A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (36 page)

Damaris’ reaction concerned Belle. She’d watched the other woman handle all manner of circumstances today with graceful efficiency, but looking after Bess had completely undone her. Despite her worry Belle set to work caring for Mae.

Many long and stress-filled hours had passed since the start of their unexpectedly adventurous shopping trip. Belle glanced back at the bed as she prepared to go in search of the duchess and Bess. Thomas sat holding Mae's hand, a look of pure devotion on his face. Perhaps, Belle reflected, love wasn't such a rare and farcical thing after all – not between the right people. She felt her heart pinch as she fervently wished that she and Michael could be right for each other.

Belle found Damaris tucked into a rocking chair in Bess’ small room with the little girl asleep in her lap. She was singing a lullaby and stroking the child’s hair. Her tears had dried, but she was still terribly pale and she watched Bess with a look of such anguish it almost stole Belle’s breath from her lungs. Belle moved carefully towards the rocker.

“Thank you for caring for her, Mari,” she said softly. “Let me lay her down for you.” The other woman looked up at her blankly. Belle carefully scooped Bess up and though she sighed softly in her sleep, the child slept on. She laid her gently on her cot and returned to Damaris’ side. The clues were coming together for Belle; Mari’s refusal to speak about her own children, her look of terror at having to take charge of Bess. Belle reached out and gently caressed Damaris’s shoulder as the other woman stared dully into space.

“I killed my baby,” Damaris said starkly. “I killed my little girl, Rose.” Belle felt the color drain from her own face.

“Tell me what happened, Mari,” she whispered gently.

Damaris shrugged. “I don’t know what I did, but I did something. I wanted to look after her myself, you see, just as I had both of her brothers.” She drew in a ragged breath that ended on a sob. “That night I played with her, fed her, even though it’s considered poor taste for any woman of breeding to nurse her own children, you know.” Belle nodded, privately thinking she would have made the same decision herself. “Then I gave her a bath and rocked her to sleep, just as I had most other nights.” She turned her bleak eyes to Belle. “No matter how hard I’ve tried, I still can’t think of what I did wrong. She simply died in her sleep. So little, so beautiful.” Her tears flowed again, filled with hopelessness and heartbreak.

“The doctor said sometimes it just happens, but I must have done something, Belle. Jules says I didn’t, but I see the sorrow in his face and I wonder if he thinks I failed her and him. I’m afraid to love my boys. I’m afraid I may do the same thing to them.” She grabbed Belle’s hand, clinging to it in desperation. “You know about these things, Belle. I saw you deliver Mae’s baby. Please, please tell me what I did. Please tell me what....”

Belle knelt before her and clasped her shoulders. “Mari, listen to me. The doctor is right. You did nothing to cause your child’s death and there was nothing you could do to save her. It was a horribly tragic thing, Mari, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“But...I....,” Mari faltered.

“Listen to me,” Belle commanded, giving her a single firm shake. “We don’t know why seemingly healthy babies suddenly die in their cribs, but we do know that a true crib death is not the mother’s fault. Your Rose was not neglected, Mari. You loved her and gave her the best care possible.” She pulled the other woman into her arms and held her close. “Maybe one day we’ll know what causes this terrible thing and then maybe we can take steps to prevent it, but for now all you can do is to forgive yourself, Mari. That’s all any mother who’s gone through this hell can do. You’d never blame another woman who’d suffered this loss, would you?” She felt Damaris shake her head against her shoulder. “Of course you wouldn’t,” Belle affirmed. “Then treat yourself with the same compassion. Let go of your guilt. Then do one more thing for your little Rose. Show your sons how much you love them every day. Be with them, Mari, for Rose, for them, for yourself.” Belle rocked her gently as the other woman cried.

How long they remained that way, Belle didn’t know, but after some time, Damaris eased away from her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll go to the nursery when I get home and tomorrow, Jules and I will take the boys on a picnic.” She smiled weakly through her tears. “I’ll read to them and Jules will help them fish. We haven’t done that since...” she inhaled to gather her strength, “since we lost Rose.”

