A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  “Well, really, I must say.” the dowager’s curls bobbed beneath her lace, morning cap as she shook her head. “I don’t understand that boy sometimes. Certainly Henry never acted this way. Of course, Drew always was a sensitive child. He had such a delicate constitution too.” She snapped her fingers and a footman placed another rasher of bacon on her plate. “He gets it from me, you know,” she said in a confiding tone. “People with truly refined, artistic souls like us can have their dreams crushed so easily. It’s such a trial to be so sensitive.” She shook her head, popped a piece of bacon into her mouth and sighed as she chewed on it. She reminded Michael of a masticating cow.

  “What happened last night?” Michael asked, refusing to acknowledge her words.

  “Lady Arabella granted Drew a waltz and then delivered a rather cutting setdown afterwards. She’s known for them. I fail to see what the fuss is all about. She’s no prettier than she ought to be and her lineage is not nearly as good as ours. Araby this, Araby that. She’s all your brother talks about. Apparently, last night’s cut was particularly cruel.” His Mother put down her knife and fork and glared at Michael. “Drew was devastated, Michael. Really, someone needs to give that young woman her comeuppance. Perhaps then she’d have the good sense to notice your brother.”

  Michael smiled at her, a chilling effect, he knew. “We actually agree on something, Mother. Now, tell me about this chit.

  ***

  “I think we’re all assembled,” Katherine said, as the last of the parcels and maids were loaded in the hackney. Lady Katherine met every plan, social or otherwise, with the foresight and determination of a seasoned military campaigner. Her endless ability to organize everyone around her frequently crossed the line from talent to irritating behavior. Still, with today’s undertaking all the Furies recognized the benefit of a well-ordered strategy.

  As far as any of their parents knew each young lady was shopping in the company of the other two. A small lie – innocent enough to Sarah’s parents, but one that would bring swift retribution to both Katherine and Arabella, should the truth of today’s mission come to light. Once the girls were seated in the Saunders' family coach and underway, they began to talk about the only things that held any real interest for them, the Season, the latest gossip, the Season, who was expecting an offer and of course, the Season.

  “I refuse to believe that Muriel Cathcart can land anyone above the son of a knight. For Heaven’s sake, the girl has no refinements whatsoever and her grandfather was a barrister.” Araby patted the cluster of glossy black curls that trailed over one of her shoulders. “Besides she clomps her feet like an old cart horse when she dances.” The other girls laughed.

  “I like that,” Katherine exclaimed, “and I hereby rename her, Muriel Carthorse. Lord, remember her at Miss Harkness’ Academy?” she asked. Her question only caused more laughter. “Damaris Kingsford was almost as bad, but at least she could be taught.” The laughter abruptly died.

  “Leave it to Katherine to kill a mood.” Sarah frowned at her friend and then glanced anxiously at Araby. “It will be all right, dear. Iredale danced with you twice at the Bloomquist’s ball and called on you the next day. You’ll see. Things will work out.”

  “I’m certain you’re right, Sarah,” Araby replied, trying to hide her concern behind a smile. She knew neither of her friends were convinced by her attempt.

  “Has the baron questioned you about Damaris’ rescue?” Katherine asked.

  Araby sighed, “Not yet, but I’m certain it’s only a matter of time.”

  “It might be a considerable amount of time,” Sarah interjected. “My Mother attended the Summerfield tea yesterday and learned that Damaris and Arland have gone on a wedding trip to Devon – one of the family’s holdings tucked away from prying eyes and too many questions. Both families are working hard to put about that theirs is a love match.”

  Katherine gave an indelicate snort. “They are grinding the rough edges off Damaris, more likely. She's always been a little too common for my tastes.”

  “At any rate,” Sarah continued, sending Katherine a suppressive look, “Arland is the only one who could possibly connect the rescue note to Araby and he’s nicely out of the way.”

  “He might not realize I’m the one who sent it,” Araby allowed. “I didn't sign it, but undoubtedly Damaris has told him both Katherine and I were involved in the abduction.” She reached out and gripped her friend’s hand. “When people are called to account for this, Katherine, both you and Sarah will be implicated.” Tears of remorse filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have dragged both of you into this mess.”

