A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  Thankfully, Nettie's street came in sight. Her friend's landlady greeted her with a faltering smile that no doubt stemmed from concern for her floors as Belle's gown and boots left a watery trail in their wake. Only Nettie's position as the house's most illustrious resident and Belle's position as her regular visitor kept the woman from banishing her to the kitchen. Belle murmured an apology as she tromped up the staircase to Nettie's rooms. In short order Nettie's dresser and companion, Mrs. McTavish, affectionately known as Mrs. Tav, had Belle towel dried, changed into a warm dressing gown and seated before the fire, a hot cup of tea in her hand. Only then did Belle sigh with relief and allow herself the privilege of venting her outrage.

  “That woman will be the death of her son, Nettie. Larkin is healing, both in mind and body. He grasped my hand in gratitude, that's all, and that woman was so terrified I was trying to lure her son into marriage she ordered me thrown out of the house.” Belle took a fortify sip from her cup. “Lord Isley let her get away with it too. I thought he had more sense. Apparently I wrong.”

  Nettie shrugged as she reached for her own cup. “You’re a lovely woman in what many still regard as a scandalous occupation, Belle. Your motives will always be suspect when it comes to handsome young lordlings and their doting mamas.” She smiled at her friend's sullen glare. “That's something I happen to know a great deal about, I might add. Both of us have placed ourselves beyond the pale as far as good society is concerned, you in your way and me in mine.” She took a bite from her piece of shortbread and Belle watched as her eyes briefly closed in pleasure at the sweet, buttery taste of the biscuit. “What frustrates the gentry more than anything,” Nettie continued, “is that they can't do without our skills, though they'd rather not have to suffer us in their homes. That's not difficult to avoid in my case, but you are another matter. You're fit to tend their sick and infirm and therefore allowances must be made. Just never forget your place, or that they consider your true nature to be coarse and indelicate.” She punctuated her remark by tossing the remains of her shortbread into her mouth.

  “They might be right about that,” Belle allowed as she stretched her feet towards the fire. “There’s not much call for drawing room etiquette on the battlefield.”

  Nettie eyed her pointedly. “You learned your etiquette long before the Crimea, love, just as did I. Needs must and all that.” Belle shrugged not wishing to be drawn into a conversation about their pasts. Nettie twisted a blonde curl idly around her forefinger. “The ton considers me good enough to sing and dance for them when they feel daring enough to attend such lowbrow entertainment and to – well, let me be frank – to teach their young men how to use their twig and berries.”

  Belle laughed aloud at the idea of Nettie consenting to teach any young lord about sexual congress for any amount of money. Circumstances may have forced Nettie to make her own way in the world, but she was no man's mistress – at least not any longer. Any man she chose to take to her bed these days was there strictly at Nettie's invitation and if he so much as hinted about offering her carte blanche he would promptly find himself uninvited. Nettie Pomeroy was the toast of London's premiere music hall and as such, had her pick of lovers from the wealthiest and most handsome men in England. She just would never be introduced to their families.

  “This isn't about their treatment of me, Nettie, rude and irritating as it was,” Belle stated. “It doesn't make me angry to be consigned to the servants stairs by the Lord Isleys of the world. We both know I'm more free there than I would ever be living in the grandest home in Mayfair. I'm angry because the Isleys and their ilk believe that any woman forced to earn a living must be lacking in moral character unless she's of good family and ekes out her living as a poorly paid governess, or a lady's companion. How many such positions do they think exist and how does one obtain such a post without letters of character?” Belle picked up a piece of shortbread for herself and pointed it at her friend to emphasize her point. “Do you know the worst of it?” Nettie wisely remained silent. “Larkin still needs care and that is of secondary importance to their moral objection to me.” Belle slumped back against her chair. “Who's going to care for him now? As I was leaving Lady Isley swore she'd never ‘tolerate another creature like me in her home.’ ”

  Nettie set down her cup and moved to kneel beside Belle. “Duncan will make them see reason, don't you worry. They want him to take care of their son badly enough to follow his dictates.” She chuckled softly. “If I know our mad Scot he'll not only get another nurse into the house within a week, but also secure you an apology. Don't fret, Belle. You've done all you could do.” She hugged her friend tightly, then crossed to the small writing desk set in one corner of the parlor. “I almost forgot. I have letters for you. One arrived just this morning and I suspect it's from Duncan. At least you didn't have to wait for me to send them on to you.” She winked saucily as she retrieved the letters and handed them to Belle. “Would you like some privacy to read them? I have to begin getting ready for the theater soon anyway.”

