Belle was still vain enough to be embarrassed by her own appearance. “I apologize for not changing my gown before attending you, your grace. I was told to hurry.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Damaris replied with a sparkle in her hazel eyes. “Honestly, I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“No, I don’t imagine so,” Belle replied evenly, keenly aware of the heat coming to her cheeks.
“You could at least have had the decency to get fat, you know.” The duchess' voice was filled with mirth and that went a long way in softening her words. “Perhaps you could have lost some teeth, developed warts – anything really.”
Belle laughed. It really was a funny situation. Heaven knew she'd made Damaris miserable more than once over her lack of a proper wardrobe. “As you see, your grace, I’m still a contrary creature.”
“No, you’re not, Belle,” the Duchess said quietly. “You’re really quite remarkable.” She sat gracefully on the settee and motioned for Belle to take a seat in the opposite chair. Belle dipped her head in deference to the other woman’s rank and did as requested.
“Thank you, your gr....”
Damaris held up one of her hands to interrupt her. “When we are in private please address me as, Damaris.” There was nothing unkind in her words, but her voice rang with the firmness of someone accustomed to having their wishes followed by both staff and lesser nobles. “I’ve decided not to strike you.”
“Excellent.” Belle returned the Duchess’ smile.
Damaris’ eyes sparkled as though she had a discovered a grand secret that she couldn't wait to share. “I stopped by to invite you to accompany me to the village on a shopping expedition.” Her words couldn’t have startled Belle more than if she’d said she was abandoning her family to join a band of traveling minstrels.
“I’m afraid I have my duties....” Belle began, but Damaris silenced her again with another waive of her hand. Belle suspected she was thoroughly enjoying herself too.
“Nonsense. I understand that Drew is much improved. Surely he can spare you for a few hours. Besides, you have an orderly here as well, don’t you?” Belle was tempted to tell her that if she had any free time she’d most likely use it for sleep, but she played her final card instead. “I’m afraid that I haven’t discussed the possibility of time off with his lordship. As much as I sincerely appreciate your invitation, I must decline. Perhaps another time....”
“Pooh,” said the Duchess, rising from her seat. “Michael won’t object. Besides, I've already sent Hodges with a note asking for your company today.” As if he were awaiting his cue, Hodges opened the door and approached Belle carrying a salver with a note addressed to her. The butler gave her a reassuring smile and bowed to both women before he left.
Belle opened the envelope both eager to see what he'd written her and irritated that he'd only penned a note to her because of the duchess' request. His note was brief, almost curt.
Here is an advance on your salary. Take your time. There is no need for you to hurry back.
ML
A ten pound note accompanied his missive. Belle fought the urge to crumple the bank note and hurl it to the floor. Of all the arrogant...he knew it was far too much. “Splendid,” she said, managing a tight smile. “The earl has paid me my wages. If you would allow me to change, your...Damaris, I would be happy to accompany you.”
The other woman laughed gaily. “Certainly, but I doubt you’re truly happy about it. Let’s see if we can change your mind about that.” It was hard to resist her impish grin and Belle found herself smiling in response. She excused herself and hurried off to change her gown.
Half an hour later Belle found herself ensconced in the Wentworth’s lavishly appointed coach. The seats were upholstered in a rich, red, plush-velvet – the squabs, deeply dimpled for comfort. Two small, cut crystal vases filled with nosegays were mounted on each side of the interior. Belle looked down at her lavender-gray gown and then at the Duchess’ fashionable ensemble. Damaris’ gown probably cost more money than Belle earned in three years. If the earl and the duchess had plotted this excursion to remind her just how far she’d fallen both socially and financially, they couldn’t have found a more effective method. Though she tried valiantly not to let it bother her, Belle gazed wistfully at Maris’ gown. It would be nice to have new clothes occasionally, ones that weren’t black, gray, or some half-mourning color like the gown she presently wore.
