A Marquess' Miraculous Transformation: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  “I do not mind in the least. There is no need for music when there is the sound of wheels scratching against the wooden floor,” he replied.

  “Very true. I have heard that they are going to add wheelchairs to the symphony orchestra. There is a new composer who has begun experimenting with writing the sheet music for this grand new instrument known as the wheelchair,” she teased.

  “It is quite an excellent idea. I cannot understand why it has not been incorporated into the opera since its invention,” Ronan said.

  Miss Philips laughed with him. But there was one problem he was having with their dance.

  “Miss Philips, I believe my dance would be far more enjoyable if I could see my partner,” Ronan said.

  “Oh? Hmm ... I am not quite sure how it is best to move the chair,” she said, coming around to the front. “Perhaps if I hold here.”

  She put her hands to the armrests but was hunched over terribly, and Ronan thought it must be uncomfortable. Painful, even.

  “No, I do not think that will do very well at all,” he said.

  Miss Philips looked disappointed as if she had ruined what was meant to be such a kind thing. Ronan had no intention of letting her feel that way for long. Instead, before she could move back, he put a hand up on her shoulder.

  Immediately, her expression shifted, understanding what he meant to do. Miss Philips leaned in further and helped as he shifted his weight to his legs. It was a struggle, but he was determined to try.

  Miss Philips had touched him many times each day since coming to the estate. She had cleaned his wounds, helped move him into the chair, her fingers had brushed against him when she had given him tea. But this was different. At this moment, as she helped him onto his feet, he was not distracted by the very difficult thing he was doing. He was distracted by her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked as she let him lean into her.

  “Yes, I am very well,” he replied, amazed at how content he really was, leaning on this woman for her strength when he was feeling weak and incapable of moving on his own.

  “Well, now we really do have no music,” she said, looking somewhat nervous as their faces were so close together.

  Ronan had nothing to say in reply. He was strangely overwhelmed. So, he began to hum. He was not a good singer by any means, but he hummed quietly, a slow melody that he had heard played on the violin once before. It was a beautiful piece that had always stuck with him.

  Outside of them, all was silent. They were alone there, in the middle of the study, just swaying and indulging in a moment of quiet and … and something more.

  Ronan took in the green eyes and the freckled skin before him. She really was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman he knew among those ladies of society who were so quick to gossip and mistreat their maids.

  He had been rude to them in the past as well. But all of that had changed now. His heart and everything he wanted had shifted.

  There was only this woman.

  When his eyes slipped down to her lips, Ronan was mesmerized. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Would she respond? Would she be upset? Would she be happy?

  A kiss would silence his humming, but it would make far lovelier music. The hope for that kiss was overwhelming.

  Just as quickly as it came, Ronan wondered where the thought came from. What was this sudden urge to be romantically involved with his maid? Why was he standing here, so intimately, with Miss Philips? And why was this all so romantic?

  Ronan leaned back and cleared his throat. Miss Philips blinked and glanced away from him as if her spell had been broken in the same instant.

  “My … uh …” Ronan could not find the word, but he gestured for the chair.

  “Y-yes. Of course. You must be tired from standing for so long,” she said, giving him the excuse they both wanted.

  “Indeed, that is all it is,” he said.

  “Very well. Here you are,” she said, helping to lower him back into the chair.

  Ronan tried to breathe through the surge of emotions and feelings and wants that were overwhelming him. But how had this happened? How had he found himself so utterly taken by Miss Philips? Moreover, what exactly were they meant to do now?

  It appeared that Miss Philips felt the same discomfort, and she quietly retreated once he was back in the chair.

  “I shall ensure that your food is brought to you soon,” she said, rushing from the study.

  When his dinner did arrive, it was brought by Miss Stevens. This was not unusual as Miss Stevens was the one who normally served Ronan and his mother in the dining hall, but it was still curious as Miss Philips had been the one to bring him his dinner whenever he was in his room resting since the accident.

  Clearly, she was every bit as uncomfortable as he was. Yes, even in this, they were matched.

  “Thank you,” he said to Miss Stevens.

  “Certainly, My Lord. Will there be anything else?” she asked.

