A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  Chapter Twenty-one

  She stood amid the carnage of a blood-soaked field. Cannons fired all around her – their thunderous booms followed by that deadly hiss of air that comes just before a cannonball finds its mark. Destruction rained down from Heaven itself as Belle fought her way cross the smoke-filled battlefield following the cries for help. She stumbled over fallen soldiers, severed arms and legs. Miss Calloway, her former governess appeared in the vapors and used her wooden pointer to tap against the corpse of a young soldier. “Limbs! They are limbs, Arabella! How many times do I have to tell you! A well-bred young lady never says legs!” The dead and wounded lay everywhere, their blood and intestines spilling onto the ground. The smell of death threatened to choke her. Hands clutched at her skirts and disembodied voices begged for help from a sea of wounded men. Belle knelt down beside a soldier with a gaping wound in his chest. She reached into her basket for a cloth to stop the blood flow and pulled out a fan. She’d had a dress that matched it once. Belle tossed it over her shoulder, frantic to find something, anything to stop the bleeding. Nosegays, dance cards, bits of lace and pearls, all tumbled from her basket, but nothing that would help her save this young man.

  Her stepfather’s voice growled close to her ear. “You scheming little slut! Who’s going to pay for all that! You’ve used up all my money and what do I have to show for it! I’ll teach you to cheat me! I’ll take it out of your hide, girl – I swear I will – your hide and your mother’s!” Belle jumped to her feet. She heard her mother cry out, but she couldn’t see her. Her stepfather stood between them, his walking stick raised above his head. Her mother’s cries grew louder and Belle tried to push past him.

  “Mama, Mama, I’m coming!” Her mother’s screaming ended in one shrill, final cry and her stepfather hurled Belle to the ground beside another dying soldier.

  “Clean up this mess you made!” the baron roared. “Clean it up or I’ll kill him myself!” Belle felt a blow across her back. His walking stick! No! She tried to staunch the blood flowing from the chest wound of the man in front of her as she dodged another of her stepfather’s blows. There was a great bloody hole where the young man’s heart should have been. She frantically searched the ground around him for the missing organ. The soldier opened his eyes and they glowed up at her like flames of hellfire.

  “I believe this is our dance, Lady Arabella,” the soldier said. “Put my limbs back on and we’ll waltz.” A pile of severed legs appeared in front of her. “Put them back on!” the soldier screamed in desperation and she realized it was Drew. “For the love of God put them back on!” She couldn’t, because when she reached into her basket for suture the only thing she found was a collection of beating hearts. She saw her stepfather raise his walking stick again. “That’s all you’ve gotten, you bloody bitch? That’s not enough. Go get me more. Get me more!” His walking stick descended on her and all Belle could do was scream.

  Michael slowly climbed the main staircase rubbing the back of his neck as much in thought as in the need to relax his tired muscles. It was well past midnight and though sleep had briefly flirted with him in the library, drawn closer by good brandy and the soft glow from the fireplace, he knew that once he stretched out on his bed he'd likely spend the rest of the night staring at his bed curtains while his mind continued churning through the events of the day. Belle Winslow, that source of frustration and confusion, that walking conundrum, circled endlessly through his thoughts.

  Before leaving this afternoon Jules had pulled him aside to issue one last warning. “She has always had a way about her, Michael, one that charms, even bespells. When it comes to women of this sort you and I gained our wisdom early. Don't let your desire to have her in your bed blind you to the truth.”

  Michael still wanted her just as he'd wanted her years ago and in all honesty it had taken every bit of self-discipline he'd held to walk out of the Malberry’s parlor that night without making love to her in spite of all she'd done to his family. Today, even after listening to everything she'd experienced, part of him still clung to cold bits of anger. The same question continued circling in his mind. Given his conflicted feelings about her, would seducing her be fair to Belle, or would it ultimately be just another form of revenge? She certainly didn’t deserve that.

