A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

Duncan remained in the hall while Belle reacquainted herself with her patient. Despite his warnings she was still unprepared for the sight of Andrew Lassiter propped up in his bed, virtually buried alive beneath pillows, blankets and counterpane. His eyes looked out at her from shadowed hollows. His cheeks were sunken and covered with whiskers. His burnished hair clung limply to his skull and his skin held the waxy pallor of someone closer to death than life. Whoever had been taking care of him had done an abysmal job.

  One of the male attendants employed by Duncan, an Irishman named, Paddy Merrick, stood at the foot of Andrew’s bed. He would help her with lifting and moving their patient, as well as with the endless hours of exercising required to train Andrew’s muscles to move again. If that even remained a possibility. She’d worked with Paddy many times experiencing success, as well as some terrible disappointments. She smiled and nodded in greeting and crossed the room to her patient’s bed.

  “Hello, Drew.”

  He look up at her and blinked as though he were trying to determine whether she was real or simply a dream. Belle reached down tugged on the bottom of the counterpane. It was a meaningless gesture accomplishing nothing save for proving she was indeed real and giving her a moment to rein in her emotions at the sight of her friend. “You came,” was all he said.

  She smiled at him. “Well, someone had to, didn’t they? My, my Andrew, just what have you been doing to yourself?” He turned his face away from her, but she saw his mouth quiver. “Never mind,” she said pleasantly, “we’ll soon have you all sorted out. I see you’ve met Paddy.” Belle gestured towards the tall, muscular man.

  “Yes,” Andrew rasped, “My new keeper. I’ve frightened all the others away.”

  “I smelled as much,” she replied mildly. He turned his head back towards her, his pallor accented by two spots of color. His eyes looked a little more lively – angry, but at least lively.

  “I’m ill, or haven’t you noticed?” he demanded bitterly.

  Belle ignored him and turned to the man at the foot of the bed. “Paddy, I’m going to settle in my room. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Would you please see that hot water and clean linens are here for Mr. Andrew by the time I return?”

  “Yes, Miss Winslow. It’s good to see you.”

  Belle headed towards the door. “Thank you, Paddy,” she replied smoothly. “It’s good to see you as well.” She left the room and then leaned back through the door to give her patient a broad smile. “Did you truly think I’d leave you behind, Drew?” She darted away before he could answer.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How long has he been like that, Duncan, and who’s been caring for him?” Belle demanded once they’d reached her room. Duncan completely ignored propriety and closed the door after following her inside.

  “I don’t want to risk being overheard,” he said, responding to Belle’s pointed look at the door. “Ultimately, Drew’s family is responsible for what you just saw.” Duncan paced to the window as if to collect his thoughts before speaking. “If there’s one problem here it’s that the young man’s family loves him too much. More correctly, his mother is slowly suffocating his will to live.”

  “What of the earl?” Belle’s question held a bitter edge. “I can’t believe he would let Drew sink to such a deplorable state. He’d do anything for his brother.” She knew, better than anyone the lengths he’d go to protect Drew, or to avenge a wrong done to him.

  “As I said, the Earl has been traveling out of the country. I believe he thought he was doing the right thing by staying away. Both his mother and his brother were hostile to his presence, so he left a well-respected doctor and nurse in charge of Drew’s case and headed to America to view his cattle investments.”

  “Cattle over his brother?” Things between the earl and his family must be very strained indeed if he left Drew to travel so far from his home.

  Duncan shrugged. “He’d taken measures to secure his brother’s well-being in his absence. Frankly, it’s the countess’ actions that are questionable. Not long after the earl departed for America she hired a new physician and dismissed the nurse his lordship had originally engaged to care for his brother. She wrote saying that Drew’s recovery was progressing as well as could be expected. Stowebridge had no reason to think otherwise. He trusted the physician and nurse he’d left in charge. You can imagine his shock when he returned home and saw the situation for himself.”

