A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (41 page)

***

Seaton rubbed his fingertips against his forehead in a vain attempt to stop the stabbing pain behind his eyes. Everything hurt these days, but the pain in his head was merciless. He stared out at the great house from his hiding place. He’d been here for two days and his supplies, which hadn’t been very many to start with, had dwindled to little more than a few crumbs. He’d have to risk going out to one of the tenant farms tonight. He couldn’t risk being spotted in the village, or stealing from the manor directly. Not yet. Kingsford had brought men to patrol the grounds at night because he’d gotten careless in London. He never should have gone after the doctor, but he’d had to find her.

He was having trouble with his left eye. It had started a few days ago with a discharge that wouldn’t stop. Now everything he saw through that eye appeared foggy and distorted. It was the cold in this accursed country. It had to be. Even in the height of summer the infernal dampness of the bloody place had leeched into his bones swelling every joint, making it painful to move so much as a finger. His leg still hurt from when Stowebridge had kicked it out from under him and it caused him to limp. He wouldn’t let the discomfort dissuade him from completing his purpose though. They would pay. All of them would pay, even that vile bitch who thought to use him — he’d finish them all. Then they’d leave this place, him and his prize, his glory, his Araby. They’d return to the Mediterranean, to the warmth of the sun. They’d be happy again, just the two of them. First, however, they must all pay for what they’d done to him, even his golden girl. She needed to be punished, but in the end she would understand. He did it because he loved her best in all the world. She was perfection and she belonged to him, only him and he would make her remember it.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Three weeks passed in relative peace and quiet as Belle adjusted to the restrictions Michael and Rafe imposed on her activities. Michael assigned two of Rafe’s men to accompany her when she left the safety of the house. There were no more walks in the woods together, or rendezvous in the folly by the lake. Belle found little sympathy among the household when she bridled under the efforts made to ensure her safety and eventually she accepted her limitations.

Each day Drew gained better command of his legs. He and Paddy took to practicing their shooting skills and Michael watched with pleasure as his brother’s confidence continued to grow. The petulant boy of winter had disappeared altogether and in his place stood a man who held an air of command about him, one who stayed firm in his resolve to protect his family. This was a man neither Belle, nor Michael had met before, the one who’d led his men at the battle of Inkerman.

Their respite lasted too briefly and soon storm winds raged throughout the abbey again. Contrary to Michael’s orders the countess returned from London and in the tradition of all ill winds, she brought nothing with her but anger and discord. Michael’s first instinct was to banish his mother to the remotest family holding he could find, but she surprised everyone by taking up residence at the dower house shortly upon her arrival. She blamed this change in residence on Belle, naturally, refusing to live under the same roof as ‘that woman.’  Had the countess kept to the confines of her own household, her attitude wouldn’t have mattered, but her daily visits to Drew combined with her continued harping on the staff could inspire a saint to violence and Michael was no saint. Belle, used to wartime protocol, kept her head down and remained in constant motion. It was harder to hit a moving target.

Mr. Hodges and Mrs. Babcock, though deferential and diplomatic, quickly adopted Belle’s strategy during Lady Stowebridge’s visits to the main house. However, the rest of the staff where not as fortunate. The countess usually held her audiences in the Rose Salon, calling to the carpet all those in the household who’d offended her sensibilities in one way or another, this afternoon though, she’d commandeered Lord Stowebridge’s study for her interviews and summoned Belle to join her. No doubt she believed the earl’s study would lend her the authority of its owner and Belle prepared herself for a spectacular dressing down.

Belle dipped into a graceful curtsy and kept her head bowed pretending to a humility she didn’t feel in the woman’s presence. She’d never cared for the woman, but after seeing Drew’s condition upon her arrival at the Abbey and listening to Michael talk about his childhood in their more private moments, she’d come to actively dislike her. Belle rose to face Lady Stowebridge’s look of unbridled malice and prayed that for once diplomacy would guard her tongue before she told the old biddy exactly what she thought of her.

“My son is in a deplorable condition thanks to you and Dr. Gillian. It is fortunate that I arrived when I did.” Lady Stowebridge stood beside the Jerusalem Cherry plant surveying Belle with every inch of hauteur her rank allowed. She brushed her hand lovingly across its foliage before plucking a leaf and twirling it between her fingers. “You have taxed my poor boy to the end of his endurance.”

