A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (25 page)

“He hasn’t mentioned you since his...return.”

Belle was thankful that Drew continued to keep her secrets. “He wouldn’t,” she replied. “You’re hardly a sympathetic audience as far as I'm concerned.” She casually tugged on one of the cuffs of her gown pretending an indifference she didn't feel. “That scarcely matters now. I’m returning to London.”

“No. I want you to return to the abbey with me.”

How like him, Belle thought angrily, a perfunctory apology and a demand that she bend to his will. “I don’t care what you want. I’ve made my decision. I’m returning to London.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll pay you triple your original salary.”

“Boxing your ears would be so satisfying right now.” Belle paced back to the table. “This is not about money.”

“Then you refuse because of me. This is your notion of revenge.” He glared at her, but in her own anger Belle forgot her fear.

“You self-important...yes, I refuse because of you,” she hissed. “I can’t trust that you’d let me take care of my patient as I see fit and as Dr. Gillian expects me to do. I can’t trust that you won't accuse me of pilfering the silver, or trying to poison the household – committing some crime and tossing me out again, or having me arrested. As you said, Strathmore and his wife would love it.”

“Can you blame them?”he demanded.

Belle unleashed her temper. If he would condemn her, let it be for who she had been, not for who she'd become. She pivoted and stalked towards him. “No more, Michael, no more. You can revile that stupid, useless girl as much as you want. She deserves your condemnation, but by God, Annabelle Winslow does not. I was eighteen-years-old, my first Season and so puffed up on my own importance and power – more power than I’d ever had in my life before, or since.” She looked up into his face demanding he listen and understand. “I'd never known anything like it. People coveted my good opinion. If I made a clever sally at breakfast, it became the fashionable saying all over town by luncheon. I was the toast of London for two glorious Seasons and in my vanity and my desperation for a spectacular match, I thought the ends justified any means. Was I arrogant? Yes, we’ve established that. Did I devastate innocent people without sparing them a thought? Yes I did. I was not a nice person. I was vain, stupid and wretchedly weak. Could I have committed worse sins if I hadn’t been stopped? Probably, but I was stopped, wasn’t I?” Michael nodded, but remained silent.

“And do you know what happened then?” she continued. “While the rest of you were dancing at balls, punting on the Thames and believing yourselves to be the cleverest, most privileged beings to grace God’s earth there was a war on a peninsula in eastern Europe called the Crimea. Nineteen thousand Englishmen lost their lives, Michael, nineteen thousand – for nothing. And while the rest of you kept waltzing, and toasting yourselves with champagne, Arabella Winston grew up.” She took a step back from him and swept him from head to toe with a hard, contemptuous gaze of her own. “Which is more than I can say for the rest of you.” Belle swirled away from him to gather up her things. “Now you can bloody well leave me alone, my lord.”

Michael caught her by the arm when she would have fled the room, fled him. “Belle,” he whispered. He said nothing else for a moment. She supposed there was little that could be said after her outburst. She tried to shake off his hand, but he held fast.

“Remove your hand, sir. I will not ask you again and I’ve become remarkably good at defending myself. I've had to.” She had to get away from him and this whole beastly situation. His hand slid down her arm, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry.” Michael said, taking hold of her hand. It was shaking and she knew he felt the tremors. So much for a triumphant exit. “You’re right,” he continued. “You grew up and I didn’t want to see it. If I could still blame the girl you were, then I didn’t have to be alone in my guilt for driving Drew away, for him almost getting killed.” She opened her mouth to remind him that Drew’s choices had been his own, but he stopped her. “And clearly, my destroying your engagement to Iredale, secretly or not, had far reaching consequences. Tell me what happened to you, Belle.”

Belle shook her head and gently pulled her hand from his grip. This time he let her go. That was a secret that she kept to herself – herself and the handful of people in her life whom she trusted. “You did nothing, Michael. Not really. I did it to myself.” For the most part, she believed her statement. Most people had taken open delight in Iredale's mysterious defection. She’d been friendless once Katherine and Sarah had been hurried off to Brighton lest their friend's broken engagement tarnish their reputations as well. No one else in the entire city of London had cared what happened to her. That part, she truly had done to herself.