  Belle glanced at both letters and smiled. “No, Nettie.” She held one aloft. “This one is from Katherine and as you surmised the other is from Duncan. I'll happily share their contents with you.” As eager as Belle was to secure new employment, she was more eager for word from Katherine. Belle learned upon her return to England several months ago that Katherine's husband had exiled her to the north country. Rumors claimed that she's been locked up in an asylum for attacking her husband's mistress. Others claimed that she'd been such a shrew her husband had sent her to live on one of his remote estates, while still more insisted he'd put her to work in one of his own factories. Like all rumors, there were some facts buried amid the speculation, not many mind you, and all of them distorted. Belle tore open Katherine's letter taking a moment to digest the contents before speaking.

  “Well?” Nettie asked anxiously.

  “She is managing. Our letters will be allowed to continue as long as we make no further attempts to send her funds or rail tickets.” Belle looked levelly at Nettie. “He is having her watched and all her letters are read.”

  “This is outrageous, Belle! He can't get away with this!”

  “Yes, he can, Nettie. He's her husband and he can do whatever he wishes with her short of all out murder,” Belle answered darkly, “and I'm sure he's wealthy enough to get away with that if he chooses.” Her stepfather hadn’t been wealthy at all and he’d easily escaped the hangman. “She asks us not to interfere and says that should her situation improve she might be allowed visitors at some point.”

  “Allowed visitors! What is she, a prisoner that she may beallowed to see the people who care about her? Surely her mother won't tolerate this situation.”

  Belle folded Katherine's brief letter before replying. “Lady Bellwood is still traveling abroad and her influence amongst the leaders of the ton has significantly diminished during the past few years, or so my sources tell me. Her ladyship is notorious for keeping her own counsel though, so I doubt she has said much to anyone.”

  “That woman is so proud she asks to see God's references before saying her prayers,” Nettie shuddered and turned away to stare out the window, her expression bleak. Belle understood her upset. A woman far more vicious than Katherine's mother had destroyed Nettie's life simply for the crime of being born.

  “We will do what we can for Katherine. We will find a way to help her, Nettie, you'll see. In the meantime let's be thankful that neither of us is under any man's yoke.” Nettie nodded as she continued to watch the wind blow rain harshly against her windows. “Let's see what Duncan has to say, shall we?” Belle made her voice cheerful in an effort to draw Nettie away from her memories.

  Belle opened Duncan's letter with equal parts excitement and trepidation. She knew where he was and though part of her longed to be there as well, she knew it was the last place on earth she would be either safe, or welcome. She unfolded the thick vellum and began to read.

  Dearest Belle,
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  You must come at once. I would never ask this of you were the circumstances not dire. Andrew needs you. Otherwise, I doubt his survival. The earl is occupied elsewhere, so you need have no fear of crossing either paths, or swords with him. I've enclosed funds for a rail ticket in hopes that you will agree to, once again, come to the aid of our friend. I'm arranging for your replacement in Lord Isley's household, hoping that you will forgive my presumption. I trust Nettie to see this letter reaches you quickly and that I will see you before the end of the week. I am in your debt, my friend.

  Yours Affectionately,

  Duncan

  Belle pressed her lips together and carefully folded the letter. ‘In his debt,’ indeed. She knew blackmail when she read it. Belle owed Duncan much more than she could ever repay him and he knew it. Andrew Lassiter was another matter. She’d believed her debt to him paid in full. Apparently, that was not the case. She shivered and told herself it was simply the result of being soaked to the skin earlier. She managed a tight smile at Nettie. “It would seem our mad Scot has made me an offer near impossible to refuse,” she said. “Just my luck that I’m not otherwise engaged.”