  “I for one have no regrets,” Katherine stated coolly. “Given the same situation, I’d do it all again.”

  “Me as well,” Sarah patted Araby’s knee. “You are both as dear to me as any sisters could be. I will stand by you any day come what may. Don’t forget that there are others far more responsible in this matter than any one of us. If the entire story comes out so will the truth.”

  Araby’s tears spilled down her cheeks. The truth was sordid and ugly and she doubted it could spare either her, or her mother from her stepfather's vengeance. If the truth of her existence came out, Araby could forget making a prestigious marriage. She’d be lucky to make any sort of descent marriage at all. Emotion closed her throat hindering further discussion, but thankfully cool, collected Katherine broke the somber mood.

  “That’s all well and good, but we have a mission today, ladies, and we must give it our full attention.” With that Katherine opened the satchel on her lap and pulled out an enormous pair of shears. “I’m determined to succeed, even if it takes both of you to hold Miss Stevens down.”

  Twenty minutes later The Furies arrived at the residence of Miss Lucinda Stevens. Although they were told that she was not at home, the Furies saw no reason to let that fact deter them. They pushed past a protective butler, two footmen and the chaperone to gain entrance into the young woman's bedroom. Their own retinue of servants followed in their wake – a veritable armada of starched caps and aprons. Miss Stevens sat curled up in a window seat staring at the outside world. Her head turned quickly towards them as they entered and everyone could see that her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

  Katherine spoke first, pulling her shears from her satchel and brandishing them in the air. “Enough waterworks,” she commanded. “We’ve come on a mission of retribution.” The poor girl eyed the shears fearfully and Katherine continued in a tone of grim satisfaction. “Miss Stevens, surrender your ruffles. They make you look like a pastel meringue.”

  Three hours later the American heiress stood in front of her dressing mirror unable to credit the change in her appearance. “I can’t believe what you’ve done,” she marveled. “I look quite...quite....”

  “Lovely,” Katherine supplied, positively beaming with pleasure.

  Sarah ran to the girl’s side and clasped her hands with her own, unable to hide her delight. “You’ll take immediately. What man could resist you? And we’ve taken a pledge to cut any young man who does.”

  Araby stood across the room from them allowing herself a small, but triumphant smile. All the poor girl had needed was proper clothing, a hairdresser to teach her maid the right styles for her mistress' hair and the elimination of those infamous ruffles. Each of The Furies had donated an unworn gown from their own wardrobes; of which there were many. While their maids had worked diligently to alter the clothes and salvage what they could from Miss Steven’s own unfortunate wardrobe, Madame Marchant, the Season’s premiere modiste had measured Lucinda, taken notes and promised new gowns and day dresses within a week. Araby basked in the glow of Lucinda’s smile. Perhaps today, made up in some small way for her own dreadful treatment of Drew.

  Bennet and his friends had laughed when she’d mocked him from the cut of his coat to his dancing skills. Drew had been devastated – as she’d intended. He was all that was kind and caring. That was his problem. He’d seen too much and
if she didn’t succeed in keeping him away from her, there was no telling what the Baron would do to either of them. After Drew left the ball Araby had never felt more miserable, or more heartless. Whether or not she succeeded with Iredale, she’d never forget the cost of that night and the look of betrayal on Drew’s face.

  Katherine’s voice returned her to the business at hand. “Remember, you mustn’t be hurt if Araby and I don’t acknowledge you much after tonight. We have our own consequence to consider, after all.” Katherine examined each of her fingernails, buffed to perfection as always. “We have decided to continue lending you our support – quietly, of course. You shall became a moderate success, I should think.” Araby and Sarah looked at each other and shook their heads. Katherine could be so very condescending. It was what she’d been bred to be, even though it ran very contrary to her true nature. Katherine’s mother could frighten the devil himself into blind obedience.