  Belle made a sound of disgust. “Let me guess. Lady Stowebridge decided the nurse was scheming to trick Drew into marriage.” Belle fervently and wished she could drag Lady Isley here and show the old witch exactly what harm a clinging mother could accomplish in the name of love.

  “It wouldn’t surprise we,” Duncan stated. “The physician hired by Lady Stowebridge – and I use the term physician loosely – did little more than torture our patient. Ice baths, strapping him to boards to keep him immobile, applying hot rods to his feet and legs, electrical currents. The man’s a sadistic charlatan. The countess supervised Drew’s care and I’m assured that she insisted that the doctor’s instructions were followed to the letter.” Belle didn’t miss the wry twist of Duncan’s mouth. “Unless, of course, it ran counter to her own superior motherly instincts.”

  Belle had heard enough. Where she’d been powerless to fight the combined power of Lord and Lady Isley, she was not helpless in this case. Besides, she would risk much for Drew’s sake.“Thank God the earl returned when he did. I suppose I’d best do battle with Lady Stowebridge sooner rather than later,”she said grimly.

  “The earl banished the countess from the sick room except for visits. The servants have strict orders to disregard any of her instructions concerning Drew’s care,” Duncan answered. He sounded slightly nervous – not a common occurrence for the usually unflappable Scot.

  “That was all well and good while he was here, but once you leave as well she’ll no doubt try to reassert herself.” She watched Duncan’s carefully blank expression. Normally, he had an open face and believed in complete candor when he spoke with his nurses. What was he hiding? In a horrible flash she knew. “You told me he wasn’t here,” she said flatly.

  “Actually, girlie, if memory serves, I said he was occupied elsewhere.”

  “How far away is ‘elsewhere’?”

  “Various points around the estate, I imagine.”

  Panic seized her. “How could you, Duncan? How could you put me in this position – put Drew in this position? You know my history with that man. I loath him as I loath few others and he feels no more kindly towards me.” She crossed to the bed and opened her valise. The servants were efficient here, too efficient, Belle thought as she noted that her belongings had already been unpacked. “He’s a danger to me, Duncan.” She shivered and moved to the wardrobe. “You know that.”

  “Belle, please listen.”

  “You know what he did to me and that was before Drew was wounded. Do you honestly think I’d have come if I’d known the Earl of Stowebridge was anywhere near here?”

  “Obviously not,” Duncan returned, drily.

  “This isn’t funny, Duncan, at least not to me!” She yanked open the wardrobe. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door until her knuckles whitened. She dropped her head to her chest fighting her memories of that night and the ones that had swiftly followed it. She pushed back against all the fear and rage that welled up inside her. Only a portion of it could be laid at Stowebridge’s door.

  “It’s not funny to me either, lassie,” Duncan said gently, “but can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that if I hadna tricked you into coming now, you’d a forgiven me a month or two down the road when I had to tell that Drew was dead?” As usual in times of deep emotion, Duncan’s Scottish brogue thickened and its soft burr lent strength and comfort to Belle.

  Belle looked back at her friend and mentor, her savior, knowing he spoke the truth and knowing that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hide her anguish from him. “No,” she said bl
eakly, “I wouldn’t have forgiven you for making the choice for me.”

  Duncan came to her side and placed his arm around her shoulders. “You’ve nightmares enough to last you a lifetime, girlie. This dinna have to be one of them. I know you can help Drew. I wouldna have asked you here if I didna think your skills would make all the difference on whether or not he survives. As for the high and mighty earl, it’s long past time you put this business between the two of you to rest. You were a desperate, frightened girl and he was an angry fool.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You forget that I know you, Belle. You’ve never hated the man for what happened to you, nor have you blamed him – not really. You hated him for giving you hope that there could be something better in your life – something finer.”

  “And then crushing it,” she murmured, closing her eyes against the sting of things best left unremembered.