  ***

  Surrey

  The Earl of Stowebridge, closed the door to his brother’s room and motioned Dr. Gillian to accompany him farther down the hall. “He gets more frail each day. He’s given up on ever walking again. Do you honestly believe there's anything you can do to help him?” It was a question Michael must have asked half a dozen times since Dr. Gillian’s arrival yesterday, but he needed the man’s assurances, damn it. He’d pay anything, do anything to save Drew.

  Duncan Gillian met the earl’s gaze straight on. “It won’t be easy. The bed sores are of particular concern and over all, his care during the past few months has been poor. His muscles have been left to atrophy and there’s no strength in them even though the initial injury has healed significantly. More disturbingly, I believe you’re right. The fight has gone out of him. Medicine can only do so much. Andrew must want to recover.”

  “He was noting like this when I left for America, or I assure you, I never would have gone. What the hell did she let happen to him?” It was a rhetorical question, one Dr. Gillian clearly felt comfortable leaving unanswered. “And you’re convinced this particular nurse will make a difference for Drew?”

  He nodded. “Miss Winslow and Andrew have a...singular relationship. She was one of his nurses at Barrack Hospital.”

  Michael frowned as they continued walking down the hallway. “She worked with Mary Seacole, you say?”

  “Yes, she did,” Dr. Gillian answered. “Miss Winslow took her initial training under Miss Nightingale at the Hospital for Invalid Gentlewomen on Harley Street. She accompanied Miss Nightingale to the Crimea, but left Scutari to work on the front lines outside of Sevastopol. She's an exceptional nurse. Mother, that is, Mrs. Seacole taught Miss Winslow a great deal about medicinal herbs, poultices and such. I’ve met with success using some of her less orthodox treatments, myself. I’m hopeful that some of them will prove beneficial in Andrew’s case.”

  “Would Mrs. Seacole consider coming here to care for Andrew herself?” Michael would pay her anything she asked if it increased his brother's chances of recovery. He’d rather have the teacher than the student any day. Doctor Gillian stopped to regard him. Michael knew what the man saw. It was the same image that stared out at Michael from his own mirror each day. He looked like what he was, a desperate, shell of a man – hardly the sort of impression a peer should make regardless of the circumstances. Michael prided himself on appearing intractable and he narrowed his gaze to make it clear that any of the doctor’s observations should be kept to himself. Gillian had only one patient in this household.

  The doctor cleared his throat before speaking. “I requested her assistance when you first contacted me, my lord. Unfortunately, she was occupied with other matters. We are fortunate, however, that Miss Winslow’s current employment with Viscount Isley’s household has run its course. She arrives tomorrow.”

  “As you see fit, Dr. Gillian. I assure you that you will have the cooperation of my entire household. I will spare no expense and I expect you to come to me immediately for whatever you require. Let me know if you encounter any difficulties with my staff or...with Lady Stowebridge.”The doctor murmured his appreciation. “I’ll leave you to your patient then. Please send word immediately of any changes in my brother’s condition.” He walked away without waiting for a response.

  Chapter Eleven

  Belle descended the carriage and stared up at the imposing stone structure in front of her. Stowebridge Abbey, seat of Lassiter family for more than 300 years, was impressive, even to someone used to impressive homes. The grounds held rich promise for the coming spring despite the fact most of the trees and shrubs remained bare of anything more than tightly formed buds. The landscape would be breathtaking come May. Most nurses would have given what little they possessed to work amidst such beauty. Belle was not most nurses. Given the choice, she’d rather be just about anywhere else in the world. He was away, she reminded herself firmly. There was no need for panic. The worst she'd have to deal with would be Drew's mother. Not a bright spot in one's day, granted, but certainly nowhere near as dangerous as the present earl. There was no choice, anyway, Belle reminded herself. Promises must kept and she would never turn her back on Drew no matter what. Once she’d seen him Belle would make her decision whether or not she should remain. She took a deep breath to stay the trembling in her legs. He’s not here, she told herself again. There was nothing to fear.