A noise from the doorway caught their attention and both women turned to see the Duke of Strathmore standing there watching his wife, his face filled with anguish, love and sudden hope. His eyes glistened and his voice broke as he whispered her name. She rose from the floor and dashed across the room into her husband’s waiting arms. Jules wrapped her in a tight embrace as though the change in her might be a dream that could be snatched away. Damaris murmured words of love against his chest while Jules closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head, simply cherishing her.

Belle slowly rose to her feet, transfixed at the unity of this man and woman. Watching them filled her with indescribable joy and at the same time a sorrow unlike anything she’d ever felt. This was what love looked like. This, like Mae and Thomas, was genuine, soul-stirring, everlasting love. It was real. Belle, herself, would never know what it felt like to share a lifetime of such commitment with someone. Watching the Wentworths, as they embraced opened a wound that she’d thought long healed. Five years ago she too had been in love and believed herself to be loved in return. Stars hung gloriously in the sky and the moon had smiled down on her with infinite promise. It had all been a lie and damn it, damn it, she wanted it to have been true. True then and true now.

Chapter Twenty-four

“I trust you had a pleasant day, Miss Belle?” Hodges asked as he handed her cloak and bonnet to a waiting footman.

“It had its moments, Mr. Hodges, thank you.” She tried to hide her giggle behind a discrete cough, but one look at the normally sedate butler's smile told her he'd probably concluded that she'd enjoyed more than just a glass or two of cider. Mr. Ferris was not only an excellent innkeeper, but he also produced the finest rum punch she'd ever had the pleasure to sample.

“I don't normally imbibe, Mr. Hodges, well...not this much at least, but you see we had so much to celebrate. The baby, Mari not slapping me, the baby.” She waved her hand gesturing to the entry hall at large. “The entire village came to wish Mae and her new son well. Mari and I couldn't very well refuse now, could we? We had a hatchet to bury.”

Hodges inclined his head, and cleared his throat. “Perhaps more than one by the look of things, Miss.” She squinted her eyes as she looked Hodges up and down. His eyes looked much brighter than usual. Come to think of it the entire world looked much brighter as well. “I'm glad to hear you and her grace have mended fences.”

Belle executed a somewhat sloppy salute. “I'm pleased to report the paddock is secure, sir.” Belle floated towards the stairs. Hodges discretely took her elbow, probably an excellent idea as the staircase had grown considerably longer since morning. They reached the top and Belle paused to finish regaling Hodges with the day's adventures. The butler’s mouth hung open has she concluded her tale of Mae's delivery. Belle frowned. Perhaps she should have used a touch more discretion. Not everyone was medically minded.

“It's all right, Hodges, I'll see Miss Winslow to her room. You may retire.”

Belle turned, perhaps a little too quickly and Michael reached out to steady her. She didn't hear Hodges leave, but when she turned her head back again, much more slowly this time, he was gone.

“Allow me, Miss Winslow,” Michael, handsome as ever, gazed down into her face. He had such a delightful mouth and his eyes held the same suspicious twinkle as Hodges'. Well, perhaps there was more...heat in Michael's look. She beamed up at him trying to remember why she was supposed to be so cross with him. He was so tall and masculine and he smelled wonderful. Then she remembered.

“So you do come out of your study.”

“On occasion,” he drawled, an easy smile curving his lips. Those lips. “I received Jules' note this evening. You've had quite a day.” He took hold of her shoulders and for a moment Belle thought he might kiss her. It might not be such a bad idea. He released her and took possession of her elbow. Belle fought her disappointment then tried to remember all the reasons kissing Michael was not a good idea – at least not right now. She pulled her arm out of his grasp.

“I'm angry at you. You've been avoiding me. Admit it,” she said, poking him in the chest.

“Yes, I've been avoiding you,” he answered quietly. “I'd planned to speak to you this evening, but you were out...celebrating.” He grinned. “We'll talk tomorrow, though I suspect you may not be feeling quite so merry – a distinct advantage for me.”

Belle snorted. “I've been further into my cups than this, my lord. Quite by accident, mind. I'm not a drunkard...normally. The Slovakian people make a plum brandy that tastes like fruit punch. Thought I was drinking cordial.” She winced at the memory. “That was a very bad morning.” Belle began to giggle and reached over to clutch Michael's arm with her free hand. “Mari fell asleep in the coach on the way home tonight,” she whispered, “and she snores.”