The afternoon began pleasantly enough as Belle dutifully followed Damaris from shop to shop. The village thrived under the patronage of the four noble families who held estates in the area and as a result, boasted a higher quality and better variety of merchandise than most rural areas could claim. Damaris Wentworth spent freely, distributing her husband’s wealth equally among the merchants. She arranged for the tailor to come to the estate to measure the male servants for their annual outfitting, both livery, as well as shirts and a new coat for church and days off. Likewise, the modiste would arrive to measure and outfit the female servants. Once the household expenditures were seen to, Damaris surveyed the more expensive bolts of fabric the cloth merchant had to offer. Undoubtedly London offered more exotic fare, but the shop had a surprising variety of beautiful silks and satins.
Belle permitted herself the luxury of looking them over as well. There was a particularly lovely, bronze silk that flashed green as she turned it in the light. What a spectacular gown it would make and the color would suit her. Damaris was occupied purchasing several bolts for herself. Belle studied the cloth as it lay against her arm. If she was extremely frugal for the rest of the year and with the ten pounds Michael had advanced her she might be able to....
“Oh, and I’ll take that bolt as well,” Damaris said airily, indicating the fabric Belle held against her. It will make a splendid ball gown, don’t you think, Belle?” Damaris’ smile was sweet, her overall expression coy, leaving little doubt in Belle’s mind the duchess knew full well the bronze fabric wouldn’t suit her golden-brown hair and rosy complexion. She simply wanted Belle to realize that Damaris Kingsford, whose mother had scrimped together money to feed herself and her children, could now afford anything she wanted. Not that she particularly wanted the bronze silk. The point had been Belle wanted it and once upon a time, Belle had intentionally ruined Damaris' only party frock. The other woman was only human, after all, and she wanted Belle to feel the sting of loss at the hands of her former rival. It certainly did sting, but Belle, being ever practical, realized losing the fabric stung far less than a slap across the face. Besides, when would she ever have occasion to wear a gown like that again. She returned Damaris’ smile and complimented her on her taste. It was hardly the reaction the Duchess had anticipated and she lost some of her smugness.
Damaris continued baiting Belle at the other shops as well. At the milliner's she purchased a bonnet Belle admired, at the book shop she bought anything Belle looked at for more than a few seconds. Belle began to make a game of it, seeing how far the duchess would go to needle her. By the time they left the bookseller’s Damaris had purchased a book on fly fishing in the Scottish highlands and another on naval battle strategies. However, when her grace tried to purchase a lace-trimmed handkerchief from Belle’s own hand, she had had enough. She politely, but firmly explained to Damaris that the item was an intended gift from Drew for one of the servant girls and not for herself. Damaris had the grace to blush and hurried out of the shop leaving Belle to complete her purchase. Damaris was nowhere in sight when Belle stepped outside, so she stopped at the confectioners to buy comfits for the staff and chocolates for Mrs. Babcock, as well as made a quick visit to the tobacconist to buy pipe tobacco for both Paddy and Mr. Hodges. Small thank you gifts, but heartfelt none-the-less. When Belle arrived at the duke's carriage one of the footmen took her packages and escorted her to the inn where the duchess awaited her for tea.
Belle joined Damaris in the private dining parlor. As soon as she stepped through the door Belle thought of the last time she’d been here
. Michael. The warmth of his hand holding hers, the way he brushed her arm as he poured wine for her and served her dessert. Damaris stood looking out the window much as she, herself had done that day. Belle shook off the memories. Whatever had stirred to life between Michael and her that day was dead now – at least for him. He’d successfully avoided her for the past two weeks and that fact, coupled with the coolness of his note today, told her all she needed to know.
“I’ve been a perfect beast today,” Damaris began without preamble.
“Not really,” Belle replied lightly. “I can still give you lessons.”
Damaris turned to her. “I wanted so badly to put all this behind us, but....” She gave a helpless gesture and Belle smiled at her in sympathy. Damaris was a nice woman and Belle had made her years at school and her first Season miserable whenever the opportunity arose. On top of it all she had knowingly placed the other woman in danger. No one could hold it against Damaris for wanting to secure some form of revenge – Belle least of all. “I bought a book on Scottish fly fishing, for God’s sake, just to best you!” Damaris started to giggle. “What on earth am I going to do with that?”
“I'm not sure, but there's probably someone you can bribe at the Admiralty with the book on navel battles,” Belle answered, laughter filling her voice. Soon it filled the room as both women gave in to the humor of the situation.
