by Abigail Agar
When Lavender left the kitchen, she intended to go to her own bedroom and rest until Lord Beckman came back inside with his friend. But as she reentered the hall, she saw that Lady Beckman was still standing there, presumably waiting for her.
“Miss Philips, may I have a word?” she asked.
Lavender’s heart began to pound. She was terribly worried that she had done something wrong, something to displease this woman she had no choice but to please.
“Yes, of course, Lady Beckman,” she replied, as calmly as she could as she stepped closer to the marquess’ mother.
“Thank you, Miss Philips. Now, I do not wish to keep you for long, but I should like to tell you that I am very happy you are here,” she said.
Lavender stood perfectly still for a moment, not believing her ears. Had she heard Lady Beckman correctly? Was it even possible that this woman was happy with her work? Had she proven herself to have enough medical knowledge that Lady Beckman deemed her worthy of working in the home?
“Thank you, Lady Beckman,” she managed to say through her shock.
“I mean it, Miss Philips. You have changed him,” she said.
Again, Lavender was thrown into confusion.
“Changed him? Whom? Begging your pardon, Lady Beckman, but I do not understand,” she said.
“My son, Miss Philips. You have changed him. You know, he was better before all of this, but always a bit self-centred,” she said, echoing the same sentiment that Lavender had heard from so many others by now.
“I see …” she said, not adding anything more.
“But after the accident, he became such a troubled soul. And he was always angry and rude. Well, you saw him. That was still within a few weeks of the event,” she said.
“Yes, it was, My Lady,” she said.
“But the only thing that I saw change in his eyes was you. He may have been rude to you initially, but it took him only a short time to shift. He quickly started to care about you, I think,” she said.
“Care?” Lavender asked, even more surprised by the use of this word. Even if Lord Beckman had been kinder to her than previously, it was not to say that he cared for her. Such a close term was not one she would have placed upon it.
“Well, whatever it is. He has been far kinder than he ever was before. I have been astounded at the ways he has changed. I believe you have been a good example to him. Between your contentment despite your circumstances and the fact that you were kind and generous enough to take time fashioning the device for his chair, I think he sees you as someone to be admired,” she said.
Lavender blushed. She did not know what to say. Lady Beckman could not be correct in her assessment of the matter. There was no chance at all that Lord Beckman really thought of Lavender so well. Even if he had grown kinder and even if he had been moved by her efforts, it did not mean that he was, in any way, growing to care about her as a fellow person.
He cared for people like his friend Lord James and women such as Lady Foster. He was not going to be moved by an orphaned young woman whose family once had prestige and was now just a blot in the ancient memory of the great England.
“Thank you, Lady Beckman,” she said, regardless. “Your words are far too kind. I am sure that your son has been moved by something else that has taken place. I do find that it is my honour, however, to assist him in any way I am able.”
Lady Beckman could not refrain from grinning as she shook her head, looking intently and mischievously at Lavender.
“You speak well, Miss Philips. You know how to be polite and stay in your place. But I trust that you know exactly what I am saying, and your humility is only one you put on because you know that you must,” Lady Beckman said.
“Forgive me, I do not mean to appear disingenuous,” Lavender said.
“Oh, no, not at all. That is hardly what I meant. What I meant to say is that you are quite well-aware of what is expected of you. I have heard that your father was a magnificent doctor. I trust that means you were bred for a life grander than this one?” Lady Beckman asked.
Lavender looked away, feeling shy from this conversation with such a grand woman.
I believe most in England feel that they were bred for a life grander than the one they are living. I certainly know that my dear friend, Miss Stevens, was born for more than this. And although I am happy for her and her impending marriage, I know that she shall never have the grandness she deserves. Nor any of the other maids in this house,” she admitted.
“Do you believe they are treated unfairly?” Lady Beckman asked, a slight twinge of challenge in her tone.
“Not in the least, Lady Beckman. They are employees, and they are treated quite well here. Particularly in comparison to many of the estates I have heard of before, where the staff is not treated very well at all,” she said.
“I am glad that you think so. But I am curious, then. What do you think ought to be different for them?” Lady Beckman asked.
