A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (22 page)

He worked his mouth as if chewing on a particularly foul piece of gristle as he remembered his conversation with Iredale the day after the ball
.
“Your stepdaughter knows why we cannot marry, sir. That should be enough for you. If you need further understanding, speak to her or to Michael Lassiter. I’m certain he will be happy to enlighten you.
”
The Baron hadn’t spoken to Lassiter, though. The man’s reputation with weapons and with his fists kept Seaton from seeking him out. Instead, he’d gone home to confront Araby, who had no defense skills at all. He hadn’t meant to hurt her so badly. Elkhorn had been disgusted by her swollen and bloody face and refused to take her as payment for the gaming debts.

He narrowed his gaze as he watched Barkley signal to him. He needed to remain focused on the matter at hand, he reminded himself. He couldn’t let tonight’s opportunity slip away. He would find her. He had to. It was only a matter of time.

Chapter Sixteen

Michael crested the hill overlooking Stowebridge Abbey and reined in his horse, forcing the animal to a halt beneath a stand of trees. His stallion didn’t appreciate having his run ended so abruptly, but he grudgingly acknowledged his rider’s mastery. “Good boy, Orion,” Michael said as he patted the animal soothingly on the neck.

Michael liked the view of the Stowebridge family seat from this hilltop. Its dark, weathered stones rose in timeless majesty amongst the rolling, green countryside. Besides inheriting an earldom and all the responsibilities the title entailed, he’d also, quite surprisingly, inherited a love for this particular patch of English soil. For years he’d fought bitterly against the ancestry that bound him to this place, but in the end time, tradition and an irrefutable connection to the estate had won out. Stowebridge Abbey existed inside of him just like any other vital organ of his body. It created a fever in his blood. Now he understood his father’s fierce determination to instill responsibility in his heirs. So many people depended on the Abbey for their livelihood.

One day Michael would have a son of his own and he pledged to teach the boy to love this land and its people. Unlike Michael's father, however, molding his heir would never come at the cost of his other children. He would also ensure that his heir developed a keen head for business. Ironically, neither his father, nor Henry had developed a knack for making money, choosing instead to eschew anything that carried the taint of trade. They believed in their divine right to rule their lands and had stubbornly adhered to antiquated systems that drained what few resources they had left.

When Henry died Michael discovered the estate was financially insolvent. It took years to return the earldom to solid footing. Now the Lassiters were among the wealthiest families in England and the present Earl of Stowebridge was a force to be reckoned with both in trade and in society. Men curried his favor and rightfully feared earning his ire. His lovers came from the most beautiful women in England – seductive widows, legendary courtesans and even discontented wives of socially prominent, but indifferent husbands. He kept his mistresses well, though never for longer than six months and though few were happy when they received their conge´, all of them left the situation well compensated for their time and loyalty.

Loyalty was one of Michael’s prime requirements in a lover. Bed skills could be refined, figures and faces enhanced with proper clothing, or cosmetics, but loyalty, honesty...these were things a woman either had, or she didn’t. He’d learned too late and to his everlasting regret what an unscrupulous woman could do – first in Ceylon and then during that fateful Season in London. Araby Winston. His thoughts turned to the woman who now called herself Belle Winslow. She was more beautiful than ever despite her plain gowns and white linen caps and she’d intruded on his thoughts too frequently this morning.

Michael frowned. If his sudden fascination with her told him anything, it told him he’d been too long from a woman’s bed. He should visit his mistress this week, or at the very least, look for a local widow to oblige him. Lady Grayson had certainly made her interest known to him. Her eyes were a middling blue though, not the color of rich amber, not like...Belle’s. He remembered the way the firelight had illuminated them last night and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He loathed her, he reminded himself, and he'd told her so. He'd insulted and demeaned her, something he'd never done to a servant in his employ before, and yet, she'd been so blasted kind to him last night. Belle. He was starting to think of her by that name, accepting it as if it were truly hers.

Michael remembered other things about her as well, things that belonged to a long ago night and that stirred him in places that frankly, didn’t require much stirring – the smoothness of her inner thighs, the feel of her damp heat on his fingers as he’d stroked her. The way she’d cried out his name as she’d come. He’d been the first to bring her to climax, though he’d done his best to make certain she despised herself as much as him in the end.