  “Aye. Tell him your side, Belle,” Duncan urged her. “Tell him everything. It’s time.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Michael Lassiter would only use anything I told him against me and I’d rather die before I handed him any more weapons. Besides, it wouldn’t change a thing, Duncan. There was never really anything between us except his need for revenge. As far as he’s concerned, he simply taught me a well-deserved lesson – taking my future away as I’d taken Drew’s. Let him continue to believe so.” She left the protective circle of Duncan’s arm and stored her valise in the wardrobe. No matter how foolish her decision had already been made. There was no going back for her now, not after seeing Drew.

  “You dinna need absolution, Belle, not from him, not from anybody. You earned it long ago at Scutari and on the battlefields around Sevastopol. You dinna owe these people anything more.”

  “I know that,” she said woodenly.

  Duncan came to stand beside her again, reaching out his hand to give her arm a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes I wonder if you do. Perhaps I’ve been wrong asking you to work for members of society. You’ve been recognized before and it canna have been pleasant.”

  Belle shrugged. “I told you Duncan, I don’t fear recognition – not from them anyway. My mother is dead and as for anyone else, if they care to make something of my past, let them.” She turned to inspect her box of tinctures and herbal medicines. “I’m a good nurse,” she continued, “and between you and Miss Nightingale I will always have employment. Besides, the truth of the matter is that people of good society rarely look directly at anyone who’s consequence is so far beneath their own. Servants are trained to turn their backs and face the wall when the family passes them because few employers want to see the faces of servants who know every intimate detail of their lives. It’s much easier to believe such people are faceless shadows, hardly human at all.”

  Belle knew she sounded bitter. Once she’d believed the same of her servants, but no longer. Now she felt angered by the treatment so many of her friends received at the hands of so called ‘good society,’ though for herself, she much preferred the anonymity. “Certainly no one wishes to see the face of a woman who sees and touches a man’s naked body, regardless of the reason,” she continued, her voice more matter-of-fact than angry now. “Ladies in the household often turn their heads as I pass, or pull their skirts away from me as if they fear contamination.”

  “Don’t worry about Lord Isley and his wife,” Duncan said grimly. I’ll be speaking with them when I return to London and I willna be kind. No one insults my staff.”

  “They are the least of my concerns, Duncan. I can deal with the Lady Isleys of the world. It’s Stowebridge who gives me pause. The man despises me – probably now more than ever. If he decides to punish me further for Drew’s situation I won’t come out of it well. I know it.”

  Duncan took her hand in his. “You have friends now, Belle, good friends. Some of whom are very influential and would not stand idle if Stowebridge were to threaten you. Earl, or not, I’ll make it very clear to him before I leave that you are under my protection. If he wishes to harm you, he will have to come through me, Florence Nightingale and Stanley Hebert first and I wouldn’t wager a shilling on his chances.” Belle smiled her gratitude and gave his hand a squeeze.

  Duncan remained in her room for a few more minutes, discussing what his examination of Drew revealed. After they decided on a preliminary plan of action, treating Drew’s bedsores being among the most important, Duncan left to write his case notes and instructions before meeting with the earl. It would not be a pleasant meeting, Belle knew, not once Michael realized the identity of Drew’s nurse. “Damn it, Duncan,” she whispered, “you’ve landed me in the brambles this time for certain.”

  ***

  Michael reread the column of figures for a third time before giving up his efforts to review the accounts. He slapped down his stylus and closed the ledger book. His talent for numbers had clearly deserted him this afternoon. He turned to look out the window. The orderly had arrived this morning and the nurse had claimed her post no more than an hour ago. Michael clung to the hope, faint as it might be, that she would live up to her reputation and his brother’s health would improve under her care. Gillian planned to leave tomorrow so if there was any question of this new nurse’s competence, best to have it dealt with immediately. Then of course, he would also have to deal with the countess. He pushed back from his desk and walked to the window that looked out on the garden and to the maze beyond. He never should have gone to America last year and he certainly should never have accepted his mother’s letters at face value. In all the years during all of his travels the woman had never attempted to contact him. Why would he ever have thought she would change? It was desperation, no doubt, a need to reclaim what little he had left in the way of family.