“Really? I never knew that,” he replied.

Belle heard the amusement in his tone and it irritated her. “I'm angry at you.”

“So you said.” He patted her hand like a kindly uncle. Belle stopped abruptly and glared up at him. He continued to regard her with benevolent amusement.

“If I were a violent sort of person I'd plant you a facer,” she said, thrusting out her chin. He grinned down at her.

“You'd fall over.”

Belle sighed. “That's true and if I tried to kick you I'd miss and fall....”

“Right on your delectable little bottom.” He urged her a few more feet further down the hall and stopped in front of her door. “We have arrived, madam.” Michael opened her door and gestured her inside. “I'll see you tomorrow, Belle. We'll talk then, I promise.” He bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead – like an uncle – then turned to walk away.

He'd only gotten a few steps away when Belle indignantly said, “Perhaps I won't wish to speak with you tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” he called over his shoulder. “Besides, I'm still your employer.” Belle swore under her breath, but he must have heard her, because the hallway filled with his laughter as he strolled out of sight.

***

During her time at Harley Street Hospital and in Scutari as well, Belle had probably washed, dried and ironed enough linens to cover half the beds in Europe. The field hospitals hadn't cared much about the niceties of freshly ironed linen, nor sheets at all unless they were being torn up for bandages. Belle snapped another clothespin into place as she hung the sheet on the line. She loved hanging laundry out to dry. It gave her a sense of accomplishment to see rows of clean, white bed linens waving in the fresh breeze. She didn't care much for ironing them, though.

Belle had fared much better this morning than she'd expected, or probably deserved. She doubted Mari would be able to say the same. The other woman had heeded neither Belle's, nor Jules' warnings and consumed an additional two cups of Mr. Ferris' rum punch. Belle, herself had only suffered a mild headache – nothing willow bark tea and a tumbler or two of water hadn't sorted out. She'd sent some willow bark round to the duchess this morning along with instructions for preparations and use. Her new friend would be on the mend by luncheon.

Gussie matched Belle's placement of clothespins on the sheets as precisely as possible. Belle smile at her in approval and the girl beamed with pleasure. The life of a tweenie was filled with long hours of unpleasant tasks. They held the lowest rank within a household staff and were the first to be blamed when something went wrong below stairs. Most were subjected to physical abuse couched as discipline. Gussie, though frequently yelled at, was fortunate that Mrs. Babcock and Mr. Hodges would never sanction such treatment of staff in any household they supervised. Since she'd been assigned to assist Belle the girl's stature had risen somewhat among the servants and Gussie looked upon the nurse as her personal heroine. The girl worked diligently at each task Belle gave her, asking well-thought-out questions that displayed insight as well as intelligence. Where Mrs. Babcock held to strict standards of cleanliness within the household, Miss Nightingale's own standards surpassed them when it came to caring for the sick and infirm. Belle passed on what she had learned to Gussie. Paddy affectionately called the girl, “Little Shadow,” because she'd copied Belle's mannerisms, even attempting to wear her hair in a bun. Gussie's case of hero worship made Belle uncomfortable at first, reminding her of a time when girls not much older than the little tweenie had blindly aped her every move. Where she'd once taken such admiration as her due, Gussie's devotion left her feeling humble and she made a promise to herself to never betray the girl’s trust.

The harmony of sunshine, wind and flapping sheets ended by the appearance of a storm cloud rapidly making its way across the lawn – a storm cloud in the form of the Earl of Stowebridge. Belle swore under her breath. She'd spent the entire morning dodging him. She'd ignored his summons after breakfast, choosing instead to use various errands and chores around the estate to make it difficult for the staff, or him to find her. Someone must have seen the sheets and alerted him.

“Upon my soul, if it isn't the elusive Miss Winslow,” he said tersely, his anger barely kept in check. Belle glanced at him dismissively and then reached into the laundry basket for a pillowcase. “I realize I'm merely the lord of this estate, but when I summon a member of staff to my library I'm used to having that summons answered.”

“I did answer it. I sent word that I was too busy to meet with you today.” She finished pinning the pillowcase in place and reached for another one. “Although, I do understand your frustration, my lord,” she smiled sweetly at him keeping her tone casual. “It's terribly irritating to be kept waiting, isn't it?”