Orion, as if sensing his master’s growing arousal, snorted and tossed his head as he pawed at the ground. Michael pulled back on the reins knowing the animal needed to run, needed to... Hell, he needed what his master needed. He briefly considered seducing Belle Winslow, but ruled it out almost immediately. His feelings of dislike outweighed his feelings of lust – or they should, he reminded himself. Also, like it or not, the woman was employed by him and therefore as much under his protection as any of the rest of the estate's servants. He would not abuse his position as her superior. However, if she tried to use Drew in any fashion, he’d make certain she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

Michael turned in his saddle at the sound of hoof beats. Jules Wentworth, the Duke of Strathmore, pulled his own mount up beside Orion. Michael grinned at his friend and tipped his head in greeting.

“Resting your mount, Michael?” Jules asked in a lazy drawl. “Not surprised, really. I believe he’s one of the sorriest pieces of horse flesh I’ve ever seen you ride.”

Michael slowly shook his head. “Some men never learn, do they, Jules?”

His friend laughed good-naturedly. “That sounds shamefully like a boast, my friend, and pride is a very grave sin indeed. Suppose we test that nag of yours against my Merlin?” He wore an easy grin and the one Michael gave him in return was equally broad.

“Hardly a contest, old man, but Orion can use the exercise. To the wall?”

“The wall,” Jules confirmed. The course across the fields was familiar to both of them. Michael and Jules had been racing against each other since childhood. Though their mounts changed, as did the outcomes, the tradition of friendly competition remained.

Jules’s Merlin took the early lead across the first part of the course, but Orion caught him on the path through woods and pressed his advantage as they came into the clearing leading to the wall. Both horses came abreast, thundering across the land as they strove toward their goal. Michael urged Orion on and the horse lengthened his gate, gobbling up the ground beneath him. Merlin began to fall behind and nothing Jules could do could make his mount recapture the lead. Within moments it was over. First, Orion cleared the wall, his muscular body taking flight without breaking stride with Merlin a close second.

Jules offered his friend a traditional glass of punch to toast his victory. Michael happily agreed. They cooled the horses on the way to Strathmore Hall, talking about their estates and the current bills before Parliament this season.

Later in his study, Jules viewed the contents of his glass thoughtfully. “The problem is that the peerage, as a whole, doesn’t see the need for registering physicians, or standardizing their credentials,” he stated. “Most of them can’t grasp this notion of sanitation, much less choose to implement it. Hell, bathing is beyond some of them.”

The men were seated by the fire and their glasses of brandy punch had been refilled. Warmth, good drink, good company – Michael couldn’t imagine a more pleasant place to be. “I think we can gain enough support for the Medical Act,” Michael began, “if we can dissuade Lyndon and his crowd from their ridiculous notion that simply because physicians are gentlemen their word should never be questioned. It is naive at best to assume that every doctor acts for the good of mankind and negligent for us not to question their medical training and personal convictions. Good birth doesn’t prevent a man from praying upon others through quackery, or worse yet, willful ignorance.” Michael spoke with heat.

“How is Andrew?” Jules asked quietly.

“Alive, thank God, and doing much better than I’d believed possible,” Michael said.

“Dr. Gillian has a sterling reputation and he’s had marked success with cases such as your brother’s,” Jules replied. “He’s an excellent example of the sort of credentials and dedication we wish English physicians to have. After the atrocities during the Crimean campaign, the public demands we do better, not only in caring for our soldiers, but for the general population as well. I’ve been reading Miss Nightingale’s reports. Horrific. I would very much like to speak to her myself – hear her accounts first hand.”

“I’ve only read what’s in the press. I haven’t been able to face much more.” Michael stood and leaned against the fireplace mantel watching the flames dance. He thought of Belle and the changes she’s brought to his brother in little more than three weeks. Jules might not be pleased that she was at the abbey, so close to Damaris. “I can’t produce Miss Nightingale, but I may be able to grant you the opportunity to speak with one of her nurses.” He had Jules’s attention.

“Drew’s nurse was in the Crimea?” Michael nodded and Jules stood as well, his excitement palpable. “Do you think she would consent to an interview? It could prove invaluable to us.”

“Perhaps,” Michael allowed, “but there’s something you need to know about her that may dampen your enthusiasm.”

Jules waived his hand dismissively. “I care less about her character than I do her knowledge.”

