A Marquess' Miraculous Transformation: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  As if their walk had not already been going terribly, now she was in danger of having to pay a whole new consequence. Now, she found herself in a position in which she could lose her place altogether. She might never be able to move past this terrible act she had just committed.

  “Forgive me, My Lord. I did not mean to respond that way. I simply … it is a very difficult thing for me to speak about. The loss of my father was very hard,” she said.

  He did not reply at once but instead took his time to gather himself.

  Meanwhile, Lavender wished that she could just undo everything. She wished that she could go back to her first few weeks of working at the estate and ensure that she did not grow to have feelings for this man. She wished that she could go back and stop herself from doing foolish things like dancing with him in his study and at the wedding or sharing anything which was on her heart at times. She wished that she had not had tea with him.

  It was too late to go back and undo those things, but there was still the future to consider. Could she prevent herself from falling any further into this mess? Could she stop herself from loving a man who could never love her in return?

  Lavender dreamt that it was possible. She did not know if that was just another foolish notion or not, but she wanted to have hope, to think that she could get out of this dilemma.

  Whatever was happening between herself and the marquess, she trusted that she could overcome it by pushing herself to see things differently. She could push herself to remembering that she was a maid, just the way Lady Foster wanted her to think of herself. She could remind herself that Lord Beckman had been truly awful to her from the start.

  And she could remind herself, as well, of the warning which had been issued by her aunt. There was still a chance that Lord Beckman was actually a dreadful man with awful intentions, and she had placed herself in his path.

  Was that what she wanted? Was that anything that would turn out for her own good?

  “Miss Philips,” Lord Beckman finally said.

  “Yes, My Lord?” she asked.

  “We ought to return to the estate now,” he said, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  Lavender nodded and turned. She hoped that he would not need any assistance as it would surely only lead to great discomfort if they had to touch at all.

  There was silence between them, and Lavender listened to the faint whistle of the wind which rustled about them. She was glad that the summer was coming to a close. The season had been a dreadful one.

  Of course, that was primarily to do with society and much less to do with the summer itself.

  “You know, I understand if what you are saying is true. I, too, lost my father,” he said.

  Lavender had not given him grace for that. She had not thought about it at all, and that made her cheeks burn red. How had she been so insensitive? Perhaps he had simply wanted to talk to her about her father because he missed his own. Was there no end to her selfishness?

  “Yes, I know. I am terribly sorry that you went through that,” she said. But there was something else that made her uneasy. “May I ask what you meant by the first part of your statement?”

  “Which part?” he asked.

  “The part in which you suggested that my words may not be true,” she said, hoping that she did not come across too offensively.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked.

  “I am not sure what it means,” she clarified.

  “I think it is quite obvious. I am not positive that you have told me the full truth,” he said, appearing rather annoyed at her.

  Lavender was furious. Why would he suggest that she had lied about something? It made no sense at all. And here, he was behaving as though she had wronged him? It was quite the opposite!

  For a brief moment, she was deeply perplexed. How had things become so twisted throughout their walk together? How had their interactions become such a mess?

  Lavender wanted to beg the marquess to explain himself, to tell her where he got the nonsensical idea that she had made all of this up. And for what purpose? Why would she do that?

  But she needed to know why he even thought this way to begin with. There was obviously something going on, which she could not put her finger on. More than likely, she assumed, it had something to do with Lady Foster.

  “Would you be willing to explain precisely what it is that you believe I have done incorrectly?” she asked.

  “Incorrectly?” he repeated.

  “What do you think I have lied about?” Lavender said, trying to be more forthright about her concern.

  “Well, there have been rumours going around about you,” he said.

  “Rumours?” she asked in shock. “I cannot think why anyone would spread a rumour about me. I am just a maid. It makes no sense why anyone would …”

  Lavender trailed off, suddenly quite aware of exactly who would spread tales about her for the sake of sowing doubt in the minds of others. But she was in no position to make such an accusation. It would not have gone over well, even if it did turn out to be true.

