A Marquess' Miraculous Transformation: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  In an instant, Lady Foster had turned on her heels and was heading out of the room. She was leaving Ronan behind with only more of his own thoughts and the aftermath of yet another argument with a woman he had once admired and respected.

  Yes, it appeared as though he had now ruined things with both of the women who mattered to him. They were each hurt and crushed by his suspicion, but it was only because of this dishonesty he had seen in them that Ronan had not already made things right.

  He still needed to find out who was telling the truth and who wasn’t. A part of that would certainly come by going into town and speaking with someone who helped keep records.

  But was it really worth it? Did he actually suspect Miss Philips enough to invest his time and energy into something like that when she was, more than likely, perfectly innocent?

  Indeed, he had ruined his hopes for the future with two separate women. Now, he had to decide how much they each meant to him and whether he would pursue either of them.

  If he chose to pursue Miss Philips, he would surely need to speak with his mother again about what he ought to do in society once people found out that he was marrying his maid. It would not be considered proper by any means.

  But for now, he just felt like a fool.

  Ronan called for Harold to come by for a visit, and seeing his friend certainly helped him put his thoughts in order.

  “So she believes that Miss Philips is not really Miss Philips at all? I would think that your doctor would know better. Remember? He said she looked familiar,” he said.

  “Maybe she looks similar to the young woman, the true Miss Philips. It is possible, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Of course. Anything is possible. But that does not make it true. I despair to think that the woman you love is anything but ideal,” Harold said.

  “You are only saying that because you want to see me hurry up and get married,” Ronan said.

  “Precisely. And, until you do, we shall have to make every effort to make right with the woman you know you care for,” Harold said.

  “And in the name of all that is good in this world, can tell me exactly which woman that is? Because my confused heart can only bear so much,” he said with a laugh.

  But Harold simply laughed and shook his head.

  “You already know, Ronan. You know as well as I do, as well as anyone does. It is a pity that you need to ask me when it is painfully obvious to anyone who sees you speaking with her,” he said.

  Ronan sighed. He knew who Harold was speaking of. He knew well that his friend had already made up his mind so far as it concerned Ronan and his potential for a future marriage.

  “Anyway, I think you ought to look beyond this rumour. If you really believe that it could be possible, then, of course, you have no choice but to find out the truth. But I, for one, choose not to believe it. I think she really cares for you and that she is trustworthy,” Harold said.

  Harold’s opinion had always meant much to Ronan, but he realized that he had to stop listening to it in this instance.

  He did not wish to believe Miss Philips because Harold told him to. He wanted to believe her because she was honest.

  Chapter 29

  Lavender had continued her duties as if everything was perfectly fine.

  She had been shocked that day when no one called for her to speak with her and scold her. No one came to tell her that she had been dismissed and was no longer allowed to work at the estate. No one came to inform her that she had done something terribly wrong and did not deserve to remain there.

  It was strange, and she could think only that Lord Beckman was being incredibly merciful or that there had been some reason why he decided against getting her into any trouble. Perhaps he wanted to know what it was that she was doing at the estate—if he really did think she was lying about her past.

  Lavender imagined he must not have told his mother about the incident. As much as Lady Beckman liked Lavender, there was certainly no chance that the older woman would have allowed Lavender to remain. Not when she had abandoned her foremost duty to care for Lord Beckman.

  But as she had not been dismissed, she went about her work as she had done before, getting things done here and there, trying to take care of anything Melora would have dealt with previously.

  Oh, how she missed Melora! It was terrible not having her friend nearby. But Melora had written to Lavender, telling her about her first few days of marriage.

  My Dear Lavender,

  As I write you this letter, I have been married for two days. I expect that it shall take another two or three before you receive it.

  My first few days of marriage have been a wonder. I am in a far deeper love with my husband than I ever did imagine. He is the loveliest, kindest, and most caring man I have ever known.

  I know that there are many women out there who marry for love and think this of their spouse, but I tell you that I am the one who has the best. Honestly, Gregory is the perfect man to be married to.