“I’m going back to London because I can’t fight Drew and you at the same time,” she said wearily. “I don’t have the strength. You will always believe the worst of me and spend every minute of your time doubting my intentions, making it impossible for me to do what’s necessary for Drew. And while you do that, he’ll try to slip further away from everyone. I can’t bear to stay here and watch it. Duncan will send someone else,” she finished flatly.

“And if I agree to trust you, will you stay?”

Belle laughed shortly. Michael trust her? There was too much bad blood between them and too much attraction on her part despite everything that had happened. Still, how could she turn her back on Drew. She’d pledged never to do that. She stood there taking Michael’s measure. Perhaps it was time for her to meet him halfway, to trust him a little – at least for Drew's sake.

“I’ll come back to Stowebridge Abbey with you if you agree to a few conditions.”

“I’m listening,” he answered carefully.

“I do not want you to interfere with Drew again, unless I ask you to do so.”

“Agreed.”

“However, I want you to stay at the abbey as much as you can. I know you have your seat in Parliament, but other than what’s necessary for duty, I’d ask that you remain here.” He looked dubiously at her. “Be in his life, Michael. Become part of it. Don't let him push you away. He loves and admires you so, no matter what you think. Drew may be lashing out at us, but he wants us to care enough to make him stop, to make him believe that we not only expect better from him, but that he's capable of meeting our expectations. He's so terrified of trying and failing.”

“I know,” Michael responded hoarsely.

“And keep your mother in London for the rest of the Season at least.”

He snorted, “We're in definite agreement there. If it were up to me I'd never allow her near him again. Some of the bills I support in Parliment are coming up for votes, but other than a trip of a week or two, here and there, I’ll remain at the estate as much as possible,” he assured her.

“Good. We’ve reached an accord then.” Belle extended her hand and the earl clasped it in a firm handshake. His eyes glinted at her and for a moment she half expected him to carry her hand to his lips. She remembered those lips and tried to quash a flash of disappointment when he released her hand. Just then the innkeeper and his other servant arrived carrying trays burden down with what looked to be the entire contents of the inn’s larder. “Perfect timing,” Belle murmured, taking her seat in the chair Michael held out for her.

***

They helped themselves to the feast. In honor of his guest, the landlord added a fine joint of beef and Yorkshire pudding to the fare. Belle picked up her knife and fork with enthusiasm and Michael watched in fascination as a second portion of Yorkshire pudding and gravy disappeared from her plate. He refilled her wine glass as he shook his head. “Heavens, woman, where do you put it?”

She laughed, a genuine laugh, not a chuckle and certainly not a giggle. The girl he remembered was never a giggler. “Afraid I’ll eat you out of house and home, my lord?”

“Not at all,” Michael returned with a grin, “though I intend to purchase another five hundred head of beeves just to be on the safe side.”

“It’s good to have some time to eat a leisurely meal,” Belle said. “Paddy and I have been a little busy.”

Michael had noticed the shadows under her eyes and the fact that she’d obviously lost weight since her arrival at Stowebridge Abbey. If today was any indication, Drew must have been running her ragged. It didn’t sit well with him that she might have been dodging plates and cups since her arrival.

“If I'd known Drew was abusing any of my staff, yourself included, I would have stopped him immediately. I hope you realize that.” She looked at him, but said nothing. The moment stretched into awkward silence. Michael knew he should address the incident that still lay between them. Perhaps it would always be there just as he'd intended. He was loath to discuss it now since their accord. Suddenly, Belle acknowledged his remarks with a nod, easing some of the tension between them. “What set Drew off this morning?” he asked.

“I did,” she answered quietly. “I told him he would be sitting in his bath chair for a while each day and that Paddy and I would begin working his leg muscles. He didn’t like it.”