  “No, nothing,” he said.

  She, too, departed from the study, and Ronan realized he was not half so sad about her leaving as he had been when Miss Philips left the room.

  Yes, something was happening in his heart. And it made him anxious.

  Chapter 15

  Lavender took a deep breath and then released it slowly. It was time to knock on the door.

  But she took another breath instead.

  Steadying herself, she determined that she could not put this off much longer. She had a job to do, and that job required that she face the marquess.

  At last, she gently put her fist to the door and knocked.

  “Come in,” Lord Beckman called from the other side.

  She entered the room, and for a moment, their eyes met. Quickly, they each looked away.

  “My Lord, your mother has asked if you will be dining in the hall or in here today,” she said.

  “Please tell her that I am quite tired, and I think I shall remain in here most of the day,” he replied. “I am having a bit of pain.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. It is not because … I mean … is it from having stood yesterday?” she asked, cautiously.

  Lord Beckman looked at her apologetically.

  “Perhaps. I may have pushed myself a bit harder than I ought to have,” he said.

  “I am very sorry. It was my fault,” Lavender said.

  “You did not force me to stand. Rather, you gave me an option to dance in the chair. I was the one who wanted to try something different,” Lord Beckman said.

  “Regardless, I do apologize for letting you get hurt,” she said.

  “There is nothing to worry about, Miss Philips,” he replied.

  Lavender quickly left and made her way to the kitchen to get his dinner. On the way, she passed by Lady Beckman.

  “Lady Beckman, the marquess is going to eat in his room,” Lavender said.

  “Very well. I trust that you will take his food?” she asked.

  “Yes, My Lady,” she replied.

  She had not taken it the previous night. Instead, she had told Melora that she was feeling unwell and needed to lie down. But that had been a lie, of course. She had been overcome after the incident with the dance. How had her silly idea turned so … romantic?

  In one instant, she had been trying to cheer up Lord Beckman, the Third Marquess of Bolster. But in the next, she had been holding him in her arms, unable to resist gazing upon him. Her heart had raced against her will. It had threatened to beat through her chest and announce every last thought that was in her mind.

  Lavender had nearly believed that he would kiss her. What a foolish thought it was! How could she think that Lord Beckman, an honoured and respected marquess, would ever wish to kiss her?

  And yet, she could not stop thinking about it. Had he not leaned close to her? Of course, that had to be only for the fact that he had no choice. He was still recovering, and his legs would have collapsed under him if he had not leaned on her for strength and balance.

&nbs
p; There it was. A very strong reason for his actions. There was no reason to question any of it, and Lavender told herself not to think about it anymore. After all, there was nothing to think about. This was the fact of the matter. She had done all she could to help the marquess, and he had appreciated it. Nothing more.

  “All right, I am going to need a tray and dishes. The marquess is eating in his own room,” she said to Melora once she entered the kitchen.

  “Oh? Interesting. All right, here you are, let me get you what you need, ” Melora said, getting right to work.

  The cook stepped out for a moment, presumably to check the cellar for some addition to the meal. Once she was gone, Melora turned to Lavender with great interest.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened last evening? Between you and Lord Beckman, I mean,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Lavender asked.

  “I tried to get it from you then, but you kept saying you had a headache. I know you, Lavender. You were lying. You do not get headaches,” Melora said.

  “Of course I do. Everyone gets headaches now and then. My father was a doctor, so I should know,” Lavender replied, irritated that Melora was calling her out on the matter.

  “I absolutely cannot believe you. It is not true. Will you just be honest with me?” Melora asked.

  “I am being honest. That is all there is to it,” she insisted.

  Melora shook her head.

  “Something is wrong. I can tell. You will not speak with me, and that only bothers me more and proves that whatever it is, it must be something about which you are ashamed,” Melora said.

  “I have nothing more to say about it,” Lavender said.

  “But I am your friend. Why would you not be honest with me? Do you believe I am going to judge you? I only want you to be all right, Lavender. And if something is bothering you, I wish to be by your side, to listen to you as you try to get through it,” Melora said.

