by Abigail Agar
“Indeed, that is all. Now, may we please move on? I have nothing more to add,” Lavender said, desperate to forget about all this and the pressure she felt from Melora to be married.
Underlying Lavender’s many concerns, even beyond not knowing where to find a husband or having so few options due to her current station, was the realization that her father would not be there.
Her father would not be present at the wedding. He would not be around for a man to ask if he may marry Lavender. He would not be around when she had her first child, a grandchild for him to hold.
She was alone now, and she would always be. The father to whom she was so close was gone, and there was nothing Lavender could do to bring him back. She had no reason to think about his thoughts and opinions on a man, and she could not register whether or not he approved of whoever she chose.
There was pain in that as well. There was pain in knowing that her father could not help her decide who was worth her time and affection.
But Lavender and Melora soon got back to work, and she sought after the distraction in preparing a bit of tulsi tea for the marquess. She took it to his room when she heard him stirring.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted, barely making eye contact.
“And to you. Did I sleep for a very long time?” he asked.
“Nearly two hours,” she replied.
“My goodness, I have wasted the day,” he said.
Lavender did not say anything, but she caught herself looking at him closer than she ought to have been. Why was she suddenly so intrigued by his appearance? She scolded herself for noticing him at that moment.
Oh, that was a lie. It was hardly the first time she had noticed him, and as soon as Lavender acknowledged that, she felt very foolish. The marquess was an awful, rude man. There was no reason to notice him or to find him attractive. If anything, she ought to have found him repulsive for his character.
“Tea?” she offered, already pouring it.
“Thank you. I can always count on you to bring it when I need it,” the marquess said. He took a sip and wrinkled his nose ever so slightly.
“Too strong?” she asked.
“Only a little. Not terrible. You have improved,” he said. Shockingly, it was far more polite than he used to speak to her, although still not exactly friendly.
“Would you like me to remake it?” she offered in a tone devoid of emotion.
He looked up at her and held her gaze for a moment before taking another sip and then shaking his head.
“No, it is fine, thank you. I have decided to put off the man that I was just a short time ago,” the marquess said.
“It has been noticed,” she replied.
“By whom?” he asked.
“Those who work in the estate,” Lavender said.
“And … by you?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
Lavender was surprised he would care about her opinion, but she nodded anyway.
“Yes. Even by me.”
Chapter 12
“Come in,” Ronan called when there was a knock on his door.
It opened to reveal Harold, dressed quite nicely in what appeared to be a new coat.
“My goodness, have you donned yourself up just to pay me a visit?” he asked.
“Ha! That is certainly something you might consider. But, no, my friend. I fear that you are not so important to me as that,” Harold said with a laugh.
“Well, then, to what do I owe the honour of your visit?” Ronan asked.
“Actually, I was eager to see you. I know that Lady Foster’s ball is this weekend, and I worried that you might be sad to miss it,” Harold said, growing serious.
Ronan took a deep breath and looked away. He was still quite furious. Lady Foster had been cruel enough to send an invitation to his mother but had not even given Ronan the courtesy of a card, even though she knew he would not attend. It was quite an intentional slight, he thought.
“Are you planning to attend?” Ronan asked.
Harold shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious to Ronan that he wanted to go but did not wish to betray Ronan.
“I will not mind if you do,” he said.
At that, Harold looked very surprised.
“Really? You would not mind?” he asked.
“No, I would not. I know that you wish to attend, and there is no reason for you to refrain,” Ronan said.
“But I thought you would be furious at the very idea of it. After all, Lady Foster hurt you deeply. Would you not consider it a betrayal for me to attend?” Harold asked.
“I would not. However, if you prefer that I feel that way, I may try very hard to do so,” he said, amusing Harold in the process.
“Well, I have not yet made up my mind. I had not initially intended to go because I felt it would be rather rude for me to do something like that to you,” he said.
“I am unbothered. You may attend if you wish. I promise you that I shall not give you any grief about it. I know that you would attend if it were being held by anyone else, and you have every right to go and dance and enjoy yourself,” Ronan said.
“I must confess that I am shocked. You are a very different person than you were in these past weeks,” Harold said.