Michael's expression hardened and his eyes turned a cold, flinty gray. He took a step towards her and though he did a good job trying to intimidate her, Belle held her ground. “You forget yourself madam,” he said quietly.

And you forgot m
e
, she wanted to yell
.
How could you act as though nothing has changed between us? How could you simply walk away again?

“I shall expect you within the quarter hour, not a moment later.” He turned on his heel and some devil in Belle refused to let him have the final word.

“I'm afraid that's not possible today, my lord, but perhaps later this week.”

Michael whirled around on her and moved to a hair's breadth from her face. “You will come within the quarter hour, or so help me, Belle, I will fetch you myself, wherever you choose to hide. I'll throw you over my shoulder if necessary and let you kick and scream with your petticoats tossed over your head.” He glanced significantly at Gussie. “I'm sure that will amuse the staff just as much as your antics today. Do we have an understanding, madam?”

Her face burned and though he'd have the devil's own time subduing her, she refused to give him the opportunity to try. “Certainly, my lord,” she bit out. “Whatever you wish my lord.”

Michael ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Why must you act like a sulky and defiant child, Belle? I regret if I've hurt your feelings. That was not my intent. You, however, are not helping the situation with your petulant behavior. Do not ever challenge me in front of my staff again.” Belle stiffened at his accusations, but remained silent. “You have less than ten minutes,” he said sharply, then turned and left.

Belle watched him until he was out of sight, then dropped the pillowcase she'd been twisting in her hands. “This is exactly the situation when men become the most irritating, Gussie.”

“When's that, miss?” the girl asked, her eyes still rounded from witnessing Belle's confrontation with the earl.

Belle sighed. “When they're right.”

The earl's secretary closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her alone with Michael in the somber expanse of the library. Michael sat at his desk making some notations in a ledger. Belle cleared her throat. He remained silent, intent on his writing. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

Michael didn't look up, but indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat, Belle, I'll be with you in a moment.” Clearly, he intended to assert his authority. Belle obediently sat down and schooled herself to be patient. Five minutes later she was still waiting for his attention. When he raised his head at last, Belle wished he’d kept his head bent over his ledger. The tender man who’d held her in her bed, the one who was determined to be her lover was gone. In his place sat the unapproachable lord of the manner – distance, cool. In one awful instant she knew he was sending her away.

Michael reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a sheaf of papers along with a small account book. He stood up, handed them to her and then reclaimed his seat. Belle stared at the items in her hand with confusion. “What’s this?” she asked.

“I’m settling twenty thousands pounds on you with an additional thousand a year in income. There’s also a deed transferring a house in Devon into your name.”

Twenty thousand pounds. Belle could scarcely breath.  She felt the color drain from her face and her head began to spin.  She looked over the documents trying to make sense of what she saw. He’d just given her a bloody fortune — an enormous dowery for a sister or, daughter to be sure, but unheard of for a mistress. Belle tried to keep her hands from trembling as shards of pain lanced her heart. He’d reduced their love affair to a business negotiation. The only thing missing was a contract. He probably still had it in his desk. She’d dreamed of becoming his lover, not a woman whose virtue he treated like an investment. Granted, she’d had such offers before, but nothing on this scale. She supposed it should be flattering, but how could she be flattered when she saw the last of her ridiculous dreams shriveling before her eyes. Her hands tightened on the papers she held. She glared at the man sitting across the desk from her, his demeanor aristocratic, as if he made such scandalous offers to women all the time. Of course he did.

“Good wages for simply letting you sleep beside me, though something tells me you’ll expect much more than that now,” she said frostily, tossing the papers onto his desk.”

He frowned once he grasped her meaning. “I’m not offering to make you my mistress, Belle. It’s a settlement with no expectations of gain on my part.” He kept his tone level, purposeful, his expression neutral. “While I was sincere in comforting you the other night I’ve since had time to reflect on our decision to become...involved. I believe it would be a mistake for several reasons.”

Perversely, she found his explanation more insulting than his offering her carte blanche. “Then why are you trying to settle anything on me?” she snapped. “I’m not a charity case. This is a fortune, Michael, but we both know what it really is, don’t we? It’s a way for you to assuage your guilt.”