  “Please. That is enough,” she retorted, glancing around. Just then, the cook returned, and Lavender grabbed the tray loaded with food and rushed from the kitchen as quickly as she could.

  Even if she had not told Melora what had occurred between herself and the marquess, Lavender was humiliated. She was humiliated that she had ever thought there could be any sort of connection between herself and that man. Whatever had taken place the evening before, it was nothing at all like what she so desperately hoped that it would be.

  No, it was just a dance. There was nothing more to it than that.

  Once she reached his room again, this time with the tray of food, she told herself there was nothing to be nervous or shy about. She was a maid and nothing more. He was the master of the house and nothing more. There was no reason at all for anxiety so long as she did her job effectively.

  “Thank you,” Lord Beckman said when Lavender placed the tray before him.

  “Certainly, My Lord. Is there anything else that I may get for you?” she asked, not making eye contact and more than ready to depart from him.

  “No, thank you. That will be all,” he said.

  Lavender turned and readied herself to depart.

  “Oh, wait,” he said.

  “Hmm?” she asked, trying not to feel the dread creeping inside her chest.

  “There is no butter. Would you mind terribly?” he asked.

  “Forgive me for forgetting that. I shall just be a moment,” she said, wishing she had not been so neglectful.

  Lavender quickly left the room and returned to the kitchen to get the butter. Melora was there, getting something for Lady Beckman. She glanced up at Lavender but was, apparently, not brave enough to say anything more.

  Lavender got what she needed and returned to Lord Beckman. Once she was back in the room, she calmly placed the butter on his tray.

  “Again, I do apologize for having forgotten,” she said.

  “You needn’t worry. I am not going to be angry about something so small,” he said.

  Lavender refrained from telling him that he must have undergone quite a change. When she had first come to the estate, he would have been angry about even less than that. But he had shifted, quite remarkably, and now things were far better.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” she said.

  As she began to turn away again, Lavender was stunned to find that Lord Beckman grasped her hand in his. She faced him, her eyes wide in shock, and he simply held onto her.

  Lord Beckman looked deeply into her eyes. There was something there. It was not quite a smile, but certainly not a frown. It was intense as if he wanted her not only to hear his words but to feel them.

  “Thank you,” he said with precise diction. “Thank you, Miss Philips.”

  Lavender swallowed hard, not moving for a moment. What was he doing? And why was he doing it? What was she meant to say?

  “Y-you are very welcome, My Lord,” she replied, finally looking away again.

  Lord Beckman gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

  At that moment, when his hand was suddenly gone, she wanted it back again. She didn’t want to feel that emptiness, that moment without him. And the fact that she had that strange and overwhelming response only left her more confused than ever before.

  “Please ring the bell if you need anything further. I shall be back soon to clean up,” she promised, rushing from the room as quickly as possible. The moment she was out in the hall, Lavender leant her back against the wall.

  She gave herself a moment to breathe, to try and steady herself before having to move on and face the rest of her day. But she could still hear Lord Beckman inside his room, shifting. The sound of his cutlery clinking against the plate. The sigh of enjoyment as he tasted something he liked.

  And all of it was strangely fascinating to Lavender.

  She worried that he might hear her as well, so she finally shifted, slinking her body away from his door as silently as she could. Soon enough, she was down the hall. When she passed the kitchen, her eyes connected with Melora, who gave her a look of concern.

  Lavender nodded in the direction of her room, and Melora nodded. She was certain that her friend would follow as soon as she had completed her duty in serving Lady Beckman.

  It happened that the lunch for Lady Beckman continued for a long while, and by the end of it, Lavender had to go and collect the dishes from the marquess. Following that, it was time to change his bandages again, and it only left her spending more time focusing on avoiding eye contact as opposed to working hard to assist him.

  Lord Beckman was mercifully quiet as she did her work. He said nothing to her, and his mother was in the room for a good portion of the time, which provided an excellent distraction.

  “Miss Philips, we are so fortunate that you know what you are doing,” Lady Beckman said once, while Lavender was finishing up with the bandages.

  “It is easier now. Your son is so well-healed that I have very little that I must now do. His risk of infection has greatly decreased, and I am content that he is very well recovered,” she said.