  “Never mind,” Sarah hugged Lucinda briefly. “I shall always acknowledge you. We’ll have that nasty Edmond Bennet begging you for a dance before the week is out,” she declared.

  “I don’t know how to thank you all,” Lucinda said in her warm, southern drawl. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes. “You’ve been so good to me and I’m...I’m just, well...nobody.”

  Araby stepped forward. She thought of the lessons she’d learned at her nurse, Gertie’s, knee – The Golden Rule. Everyone mattered and how you treated them, regardless of their rank defined you as a person. She remembered Drew’s pale face last night. She’d certainly defined herself clearly enough during the past two years, hadn’t she – sniping at girls she considered to be any challenge to her role as the Incomparable, humiliating those who weren’t if she could make herself look clever in the process. She’d helped execute the ruination of a girl of good family and betrayed an astute young man whose only sin was to offer her compassion and kindness. “You’re not a nobody, Lucinda,” she said softly.

  “Yes, she is,” Katherine replied matter-of-factly. “She has no connections other than Lady Bramwell and those are tenuous at best.” She looked at the three of them as if she were merely explaining an examination question they’d all gotten wrong. In Katherine’s mind she was and she nodded for emphasis. “Lucinda really is a complete nobody.” There was a slight pause and then the other three girls burst into laughter much to Katherine’s confusion.

  ***

  Michael lounged against a pillar at the back of the Grantham’s salon. The cut of coats might alter, the lines of dresses change, but the affectations and the petty intrigues remained the same. Only the cast of characters differed. Their hostess’ decor however, was a rather inventive recreation of Greek Revival. Unfortunately, it had lost a great deal in her particular interpretation. The friezes on the walls were trite, the work of a skilled painter, but not a singular artist. They were laden with sentimentality, but light in any true artistic depth. He buried a sigh as he continued to watch the audience. Musical evenings were located at the third level of Hell right beside country dances. Michael continued searching for his quarry. She was the real reason for his attendance tonight. He meant to see that she kept her claws sheathed around his brother permanently. Ah, there in the third row. Diamond and gold hair pins glinted amid her thick locks of dark hair. Few people could carry off yellow, he admitted, but she could. No vapid lemon-colored silks for this girl, though. The shade of her gown made her look as though she’d draped herself in the very glow of the sun itself.

  More than half the eligible men of the ton carried a torch for her from what he gathered, Drew included. She held little appeal for Michael, though. He liked bedding women – hot blooded ones who knew what their bodies were for and enjoyed using them. Lady Arabella Winston though undeniably beautiful, was a doll all trussed up in splendid gowns and artifice. She toyed with society as if it were a shiny bauble created strictly for her own amusement. There were always one or two of them in every year’s crop of debutantes who were more calculating and ruthless than the others. This year there were three.

  The Furies, they called them. He eyed them sitting together in a row, one pale, blonde, one with rich, reddish-brown curls and the last with hair the color of a raven’s wing. They were three uncommonly lovely girls, he’d give them that. One day, after they’d grown disenchanted with their advantageous marriages, he might enjoy sampling them in his bed. The dark one, Araby, would be first. Young Andrew had very good taste.

  After he'd finished interrogating his mother about the Araby chit, Michael had taken Drew around to his sport club and then on to Tattersall's to view one of the auctions. Opportunities to spend time with his younger brother were far fewer than Michael liked, but between business meetings and the renovations to his new townhouse his life was more a series of obligations than preferences.

  Michael's relationship with the rest of his family had never been particularly close. Since he'd returned to England successful, but still very much the prodigal son, he'd made peace with his eldest brother Henry, even starting a rudimentary friendship with the man. Not easy to do, given their parents’ mutual dislike of their middle son. It was one of the few things they’d agreed upon during their marriage. Once Henry and his wife returned from their tour of Italy Michael fully intended to continue building his friendship with his eldest sibling.