Once their laughter had died away Damaris stood quietly studying her feet, her mood suddenly somber. “I hated you so very much after...after Elkhorn,” she whispered. “I couldn’t believe that a woman would allow something like that to befall another of her own sex. Now I've learned that you secured my rescue.” Belle's surprise must have shown on her face, because Damaris went on to explain. “Drew wrote to Jules last week explaining that it was you who sent the note telling him where to find me. From what I learned of your stepfather during my abduction, I know you put yourself in harm’s way for me. He is not a good man in any respect and what you did could have cost you dearly.”
“No, he’s not a good man,” Belle returned softly. Damaris regarded her for a moment and concluded, rightfully, that Belle would give her no further information on the subject of her stepfather. She offered her old adversary another confidence instead.
“Strathmore didn’t love me when he married me,” she blurted out. “I thought it was you he loved and that he’d felt trapped into our marriage and had only married me out of pity. I blamed you for that as well, I’m afraid.”
Belle shrugged. “You heard what he said. The duke may not have known he loved you when he married you, Damaris – according to my friend Molly, men rarely know their own minds when it comes to love – but the man I saw in that parlor loves you a great deal.” Belle crossed the room to Damaris’ side. “I dare say he always has,” she said softly. “It's enough to make even a tired cynic like me envious. Men don’t marry women out of pity. Sometimes they marry out of a sense of obligation, but there's usually a way round that if they wish to escape. He could have found someone else to marry you, I’m sure, but I suspect he simply couldn’t stand the thought of you marrying any other man.”
“Probably,” Damaris agreed. “Our first year together was not a happy one, but we are very much in love now. And there’s the children, of course.” Her face shadowed and Belle wondered at the cause. She’d found it odd that during the entire day Damaris had never so much as mentioned her two sons until this moment, and even then she'd mentioned them merely in passing. Most mothers reveled in any opportunity to brag about their children, even their most mundane accomplishments, but Damaris was conspicuous by her omissions. The other woman grew an unsteady breath and motioned Belle towards the table were a stellar tea had been laid out for them. “It’s time to put old rivalries behind us, Belle,” she said.
“I hope we can, but in all honesty, Damaris, I don’t know why you’d want to bother.” It was Belle’s turn to lower her gaze, to look anywhere but at the woman that she’d wronged so terribly. Damaris reached out and touched her arm.
“You are important to Drew and to Michael too, of course.” Belle started to protest, but the other woman pressed on, bent on having her say. “Jules and Michael have been best friends since childhood,” she explained. “I consider Michael one of my dearest friends now as well. He came to see us yesterday. He was quite beside himself and he took us to task for our callous behavior towards you the day you told us about the war.”
“I don’t believe is was as bad as all that,” Belle demurred, as she accepted her tea cup from Damaris. Frankly, she was astounded Michael had been to see them, astounded and by no small amount, confused. If he'd taken the trouble to speak with them on her behalf why was he refusing to see her now?
“Michael believes it was and he’s not usually one to reconsider his own behavior. He acts in the way he deems best and it’s up to the rest of us to like it or not.” Belle could certainly agree with that. The duchess helped herself to cakes and took a seat by the fire. Belle followed suit. “You’ve changed his mind, Belle. That's not something that happens often nor is it easily accomplished. My friends call me, Mari, you know. I think you should too.”
Belle blinked back the tears threatening to form in her eyes. She'd never expected this much generosity from someone she'd hurt repeatedly. Lord knew Muriel Cathcart knew how to bear a grudge. “I am so terribly sorry for my behavior to you, Mari,” she began, her voice thick with regret for things she could never change. “If I could undo what I did to you please believe that I would.”
“I suspect that there was little enough you could do to alter your own circumstances, let alone protect me.” Belle’s face blanched of color and she quickly turned her face aside. Her actions told the duchess all she needed to know. “Does Michael know?” she continued softly.
Belle nodded and her cup began to tremble in her hands. “He does now. I didn't want to tell him, but Drew has known for years and I couldn't allow him to continue keeping secrets from his brother.” Belle took a sip of tea silently praying Damaris would not press the issue. The other woman had no knowledge of the matters concerning Michael and Branfel and Belle had no intention of telling her. Damaris would not only be furious with her brother and Michael, but Belle suspected she’d also blame herself for Ambrose's retribution.