“That may not be entirely true, Jules. This nurse is known to both you and Damaris and it is not a pleasant association. It’s Arabella Winston.”

Jules gaped at his friend. “Arabella Winston is Drew’s nurse?” Michael quickly told him what little he knew about the young woman who now went by the name, Annabelle Winslow. His friend walked away from the fire and then turned back to regard Michael. “I don’t know which I find harder to credit. That Arabella Winston became a nurse in the Crimea, or that you willingly let her into your home. Michael, are you mad? It was her treatment of your brother that sent him off to enlist in the cavalry in the first place, and let’s not forget the hell she made of Damaris’ life. I don’t care if you did see her on that wharf in the Crimea, inside I’m sure she’s still the same cold and selfish creature she’s always been.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Jules. How could I? Still, I have to admit that Drew has improved steadily since her arrival.” Michael hit his fist against the mantle in emphasis. “No, I don’t want her there,” he said sharply. “I don’t trust her, but what can I do? Drew is smiling, laughing. I haven’t seen him do that since before the war. He still hates me, but at least he’s trying to get better instead of....” Michael couldn’t say the words. “Damn her.”

Jules returned to his friend’s side. “You think she’s after Drew’s money,” he said flatly.

Michael ran his hand through his hair. “Why else would she come? There are other nursing jobs. She has family other than that drunken stepfather of hers. Surely, they would take her in. If she wishes to return to society, though, Drew is the easiest route, or so she thinks. He’s still in love with her.”

“She didn’t reckon on you though, did she?”

Michael nodded. “Precisely. Still, here’s the thing, Jules. She works like a charwoman – cleaning, fetching. I haven’t made anything easy for her.” Guilt stabbed at him as he remembered her stumbling under the weight of that enormous basket of washing, or seeing her haul slop buckets to the privy at the end of the garden. Even with an orderly’s assistance her workload was grueling and watching her struggle had felt far less rewarding than Michael had expected. However, he’d remained true to the promise he made her last night in the sick room. That morning he’d assigned staff to take over the heaviest jobs for her.

“She stays up all night with Drew, won't even let the orderly take a shift so she can sleep. She’s done everything for my brother. Perhaps it’s guilt.”

Jules snorted. “It’s more likely so he will be completely dependent on her,” he remarked tightly.

“Probably, but she’s also protecting his dignity with the staff – even with me. No one sees him unless he’s clean and in good order.” Michael moved to the center of the room. “I wrote to Rafe the day she arrived and asked him to investigate the matter of Lady Arabella's transformation into Miss Annabelle Winslow. I just don't understand why a gently bred young woman would choose such a life.”

Jules crossed the room to refill their glasses. “Miss Nightingale’s father is a squire,”

“Yes, but Miss Nightingale chose nursing as a vocation. Can you honestly believe that Arabella Winston would have chosen it as anything but a last resort?”

“No,” Jules answered coldly, “and that’s all the more reason for you to get her the hell away from your brother.”

“Agreed.” Michael responded, taking the proffered glass from Jules’s hand. “It would be easier to accomplish that if she were not so good at her job and if she wasn’t still so damned beautiful.”

Jules raised one eye brow. “Don’t tell me you find her attractive after everything that’s gone on, Michael. Beauty is as beauty does and Arabella was always ugly clear through.”

Not entirely. There were times.... Michael let the thought trail off.
‘
This is not your faul
t
.’ He heard her voice giving him gentle reassurance in the middle of the night. “You’d think she’d look haggard and tired from such a life, wouldn’t you?” he asked quietly. Jules didn’t answer. The memory of her whispers wove around his head.
‘
I’m yours, Michael. All of m
e
.’

“God man, you’re still attracted to her,” Jules’s voice was filled with incredulity.

Michael didn’t deny it. “If I am, it’s only in the basest way any man is attracted to a beautiful woman.”

“I’m afraid I’m immune, considering what she tried to do to my wife.” Jules commented drily, as he regarded his friend through narrowed eyes. “Mari mustn’t know she’s anywhere near Strathmore Hall. She had nightmares about Elkhorn and Seaton for the first six months of our marriage. I won’t allow her to suffer needlessly. Arabella Winston and her cronies made her miserable and in the end endangered her life. I can’t believe you’re letting that woman remain at the abbey, Michael.”