“No, I am not. Not really. Only, I am learning to stop mistreating those who have done nothing against me. For instance, I have no qualms with the idea of you attending the ball hosted by Lady Foster. But I have every bitterness harboured in my heart against Lady Foster herself,” he admitted.
Harold let out a small laugh.
“I suppose that makes a bit more sense,” he said.
“I recognize that there is no reason for which I should punish you when you have done nothing wrong. It is Lady Foster who was in error, and I must remember that,” he said.
“I think she would be rather upset to learn that you feel this way. I have scarcely met a woman quicker to justify herself,” Harold said.
“Indeed, nor have I. Well, perhaps that is not true. After all, she never did try to justify herself to me,” he said.
“I think Lady Foster has justified herself to one person and one person alone. And that is Lady Foster,” Harold quipped. “She cares not a jot whether others are upset or dismayed by her behaviour. She only needs to believe that she has a reason, and she will move on with her life.”
“Yes, you are quite right. Now, may we please stop speaking about her? You know I have had more than enough time to lay here, my thoughts lingering on that woman,” Ronan said.
“Yes, of course. Forgive me; I ought to have thought about that sooner. Now, what can we do then? How may I help you get your thoughts off her and onto better things?” Harold asked.
“I believe the best thing we may do is go outside. I have officially been told that I may go out. We ought to go to the garden. That will give me fresh air and a good deal of happiness. What do you say? Do you mind helping me into that chair?” he asked, nodding to the modified wheelchair.
Harold looked at it with something akin to fear, as if he worried that it might jump to bite him.
“I suppose so,” he said.
“Very well, let us go,” Ronan said, throwing off his blanket and waiting as Harold brought the chair closer. By now, Ronan could get in more easily, so long as he had assistance.
At last, they left the room, and Ronan was already happy, just thankful to be out of the bed and out of the room. He could enjoy a bit of the freedom this chair provided as Harold wheeled him out through the servants’ door, which had better access to the gardens.
“Oh, can you smell that?” Ronan asked, inhaling, and closing his eyes.
“What? The flowers? There are many flowers,” Harold said.
“No, not the flowers,” Ronan said.
“Then what?” Harold asked.
“It is the smell of not-me,” Ronan said, laughing.
For weeks, he had been relegated to that room. Even when the window was open, he could not escape the stifling smell of the indoors. E
ven from the balcony, he felt it reaching out to grasp him.
All that time with people coming and going, their stenches and Ronan’s, all blending together and sticking within the walls, it was too much. At last, he was enjoying the freedom of the outdoors.
“What do you say? Is it better now? Is being outside really the best thing you could have hoped for?” Harold asked.
“Indeed, it is. I am entirely grateful for the chance to breathe. Thank you,” he replied.
“I never thought I would see the day …” Harold said.
“What day? What do you mean?” Ronan asked.
“I never thought I would see the day in which you were truly grateful. I find it astonishingly refreshing,” Harold said.
Ronan was ashamed that he had caused his friend to think this way about him, but he could hardly blame Harold. This was certainly what he had put on display for others to see. Day after day, he had been complaining and mistreating others. He had got better, certainly, but when Ronan asked himself why, he realized something.
Much of his change had come about as a result of Miss Philips and his desire to impress her.
Did that mean that his change was not genuine? Was it possible that he was not truly changed at all? After all, he had shifted his perspective largely in part to his hopes that she might come to like him and that they would have an understanding of one another.
Miss Philips had encouraged him to change because he hated the fact that he had been so insulting toward her. It grieved him, in fact, to think about it. She had not deserved the way in which Ronan had treated her. She deserved only the sort of care and affection he might reserve for those of his own station.
For what reason? He could hardly say.
“How is this?” Harold asked him as they came to a stop by the gazebo.
“Perfection. If you wish to sit in the shade, you may, but leave me here to bask in the sun,” Ronan said.
“Certainly. I can only imagine how much you miss the sun,” Harold acknowledged.
They sat for a few moments, enjoying the beauty of the outdoors. But as they sat, Ronan began to feel an eagerness to do something different.
“Harold, would you mind helping me with something?” Ronan asked.