Belle flushed as she considered last night’s round of love making with lady Stowebridge’s older son.
‘
You’ll be the death of me woman
,
’ Michael had panted, collapsing on the bed beside her. Perhaps she had taxed him, but they’d both certainly enjoyed it. 

“Excuse me, my lady,” she began, “but Mr. Andrew is much improved as you can see. He’s able to walk with....”

“Don’t you dare contradict me you insolent little piece!” Her ladyship snapped. “I know very well what you’re about! I see it when I look at him. I see the working of an unscrupulous woman bent on seducing an innocent young man with her smiles and promises! You cajole and simper, making him believe you, making him turn his back on the woman who bore him, who nurtured and guarded his heath since he was a babe.” Lady Stowebridge tossed the leaf on the carpet and Belle made note to ensure it was properly disposed of as the plant, although lovely with its green foliage and flame-colored berries, was a member of the nightshade family and quite poisonous.

Lady Stowebridge’s mouth worked back and forth as though she were attempting to expel something foul from it. “I know all about you, you trollop! It’s all over London how Lady Isley caught you in bed with her son. You tried to trap her boy into marriage and when that scheme failed you wheedled your way into this household and set your sights on my Andrew.”

Belle felt the color drain from her face. So that was the gossip going around London. Lady Isley had spread her disgusting lies throughout society no doubt aided by the former Muriel Cathcart and her friends. Panic rolled through her at the thought of Michael hearing such lies.

Belle squared her shoulders preparing herself for the fight ahead. “That is an outrageous fabrication, Lady Stowebridge. I was employed by Lord Isley as a nurse for his son and my acquaintance with the family remained completely professional.”

Lady Stowebridge made a scoffing sound. “Yes, I’m sure it was and we all know what your real profession is, don’t we?”

There were times to be diplomatic and times to not, Belle reflected as she stepped towards Lady Stowebridge. “Ma’am, you have good reasons to dislike me,” she said coldly, “and I’ll not gainsay you on most of them, but I will not allow you to insult my work.”

“You’ll no
t
allo
w
me?” the countess sputtered in outrage. “This is outside of enough! Pack your bags immediately! You are discharged and without a character!”

“The earl employes me, Ma’am, and it is only the earl who may discharge me,” Belle stated quietly. “I would also add that Mr. Andrew is walking again. Paddy and I have worked hard for his sake and we will continue to do so until he no longer needs us.”

“He has no need of you at all,” the other woman declared forcefully. “I’m not surprised that you have Michael in your claws. You always did. Neither one of you cared what happened to Andrew...or to me.” She turned away from Belle staring out into space as if she saw the lives of her family spinning out in front of her. She didn’t appear to like what she saw. “Andrew has been delicate his entire life. I’m the one who fretted over him, nursed him when he was ill. He was a sickly babe – not expected to survive his first winter.” Her eyes took on a gleam as she continued talking, as though she’d forgotten Belle’s presence in the room and spoke her memories aloud to herself. “Other mother’s would have left him to the nursery staff, but I never did. People praised me for my endurance, my devotion to him. The reverend said I was an example of true faith for my sufferings.” Belle thought the reverend would have better served the family by praying for the child rather than extolling the virtues of Lady Stowebridge’s martyrdom.

The countess drifted back to her plant gently touching the leaves and fruit. “Even his father.... Normally, Stowebridge didn’t care tuppence about Andrew – ignored the boy completely most of the time. Even he had to recognize how devoted I was to his son’s care.” She glared at Belle, her lip curling in derision. “What would you know about a mother’s love, you who have done nothing but interfere between my son and me. I prepared him a simple pot of tea as I’ve always done to ease his nerves and he refused it. Refused it! I
‘
mustn’t interfere with Belle’s treatment
s
,’ ” she spat.

“I am not trying to come between you and Mr. Andrew, my lady, and no one could ever fault your love for your sons,” Belle said softly.

“Son,” she snapped out in return. “Henry is dead and I will never claim kinship to that, usurper, that changeling. Better he’d died in Henry’s place!”

Belle gasped, shocked by the vehemence of Lady Stowebridge’s words. “Michael is your son, Lady Stowebridge, no less than Henry, or Drew.”

The countess’ face twisted into an ugly expression. “Michael, is it? Just as I suspected, you’re playing the whore for him now.” Belle could think of nothing to say to that. They were lovers, though most people would claim that he’d simply made her his mistress. She chose to defend Michael instead.