  You cannot imagine how happy I am, Lavender. I know that you, too, are deserving of this happiness, and I hope that you find it soon. If it is with the man you have confessed that you love, I would be overjoyed. But if it turns out that you meet another, I would most heartily approve of you enjoying marital bliss.

  I shall write to you as soon as we are back in the city. For now, we remain in the west, visiting Gregory’s family.

  Your Friend,

  Melora

  Lavender folded up the paper, wishing that she could be as happy for Melora as she ought to be. It was just so difficult not to feel sorry for herself at every turn, but that was not the sort of woman she wanted to be.

  Gathering herself and putting on a smile, Lavender left her room to get back to her duties once more.

  She assisted Lady Beckman with some of the things the woman asked for, including dusting one of the cabinets full of trinkets and then tidying up the drawing room from the abundance of little threads left behind from Lady Beckman’s many sewing projects.

  In all, the tedious activities did nothing to take her mind off her current plight.

  Later that evening, however, it was time for Lavender to help the marquess to the dining room.

  By now, he was walking a good deal more and needed very little help. Still, she knew that it was her duty to assist him, and she was going to do so until told to stop.

  Any time she and Lord Beckman had been around one another, they said nothing outside of the duties and tasks themselves.

  Would you like more tea?

  Yes, thank you. More sugar this time.

  Or she would stand there, silently, until someone else called for her to tend to another task.

  But as she approached his room, Lavender felt that she was going to meet her fate. She did not like thinking of it that way, but, alas, that was how it felt.

  “My Lord,” she said, curtsying as she entered the room. “Dinner is ready.”

  “Very well, let us go down,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  Lavender tried not to be hurt by that fact.

  She walked alongside him, but he no longer leaned into her, no longer appeared to need her assistance at all. It was just his cane that now held him up, and Lavender was as good as forgotten.

  Was this what her aunt had expected? Had she known that Lord Beckman would utterly abandon her if Lavender would not turn out to be such an easy target for him as he may have thought? Why was he being so cruel?

  “Thank you,” he said once they reached the dining room. “As you can see, I am quite confident in my ability to walk now. I am not certain that I am going to need assistance much longer,” Lord Beckman said.

  Lavender wondered whether he meant it as a threat, but she knew that it pained her to hear.

  “As you wish, My Lord,” she said.

  She left him there and went to eat her dinner in the kitchen, just on the other side of the wall from the dining hall. Thinking about the fact that she ought to write back
to Melora, Lavender tried to pen a response as she ate, switching between the pen and her cutlery.

  In the end, however, there was nothing much that she could think of to say. Lavender felt like a terrible friend in that she was unable to even express her congratulations in full. It was too much to try and convince herself to be more generous with her words as she tried to write to Melora.

  At last, dinner came to an end, and Lavender had to get the marquess wherever he wished to go next.

  “The study, please. And I do believe that I am no longer going to require your assistance. I am thankful for all that you have done, but I do feel quite confident now in my ability to walk with the cane,” he said.

  “Very well, My Lord. If that is what you wish,” she said, trying not to be disheartened.

  It was very foolish of her, but a part of Lavender had hoped that Lord Beckman might actually come to apologize to her. She found herself dreaming of a moment in which he would declare that he had been incorrect, that he had made a mistake. He would ask her forgiveness for his ignorance and for finding fault in her where none existed.

  But, alas, none of this would ever come to pass, and she knew it. There was no reason to hope for it when it was impractical. No man of his station would ever succumb to such humility. No one in his role or with his wealth or title would ever confess to having made an error in judgement and being wrong about a maid’s character. It simply wasn’t important enough to them.

  At least, that was what Lavender thought as she walked part of the way with Lord Beckman towards the study.

  “I would like you to bring my tea to the study this evening,” he said.

  “Certainly, My Lord,” she replied.

  “Thank you,” he said, going in and closing the door behind himself.

  Lavender went to the kitchen again and made the tea. She smelled the delicious herbs and remembered what it was like to indulge in drinking tea with him.

  Would she ever have a moment like that again? And, if not with the marquess, would she have it with another man she loved? Could she ever love again after this experience, or was she hurt too deeply ever to know love again?