“Of course. What is it?” Harold asked, standing and coming to the chair.
“I know that I probably should not do this yet, but I am feeling so much better. I thought that, perhaps, I could try to stand,” he said.
“Stand? Are you certain that is wise? Think about it, Ronan. You may hurt the leg even worse. Just a week and a half ago, the doctor was telling you not to,” Harold said.
“But when he came by yesterday, he said that I have made vast improvements and may begin trying new things to aid in my recovery. I shall only use the left leg, as that one is far better. What do you say? Why not?” Ronan asked.
Harold appeared dubious, but he finally gave in and nodded.
“All right. I concede. But I think this is unwise, and I wish you to confess that I said so if this all goes terribly awry,” Harold said.
“You have my word,” Ronan replied.
“Very well. Come, take my arms. This is not going to be easy,” Harold said in warning.
But Ronan already knew that. As he grasped hold of Harold’s arms and leaned into his friend, he could feel that this really was quite a fantastical idea. There was pain shooting through his legs, although nothing at all like he had anticipated.
In fact, Ronan was shocked by the strength he felt. And, with his hands still gripping Harold’s arms, he was standing.
“My goodness, I had not anticipated you getting very far before giving up from the pain,” Harold said.
“Yes, well, I do not think I am going to last for very long,” Ronan confessed, already trying to lower himself back into the wheelchair.
He was far stronger than he had been since the accident, but he could tell that any time on his legs was going to cause him great pain as time went on. Ronan deemed it unwise to continue trying to push himself beyond what he was reasonably able to bear, and this was certainly the better choice for now.
Of course, it did wound his pride to sit so quickly after the victorious standing. Nevertheless, Ronan was glad that he had tried. It made him feel stronger and braver and more determined that he really would succeed in the days ahead.
“How was it?” Harold asked once he was seated back in the chair, staring out over the gardens.
“Honestly? It is difficult to explain the joy I felt, standing again. Strange how something I once took for granted can now mean so much to me,” he said.
“I believe it is only natural. After all, it has always been a part of your life. Well, yours and most others. So for you to be without it for such a very long time, I can only imagine how difficult it probably has been,” Harold said.
“Indeed, it has. But I am thankful that you were willing to help me. Thank you for being selfless. I know that I was a pain for a good long while, but I am thankful that you have stood by me as my friend regardless of the mistakes I have made,” Ronan said.
He meant this gratitude. It was true that he was still not the man he wished to be, but Ronan believed that he could eventually become that person. For now, however, he would just have to trust that Harold was right, and he had been learning to be kinder and gentler.
But, at that moment, all Ronan could do was to watch the sky as the clouds shifted and the breeze fluttered through the flowers. This was a beautiful solitude, and he was grateful for it.
His ugly behaviour was in the past, and this new life was giving him joy.
Chapter 13
Something about that brief moment of standing brought to Lavender’s mind a child who takes their first steps.
She had watched from the balcony as the marquess leaned on his friend and tried bravely to hold himself up. Certainly, there had been a part of her which had wanted to run out there and shout at him, telling him that he was being foolish for putting his recovery in such jeopardy.
But Lavender was too overwhelmed by the joy she felt in watching him even to consider doing that. She had loved to see the freedom in his expression, the way he appeared to feel such a victory. The last thing Lavender wanted was to come in, ruining that moment for him.
No, instead, she was choosing to stand just out of their view, observing. It was only for a moment, but she finally broke herself away and decided to try and get back to work. However, even as she did so, Lavender could not quite tamp down the bit of spirited happiness she felt.
Lavender left the marquess’ room with the empty teacups that she had brought him earlier in the day. Intending to carry them to the kitchen, she was surprised to find Lady Beckman coming down the hall from there.
“Lady Beckman,” she greeted.
“Oh, dear, do not mind me. You must get those to the kitchen so that you are not forced to stand there, holding them,” Lady Beckman said.
“Yes, My Lady. Certainly,” she said.
Lavender curtseyed and continued on her way but was uncomfortably aware of the fact that Lady Beckman had not moved and was still watching her. Nevertheless, she moved onward, taking the dishes to the kitchen and leaving them there with the cook and her assistant who would wash them.