“The earl is a man of honor and courage,” she said sharply. “The tenants and staff of the estate respect him. He loves his brother and Drew loves and admires him in return. If you cannot appreciate the type of man Michael is then I urge you to at least keep your vicious opinions to yourself. No one else feels that way about him and that Ma’am, leads me to conclude that you do not know what you are talking about. You are just a cruel, cold-hearted harpy.”

“I shall have you driven from these doors!” Lady Stowebridge shrieked in rage and Belle half expected her to fly across the room and throttle her. “I’ll see you starving in the streets!”

“No, Mother,” replied a cool voice from the doorway, “I rather think you will not.” Michael walked slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving the countess. “I think that you will go back to the Dower House and remain there until you’ve learned better manners.” His mother opened her mouth to protest, but Michael held up his hand in warning. “One more word, one more sound and I swear to God I will send you to the Scottish moors.” Lady Stowebridge watched him warily. She appeared to have little doubt he would do just that. She gathered her skirts and hurried from the room without another word.

Belle took in Michael’s bleak expression. Good Heavens, how much of that vileness had he heard? She wished she’d slapped that wretched woman’s face. No mother should ever speak about their own child like that. She stood beside him and reached out her hand to stroke his arm. What could she say to him that could make any of it hurt less?

His mouth twisted bitterly. “Now you know the depths of my mother’
s
affectio
n
for me. I’m sorry, Belle. I wouldn’t have had you face her ugliness for anything.”

“Me? Don’t you worry about me Michael Lassiter. I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” Though he’d told her some things about his childhood, he’d kept the worse of it to himself. She saw it all too clearly now, its bleakness, its isolation devoid of any maternal affection at all and anger filled her heart. As his father’s heir, Henry would have been the favored son, earning his father’s praise for each accomplishment. Drew, the youngest child, had been their mother’s pet and after her conversation with the dowager, Belle suspected he’d been used, not only as a weapon against his father, but as his mother’s shield against the loneliness of a loveless marriage, his illnesses granting her a sense of importance. Where had that left Michael? She saw the bright and curious boy he must have been, intelligent, mischievous. As a lad he would have been desperate for anything from his parents other than indifference. As a young man he would have embraced their ire, pushing the limits of society simply to remind them that he existed.

“Your parents should have been horsewhipped,” she said angrily. “My mother may have been weak and foolish, but at least I knew she loved me. Forgive me, but your mother is no mother at all. I shall always marvel that she produced three such fine men.” She launched herself into Michael’s arms.

He held on tightly to her and sighed. “Well, two fine men at least.”

“Three,” she repeated firmly. “You ran the Russian blockage not once, but several times to bring us supplies. Your efforts saved many lives, Michael. You are loyal, you love your brother and you never forget your friends.”

“God, Belle,” he muttered against her head, “how can you say any of that? If you knew even half the things I’ve done in my life, things much worse than what I did to you.”

She clasped him tighter around the waist. “I don’t care. I know the real you just as well as Drew, Jules, and Mari and let me tell you that neither of your parents could have recognized the truth about you if it had bitten them in the...ankle.”

Michael gave out a bark of laughter and pulled her more tightly against him. “My little firebrand. See why I want to marry you?” he murmured. “I need you, Belle. You are the light and the warmth in my cold and miserable world.” He took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to his. His kiss moved as gently across her lips as a whisper and in it she recognized the same longing for peace that she felt within herself. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck deepening their kiss until nothing else in the world existed but their passion and raw need for each other. Michael pulled back from her breathing raggedly. “Come to my lair, Belle,” he whispered. “Come and be my own.”

She looked at him knowing she was about to do a foolish thing and that in all likelihood there would be no returning from it. Too many people watched her movements in the house these days, albeit for her own safety, for her to simply disappear during an afternoon. Michael held out his hand and she saw the hope in his eyes as well as the fear that she too, would reject him. Belle slipped her hand into his and they headed for the secret panel. 

***

“Say the word and she’s banished,” Michael stated as he leaned against the headboard of his bed. Belle lay snuggled against him idly tracing the lines of his chest with her forefinger. They were both naked, a state of which Michael heartily approved. If he had his choice he’d take her far away from here to some quaint and picturesque little cottage where he’d lock away all their clothes and hide the key. Their afternoon together had given way to evening and then night. He’d completely ruined her in the eyes of the household. He trusted his servants discretion, but Belle would undoubtedly feel humiliated come morning. He regretted that, but he couldn’t be sorry about today. She’d chosen him and if he had his way, which he fully intended to, their marriage would mend her reputation.