Lavender took a moment to choose her words carefully. She did not wish to offend Lady Beckman or to cause any sort of unpleasantness for herself. But she also wanted to be honest.
“I believe that the place in which one is born should not be the place to which they are relegated for the rest of their lives,” she said.
Lady Beckman paused in thought before she slowly nodded.
“My goodness, Miss Philips, I believe you have wisdom that I scarcely hear of these days,” she said.
“Not wisdom, Lady Beckman. Only an observation,” she replied.
“Regardless, I do admire your willingness to share such thoughts with me. Tell me, do you find it difficult to speak with those in a position of nobility, or are you quite comfortable?” she asked.
Lavender couldn’t help her sheepish smile. This conversation had made it quite clear that she was comfortable.
“Yes, that is what I thought,” Lady Beckman said before she could reply. “You do have quite some spirit. Now, what do you say we continue getting to know one another, hmm?”
“Yes, Lady Beckman. If that is what you desire,” she replied.
“Indeed, it is. I think very highly of you, Miss Philips. I should like us to continue getting to know one another. You and I, as well as my son. I believe that we just might all come to be very good friends,” she said.
Lavender could hardly imagine that, but she was thankful for the kindness of Lady Beckman, who now turned and went off in the direction of the drawing room. This time, it was Lavender who lingered for a moment, curious about the older woman.
She wondered if Lady Beckman was so kind and understanding because of the prejudice shown against her. Surely as an Irish woman bred from Irish nobility, life in England must have been quite a challenge at first. There would have been many who disliked her for her nationality and faith.
But it appeared to Lavender that she had assimilated to English culture, even if her accent still declared precisely who she was and where she was from.
For a moment, however, there was an entirely different thought in Lavender’s mind. She considered chasing after Lady Beckman to ask about Lady Foster, to inquire whether or not Lady Foster was still important to the marquess.
Of course, that would have been entirely inappropriate. No matter what kindness and familiarity Lady Beckman showed to Lavender, it was not so close as that, and Lavender could hardly pretend otherwise.
Instead, she retired to her room for a little while, pondering everything that had just been raised within that conversation. She wondered whether or not the future would hold the same brightness as the past had held or if her fate really was sealed.
Would she have the fortunes discovered by Lady Beckman? Would she find herself suddenly swept up in a grand future? Or would she always be stuck as she was now? Was the best really behind her?
Whatever the answer, at least she now had someone willing to listen and be there for her. It was strange, knowing that the person who was so willing to be there was one of the wealthiest women
in England, someone of great circumstance. But Lavender hardly minded that. It was actually quite fascinating to her.
Later in the day, she continued about her duties. Lord Beckman and his friend, Lord James, returned inside, and she brought them tea again. Lord James regarded her with some sort of interest and then looked back at Lord Beckman, who glared at him. She was curious as to the reason.
Had they been talking about her? What had they said? She could not be sure, but it certainly made her uncomfortable.
“Miss Philips, I have heard excellent things about your father,” Lord James said.
“Oh? Thank you. He was a good man,” she replied.
“Lord Beckman tells me that you have quite the same level of skill. You really do appear to have intrigued my friend,” Lord James said.
The blush was hot in Lavender’s cheeks, but she smiled and gave a nod of appreciation before cleaning up and departing from the room.
All Lord James had said was that she intrigued Lord Beckman. Why was this something to make her blush? Why was she so intrigued in return?
Feeling foolish and uncomfortable under the gaze of all these nobles, Lavender was beginning to wonder if coming to this estate was the best thing she had ever done or the worst.
Chapter 14
It was a bleak evening. Outside, things were lovely, but as Ronan sat in the study, brooding about what he knew was going on without him, he was distraught.
He should have been at the ball that evening. Along with his mother and his friends, he should have been there.
Although he had appreciated that his mother had initially refused to attend, Ronan urged her that she must. Her friends would be in attendance, and if she did not go, it would have been obvious to everyone that it was because of Ronan. It would be clear that he was upset. Some may even claim that he had been the one to urge her not to attend.
So, in the end, he was glad that she had chosen to go.