  Duncan Gillian dashed down the steps to greet her. His bright, russet hair and warm smile immediately eased the worst of Belle’s anxiety. He clasped both her hands in his and squeezed them gently as he stepped back to studied her.

  “How are you, girlie?” he asked, the soft roll of his Scottish brogue, a balm to her tattered nerves. He'd first used the term, ‘girlie,’ when she displayed her still formidable temper. She suspected that it had been his way of reminding her that she no longer ruled the ballrooms of London. Over time it had become a term of affection. She smiled back at him with a small shake of her head.

  “Chagrined. Lord Isley sent me packing and I find myself in need of work.” She gave him a brief accounting at the incident with Lady Phillippa. Duncan scowled at the conclusion of her story and promised to demand a full apology upon his return to London. Belle squeezed his arm in gratitude. He was one of her dearest friends. He’d not only rescued her five years ago, but had also given her the chance to do something more meaningful with her life than adorn some man’s arm and spend his fortune on fripperies.

  Belle returned her attention to the grand house in front of her. Years ago, in a moment of madness, she’d imagined Michael Lassiter to be her knight errant. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile at the notion. Back then it seemed highly unlikely Michael would inherit the earldom. His older brother was in good health and had married the season before, but life had a way of taking unexpected turns and the sixth Earl and his wife both perished suddenly when their small sailboat capsized off the coast of Naples within weeks of Drew’s enlistment.

  The man she'd fancied herself in love with had been a rakish man of twenty-seven, yet held the command and self-assurance of a much older man. Back then she’d believed Michael was strong enough to protect her from her stepfather and that they would have a storybook life together. Then he’d shown her what a vengeful bastard he could be and her dreams of safety vanished like, well, dreams. Thank God he wasn't in residence.

  “I should like to see Drew before I settle in,” she said, forcing the past back where it belonged.

  “You won’t recognize him, Belle. All things considered, he looked better at Barrack Hospital,” Duncan said grimly.

  Belle remembered Drew’s arrival and the weeks of care it had taken to save his life. The notion that his brother had let this happen shocked her. Say what you would about the callousness of the Earl of Stoweb
ridge – and many did – he loved his brother. He never would have neglected his care. Something didn’t make sense. She said as much to Duncan.

  “The earl and his brother still have a strained relationship,” Duncan began. “Stowebridge has been traveling in America for the past several months and returned only last week. It’s easy to see, even with Drew’s weakened state that there’s still no love lost between them.” Belle dropped her eyes guiltily. So they hadn’t managed to patch things up – more blame to be heaped at her door. Her debt to Drew was far from paid.

  During Drew’s convalescence in Scutari, Michael Lassiter had arrived on one of his own ships to take his brother home to England. He'd almost seen her that day even hidden amongst the shadows as she'd been. The notion of seeing him again terrified her now just as much as it had on that day. God knew what he’d do if he ever found out she’d come to the Abbey.

  “I’d best see what I’m dealing with then,” she stated firmly. Duncan instructed the footman to see to Belle’s bags and then led her inside.

  If the outside of Stowebridge Abbey was impressive, the inside was more so. The abbey came to the First Earl of Stowebridge in 1537 as a reward from Henry the Eighth for faithful service. Rumor had it that the faithful service rendered to the lusty King had more to do with the monarch’s fondness for the first earl’s countess. Each succeeding generation of Lassiters put their personal mark on the place through a series of renovations designed to obliterate the, sparse monastic feel and turn the structure into an ancestral home. The tapestries and paintings adorning the walls spoke of a rich and colorful family history and what Belle saw of the furnishings as they made their way to the family wing told her that the present Earl of Stowebridge was indeed a very wealthy man.