  Drew had let go of his own anger years ago, but would he, Michael ever be able to free himself of the last of his resentments? He knew that Belle was a different woman now, one filled with kindness and compassion. Why, then, did he insist on seizing and holding on to the memory of each one of her transgressions? The truth suddenly struck him with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer. If he forgave Belle then his own heart would be left unguarded and there was a very real danger that she could steal it away.

  A long, shrill scream rent the night. It was closely followed by another. He knew who made those sounds and he cursed himself for being ten different sorts of a fool today. Michael ran for Belle's room. He found Paddy pounding on her door, but the noise did nothing to rouse Belle and her screams continued. Michael reached around Paddy and tried the door. It was locked. Without a word, Michael pushed the orderly aside and kicked the door open himself. The room was in darkness, save for a small oil lamp. He could see her sitting upright in bed, her eyes wide, staring sightlessly as she screamed. Paddy rushed forward, but Michael cut him off. He could hear Drew yelling from his own room.

  “See to my brother, Paddy.” Michael snapped. The Irishman hesitated. “Now, Paddy,” he commanded. “No doubt he’s worried as well.”

  The giant nodded. “Go gentle with her, me lord,” he said. “This is a bad ‘un.”

  God, she’d had these before, Michel realized. The screaming abruptly stopped, but her eyes remained wild, staring at nothing. She twisted her sheets between her fingers. Michael saw that her nightgown was soaked with sweat and that her hair clung damply to her face and neck. “Belle?” he asked softly. He reached out and touched her gently on the arm.

  She jerked away from him as though he’d hurt her. “No!” she cried. “Don’t touch me!” Michael pulled his hand back from her. “Don’t hurt her! I tried, but he doesn’t...he doesn’t want me....” She broke into a high, keening whine. “You said you’d wouldn’t...you said if I....” Her voice broke on a sob. “Don’t hurt her! I’ll do what you want!” She cringed away as if she’d received a blow.

  Michael reached out to her again, this time gently calling her name. “Belle, it’s all right, Sweetheart,” he whispered, “It’s me, it’s Michael. You’re safe. Everyone is safe.” He eased himself onto the bed beside her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” He reached for her, crooning softly. “Easy now, Sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He pulled her to him slowly, carefully. Belle yielded and collapsed into his embrace.

  “Michael?” The question ended in a sob.

  “Yes, Sweetheart, it’s me.” He leaned back against the headboard and pulled her against the length of him. “I have you. You’re safe.”

  Belle wrapped herself around him, instinctively seeking comfort. “No, not safe. Never.”

  She sounded lost and hopeless. He shushed her and rocked her gently. She shivered and he reached for the bedclothes. The soft glow of candlelight coming from the doorway stopped him and he saw his housekeeper standing just inside the room. She schooled her features into a study of brisk efficiency.

  “Go back to bed, Mrs. Babcock,” he said firmly. “Miss Winslow has had a nightmare, that’s all.” Protecting Belle was all that mattered and he’d sack the woman if he learned she repeated what she’d seen here tonight.

  Mrs. Babcock squared her shoulders and bustled into the room. “Aye, sir. Tis not the first, though this one is surely the worst we’ve heard. You go along now, sir. I’ll see to Miss. I’ve done it before.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Michael began. He was shocked and more than a little angry that everyone else in the household knew of Belle’s nightmares, but no one had thought to inform him.


  “I’m afraid it is, my lord,” Mrs. Babcock insisted, crisply. “It won’t do for you to be seen by the others in here and Miss Winslow won’t thank you for it either when she comes to herself. She’s a proud girl.” Her face brooked no nonsense. Michael remembered that look as a boy and knew she wouldn’t think twice about giving him the rough side of her tongue and maybe boxing his ears for good measure. He laid Belle against her pillows. If she’d clung to him, he would have stayed no matter what, but she rolled away and buried her face in the pillow. “Let me know as soon as she’s taken care of, Mrs. Babcock,” The housekeeper was all but pushing him out the door.

  “I will, my lord. I’ll come to you immediately.”