  “Well, whatever it is that you have heard, I am sure it was told in a very compelling manner. However, I fear that I must disappoint you, My Lord. You see, I am not this liar you apparently believe me to be. Whatever rumours you have heard, I am unaware of them,” she said.

  “They are rumours that you ought to hear. I expect you to refute these claims,” Lord Beckman said.

  They were halfway to the estate, and Lavender had quickened her pace on instinct. But she remembered herself, remembered the fact that she was out for a walk with a man who was still healing. He could not keep up with her, and he was limping badly, even with his cane.

  “You expect me to refute the claims? I have a strong suspicion you do not want that. If you cared at all about the claims being made against me, you would care that they are untrue and that the falsehoods are more than I can bear. You would know that I do not deserve this,” she said, walking faster again.

  “Then tell me!” he shouted after her.

  “Tell you what?” she cried back, desperately.

  “Did you lie about your father?” he asked.

  “What about him? What lie am I supposed to have told?” she asked.

  “Are you really the daughter of Dr Philips? Or are you someone who took on the role of his daughter after he was already dead? The rumour states that his daughter died a year or so before he did and that you slipped in to claim to be her upon his death,” Lord Beckman said.

  Lavender was, again, utterly shocked.

  “I beg your pardon?” she scoffed.

  “You heard me,” he said.

  “I heard an unjust and unfounded accusation. I heard a claim that would never be made by a respectable man, and only a gossip monger would be so bloodthirsty as to come up with something like this,” Lavender said.

  She was hurt that Lord Beckman had believed this at all when he had been so kind to her in the past, and they had grown quite close. But she was faced with the fact that he did not care. He thought that she was the sort who would do this, and that knowledge could not have been much worse.

  “So, you have nothing to say for yourself?” he asked her.

  Lavender opened her mouth to refute the claims, to stand firm in her own defence. Instead of that, however, she ran away.

  Lord Beckman would not be able to chase after her, but he would also be stranded out there, stuck without help as he tried to make his way back amidst exhaustion from the walk, which was so tiring for a man who was still recovering from broken legs.

  She felt awful, but she had to do something. And surely she might lose her job, but at least she had not backed down.

  Once she reached her room again, she crashed upon the bed.

  Maybe she really was a fool all along for having come to care for him. Maybe she had made a mistake she could never undo.

  Chapter 28

  Ronan felt terrible. As he stood out there on the path, Miss Philips having
long-since disappeared, he wished that he could undo what had been done. He wished that he had not questioned her like that.

  No matter how badly he wanted answers to his questions, Ronan recognized that he had gone about this in the wrong way. He had forced her into a bad position, one in which they were truly at odds with one another.

  He had never fought with Miss Philips like this before. Even back when he had been insufferable, constantly complaining and causing problems, they had still got along well. Now, however, their disagreement, their truly awful raging against one another, was far more serious.

  And it was all his fault.

  Miss Philips had been nothing but kind to him, and yet he had begun to question her. He had trusted Lady Foster, who had been terrible to him and had abandoned him in his hour of need.

  So, why had he been so easily swayed into this thinking? It frustrated him when he considered the fact that he could have just told himself from the start that it had to be a lie.

  But Lady Foster had been so convincing, and Miss Philips still had not justified herself. She had run away, casting herself into an even guiltier looking position. Maybe there really was something to this belief that she had lied?

  Ronan’s thoughts were running in circles. He could not keep up with one belief before the next chased after him. He finally realized that it was due to a disconnect between his heart and mind.

  His heart trusted Miss Philips, completely and utterly. It believed that she was the kindest, most gentle woman he had ever known.

  Indeed, his heart had begun to fall in love with her.

  But his mind? That was an entirely different situation. Although his mind cared for her and thought well of her, his mind had also experienced a world in which it was not uncommon for men of his position to be used and manipulated. His mind had been forced to undergo a great amount of stress to get his family into their position.

  His mind had heard stories of other nobles being taken advantage of. His mind wanted to keep his reputation spotless. And his mind understood the basic logic that had been presented by Lady Foster.

  If Miss Philips had lied, it would be for her own benefit. He could easily fall for the lie, and she would face no consequences.