  The audience gave a round of polite applause signaling the end of an uninspiring, even dreary performance. Michael adjusted his position so that Lady Arabella would pass him as she made her exit. She moved gracefully, her head held high by her long, slender neck. It was a neck meant for collecting a string of slow, sensual kisses from earlobe to collarbone and damned if Michael didn't feel a tug of envy for the man lucky enough to give them. Her smile dazzled the beholder, but he noticed as she moved closer to him that it did nothing to warm her lovely, cognac-colored eyes. Cold and calculating. Oh, he had her number all right. She turned and addressed one of her friends.

  “That was truly ghastly. If she’s an accomplished musician, I’m Chopin. A Hereford steer would have better command of a violin than she does and a lighter touch. There were times I wanted to knock the instrument right out of her hands – excuse me, hooves.”

  Her friend’s laughed appreciatively. Michael agreed with her assessment of the young lady’s musical talent, but the girl in question was also their host’s daughter and Lady Arabella had made no attempt to lower the sound of her voice. Two young men began whispering to each other and likewise made little attempt to hide their amusement.

  “No wonder her skirts are so ridiculously full,” remarked the slender blonde on her left. “they’re designed to hide her bovine lineage.”

  The other girl’s remark was not only bad form, it was also callus. By tomorrow half the younger set would be openly mocking Miss Susannah Grantham. Michael abruptly stepped in front of the girls.

  “Good evening...ladies,” he said, pausing long enough before the last word to make his inference about their lack of manners clear. Only the little auburn-haired chit had the grace to look embarrassed. He surveyed Arabella Winston with a narrowed gaze, putting enough assessment in it to discomfort her. She was tall for a female, but not nearly as tall as he. Somehow, though, she still managed to look down her nose at him. She brushed past him without a word and the other girls followed her lead. Well, well, well, she was an audacious little brat and in desperate need of a lesson in behavior.

  Conversation and laughter flowed by him as he made his loop around the ballroom. Then Michael heard a rich, silvery, trill of laughter and knew instinctively to whom it belonged. As if she sensed his presence, Araby Winston turned towards him as he strolled by. He kept moving, watching her just long enough to know that her eyes followed him. Excellent, he thought, let the game begin.

  He already had her measure. Despite Drew’s refusal to see the reality of the situation, Michael knew, as did everyone else, she had no interest in a third son. She wanted money and a title. Had Araby Winston truly cared for hi
s brother, Michael would happily settle a considerable amount of funds on them upon their marriage. However, she clearly was not the sort of girl to care about anyone but herself.

  Michael suffered through his own season of reckoning, as he’d come to call it. His heart, long since hardened against the foibles of that overused expression, love, had eventually recovered. He put passion and lust in their proper places now and disregarded any female pretensions to finer feelings. Drew would learn as well. Michael now had a fortune large enough to entice even the strictest marriage-seeking mamas and their perfectly turned-out daughters, but Drew did not.

  Michael followed his quarry with his eyes. She glanced back at him and then spoke to one of her companions from behind her fan. His smile broadened into a grin. Later during the dancing he’d partner Arabella Winston whether she liked it or not and he would teach her the true meaning of the term, ‘setdown.’

  ***

  “That’s Michael Lassiter, the Earl of Stowebridge’s younger brother and older brother to Andrew,” Katherine said from behind the discretion of her fan. “He’s lately returned to London. He doesn’t attend many events, so his presence here tonight is quite a social coup for Lady Grantham,”

  Araby glanced back at the man wearing impeccably tailored evening dress. When he’d stood in front of them moments ago she couldn’t help but admire the look of him. He was a tall, broad–shouldered man whose handsome features clearly enjoyed the warmth of the sun. His eyes by contrast, were a cool, clear gray – more the color of a richly silvered mirror, than plain pewter. She fancied they’d be equally quick to display humor, or rage and something told her that she should avoid drawing his anger. A rush of excitement passed through her. Drawing his passion, well, that might be another thing entirely.

  “He’s very handsome,” she murmured.

  “Yes. Rich too,” Katherine stated. “Unfortunately, he wouldn’t suit as a prospect. For one thing, he’s too...experienced for you, and therefore harder to manage. For another, he has an unsavory past. And there’s the lack of title, of course.”