  Michael stood in the hall feeling entirely helpless. All his rank and fortune came to nothing. His housekeeper was right. Belle was an unmarried woman, no matter their intimate history. Leaving her room was the best way to protect her. He remained where he was listening to Mrs. Babcock as she cajoled Belle into letting her help.

  “It’s all right now, dear. I’m here with you. I’ve sent the master away. We’ll get you all sorted out. Those two brutes nattering at you half the day! It’s no wonder you had such a turn tonight. And her grace was no better, I’m sure. Here now, let’s get you washed and into a dry nightgown. Them making you talk about things you don’t wish to,” Mrs. Babcock clucked away to her as she closed Belle’s door. “Shameful it was. Not a whole brain between the three of them.”

  Michael strode forcefully down the hall to his brother’s room. Mrs. Babcock was right. It was shameful how they'd taken what they needed from her today and then dismissed her without so much as a thank you, but he'd make it right. She wouldn't be alone tonight. Drew’s room was lit and his brother sat in his bath-chair awaiting word of Belle. He glared at Michael as he entered. Hostility and concern warred across his features. “How is she?” he demanded.

  “Mrs. Babcock is taking care of her.” Michael opened his mouth to demand answers, but his brother cut him off.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Michael, questioning her for hours in a room with Strathmore and his wife!”

  “Belle agreed to the interview, Drew.” Michael sounded defensive to his own ears. “If I’d known about her nightmares I would have handled things much differently.” Michael glared at Paddy and then refocused his anger on Drew. “How is it the entire household knows about them and no one thought to advise me?”

  “This is hardly the time to complain about feeling left out, is it?” Drew snapped. “You’ve done nothing since Belle arrived but make it clear that you could hardly abide the sight of her. I’m going to her. Belle needs someone in this bloody place who cares about her.” Drew wheeled towards the door. Michael moved to step in front of him, but in the end it was Paddy’s words that stopped his brother.

  “Let a woman see to her, Mister Drew. There’s nothing we can do for her now. It’s tomorrow morning she’ll be needing us. Miss Belle won’t be happy about all this fuss tonight. I’ll warrant you that.”

  Drew lashed out at his brother. “You threw her into the maelstrom, Michael. You never should have let Strathmore and his wife into this house,” He said fiercely.

  “Belle invited Damaris, I didn’t,” Michael answered sharply. He knew that it was the weakest possible defense in the face of tonight’s events. He should have helped Jules make his wife leave. Drew swore and buried his head in his hands. Michael came to a sudden, stark realization. “This isn’t just about the hospital, or the Siege,” he said, making his words a statement rather than a question. He looked at the men in front of him. “This is about how she came to be injured.” Their silence became a dreadful thing, making the air in the room thick and palling. His heart began to pound. He feared he already knew the answer to his next question. “That’s why you’re upset that she had to face Jules and Damaris today. There was no coach accident, was there?”

  Drew rubbed one of his hands against his eyes. “It’s all of it jumbled up together,” he muttered, then raised his head and spoke with greater care to ensure his point came across. “It’s not for me to say more than that. Belle is a very private person. Paddy and I will not betray her trust, so don’t ask us to. If you want to know anything you must get Belle to trust you enough to tell you herself.” He gave his brother a level look. “That’s not going to be easy considering your treatment of her in the past.”

  “I suppose not,” he allowed, “but you know I had my reasons, Drew.” He didn’t elaborate. There was no need to revisit history.

  “As Belle has her reasons for guarding her privacy where you’re concerned,” Drew said. “She may be employed by you, Michael, but I will not let her be abused or frightened byanyone in this house. You’ve no idea what we’ve been through together. She watched from the shadows the day as you loaded me onto your ship to bring me home – too afraid of you to come and say goodbye to me. Belle didn’t think you were going to be here. Did you know that? Duncan Gillian lied to her to get her to come to the abbey and even though it meant facing you, fearing you, she stayed for me. You have no idea what I owe Belle, what you owe her. Neither one of us have ever made it easy for her.”