  Or … he could find out.

  When he confronted Miss Philips, she ran off. His mind told him that this was as good as a confession of guilt.

  Ronan finally reached the house, exhausted beyond what he had expected, both physically and emotionally. He went to his room and lay on the bed. The moment his eyes were closed, he drifted into sleep.

  ***

  Two days later, Lady Foster came to pay a call on Ronan again. He was growing weary of seeing her so often, but ever since he told her that he had been hurt by her abandonment, she was constantly coming around. It felt as if she was there nearly all the time.

  “My Lord, shall we go to the garden? We may walk for a bit,” she suggested.

  “I have no desire to go to the garden,” he replied, coldly.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “I do not wish to go to the garden. I do not wish to walk with you at all, Lady Foster,” he said.

  She was evidently stunned and hurt. Ronan could not bring himself to care. He wanted her gone just as he felt as though he had no choice but to be with her. She was in his way and constantly stirring up trouble. Her love of drama was more than he could reasonably be expected to bear.

  “I do not understand. But … but I do not believe I ought to stay here and tolerate this treatment,” she said.

  “Is that so? Well, you must know that I have had enough of your lies,” he said.

  “My lies?” she asked.

  “It is either you or Miss Philips. One of you is a liar, and the other is not. I cannot possibly understand which of you it is, but I am going mad with wondering, and you were the one who told me that she is making these things up,” he said.

  “So you are enraged because I tried to help you? All I did was inform you of something that you ought to have already known about. It is hardly my fault that you were unaware of her character. Did you look into her character before hiring her on?” Lady Foster asked.

  “My mother hired her,” he said.

  “In that case, you ought to blame your mother, not me,” she shot back.

  “You take issue with my mother?” Ronan asked, challenging her.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, I did not say that! What has got into you? Why are you so angry at me over something that is not my fault or responsibility? You are furious simply because I made certain that you are aware of the fact that you hired a selfish woman who is known for her lies,” she said.

  “And look! It would appear that she has got you, after all,” Lady Foster continued. “Rather than responsibly seeking to learn the truth, you have decided to berate me with your anger because you do not like the truth with which I have presented you. You wish that it was not the truth at all and, therefore, have chosen to lash out at me in your anger.”

  Was she right? Was he looking for an excuse to be angry with her just because he was upset about what she had claimed? Was it possible that he was actually being unfair to Lady Foster just because he did not wish to hear what she had to say?

  Ronan was angry at himself for letting things come to this point at all, but he could not stop himself. Somehow, now that he had begun, he thought that it was impossible to take control of his fury.

  “I cannot possibly believe it,” he insisted.

  “And why not?” she asked in reply, demanding to know.

  “Because it is not like her. She would not do what you are accusing her of,” he insisted.

  “And you know this for certain? You do not even know her at all. Why would you think that you can speak to me this way when she is the one who is ruining you?” she asked.

  “Ruining me?” he repeated.

  “Indeed. She has you believing that you must bow to the whims of a simple maid. Now, you may take issue with how I view women of her station, but I assure you that I have no problem with them in general. My only problem is when they cease to know their place. At the moment, your Miss Philips does not know her place,” she said.

  “And you know this how?” he asked.

  “I know this because you are defending her despite the overwhelming evidence against her. You are defending her even though the real Lavender Philips died two or three years ago,” she said.

  “And what evidence do you have of this?” Ronan asked.

  “Believe it or not, My Lord, but I do not wander around London carrying evidence as to a man or woman’s death. You shall have to find the proper district and speak with their records keepers. I am not going to do this for you. I should like to think that I do not have to,” she said.

  Lady Foster was right. This was not her responsibility. If Ronan wanted to know the truth, it was up to him to find it. He would have to go wherever it was necessary to go.

  “I suppose that is true. I may go and learn the truth. And if it looks as though you have been lying all along, Lady Foster, I shall ensure that everyone knows about it,” Ronan said.

  Lady Foster narrowed her eyes at him. His fury was evenly matched by hers.

  “You will see. Eventually, you will realize that Miss Philips is a villain. She is full of lies,” she said.