Nevertheless, he was angry that he had not been able to attend. Even if Lady Foster had not behaved in such a dreadful way, even if she had invited him, even if she had wanted him there, he could not have gone. Ronan was missing so many things because of his injuries, and it was causing him to grow bitter.
After a short while, Miss Philips popped her head into the study.
“Lord Beckman,” she greeted with a curtsey.
“Yes, Miss Philips?” he asked, trying to refrain from showing annoyance in his tone. He was so angry about everything, and it was difficult to hide it.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I wanted to ask if you would like me to bring your dinner here or if you intend to dine in the dining hall?” she asked.
Ronan thought for a moment.
“I suppose I shall dine here this evening. There is no one else in the estate to dine with, so I might as well,” he said.
“As you wish,” she replied, turning away.
But then, Miss Philips paused. She turned back and stood, facing him.
“Yes, Miss Philips?” he asked.
“Forgive me, My Lord, but …” she trailed off, looking nervous.
“Miss Philips, I know that you are not one to keep your words at bay for very long. If you have something to say, you may come out with it,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips and hers as well.
“Yes, you are right. And I was simply going to ask if something is the matter. I know that it is not my business, but are you quite all right?” she asked.
Ronan took a deep breath. He was not sure how to answer her. In truth, no. He was not all right. But the last thing he ought to do was to burden Miss Philips with what was upsetting him. She was a maid.
Yes, she was a maid who meant more to him than the others. He was rather surprised by her in many ways. But she was still the maid. It made very little sense for him to try and unburden his thoughts to her.
Alas, however, Ronan did need someone with him to speak about all of his thoughts. He did want someone who could listen to him and hear his concerns.
Here she was. Miss Philips. Offering him that exact opportunity.
“Miss Philips, thank you for your ability to see what is going on in my mind. As it happens, you are correct. There is something wrong,” he said.
“I am terribly sorry. I know that there is likely nothing that I can do to assist you, but if I can help in any way …” she offered, compassionately.
“I know that there is nothing to be done,” he said with disappointment.
“Are you certain? Surely you can fix whatever is wrong. There are few things in this world that are truly impossible to salvage, even if it requires a bit of struggle on the way,” she said.
Ronan appreciated her attempt at being optimistic, even if he did think she was missing the matter’s extent.
“For this, I am not able to make things right. Because of my current situation, I have no choice but to stay here, at the estate, at all times. But while I am here, my friends and my mother are out dancing and enjoying themselves,” he said.
“Oh, I understand. That must be very difficult. I am sorry,” she said as if she genuinely meant it.
Ronan was taken aback by her all over again. She was excellent at moving him with her kindness.
“Indeed, it is very difficult,” he replied.
He very nearly began to tell her about the fact that Lady Foster was hosting the ball, but something stopped him. Ronan could not say why, but he felt certain it was unwise to tell Miss Philips about Lady Foster and how she had wounded him. Maybe it was because he did not wish her to even think about Lady Foster being interested in Ronan.
Or, rather, he did not want Miss Philips to think about him being interested in another woman. It was nonsense, strange that he would even care. But, for some reason, Ronan didn’t want her to know that he had begun to care for Lady Foster. He would rather hide that fact.
“So, what would make your evening better?” she asked, to his surprise.
“My evening? Well, I think it would be better if I could be there, dancing the night away. But, as that is not going to happen, I cannot think what else I ought to do,” he said.
“You wish to dance the night away?” Miss Philips asked.
“More than anything,” he replied.
A mischievous smile spread across her lips, and Ronan sensed that there was something very intent in the back on her mind. He wondered what could be inciting her to this strange demeanour, but sat there, patiently, as he waited to see what it was.
Then, Miss Philips began to walk towards him.
He said nothing as she drew near, simply observed to see what she would do. To his utter surprise, she walked around behind the chair and began to push it, making a large circle.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked with a laugh.
“I am allowing you to dance,” she said. From the circle, she moved the chair in patterns that mimicked the steps of a dance, each one more adventurous than the former.
Ronan laughed again and glanced back at her where she waltzed behind him.
“Forgive me that there is no music,” she said.