  That was a question Lavender could not answer and did not wish to. She didn’t want to think about her future and what it might hold if she was not going to end up with the man she truly cared for. There was so much at stake for her, and she did not know how any of this would turn out.

  When the tea was ready, she took it back to the study and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” the marquess called.

  Lavender entered and took the tea over. She poured it and set the pot back down.

  “Will there be anything more?” she asked stiffly.

  Lord Beckman looked up at her. It was the first time their eyes had really met since that day when she left him out on the path, and it was the first time since then when Lavender felt as though he truly saw her.

  “I do not like how we left things before,” he said as if it was very difficult for him to do so.

  Lavender looked away, shamed by her own actions.

  “Nor do I. I am very sorry for having left you outside. It was a terrible thing to do. I cannot understand why you have not had me relieved of my duties,” she said.

  Lord Beckman shrugged and smiled.

  “Because the idea of you leaving was very painful,” he said.

  “I cannot fathom why. I am just a maid. Not only that, but I am a maid who failed in her duties to look after you that day. Whatever lies are being told about me and whatever you believe about them, I ought not to have behaved in the way I did,” she said.

  “Miss Philips, you and I were both quite upset. I dare not pretend that it means nothing, but it was certainly an occasion that I should not like to relive. I do believe that you are deserving of a better treatment than the one I gave you, and I also ask that you respect me as best you can, even if I believe something that hurts you,” he said.

  Reluctantly, she gave a nod.

  Lord Beckman took a sip of his tea, and his brows drew together.

  “I fear this batch is not so fresh anymore,” he said.

  “I am very sorry, My Lord,” Lavender said.

  “It is nothing at all. Now, where was I?” he asked.

  “You were telling me not to be upset when you do not trust me,” she said, keeping it concise and trying very hard—and mostly failing—to be gracious with him.

  “It is not that you must simply accept whatever my whims may be. It is that I have no choice but to investigate the claims made against those within my estate. I have to protect my mother. I have to protect the reputation of my family. There are reasons for my caution and my insistence in knowing who you are and whether or not you have been honest,” he explained.

  His words made perfect sense to Lavender. She clearly understood his need for certainty and for keeping the estate in the position to which it belonged. But there was no amount of explaining that would ease the pain she felt in knowing that he had not trusted her. There was no explanation she felt would justify believing a woman who had betrayed him over Lavender who had cared for him.

  In her mind, it was evidence that he must still be in love with Lady Foster and want to spend his life with her. And, to that fact, Lavender had to simply accept it and move on.

  Her aunt had been right about him in some ways. He would never marry her. That much was clear, and she ought to have believed that with a greater conviction before this. It was a very simple fact, something which everyone knew. So why had Lavender been fighting it?

  “Is that all right?” Lord Beckman asked.

  “Yes, My Lord. Of course. If you need to be certain of my honesty and my loyalty, I understand. I wish you all the best as you try to determine who I am and whether or not I am who I say. If you do not believe me, I understand that you must investigate. But,” she said, “I shall tell you once more.

  “I am Lavender Philips.”

  Chapter 30

  The wave passed over Ronan again, and he threw himself over the bucket once more to heave out the contents of his stomach.

  He was terribly ill. It had begun late in the night—or was it early in the morning? He had been unable to stop vomiting, and it felt absolutely dreadful.

  “Here. You are going to be fine. What can I get you? Do you need a cold towel?” Miss Philips offered.

  Before Ronan could confirm that he wanted just that, he felt it coming up again.

  Miss Philips held the bucket in place for him, and he vomited once more, wishing that this would simply come to a stop so that he could breathe without having these awful waves of nausea.

  “My goodness, I am glad that I am not a woman,” he managed to say with a weak laugh after he finished.

  “Oh? Why is that?” Miss Philips asked.

  “Because I know that the first few months of carrying a child can cause this, and it is awful,” he said.

  Miss Philips laughed. Although he had no idea if this was what it would feel like, he knew that what he was experiencing just now was absolutely miserable.

  Ronan leaned back in the bed and let the weight of his body sink down into it. Although he was trying to maintain humour, the fact was that he could not recall ever having been so ill in all his life. This was something he had never imagined he would experience.