  Drew rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, calming himself before he continued to confront his brother. During the past few moments Drew had revealed himself to be a man to reckon with and Michael was forced to admit that between the two of them, his younger brother was definitely the better one.

  “You're right about it all, especially that I don't understand what the two of you have been through, but I wish to learn.”

  “She was shot.” Drew declared flatly. Michael stared back at his brother in shock.

  “Mary Seacole and Belle would go to the battlefield with the orderlies and haul the living to safety. Sometimes the Russian snipers shot at them. The bastards played with them, trying to make them run. Those women never ran and one day Belle was hit. A bullet grazed her hip, but she still stayed by Mary’s side.”

  Paddy cleared his throat and Drew looked away from his brother leaving Michael chastened. All this time he’d believed that Belle remained here at his sufferance. Granted, she’d returned when he asked her to, but until recently he’d believed she’d come to the abbey intent on facing him, taunting him. It was not the case all. She’d been afraid of him the first day when she’d confronted him in the library, yet she’d stayed for Drew. Her only agenda had been to keep her friend alive. She’d been afraid at the inn thinking Michael might have her arrested if she displeased him, but she’d returned with him anyway, still refusing to run under fire. He thought back to the library this morning. Damaris sitting protected in her husband’s embrace, Michael thinking he should guard the other woman’s sensibilities, but he hadn’t thought about Belle – not really and she’d lived through the nightmare of that war. God, he felt ashamed.

  “I’m going to see how she is,” he said quietly. “For what it’s worth, Drew, you’re right about everything. I should have taken better care of her today, but I will do better by her in the future. You have my word.” Drew nodded, but said nothing, appearing to be lost in his own hellish memories. Michael knew that Paddy would sit with Drew all night if necessary to help hold his brother’s demons at bay and Michael would do the same for Belle. He walked slowly along the corridor to her room, each step weighted with iron. He would find his answers tonight. He only hoped he could learn to live with them.

  Michael passed Mrs. Babcock along the way. His housekeeper looked as if she were about to speak to him, perhaps warn him away. He forestalled her by raising his hand. He wanted to see Belle, needed to see her, and he’d had quite enough of warnings and lectures for one night.

  Everything was quiet beyond her door, no sounds of talking, no crying. He knocked softly. There was no answer. The latch was broken from Michael kicking open the door. He pushed lightly against the wood and the door swung inward. A lamp continued to burn beside the vacant bed and for a moment Michael thought that per
haps Mrs. Babcock had given her a new room. Then he saw her standing at the window with her back to him, her dark hair falling in waves half way down her back. She was searching for something and Michael had had enough dark nights of the soul himself to know that she was watching for the dawn. “Belle?” he called softly. He wasn’t certain she would answer him.

  “Yes, Michael,” she replied. She sounded resigned more than anything else and that bothered him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as he crossed the room to her side.

  She shook her head and gave a weak laugh. “Judging from tonight, I shouldn’t think so. I’ve caused quite a bother, haven’t I?” She sighed. “I’m tired, and I’m afraid to sleep. Mrs. Babcock offered to sit with me, but I couldn’t let her do that. She has the entire household to run tomorrow. I’m not that selfish – at least not anymore. Is Drew all right?”

  “Paddy’s sitting with him. He’ll be fine.” Michael placed his hand on the center of her back, gently rubbing it in a circular pattern. “Why didn’t you tell me about your nightmares?” He could hardly believe it possible, but if anything, the muscles of her back grew tenser beneath his hand. Michael knew if he said the wrong word now, she would turn and bolt into the night just to get away from him and the memories he stirred up for her. He kept gently circling her back with his hand.

  “I was afraid you might think I deserved them,” Belle said softly, a slight tremor in her voice. “No matter who nurse, Annabelle Winslow is now neither you, nor Strathmore can let go of a wretched nineteen-year-old girl.” She turned to face him. “If I’d shown up at the abbey today, my face and body ravaged with scars, if I’d abased myself in that room both of you would have pitied me, but you see, most of my scars don’t show. The only one in there today who understood that was the duchess.”