“You have a gift for understatement.” His remark drew a smile from her and that pleased him. She had a lovely smile. Michael left the table and prepared dessert plates for each of them from the pastries and puddings on the sideboard. He handed one to her and saw her eyes light up like a child’s at Christmas. It was the closest resemblance he'd seen since her arrival at the abbey to the debutante he'd once known. He made a note of her sweet tooth and stored the knowledge away for future use.

“It’s a painful process,” Belle said, continuing their conversation between bites. “He has to learn to use his muscles again. They never should have been allowed to deteriorate as they have. Regular exercises help a patient in Drew’s condition retain much of the muscle tone while the injury itself heals. Unfortunately, in Drew’s case we have the added complications that he believes he will never walk again and that he also feels guilty for surviving when so many of his men did not.”

“I tried speaking to him about Inkerman when he returned home, but he told me I simply wouldn't understand. I think he'd be surprised how much we have in common on that score.” The portion of trifle he'd placed on his own plate went untouched as he remembered a time in his life when his own human failings had cost the lives of comrades and dear friends. Those had been battles for fortune and power, not queen and country. He thought again about his betrayal of Drew five years ago and how, rather than face his own responsibility for his brother joining the cavalry, he'd placed all the blame onto a nineteen-year-old girl and allowed himself to be used as an instrument of revenge. No, not allowed. He'd cheerfully lured her into that parlor and thoroughly enjoyed taking her world apart. He looked up from his plate and watched Belle, her own portion of trifle gone, happily attacking a gooseberry tart. Damn it, he had to know what else he'd cost her that night, how she'd ended up as a nurse, though now he must admit he was damned grateful she had.

“Drew's determined to fight his recovery because that way he won’t be devastated if he fails to walk, or guilty if he succeeds. I’ll say one thing for that former doctor of his,” Belle said, punctuating her statement by jabbing her fork into the remains of her tart, “he did an excellent job of convincing Drew he’d be in that bed for the rest of his life.”

“Campion was more torturer than doctor. He insisted Drew be strapped to boards to restrict his movements,” Michael told her darkly. “He put him in ice baths, wrapped him in cold sheets and then there was that insane diet, not to mention my mother’s noxious brews. If I’d had any idea....”

“Campion?” Belle asked sharply. “Campion was his physician?”

“Yes, didn’t Dr. Gillian tell you?” She shook her head and Michael noted how her jaw had tensed and that a hard look had come back into her eyes.

“Duncan probably didn’t want me hying back to London with a meat cleaver in my hand. Campion’s a quack. He has no business treating a hedgehog, let alone a human being. Duncan and I have seen his handiwork before.” She leaned towards him. “Drew was very fortunate to survive, my lord. Many of Campion’s patients do not.” Her grim expression made Michael wonder what horrors she kept locked away inside herself. She’d been right. While the rest of the ton continued to waltz, she’d grown up very quickly and in a very ugly way. So had Drew.

“That’s one of the reasons that Strathmore and I are supporting the Medical Act before Parliament this year. We have to hold our medical men to a standard of practice. This notion that physicians as gentlemen always act accordingly is not only ridiculous, it’s down right dangerous.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I’m glad to hear that you favor it. The Medical Act is only the beginning, though. London needs a better sanitary system to stop the outbreaks of typhus and cholera during the summer months. The public needs safe drinking water. Sanitation and clean water should be the right of every man, woman and child, regardless of social rank and financial standing.”

She spoke with passion and Michael warmed to their conversation, sharing some of the facts and figures he’d learned during his research. Belle matched him fact for fact, adding some of her own to his knowledge. He decided to risk it and ask her if she would consent to being interviewed by Strathmore and himself about her experiences in the Crimea. He was surprised at how easily she agreed to it.

“It might not be at all comfortable,” he cautioned. He still carried an image for Damaris smacking her, but the woman in front of him could probably give as good as she got. “There is, of course the incident with you and your friends attempting to ruin his wife. That’s not the sort of thing a man forgives.”