was as well. He...he....” She couldn’t continue.

  “I know, Belle, I heard.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled back to look at her, placing every shred of determination he felt into his eyes. He would make her believe him. “Drew is safe now. You and Dr. Gillian brought him back to us and you and I will not let him go.” She shook her head. “We will find a way to make him stay.” She nodded.

  Belle opened her hand and showed him a tarnished silver button from the regimental coat of a cavalry officer. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out another, this one, with a purple ribbon laced through the shank. She held it out for Michael to see. “This one is mine,” she said. She offered the one in her palm to Michael. He took it and turned it between his fingers. “That one belonged to Archie,” she continued. “His father sent it to me.” Belle looked into his eyes, searching. “Don’t you see? These buttons were part of our pledge. We each took one to affirm our promise to always be there for one another. It was a tontine, though instead of investing capital, we invested in our own survival.” She rubbed the purple ribbon between her fingers as she stared bleakly at the button. “They chose me to receive the buttons of those of us who couldn’t...” She closed her eyes briefly as she struggled to continue. “Arc
hie left a note asking his father to tell the rest of us he was sorry he broke his promise.” Michael felt the blood drain from his face. “I don’t want to receive another button, Michael. Not from anyone, but especially not from Drew. You see, he came to me in Scutari,” She gave a small, hiccup of a sob. “They brought him to me first. I didn’t recognize him, not until I washed the blood and filth off him. Oh God, Michael, he was more dead than alive.” Her sobs began again in earnest.

  Michael pulled her back into his embrace and she wrapped her arms around his waist. They held on to each other, bonded by their personal demons, their pain and by the love they both felt for Drew. Later, Michael couldn’t remember who began the kiss. Perhaps it was both of them. He kissed her as a man dying of thirst takes that first drink of water – reverently, yet, all the while struggling to control his desperation for another sip and then another, fearful the liquid will disappear before his aching thirst is sated. Her mouth was even sweeter than he remembered and she kissed him back as if she’d found her way home after a long and endless night. He deepened their kiss and she was there with him, driving out the fear, the anguish. Too soon the reality of their situation returned to them both. Belle stared at him her eyes wide as she brought her fingers to her lips. Michael wanted to take her in his arms again, kiss her, carry her to his bed and set the past firmly behind them.

  “I have to go,” Belle whispered.

  He knew she feared to stay, feared herself as much as his kisses. He watched her turn and rush to the safety of her room. Michael looked down at the button in his hand. It had belonged to a young man who’d become too haunted and worn down by his memories of a senseless war to continue living. Archie Pendergast had sent this bit of tarnished silver to Belle, partly in apology, partly in warning, but the button had also increased her burden. Perhaps there was something he could do to share it with her. Michael turned the small key in the door of the cabinet and carefully placed Arch Pendergast's silver button next to Drew's Victoria Cross, lest any of them forget the terrible price both young men had paid.

  Chapter Nineteen

  London

  A mess, that's what he'd created by kissing her, a classic, bloody mess. Michael glared out the window of his hackney cab at the dark, rain-dampened streets. He'd spent the past week avoiding Belle and when Montgomery's message came requesting his presence in London, Michael had leapt at the opportunity to put time and distance between them. He curled his hand into a fist, bringing it to rest tensely against his mouth as he relived that moment in the gallery. Many sins could be laid at his door, but never trifling with females in his service. Michael considered blaming the incident on the wine they'd shared at luncheon, but that was a feeble excuse. What started as an innocent attempt to offer comfort quickly changed into something else entirely and it wasn’t as if she’d been an unwilling participant either. Damn it, he should have known better than to touch her. There had never been a strictly platonic moment between them. Why should now be any different?

  He struck his fist against the carriage door, punctuating his frustration with himself, as well as with the circumstances. He'd arrived at his mistress' door within hours of reaching London, intent on spending the next two days hard at it in her bed, or anywhere else that caught his fancy, in hopes of irradiating his memories of Belle, her scent, her warmth, the feel of her in his arms and the first touch of his lips on hers in five long years. Instead of attempting to purge her from his mind and other more engaged parts of his anatomy, he'd abruptly given his mistress her conge´. The only woman he truly wanted in his bed was Belle. She filled his thoughts, his fantasies. He dreamed of her at night and awoke with his cock throbbing for her. No matter how much he tried convincing himself that Belle was the last female with whom he should begin a love affair, the fact remained that she was the only one he wanted.

  Their history together precluded him from ever considering marriage to her, of course, and even if it didn’t, his own requirements in a wife certainly did. He needed a wife of irreproachable character, one who could act as a gracious hostess and who would be welcomed into the homes of the highest members of society. Belle, though her lineage was impeccable, worked as a nurse, a fact that not only placed her in the servant class, but to smaller minds, also cast suspicions on her moral character as well. Where Michael had been forgiven his own disreputable, even criminal past because of money and a title, society demanded complete purity from its women and hers, rightly or wrongly, was immediately suspect due to her occupation. Many doors in London would remain closed to Belle and in effect, her husband.