“And the carriage accident?” Damaris continued. Her tone gently coaxing for answers. While Belle didn't wish to disclose all the unsavory details of her past to this woman, she did want to offer what explanations she could.
“I'm sure you can surmise what happened,” she answered evenly. “I thank God Duncan Gillian found me that night. He healed me and kept me safe from detection. I owe the man my life.”
Damaris leaned back in her chair and asked casually, “Are you in love with him?”
Belle's mouthful of tea went down the wrong way making her cough and sputter. In love with whom? Lord, don't let Damaris suspect she might still be in love... Belle wouldn't allow herself to finish that dangerous thought. Love was not in her cards. “Who?” she managed to squeak out once her coughing subsided.
The duchess eyed her astutely. “Dr. Gillian, of course. Who else could I mean?”
Belle shook her head. “No, but we are the best of friends, comrades, if you will. We've gone through a war together and seen one another at our best and at our worst. Besides, Duncan's heart is already claimed by one of my friends.”
“And yours?” Belle was spared the need to answer when the innkeeper, Mr. Ferris hurried into the room wringing his hands. The distraught man ignored the duchess’ presence and spoke directly to Belle.
“One of the maids said you were here, Miss, and I’m that grateful, I am. It’s our Mae. It’s her time and the doctor’s away. The old midwife died last month and there’s no one to help Mae but her Ma. Please, Miss, there’s something wrong and the babe won’t come. My wife and Thomas are frantic. We don’t know what to do.” The burly man’s chin quivered and tears rolled down from his face.
&n
bsp; Belle set aside her tea and crossed the room to the distraught man. “Of course I’ll come, Mr. Ferris. Take me to them, please.” Belle paused in the doorway to turn back to Damaris. “Your Grace, I must take my leave. I’m certain you understand.”
Damaris’ looked pale and more than a little frightened, but surprisingly she shook her head. “I’ll stay here in case you need help. I can fetch and carry if nothing else.”
Belle smiled at her. She’d been right, Damaris Wentworth was no fainting flower. “I’d welcome your assistance, your grace.” Belle and Damaris hurried after Mr. Ferris.
Thomas sat in a hard wooden chair in the hallway outside the bedroom where Mae struggled to give birth. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying. He sprang to his feet at the sight of Belle and Damaris. He fixed his eyes on Belle, begging her to do something. Damaris moved to take his arm and spoke soothingly to him. Her kindness spoke volumes about her and Belle's admiration for the woman deepened.
Mae’s cries rang out from beyond the bedroom door and Thomas looked as though he were about to break through it and run to her side. Mr. Ferris forestalled him by seizing his arm in a firm grip. “Tis not our place, lad. Let the womenfolk help her,” he said.
Belle patted Thomas’ arm as she passed him. “I promise to do my best for your wife and child, Thomas.” Damaris and Belle quickly entered the bedroom.
Belle scrubbed her hands and set to work examining Mae. As she feared, the young woman was ready to deliver her child, but where Belle should have seen the crown of a head, she saw a pair of tiny feet. Suddenly, she was back in a stiflingly hot room in Tuscany trying to reassure both herself and an Italian nobleman his beautiful, English wife and her child would survive. Had it not been for Duncan Gillian’s skill that night, likely neither Sarah, nor her son would’ve seen the morning. Belle fervently prayed Mae’s situation proved less dire.
Duncan's training had been a godsend to Belle and she moved about the room collecting the items she would need for the birth. A large kettle boiled on a hook in the fireplace. She drew a calming breath and tried to recall every detail Duncan had shared with her about Dr. Semmelweis’ work at the Vienna Maternity Hospital. The man was a genius, Duncan claimed and he assured Belle that one day the doctor’s theories on preventing childbed infections would prove absolutely correct. Semmelweis suffered sneers from many of his compatriots for insisting that infections were carried from patient to patient because doctors and medical students didn’t wash their hands in between examinations. He believed medical students to be among the worst offenders. They routinely treated patients directly after examining cadavers without pausing to wash their hands or change their soiled surgical aprons.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 33