  Since returning from the Crimea, Drew could barely stomach his older brother's presence in his room and if he’d had been angry with Michael before the war, he clearly despised him now. A rustle silk and the scent of jasmine flirted along the outskirts of his memory. They belonged to a ghost who, no matter the the length of time between visitations, never fully disappeared. Damn her and damn those memories that still found their way through his defenses. Michael placed one arm behind his back and balled his fist, resting it against the center of his spine, stoic, determined, the very picture of upright British nobility. He thought about dropping his arm back to his side, but he liked the formality, the rigidity of the pose. It distanced him from his feckless youth and for a moment or two he could believe he had a right to the family title.

  He'd thought it best for his brother sake, to leave Stowebridge Abbey last year and give Drew a chance for an untroubled recovery. He’d never imagined that their mother would dismiss the doctor he’d hired and deliver her youngest son into the hands of a quack. You should have known, he accused himself, she’d used plenty of her own strange curatives on Drew when he was a lad, hovering and cosseting him because he’d almost died twice before he’d reached the age of four. A memory tickled the back of his mind, but he let it go not wanting to relive any more of the past than necessary.

  Quite simply, their mother would never forgive him for failing his younger brother, nor, truth be told, would Michael forgive himself. Of all the ugly words hurled at him by her in her grief over Henry’s death, the harshest had been her pronouncement that it should have been Michael who’d died.

  He sighed. Perhaps she was right and the wrong brother had died. Nevertheless he'd come to terms with inheriting the title and whether his mother realized it, or not, he'd increased the financial holdings and the power of the earldom. Men sought his counsel politically, as well as financially. Regardless of his misspent youth, Michael had made something of his life. He just wished his father and Henry had lived to see it.

  Someone knocked sharply on the study door ending Michael's reverie. “Come,” he called, as he reclaimed his seat behind his desk. Dr. Gillian entered, he expression closed, and Michael detected the wariness in him.

  “I wanted to advise you that Miss Winslo
w has arrived, my lord,” he said. “She’s already settled in and is with your brother.”

  “Excellent,” Michael returned, indicating the doctor take a seat. The woman didn’t waste time. He liked that. “Is my brother cooperating with her?”

  Gillian chuckled as he sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “It wouldna...wouldn’t matter to Miss Winslow if he cooperated or not. She’s rather a force of nature herself and as I mentioned before, they have a history. Your brother knows when he’s been out flanked.”

  “Good. I suppose since Miss Winslow has been a nurse for some years, she’s experienced enough to handle him.” Michael pictured a heavyset woman with bulging forearms and a face carved by a hatchet. Dr. Gillian's wariness turned to discomfort sharpening Michael's suspicion that there was something else on the other man’s mind.

  “Yes, she has considerable experience and most of it hard won,” Gillian replied. “Scutari and Sevastopol were each a trial by fire. Miss Winslow has assisted me during countless surgeries, under truly horrendous conditions and she has always acquitted herself nobly. Not only is she a fine nurse, but she is also one of my dearest friends.”

  Michael regarded the doctor, taking in his comments and examining them carefully. “You sound as if you’re already defending her, doctor. That’s not the way to secure my belief in her skills. As long as she is competent in her job and takes proper care of my brother I’ll have no issue with her, nor will anyone else in this household.”

  “It isn't my intent to defend her, precisely, but rather to explain her. I’m glad to hear that Miss Winslow will not find issue here, my lord. I would not like any lady in my employ to be insulted or ill used during an assignment. My nursing staff is under my protection wherever they are. Miss Nightingale feels the same way.” Dr. Gillian tapped his forefinger on the arm of his chair as if considering what his next words should be.

  Michael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s troubling you, sir? Don’t tell me you're concerned I might develop a prurient interest in my brother’s nurse,” he remarked drily. Hell, the woman probably had hairy moles and bad teeth. Gillian looked at him searchingly and Michael was suddenly struck by how careworn the man looked. His skills in cases such as Drew's were legendary and Michael counted on his brother being the doctor's next success.