  Openly taking her as his mistress, though, no matter how well he compensated her, would destroy her chances of ever holding a respectable nursing position again. Whatever else he ever questioned about Belle he knew that nursing was her life and that she would never jeopardize something so important to her for the sake of passion. No, if he wanted Belle in his bed he'd have to entice her into a discreet and short-lived affair. He would leave the choice up to her, of course, but he intended to use every weapon he had to convince her. As his carriage stopped in front of his club Michael had to ask himself one last question. Was a discrete liaison with him in her best interest, or merely convenient for him? He feared he knew the answer and his conscience continued to prick him as he walked up the steps of his club.

  Rafe Kingsford haled him with a waive as soon as Michael stepped into the dining room. Most members had long since dined and were now either off to other engagements, or scattered around the club consuming large amounts of brandy as they discussed current intrigues or bygone glories. He noticed that Rafe had chosen a secluded table tucked against the wall. He was not a man given to fine sensibilities. The club made him uneasy even though he'd been approved for membership three years ago. Both Jules and Michael had sponsored him, though Michael believed Rafe only acquiesced to membership to please his sister.

  Neither man indulged in meaningless pleasantries. Michael sat down in the chair across from his friend and immediately came to the point. “Have you learned anything more about her?”

  Rafe eased back in his chair, stretching out his long legs beneath the table. He studied Michael, drawing out the moment as though he were reaching some private conclusion. “Nothing we didn't already know. I've decided to start investigating Dr. Gillian though.”

  “Gillian?” Michael looked at him sharply. “Why? It's Belle Winslow I want to know about. Gillian's an open book.”

  “Yes, he is,” Rafe nodded, reaching out to toy with the stem of his wine glass, “until you ask him about her. Then he snaps shut and locks up tighter than your maiden aunt’s qui....” He looked around sheepishly. “Diary,” he amended. “I thought by tracing Gillian’s background I could discover where and when they met. I did learn one new fact – a quite surprising one. Gillian wrote her a letter of recommendation to join Miss Nightingale's company of nurses. That means he knew her before he left for the Crimea. I have an appointment to meet him at the Harley Street Hospital tomorrow. It turns out that Duncan Gillian practiced there as well as at a charity clinic in the East End before he headed off to war.”

  Michael pondered this new information. “So it's likely he witnessed the metamorphosis of Lady Arabella Winston to Annabelle Winslow.”

  “Precisely.” Rafe continued to turn his wine glass by the stem. One of the clubs efficient footman brought another bottle of wine and took their requests for a meal. Rafe waited until the man left before continuing his train of thought. “I've no love for Arabella Winston, as you know, but there's a mystery here. No one recalls seeing her more than a day or two after the Malberry’s ball. It would be easier to learn the truth if I could speak with Lady Katherine, or should I say, Mrs. Rutledge, but that could prove difficult given her new living arrangements.”

  Michael held his gaze for several moments. Finally he said what both of them were thinking. “Something happened to her because of what we did,” he said flatly.

  “Yes, though, exactly what, I can
't be sure. She reportedly left London for the country and then within the month her stepfather stated she'd gone abroad for health reasons. Normally, I would suspect the entire story was developed just to cover up her humiliation at losing Iredale, but only a week or so after her supposed departure, her mother died and her stepfather fled the country only a step or two in front of the bailiffs.”

  “Do you suppose he followed her? Perhaps he abandoned her somewhere on the Continent leaving her to get back to England as best she could. That would have forced her to find some way to support herself.”

  “Perhaps, but why wouldn't she appeal to her uncle for help?” Rafe queried.

  “Maybe she did and he didn't want the shadow of her family’s fall tainting his household,” Michael countered. “The man is a self-righteous twit. Still, we don't know if she really went to the Continent at all. That could all simply be some faddle her stepfather put about to obscure the fact he was deep in Dun territory. I think we should also investigate Seaton more thoroughly – locate him, learn something of his movements during the past five years. Clearly the broken engagement led to a financial crisis for her family.” Michael tried to detach the nagging claw of guilt that had latched onto him since the day he’d fetched her back to the abbey, but it clung persistently to him, demanding answer before it would turn him loose. “I keep coming back to the fact that Arabella still had enough devotees among the lesser families that she could easily have secured her future by a quick marriage to a baronet, or to a knight.”

  “Agreed, but the little brat always did have more pride than common sense.” Rafe tossed back the rest of his wine, then poured another glass for each of them. “I spoke with one or two people who swear they received letters from her while she was touring. Of course, not a single one of them remember any details such as what countries she visited and when they received these alleged letters.” Rafe paused for a moment. “No, I agree with you. We set something in motion that night. I've never been able to shake the idea that Lord Ambrose ran a game of his own design that we knew little to nothing about.”